by Hal Annas
“Could it be a hole in space?” This was the second pilot’s voice.
“No.” It was the deep voice of the captain. “Reactors would push us through a hole. Jamill’s got the right idea. Besides, we know the thing is controlled; we’ve already received an ultimatum.”
GRADWELL appeared at the distant end of the corridor. With a sense of guilt, Cyleen stepped quickly to the entrance, entered. There was a sudden hush. Cyleen felt both confused and ashamed; she hurried to the side of Jack Roland.
“Thought you might like a drink,” she said without looking directly into his eyes. She pressed the glass into his hand. “Excuse me. I—I’ve got to be going.” Cyleen hurried out, pressed a hand to her heart, leaned against the bulkhead.
“They’re beginning to suspect the truth.” Roland’s voice reached her ears. “If it wasn’t for the women, I’d say to hell with their ultimatum.”
“And every man aboard would back you up,” said the astrogator.
Cyleen glanced along the corridor. Gradwell was no longer in sight. She remained where she was, breathing deeply.
“How much time left?” asked the second pilot.
“Three hours,” said the captain. “And it’s a hard decision to make. I’ve never been faced with anything like this before. If it were not for the women aboard, there wouldn’t even be a question in my mind; I’d tell them to come and get us.”
“Are you issuing arms?” Jack Roland asked.
“No point in it,” the captain said, “unless we try to fight. And what are you going to fight? What’s outside?”
“You’ve already had a demonstration of what they can do?”
“Yes. Beaney Skimpton. Poor fella! We can’t knock him out with morphine or any of the stronger drugs. Nothing takes effect. We’ll have to kill him; there’s nothing else to do. I’ve got him in a soundproofed cabin. Two men are with him. I change them every hour; his screams and cries and pleading would drive everybody aboard insane.”
“It makes my flesh crawl,” said the astrogator. “I haven’t been able to eat anything since it happened.”
Cyleen felt that she was going to faint. Her knees trembled, tried to give under her. But something surged up from the depths of her being and seemed to whisper to her common-sense: Don’t collapse here. Don’t put an added burden on the men when they have tried so hard to shield you. Don’t hamper them in what they have to do. Don’t fall here in the corridor where they will find you at the very moment when they are faced with a decision that in itself would stagger the mind of the sanest person alive.
Cyleen moved drunkenly along the corridor, found her own cabin, collapsed on the bed. Afterward she could not clearly remember traversing the distance. She found no solace here. It seemed horrible to be all alone with thoughts of Beaney Skimpton, communications-officer, who was somewhere aboard ship begging for death.
Cyleen thought of Beaney Skimpton’s wife, plump and jolty, the very antithesis of the tall, lean, serious man himself. Cyleen leaped up, sprang to the door, hesitated. She took a moment to repair the damage to her face, then hurried toward the Skimpton cabin. As she passed the lounge she heard voices, looked in. Netta Skimpton stood there, her jolty but quiet laughter a trifle more enthusiastic than that of the troupers.
For an instant Cyleen was revolted, but for an instant only. Then she understood quite clearly why the men shielded the women. Netta Skimpton would never realty learn what had happened to her husband. It was best that way; there was no use for her to have to wake night after night screaming.
Cyleen felt closer to an understanding of men than she had ever experienced before. They had been just males, sometimes coarse and vulgar; sometimes merely callous; of times gay and chivalrous and a little awe-inspiring in the way they accepted the world, the planets, the universe as their own mess of oysters. They were demanding, egotistical and had ten thousand foibles; but in the final analysis there was something fine and noble about them.
CYLEEN started up to the observatory, halted on the circular ramp.
Face to the rounded bulkhead, handkerchief stuffed in her mouth, was Jean Lee sobbing quietly. From the opening to the observatory came the sound of tense masculine voices: “Gradwell won’t go along with casting lots. Won’t think of allowing one of his troupers—Says he’s old and has had a good life. Says he’s going to do the job himself.”
“Did the captain agree?”
“No. Neither did Jack Roland.” Cyleen held her breath.
“Roland’s got some idea up his sleeve. He’s sweating it out with the captain and the astrogator now. They’ve found a way to lick the roll, but it takes time. At least they think they’ve got the answer. It takes into consideration the theory that spacers the reality and matter is a fault in it, a rumple. It’s too deep for me, but Roland’s up on that stuff. Claims it is not another dimension, but another perception. I don’t know just what it is, but he says we perceive things five ways. He claims there is a multiple of this which will perceive space as the equivalent of a tangible. Somehow we’ve got to find a multiple for our senses, but how? And who could do it in the time we’ve got? I think he’s sweating his brain out for nothing. I think we ought to try to fight.”
“Fight what?”
“We’ve got to do something. We’ll go mad like this. We ought at least to heat those launching tubes and loosen the plates, so we can turn the stuff back into the ship if worst comes to worst.”
“You mean, burn ourselves up?”
“It’s preferable to becoming like Beaney Skimpton.”
Cyleen may have drawn a quick breath, made a sudden movement, or it may have been the hammering of her heart which made known her presence to the older woman. She was never to learn. She stood there tensely holding her breath while Jean Lee deliberately, and with effort, brought her sobbing under control. Her shoulders stopped quivering, her head lifted, one hand moved quickly to her eyes, dabbing with the hankerchief; then she turned and her tear-streaked face was smiling exactly as she smiled across the footlights. “Oh! It’s you, honey! Come. We’ve got to get out of here.” They paused beside a port off the lower corridor.
“So you know all along?” Cyleen said accusingly.
The older woman shook her head. “I learned after you’d gone to see Jack Roland. Remember? I talked different after you came back.”
“What can we do?” Cyleen wanted to know.
“Honey, I just wish we were men.” The sense of frustration grew. Cyleen could not endure it. She had to talk, ask questions. “Tell me all you know, and I’ll tell you all I know,” she bargained.
The older woman lowered her voice to a whisper. “There’s some sort of intelligence outside the ship or nearby. The men have not seen anything, but a message came over the ultra-wave visicom. There was no image; it may have been some sort of mental projection. But all the men present think they heard it and then read it. It told them what would happen to Beaney Skimpton. He was operating the equipment, you know. Then it happened. The men did what they could for poor Beaney. It wasn’t much. The doctor recommends euthanasia.”
“Have they carried it out yet?”
“I don’t think so. Anyway, whatever is outside soon knew about it and told them it would provide another victim as fast as they disposed of them. Then it issued an ultimatum.”
“What sort of ultimatum?”
“I don’t know; I wasn’t intentionally eavesdropping. But there’s a fault in the ship-structure where the ventilation pipes pass from the lounge to the conference room. I overheard some of the officers talking. I think that outside intelligence demands that we deliver one or more of us outside the ship. They tried to make clear the purpose, but no one can grasp their meaning.”
“Does that mean the ship would then be freed?”
“There is no promise, but that’s what the officers believe.”
“Have the men decided yet?”
“Yes. The men cast lots, all but Holby Grad well. He demanded to be allowed to g
o himself. He had it all figured out so the troupe would never know what happened to him. But the thing outside wants a younger person.”
“Tell me. Who’s to go?”
Jean Lee put an arm about Cyleen. “Kid, you’ve got to take this like a trouper. Jack Roland lost; some of the men think he cheated and did it deliberately.”
CYLEEN fought back the blackness.
“No,” she breathed. “Not Jack! No. He mustn’t.”
“But kid—”
“No. Jack shan’t go. He can’t. He mustn’t. If they cast lots they’ve got to include us women. If men take their chances, why shouldn’t we?”
“But listen, kid. You’re just a baby; you know you couldn’t go through with it. And if the other women even find out about it they will go into hysterics. No, Cyleen; it’s a man’s job, and not a man among them would even consider letting a woman in on it.”
“But why not some other man? Not Jack Roland?”
“Now look kid: you go to your room and I’ll bring you a drink.” Cyleen shook the blinding tears out of her eyes. “I’m going to do something,” she said.
Jean Lee led her toward the stateroom. “What can a woman do when it comes to something like this? All we can do is cry. God shouldn’t have made such a helpless and wailing sex. I’d willingly go myself, but I know I’d faint before I got outside the airlock.”
“I won’t faint,” Cyleen said determinedly.
“Honey, you could go with Jack, and as long as he was there you’d be all right. But you just couldn’t go alone; don’t you understand?”
“No. I don’t understand anything except that I can’t sit here and wait for Jack to walk out that airlock.”
“Take it easy for a few minutes. Sit Quietly. Maybe Jack won’t be hurt. I’m going to get you a drink. I won-’t foe but a few minutes; don’t dare leave here.”
Cyleen waited until the door closed. She had made her decision and the decision itself steadied her nerves, gave her strength.
Moving softly but quickly, she left the room, went toward the spacesuit compartment. She passed the conference-room, glanced in, saw Jack Roland signing something. She allowed her blue eyes to dwell on his profile, his heavy shoulders briefly, then hurried on.
At the entrance to the spacesuit compartment she halted, caught her breath. The door was ajar. Sounds came from the room. Momentarily she experienced a wave of relief at the thought somebody else, not Jack Roland, was preparing for the task.
Inching forward, she glanced into the room. Her big eyes blinked. Her knees trembled. Inside the room Jean Lee was struggling with a spacesuit. Jean Lee’s breath came fast. Cyleen could see the vein standing out on her temple, throbbing, could see that the older woman was working in frantic haste—and accomplishing exactly, nothing.
Cyleen went on inside. Jean Lee almost fainted at the sight of her.
“I can’t do it,” Jean Lee wept. “I just can’t; my hands won’t stop trembling.”
Cyleen took the suit from her, worked into it herself, wishing now that she had slipped out of her dress. Jean Lee stood as though stricken.
“Help me with the helmet,” Cyleen ordered.
The shaking hands obeyed. “Honey, I never knew, never dreamed, what it takes to be a man.”
Cyleen tried to smile. It turned into a grimace. “Me neither,” she said. “I’ve envied men their privileges. Women are fools; they don’t know the responsibilities that go along with those privileges.”
“Are you going to be able to make it, Cyleen?”
The blonde girl struggled with the worlds: “I—I don’t know. This thing is so awkward and I feel so weak. Put the helmet on me, and you’ll have to help me with the airlock.”
Jean Lee glanced out first. No one was in sight. Cyleen followed awkwardly.
“They haven’t released the interlocking switch in the control room.” The words came to Cyleen gratingly, not through her ears, but through the bone behind her ears against which two tiny clamps pressed.
Instantly there followed a restrained cry as though from the pits of torment. The cry was masculine. It sent shivers through Cyleen because it seemed so strange and terrifying to hear a man finally break and express his anguish, an expression that was not human.
The intercom crackled: “Jack Roland! Jack Roland! They’ve set the time forward. That’s the second demonstration; if you’re ready, move quickly.”
THE GREEN light flashed, signalling the release of the interlock. Cyleen touched Jean Lee’s shoulder, gestured. Jean Lee pressed the button, steadied herself against the wall.
The big airlock opened slowly. The intercom crackled. Orders were shouted through the ship. Cyleen moved.
The last thing to impress her before the air chamber closed was the look on Jean Lee’s features. It was a look of inhuman terror, but through it came a ray of admiration shining out of the woman’s dark eyes.
The chamber closed. Cyleen stood alone. There was no sound, no hint of movement, nothing. She was here alone, cut off from all life in an air chamber. There was no turning back, not another last look at humans as she knew them, no one to hear her sobbing.
She seized the handgrips, held on, fought the pressure as the outer lock opened, kept herself from being snatched out abruptly.
And then she saw the blackness of space beyond the faint shimmering light that was reflected from the ship itself. The pressure had been momentary. There was nothing now; just the beckoning void lighted by all the bright jewels of the cosmos against a background of total dark.
Something sounded. It was the airlock closing again. It was being operated from inside. She had to move quickly. She adjusted the tiny jets, pressed the stud. She swam out from the ship into blackness.
Terror racing through every fibre, Cyleen. fought the stud, swung the guide, came about. The ship was fifty yards off and drifting farther.
Then it happened. Cyleen was literally snatched away from the ship. She felt the force about her. She saw nothing but the ship and what was happening there as she receded into the depth of the void. She saw the airlock come open again.
Some indescribable wave of feeling flooded Cyleen. It was a sense of mingled terror and pride and happiness at the sight of another human jetting in her wake. Never in her life had she ever been so thrilled by the sight of another person.
The ship was a tiny dot. The figure of the person in the spacesuit grew. The jet left a vapor trail behind it. Cyleen fired her own jets, but nothing resulted. She watched as the figure swung its jets about to brake. She realized she had stopped moving away from the ship.
And then she saw through the plastic face of the helmet, recognized the man, and suddenly she was no longer afraid. She could die now, or suffer whatever came with good will; she was no longer alone.
“Jack!” She was glad her voice would be distorted slightly by the waves that carried it to him. She did not want the expression of feeling to go through.
“Cyleen!” It was deep and husky and distorted. “Don’t use your jets; don’t do anything. Just let everything go as it will. I’m working close to you. Have to be careful. Easy to overshoot. Now! Take my hand. Hang on to me.” Cyleen was never happier to obey orders.
“Move closer,” Roland ordered. “You can’t see it, but I’ve got a nineway polarizing field in front of me. Press close and look through it.” Cyleen looked, gasped. Outlined in the cosmos was not a tangible figure, but visible and curving rays of light which were in no way reflected.
“How can we see light when it isn’t reflected?” she asked.
“You see what I see?” Roland asked.
“Yes. A great giant of starlight, and behind him other giants. Jack, the whole cosmos looks real and solid.”
“I think it is, Cyleen; we just haven’t perceived it before. They are watching us. We must go to them.”
“But what are they going to do to us?”
“I don’t want to build up false hope,” Roland said, “but I’m hoping we’ll come out
of this. I’ve figured on some things. Just trust me, and don’t do anything I don’t tell you to do.”
“I’ll always trust you in everything.”
THEY APPROACHED the starlight-beings slowly. At length one of them extended a hand. Great webs of light ran out from it.
“It looks like a fishing net, Jack.”
“I think it is,” he admitted. “I think they have been fishing for men. See how the net extends out to the ship and around it? No wonder we couldn’t get anywhere. They can run it in and out at will; I was certain I had it figured right.”
Cyleen heard something like static, then a new sound, or it may have been just thought running into her mind: “We have tried long to net one of your skips. We hoped to establish a medium of communication with your kind
“You’ve done that,” Roland said. “We have fulfilled the terms of your ultimatum. The one with me is my opposite in sex, vital to sustain life among our kind. You will allow her to return to the ship?”
“No!” Cyleen stifled the word. She recalled Roland’s warning.
“Yes. She may return.”
“Go, Cyleen! Go,” Roland ordered. “Go quickly!”
“No. I can’t. I can’t leave you.”
“Go, please, quickly. Don’t answer again. Go! Please trust me. Don’t doubt. Go.”
There was a moment that seemed an eternity. Cyleen could no longer make a decision. She had lost all will to control herself. She was driven by his words; she jetted toward the ship.
It seemed hours. She waited outside the airlock, neither despairing nor hoping, a semi-dead thing. She had seen Roland disappear into the arms of one of those beings. Her mind no longer worked. She could not think clearly about anything; even all feeling had died within her.
Then Roland was suddenly beside her, stepping out of the hand of one of those beings.
Time meant nothing. Sometime later she was able to whisper, “Jack, you’re wonderful.”
“You’re sort of great yourself,” he said.
Then there was talk, Roland talking: “About like we figured it,” Ire was saying. “They didn’t know what pain and death were as we know them; they had no idea they were literally torturing every nerve in Beaney Skimpton’s body. Possess none of our senses. Perceive space as material, matter as a rumple in it. One of them figured out a way to bridge between them and us, and they swung a moving net of some sort of force about the ship.”
