The Voyage of the Space Beagle

CHAPTER TWENTY

Ixtl came up twice during the hour and three quarters that was needed to do level eight. He had six eggs left, and he intended to use all except two of them. His only annoyance was that each guul took more time. The defence against him seemed more alert, and the presence of atomic cannon made it necessary for him to go after the men who actually manned the projectors.

Even with that limitation rigidly observed, each escape turned out to be an achievement in timing. Nevertheless, he was not worried. These things had to be done. In due course, he would attend to the men.

When the eighth level was completed, the cannon withdrawn, and everyone on the ninth level, Grosvenor heard Captain Leeth say curtly, “Mr. Pennons, are you ready to use power?”

“Yes, sir.” The engineer’s voice was a dry rasp on the communicators. He finished even more harshly. “Five men gone, and one to go. We’ve been lucky, but there is at least one more to go.”

“Do you hear that, gentlemen? One to go. One of us will be bait whether he likes it or not.” It was a familiar voice, but one that had long been silent. The speaker went on gravely. “This is Gregory Kent. And I’m sorry to have to say that I am speaking to you from the safety of the engine room. Dr. Eggert tells me it’ll be another week before I’m off the invalid list. The reason I am speaking to you now is that Captain Leeth has turned Director Morton’s papers over to me, and so I’d like Kellie to elaborate on the note of his that I have here. It will clear up something very important. It will give us a sharper picture of what we’re facing. We might as well all know the worst.”

“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.