The Voyage of the Space Beagle

by A. E. van Vogt

  “Ah….” The cracked voice of the sociologist sounded on the communicators. “Here’s my reasoning. When we discovered the creature, it was floating a quarter of a million light-years from the nearest star system, apparently without means of spatial locomotion. Picture that appalling distance, and then ask yourself how long it would require, relatively, for an object to move it by chance alone. Lester gave me my figures, so I would like him to tell you what he told me.”

  “Lester speaking!” The voice of the astronomer sounded surprisingly brisk. “Most of you know the prevailing theory of the beginnings of the present universe. There is evidence to believe that it came into being as a result of the break-up of an earlier universe several million million years ago. It is believed today that a few million million years hence, our universe will complete its cycle, and blow up in a cataclysmic explosion. The nature of such an explosion can only be surmised.”

  He went on, “As for Kellie’s question, I can only offer a picture to you. Let us suppose that the scarlet being was blown out into space when the great explosion occurred. He would find himself heading out into intergalactic space, with no means of changing his course. Under such circumstances, he could float along forever without coming nearer to a star than a quarter of a million light-years. That is what you wanted, Kellie?”

  “Ah, yes. Most of you will recall my mentioning before that it was a paradox that a pure sympodial development, such as this creature is, did not populate the entire universe. The answer to that is, logically, if his race should have controlled the universe, then it did control it. We can see now, however, that they ruled a previous universe, not our present one. Naturally, the creature now intends that his kind shall also dominate our universe. This at least is a plausible theory, if no more.”

  Kent said in a placating tone, “I’m sure that all the scientists aboard realize that we are speculating by necessity on matters about which little evidence is as yet available. I think it is a good thing for us to believe that we are confronted with a survivor of the supreme race of a universe. There may be others like him in the same predicament. We can only hope that no other ship ever comes near one. Biologically, this race could be billions of years ahead of us. Thinking thus, we can feel justified in demanding the utmost contribution in effort and personal sacrifice from every person aboard—”

  The shrill scream of a man interrupted him. “Got me!… Quick!… ripping me out of my suit—” The words ended in a gurgle.

  Grosvenor said tensely, “That was Dack, chief assistant in the geology department.” He spoke the identification without thinking. His recognition of voices was now as quick and automatic as that.

  Another voice sounded shrilly on the communicators. “He’s going down. I saw him go down!”

  “The power,” said a third, calmer voice, “is on.” That was Pennons.

  Grosvenor found himself staring curiously at his feet. Sparkling, brilliant, beautiful blue fire shimmered there. Little tendrils of the pretty flame reared up hungrily a few inches from his rubberite suit, as if baffled by some invisible force protecting the suit. Now there was no sound. With almost blank mind, he gazed along a corridor that was alive with the unearthly blue fire. Just for a moment, he had the illusion that he was looking not out at it but down into the depths of the ship.

  With a rush, his mind came back into focus. And with fascinated eyes he watched the blue ferocity of the energization that was struggling to break through his protected suit.

  Pennons spoke again, this time in a whisper. “If the plan worked, we’ve now got that devil on the eighth or seventh levels.”

  Captain Leeth commanded efficiently, “All men whose last names begin with the letter ‘A’ to ‘L’, follow me to the seventh group level! Group ‘M’ to ‘Z’, follow Mr. Pennons to the eighth level! All projector crews remain at their posts! Camera teams carry on as ordered!”

  The men ahead of Grosvenor stopped short at the second corner from the elevators on the seventh level. Grosvenor was among those who went forward and stood staring down at the human body that sprawled on the floor. It was seemingly held to the metal by brilliant fingers of blue fire. Captain Leeth broke the silence.

  “Pull him loose!”

  Two men stepped gingerly forward and touched the body. The blue flame leaped at them, as if trying to fight them off. The men jerked, and the unholy bonds yielded. They carried , the body up in an elevator to the unenergized tenth level. Grosvenor followed with the others, and stood silently by as the body was laid on the floor. The lifeless thing continued to kick for several minutes, discharging torrents of energy, then gradually took on the quietness of death.

  “I’m waiting for reports!” Captain Leeth spoke stiffly.

  Pennons said after a second’s silence, “The men are spread out over the three levels, according to plan. They’re taking continuous pictures with fluorite cameras. If he’s anywhere around, he’ll be seen. It will take at least thirty more minutes.”

  Finally the report came. “Nothing!” Pennons’s tone reflected his dismay. “Commander, he must have got through safely.”

  Somewhere a voice sounded plaintively on the momentarily open circuit of the communicators, “Now what are we going to do?”

  It seemed to Grosvenor that the words probably expressed the doubt and anxiety of every person on the Space Beagle.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The silence grew long. The great men of the ship, who were ordinarily so articulate, seemed to have lost their voices. Grosvenor shrank a little from the purpose, the new plan, in his own mind. And then, slowly, he faced up to the reality that now confronted the expedition. But still he waited. For it was not up to him to speak first.

  It was chief chemist Kent who finally broke the spell. “It would appear,” he said, “that our enemy can pass through energized walls as easily as through unenergized ones. We can continue to assume that he does not care for the experience, but that his recuperation is so swift that what he feels in one floor has no effect on him by the time he falls through the air to the next one.”

  Captain Leeth said, “I should like to hear from Mr. Zeller. Where are you now, sir?”

  “Zeller speaking!” The brisk voice of the metallurgist sounded on the communicators. “I’ve finished the resistance suit, Captain. And I’ve started my search at the bottom of the ship.”

  “How long would it take to build resistance suits for every-body on the ship?”

  Zeller’s reply was slow in coming. “We’d have to set up a production unit,” he said finally. “First we’d have to make the tools to make the tools that would make such suits in quantity from any metal. Simultaneously, we would start one of the hot piles to the task of making resistance metal. As you probably know, it comes out radioactive with a half life of five hours, which is a long time. My guess is that the first suit would roll off the assembly line in about two hundred hours from now.”

  To Grosvenor, it sounded like a conservative estimate. The difficulty of machining resistance metal could hardly be overstated. Captain Leeth seemed to have been struck into silence by the metallurgist’s words. It was Smith who spoke.

  “Then that’s out!” The biologist sounded uncertain. “And since the complete energization would also take too long, we’ve shot our bolt. We’ve got nothing else.”

  The usually lazy voice of Gourlay, the communications expert, snapped, “I don’t see why those ways are out. We’re still alive. I suggest we get to work, and do as much as we can as soon as we can.”

  “What makes you think,” Smith asked coldly, “that the creature is not capable of smashing down resistance metal? As a superior being, his knowledge of physics probably transcends our own. He might find it comparatively simple to construct a beam that could destroy anything we have. Don’t forget, pussy could pulverize resistance metal. And heaven knows there are plenty of tools available in the various laboratories.”

  Gourlay said scornfully, “Are you suggesting that we give up?
”

  “No!” The biologist was angry. “I want us to use common sense. Let’s not just work blindly towards an unrealizable goal.”

  Korita’s voice sounded on the communicators, and ended the verbal duel. “I am inclined to agree with Smith. I say further that we are now dealing with a being who must shortly realize that he cannot allow us time for anything important. For that and other reasons, I believe the creature would interfere if we attempted to prepare the ship for complete controlled energization.”

  Captain Leeth remained silent. From the engine room, Kent’s voice came again. “What do you think he will do when he begins to understand that it’s dangerous to let us continue organizing against him?”

  “He’ll start to kill. I can’t think of any method by which we can stop him, short of retreating into the engine room. And I believe, with Smith, that he will be able to come in there after us, given time.”

  “Have you any suggestions?” That was Captain Leeth, Korita hesitated. “Frankly, no. I would say we mustn’t forget we are dealing with a creature who seems to be in the peasant stage of his particular cycle. To a peasant, his land and his son — or, to use a higher level of abstraction — his property and his blood are sacred. He fights blindly against encroachment. Like a plant, he attaches himself to a piece of property, and there he sinks his roots and nourishes his blood.”

  Korita hesitated, then said, “That is the generalized picture, gentlemen. At the moment, I have no idea how it should be applied.”

  Captain Leeth said, “I seriously can’t see how it can help us. Will each department head consult on his private band with his lower-echelon executives? Report in five minutes if anybody has come up with a worth-while idea?”

  Grosvenor, who had no assistants in his department, said, “I wonder if I could ask Mr. Korita a few questions while the departmental discussions are in progress.”

  Captain Leeth shook his head. “If no one else objects, you have my permission.”

  There were no objections, so Grosvenor said, “Mr. Korita, are you available?”

  “Who is this?”

  “Grosvenor.”

  “Oh, yes, Mr. Grosvenor. I recognize your voice now. Proceed.”

  “You mentioned that the peasant clings with an almost senseless tenacity to his plot of land. If this creature is in the peasant stage of one of his civilizations, could he imagine our feeling differently about our property?”

  “I’m sure he could not.”

  “He would make his plans in the full conviction that we cannot escape him, since we are cornered aboard this ship?”

  “It is a fairly safe assumption on his part. We cannot abandon the ship and survive.”

  Grosvenor persisted, “But we are in a cycle where any particular property means little to us? We are not blindly attached to it?”

  “I still don’t think I understand what you mean.” Korita sounded puzzled.

  “I am,” said Grosvenor steadily, “pursuing your notion to its logical conclusion in this situation.”

  Captain Leeth interrupted. “Mr. Grosvenor, I think I am beginning to get the direction of your reasoning. Are you about to offer another plan?”

  “Yes.” In spite of himself, his voice trembled slightly.

  Captain Leeth sounded taut. “Mr. Grosvenor,” he said, “if I’m anticipating you correctly, your solution shows courage and imagination. I want you to explain it to the others in—” he hesitated, and glanced at his watch — “as soon as the five minutes are up.”

  After a very brief silence, Korita spoke again. “Mr. Grosvenor,” he said, “your reasoning is sound. We can make such a sacrifice without suffering a spiritual collapse. It is the only solution.”

  A minute later, Grosvenor gave his analysis to the entire membership of the expeditionary force. When he finished, it was Smith who said in a tone that was scarcely more than a loud whisper, “Grosvenor, you’ve got it! It means sacrificing von Grossen and the others. It means individual sacrifice for every one of us. But you’re right. Property is not sacred to us. As for von Grossen and the four with him” — his voice grew stern and hard — “I haven’t had a chance to tell you about the notes I gave Morton. He didn’t tell you because I suggested a possible parallel with a certain species of wasp back home on Earth. The thought is so horrible that I think quick death will come as a release to those men.”

  “The wasp!” a man gasped. “You’re right, Smith. The sooner they’re dead the better!”

  It was Captain Leeth who gave the command. “To the engine room!” he said. “We—”

  A swift, excited voice clamouring into the communicators interrupted him. A long second went by before Grosvenor recognized it as belonging to Zeller, the metallurgist.

  “Captain — quick! Send men and projectors down to the hold! I’ve found them in the air-conditioning pipe. The creature’s here, and I’m holding him off with my vibrator. It’s not doing him much damage, so — hurry!”

  Captain Leeth snapped orders with machine-gun speed as the men swarmed toward the elevators. “All scientists and their staff proceed to the air locks. Military personnel take the freight elevators and follow me!” He went on, “We probably won’t be able to corner him or kill him in the hold. But, gentlemen” — his voice became grave and determined — “we’re going to get rid of this monster, and we’re going to do so at any cost. We can no longer consider ourselves.”

  Ixtl retreated reluctantly as the man carried off his guuls. The first shrinking fear of defeat closed over his mind like the night that brooded beyond the enclosing walls of the ship. His impulse was to dash into their midst and smash them. But these ugly, glittering weapons held back the desperate urge. He retreated with a sense of disaster. He had lost the initiative. The men would discover his eggs now, and, in destroying them, would destroy his immediate chances of being reinforced by other ixtls.

  His brain spun into a tightening web of purpose. From this moment, he must kill, and kill only. He was astounded that he had thought first of reproduction, with everything else secondary. Already he had wasted valuable time. To kill he must have a weapon that would smash everything. After a moment’s thought, he headed for the nearest laboratory. He felt a burning urgency, unlike anything he had ever known.

  As he worked, tall body and intent face bent over the gleaming metal of the mechanism, his sensitive feet grew aware of a difference in the symphony of vibrations that throbbed in discordant melody through the ship. He paused and straightened. Then he realized what it was. The drive engines were silent. The monster ship of space had halted in its headlong acceleration and was lying quiescent in the black deeps. An indefinable sense of alarm came to Ixtl. His long, black, wirelike fingers became flashing things as he made delicate connections deftly and frantically.

  Suddenly, he paused again. Stronger than before came the sensation that something was wrong, dangerously wrong. The muscles of his feet grew taut with straining. And then he knew what it was. He could no longer feel the vibrations of the men. They had left the ship!

  Ixtl whirled from his almost completed weapon and plunged through the nearest wall. He knew his doom with a certainty that found hope only in the blackness of space.

  Through deserted corridors he fled, slavering hate, a scarlet monster from ancient, ancient Glor. The gleaming walls seemed to mock him. The whole world of the great ship, which had promised so much, was now only the place where a hell of energy would break loose at any moment. With relief, he saw an air lock ahead. He flashed through the first section, the second, the third — and then he was out in space. He anticipated that the men would be watching for him to appear, so he set up a violent repulsion between his body and the ship. He had a sensation of increasing lightness as his body darted from the side of the ship out into that black night.

  Behind him, the porthole lights were snuffed out and were replaced by an unearthly blue glow. The blue first flashed out from every inch of the ship’s immense outer skin. The blue glow faded
slowly, almost reluctantly. Long before it died away completely, the potent energy screen came on, blocking him forever from access to the ship. Some of the porthole lights came on again, flickered weakly and then slowly began to brighten. As mighty engines recovered from the devastating flare of energy, the lights already shining grew stronger, others began to flash on.

  Ixtl, who had withdrawn several miles, drove himself nearer. He was careful. Now that he was out in space, they could use atomic cannon on him and destroy him without danger to themselves. He approached to within half a mile of the screen, and there, uneasy, stopped. He saw the first of the lifeboats dart out of the darkness inside the screen into an opening that yawned in the side of the big vessel. Other dark craft followed, whipping down in swift arcs, their shapes blurred against the background of space. They were vaguely visible in the light that glowed steadily again from the lighted portholes.

  The opening shut, and without warning the ship vanished. One instant it was there, a vast sphere of dark metal. The next, he was staring through the space where it had been at a spiral-shaped bright splotch, a galaxy that floated beyond a gulf of a million light-years.

  Time dragged drearily towards eternity. Ixtl sprawled un-moving and hopeless in the boundless night. He couldn’t help thinking of the young ixtls, who now would never be born, and of the universe that was lost because of his mistakes.

  Grosvenor watched the skilful fingers of the surgeon as the electrified knife cut into the fourth man’s stomach. The last egg was deposited in the bottom of the tall resistance-metal vat. The eggs were round, greyish objects, one of them slightly cracked.