After a short stay on Itarra, Mapping Expedition 14 had returned to Terra. Unknowingly, they brought back with them the seeds of a terrible disease. The disease did not reveal itself until over a year later—after the seeds of it had been carried to every corner of the galaxy-wide Terran Empire. Then, without warning, it blossomed suddenly into virulent, destructive life, swept through the Empire with the devouring rapacity of an atomic explosion. The Plague—there had been no time to isolate or name it—consumed human lives with catastrophic swiftness. Within three months, the race of Homo sapiens was decimated by half. And that was only the start, for the Plague gave no indications of lessening its force. At its rate of advance, the human race had just three more months to live.
With its wealth of scientific genius, the Terran Empire might eventually discover a means of checking the Plague—but it had spread so rapidly that there had been no time for research. The only recourse had been to dispatch a relief expedition to Adulonn in the hope that the Adulei might have a serum or drug which would combat the Plague. The Sol Star had been chosen and placed under the command of Nels Conley. Randolf Tillman had been named ambassador to the government of the Adulei. Stepan Osgood, a famous specialist in rare diseases, had volunteered to accompany the expedition in a scientific capacity. He had taken along his two assistants, Vane Morehouse, and Naeda Russell.
Conley thought now of the two possible endings of it. If the Adulei possessed a method of checking the plague, the human race would go on, and in time reach again its high pedestal of greatness. But if not—then the Terran race was doomed to extinction. Doomed to sleep the big sleep in eternal darkness—forever.
Conley glanced up sharply at the abrupt, warning buzz of the radar set. He saw Ayers flinch. But though pale and tense, Ayers held the Sol Star steady on its long slant toward the ground. In another moment, disaster struck with numbing suddenness. The ship smashed head on into something directly in its path—something the viewscreen had failed to show. There was a great crunching and grinding—and then they were falling down, down, with sickening swiftness.
Conley felt the Sol Star strike the earth. The shock-seats in which he and the others were sitting might have absorbed the greater force of the crash. But the normal-space antigravity drive engines had been functioning. The consequent shaking-up made them generate momentarily an excruciatingly painful vibratory field. Under the force of it, Conley and the rest were slammed into unconsciousness.
* * * *
Conley opened his eyes, becoming aware slowly that he was stiff and sore as though from a physical beating. Then memory of the crash came to him. He sat tensely upright in his shock-seat, gazing apprehensively about the control room.
Ayers was just coming around. At the rear of the control room, Wal Gage was huddled, still in unconsciousness, over his chart table. Conley went quickly over to Gage and shook him. To Conley’s intense relief, Gage’s eyelids fluttered and finally opened.
So far so good, Conley thought. But—what about the others? If any had been killed in the crash—He turned abruptly and ran to the passenger lounge.
Tillman and Morehouse were fully conscious. Morehouse kneeled beside the prone form of Naeda Russell. He was rubbing the girl’s wrists briskly, while Tillman bent over the seated figure of Stepan Osgood, who was just regaining awareness.
Ignoring the others, Conley crossed swiftly to Naeda’s side. A sharp anxiety made the breath catch in his throat.
“Is she…is—” Conley searched Morehouse’s face, unable to finish the question.
Morehouse understood. He shook his head. “Naeda’s all right. Being weaker physically than the rest of us, she’s just slow in coming out of it.”
As Conley watched, Naeda’s brown eyes struggled open. Recollection came into them. She recognized Conley bending over her and smiled. He placed an arm around her shoulders, helped her to a sitting position.
“Naeda—how do you feel?” Conley asked anxiously.
The girl smiled ruefully. “As though somebody had tried to kick my ribs in. But otherwise I seem to be in one piece.”
Tillman left Osgood, now awake, and strode over to Conley. He demanded, “What happened?”
“We struck something and crashed,” Conley explained simply. “Whatever it was, it wasn’t visible in the view-screen.”
“But the radar set gave a warning,” Ayers’ voice said grimly. Ayers and Gage had just entered the passenger lounge. Now Ayers approached the group about Conley. His eyes were bitterly accusing.
Tillman turned to Conley. “Is this true?”
Conley nodded slowly. “The radar set gave a warning. But it did so four times before—and each time the view-screen showed nothing in the way. I decided the radar set was merely acting up because of some freak atmospheric condition of this planet. I was wrong—horribly wrong. We hit something solid—and apparently invisible as far as the viewscreen was concerned.”
Conley turned with the others as a figure limped into the lounge. It was Dav Thurmer, a blood-stained bandage bound around his grizzled head. Thurmer’s fading blue eyes reflected a despairing hopelessness.
“If you’ve got any ideas about saving the human race, you’d better forget them,” Thurmer said bitterly and to no one in particular.
“What do you mean?” Tillman questioned.
“The engines,” Thurmer answered. “The crash broke several delicate parts—and we have no replacements, not for the parts I mean, at least.”
Conley grasped Thurmer’s arm urgently. “But, great space, there ought to be tools and materials—”
“There are,” Thurmer said. “But it’ll take more than three months to make the parts we need as well as repair the damage to the ship’s hull. By that time, the Plague will have wiped out the human race. So there’s really nothing to do.”
Conley gasped at the full import of Thurmer’s words struck into him. He felt suddenly cold and sick.
“It’s your fault! All your fault!” Tillman roared, stabbing a finger of accusation at Conley. “If you hadn’t ordered Ayers to ignore the warning of the radar set, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“But there was nothing in the view-screen,” Conley protested. “I couldn’t have known—”
It was no good. Conley knew it even as the words left his lips. They were so many walls, so many posts. His disclamations might have been soundless for all the sympathy they aroused. The eyes which ringed him were hard and cold and condemning. But what hurt most was the way Naeda averted her face when he turned to her for the understanding which he was sure he’d find. Her face was frigid, a white tombstone for the dead emotions she had once held for him.
Your fault! All your fault! The words pulsed in Conley’s mind like a pain. You destroyed the last hope of the human race.
Conley became aware of Tillman speaking. Tillman’s voice was measured and grim. “Commander Conley, as ambassador to Adulonn, and therefore as a representative of the Terran Empire, I am fully qualified to make such changes in the personnel of this expedition as will be to the continued good of the Empire—the present disaster to the contrary. You have shown yourself incompetent and neglectful in the discharge of your solemn duty to the Empire and to the human race. I do therefore divest you of your command. You will henceforth serve under Chief Engineer Thurmer, and you will obey such orders as he sees fit to give. In your place as commander of the expedition, I appoint Jorg Ayers.”
Tillman glanced about him. “If anyone disagrees with the change I have made, let him make his disagreement known.”
Conley’s eyes darted from face to face, a forlorn hope dying within him. There was no disagreement.
Tillman said, “Therefore, Jorg Ayers is in command of the expedition as of here and now. All right, Commander Ayers, what are your orders?”
Ayers looked acutely self-conscious. He moistened his lips several times, but apparently he was
quite barren of orders.
Conley said, “If I may be allowed to make a few suggestions…”
“Go ahead, sir,” Ayers assented quickly. “I mean—uh—just go ahead.”
“The most important thing,” Conley said, “is to find Itarra, the city of the Adulei. We glimpsed it from the air before some kind of atmospheric distortion removed it from sight, and so it should be somewhere not too far away. We have two auxiliary vessels which can be used as scout ships with a crew of two each. While these are out looking for the city, the rest of us can get to work and make such repairs on the Sol Star as we can. The Adulei are said to be highly telepathic in addition to having an advanced civilization, and thus it’s possible that they can help us complete the remainder of the repairs from mental descriptions of the parts and materials we need.”
Conley saw abrupt hope replace the leaden despair in the faces before him. His last words had been the result of a sudden thought, but he realized, with the help of the Adulei, it was still possible to save the Terran race. Even in spite of what had happened, they weren’t licked yet.
Conley, Ayers, Thurmer, and Gage hastened to the auxiliary ship cradles. They lowered the two small vessels to the ground outside. Then Conley strode to the airlock, pulled the opening lever. Mapping Expedition 14 had ascertained the air of Adulonn to be quite breathable. In fact, the data which had been gathered showed the planet to be amazingly similar to Terra in many respects.
* * * *
The outer door of the airlock slid open. Conley jumped to the ground, dimly aware that the others followed. His eyes were fastened to a scene that jolted him with astonishment. As though from far away, he heard faint gasps of surprise from the figures emerging from the airlock behind him.
It was early morning. The yellow-white sun of Adulonn was still low in its ascent above the horizon. A warming breeze brushed Conley’s face and hair. But he was conscious neither of the sun nor the breeze. His incredulous gaze was fixed rigidly upon a group of strange beings who were gathered some fifty feet from the Sol Star. Beyond the beings showed a small village of crude huts built of skins stretched on poles.
The beings were essentially humanoid, possessed of two arms, two legs, and large, well-contoured heads. But there the resemblance to Homo sapiens ended. These natives of Adulonn had figures that seemed excessively slender and small-boned. Their bodies were covered from head to foot with long, silky hair in a wide range of reddish hues. Their eyes were large, glistening and protuberant. Their noses were small, sharp beaks with wide, flaring nostrils, their lips small and pursed as though puckered continually in a soundless whistle.
They were garbed barbarically in skins and furs. Bone ornaments hung from their necks, wrists, and ankles. In their small, prehensile hands they held crude weapons of stone.
Cold fingers of dread clutched at Conley’s heart. Were these the Adulei? Where was the magnificent city which Mapping Expedition 14 reported having found? Sudden mystery, sudden wondering. Sudden despair that made an aching hollowness inside you.
Conley’s eyes searched the landscape like desperate hands, but only the prairie, smooth and green and stretching into hazy distance, met his gaze. The towers and spires of a mighty city just were not there.
“Something’s wrong!” Tillman’s voice broke the straining silence like a knife cutting a taut cord. “These people are clearly of a stone age level of development. They can’t be the Adulei.”
“And there’s no city here,” Osgood put in. “From the looks of things, there never was a city.”
Tillman stiffened as though under the pressure of a sudden idea. “Say—do you suppose there has been a mistake? Could it be possible that this world is not Adulonn after all? Perhaps we reached a planet which merely resembles Adulonn.”
“We couldn’t correct our error in that case,” Thurmer said heavily. “The engines are dead.”
“As astronavigator, it would be my fault,” Wal Gage remarked. He shook his head. “I’m certain, however, that no mistake has been made. We followed to every last detail the charts and tables made by Mapping Expedition 14. And this world answers perfectly the data which had been gathered on Adulonn. For another planet to fit the data exactly would be like a duplication of human fingerprints.”
Conley said, “If the city is actually around here somewhere, these natives should know something about it. We can try to find out.”
Tillman eyed Conley with disdain spread large across his square face. But after a moment of consideration, he bent his head in a reluctant nod. “I’ll try it.”
Tillman walked slowly toward the natives. He smiled to show friendly intentions and raised one arm, palm outward, in the universal gesture of peace. Then he pointed at the village, waved his hands outward and upward to indicate size. He stabbed a finger at the four compass points, shrugged, and looked questioningly at the natives.
Obviously, the natives understood, for they smiled, revealing wide-spaced, tiny white teeth. A few shook their heads in quite human gestures of negation.
Tillman’s massive shoulders sagged. “It’s clear they know of nothing larger than the village in which they live.”
“Perhaps there are other villages like this one,” Conley suggested. “You might try to find out about that.”
Tillman turned back to the naives again. He pointed at the village, then counted off the fingers of his left hand. He motioned toward the compass points and looked a question.
Again the natives smiled and shook their heads. One, garbed more ornately than the rest, and apparently a chief or leader, stepped forward. He pointed at the village and raised a triple-jointed, slender finger. Then he indicated the compass points and shook his head vigorously.
“Only one village,” Tillman interpreted. The lines of his face grooved deeper under a weight of dejection. Abruptly, he threw out his hands in a gesture of anguished protest. “But if this is Adulonn, the city just has to be here!”
“Maybe it is—only the natives don’t know about it,” Conley decided. He turned to Ayers. “It would be a good idea to send out the auxiliary ships to scout around.”
Ayers nodded quickly. “Ambassador Tillman and I will take one of the ships. Osgood and Morehouse will take the other. Can either of you pilot a ship?”
“I’ve run one,” Morehouse responded. “I’ll be able to manage.”
“All right, then,” Ayers said. “We’ll start with the north and the east—considering the bow of the Sol Star as the pointing north. If I remember correctly, the city I sighted was somewhere in those general directions. Ambassador Tillman and I will take the north.”
Conley watched the two vessels take off and dwindle in the blue-green sky of Adulonn. He hoped fervently that they would be successful in their quest.
Thurmer said wearily, “Well, Conley, you and Gage can help me do a little work on the ship. I don’t think we’ll be able to accomplish much, but it’s better than just standing around. As for you, Miss Russell, I think you ought to go back into the ship. The natives seem friendly enough, but you can never tell.”
Naeda nodded and flashed a smile at Thurmer and Gage. Ignoring Conley entirely, she climbed gracefully into the airlock and vanished from view.
Conley sighed in resignation. The situation was thumbscrews on his heart, but it was something he had to accept. He followed Thurmer and Gage as they stepped around to the bow of the Sol Star. His spirits plumbed new depths of dejection as he surveyed the torn and shattered hull.
“A nice mess,” Thurmer muttered. “It’ll take six months to repair with the tools we have. And the human race has just three more months!”
“Your fault! All your fault!” The painful thought throbbed in Conley’s mind.
They got tools from a locker in the engine room and set to work. Conley knew it was futile even as they started. The natives watched for a while, all pop-eyed interest. But shortly they
tired, and one by one, they trooped back to the village.* * * *
Conley was using a pneumatic hammer in an effort to close the rent in the bow when he caught his second glimpse of the city. There was a flicker before his eyes. He glanced up automatically, his labors momentarily forgotten. He saw the city. A gasp of amazement burst from his lips, for he seemed to be in the very midst of it, and mighty spires leaped and soared all about him in rainbow grandeur. Then he noticed that the great buildings were transparent, for through them he could see the rolling green expanse of the prairie. But even as he realized this, the phantom outlines of the city thinned like smoke in a breeze, and abruptly it was gone.
Conley became aware that Thurmer and Gage were staring at him in bewilderment. “I…I thought I saw something,” Conley explained lamely. “I guess I was mistaken.”
“So now you’re seeing things,” Thurmer observed sarcastically. “First you didn’t see anything—and wrecked the ship. Now you’re seeing things. I only hope it won’t get us into any more trouble.”
Conley tightened his lips and returned to work. He wondered if he were having hallucinations. Then he dismissed the idea. Hallucinations were the results of a deranged mind, and he was certain there was nothing wrong with his. Thinking things over, Conley decided at last that what he had seen had merely been a mirage, an illusion produced by some weird atmospheric property of Adulonn.
The auxiliary ships returned shortly before sunset. Osgood and Morehouse reached the Sol Star first, then came Ayers and Tillman. Both parties announced failure.
“You know, I had the queerest feeling while out searching,” Osgood remarked. “For all the world as though something were guiding me—telling me where I should not go.”
“What’s that?” Tillman exclaimed. “Odd—but I had exactly the same sensation. I told Commander Ayers about it, and he reported having the same experience.”
The 38th Golden Age of Science Fiction MEGAPACK Page 23
