The Voyage of the Space Beagle

CHAPTER EIGHT

The next morning, as Grosvenor approached his department, he saw with astonishment that the door was open. A bright swath of light cut out from it across the more dimly illuminated corridor. He hurried forward, and stopped short in the doorway.

In his first glance, he saw seven chemist technicians, including two who had attended his lecture. Machinery had been moved into the room. There were a number of large vats, a series of heating units, and an entire system of pipes for supplying chemicals to the vats.

Grosvenor’s mind leaped back to the way the chemist technicians had acted at his lecture. He moved through the doorway, tense with the possibilities and sick with the thought of what might have been done to his own equipment. He used this outer room for general purposes. It normally contained some machinery, but it was primarily designed to channel the output from the other rooms for purposes of group instruction. The remaining four rooms contained his special equipment.

Through the open door that led into his film and sound-recording studio, Grosvenor saw that it also had been taken over. The shock of that held him silent. Ignoring the men, he went through the outer room and into each of the four special sections in turn. Three had been occupied by the invading chemists. That included, in addition to the film studio, the laboratory and the toolroom. The fourth section, with its technique devices, and an adjoining storeroom were completely unscathed. Into them had been shoved and piled the movable machinery and furniture from the other rooms. A door led from the fourth section to a smaller corridor. Grosvenor presumed grimly that it was henceforth to be his entrance to the department.

And still he held his anger, weighing the potentialities of the situation. He would be expected to protest to Morton. Somehow, Kent would try to turn that to his own advantage in the election. Grosvenor couldn’t see just how it would benefit the chemist in his campaign. But Kent evidently thought it would.

Slowly, Grosvenor returned to the outer room — his auditorium. He noticed for the first time that the vats were food-making machines. Clever. It would look as if the space were being put to good use, something which, it could be argued, had not been true before. The shrewdness of it challenged his own integrity.

There seemed little doubt as to why it had happened. Kent disliked him. In setting himself verbally against Kent’s election — a fact which must have been reported — he had intensified that dislike. But the chief chemist’s vindictive reaction, if handled in the proper manner, might be used against him.

It seemed to Grosvenor that he must see to it that Kent definitely did not benefit from his invasion.

He walked over to one of the men and said, “Will you pass the word along that I welcome the opportunity to further the education of the staff of the chemistry department, and that I hope no one will object to learning while he works.”

He moved off without waiting for a reply. When he glanced back, the man Was staring after him. Grosvenor suppressed a smile. He felt quite cheerful as he entered the technique room. Now, at last, he was confronted by a situation in which he could employ some of the training methods he had available.

Because of the way his movable cabinets and other equipment had been jumbled into a comparatively small space, it took him a little time to find the hypnotic gas he wanted. He spent nearly half an hour fitting a baffler to the spout, so that the compressed matter inside wouldn’t hiss as it poured out. When that was done, Grosvenor carried the container into the outer room. He unlocked a wall cabinet that had a grated door, placed the container inside, and released the gas. Quickly, he locked the door again.

A faint odour of perfume mingled with the chemical smell from the vat.

Whistling softly, Grosvenor started across the room. He was stopped by the straw boss, one of the men who had attended his lecture the previous night.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing.”

Grosvenor said mildly, “You’ll hardly notice it in a minute. It’s part of my educational programme for your staff.”

“Who asked you for an educational programme?”

“Why, Mr. Maiden,” said Grosvenor in simulated astonishment. “What else would you be doing in my department?” He broke off with a laugh. “I’m just kidding you. It’s a deodorant. I don’t want this place smelled up.”

He moved off without waiting for a reply, and then stood to one side watching the men for reactions to the gas. There were fifteen individuals altogether. He could expect five favourable reactions and five partially favourable. There were ways of telling how a person had been affected.

After several minutes of careful observation, Grosvenor walked forward, paused beside one of the men, and said in a low but firm voice, “Come to the washroom in five minutes, and I’ll give you something. Now forget about it!”

He retreated to the doorway that connected the outer room with the film studio. As he turned he saw Maiden go over and speak to the man. The technician shook his head in evident surprise.

The straw boss’s voice held a note of astounded anger. “What do you mean, he didn’t speak to you? I saw him.”

The technician got angry. “I didn’t hear a thing. I ought to know.”

If the argument continued, Grosvenor neither heard it nor saw it. From the corner of his eye, he noticed that one of the younger men in the next room was showing signs of sufficient response. He walked over to the man in the same casual way, and spoke the same words that he had to the first subject — with one difference: He made the time fifteen minutes instead of five.

In all, six men responded to the degree Grosvenor considered essential to his plan. Of the remaining nine individuals, three — including Maiden — showed a milder reaction. Grosvenor left the latter group alone. At this stage, he needed virtual certainties. Later he could try a different pattern for the others.

Grosvenor was waiting when the first subject of his experiment entered the washroom. He smiled at the man, and said, “Ever seen one of these?” He held out the tiny ear crystal, with its flanges for fastening it inside the ear.

The man accepted the little instrument, looked at it then shook his head in puzzlement. “What is it?” he asked.

Grosvenor commanded, “Turn this way, and I’ll fit it into your ear.” As the other obeyed without question, Grosvenor went on firmly. “You’ll notice, I’m sure, that the part facing outside is flesh coloured. In other words, it can be seen only on close examination. If anyone does notice it, you can say it’s a hearing aid.”

He completed the fitting and stepped back. “After a minute or so, you won’t even know that it’s there. You won’t feel it.”

The technician seemed interested. “I can hardly feel it now. What does it do?”

“It’s a radio,” Grosvenor explained. He went on slowly, emphasizing each word. “But you will never consciously hear what it says. The words come through, and go directly into your unconscious. You can hear what other people say to you. You can carry on conversations. In fact, you’ll just go about your normal business unaware that anything unusual is going on. You’ll forget all about it”

“Well, imagine that!” said the technician.

He went out shaking his head. A few minutes later, the second man came in; and then, each in turn, the remaining four who had shown a deep trance response. Grosvenor fitted them all with duplicates of the nearly invisible ear radio.

Humming tunelessly, he brought out another hypnotic gas, put it into a suitable container, and substituted it for the one in the cabinet. This time, the straw boss and four other men responded profoundly. Of the rest, two showed a slight reaction, one — who had previously been slightly affected — seemed to come out of his state completely, and one man gave no sign at all.

Grosvenor decided to be satisfied with eleven out of fifteen deep-trance subjects. Kent was going to be unpleasantly surprised at the number of chemical geniuses that turned up in his department.

Nevertheless, this was far from final victory. That was probably not obtainable except by a somewhat more direct attack on Kent himself.

Swiftly, Grosvenor made a tape recording for an experimental broadcast to the ear radios. He left it running steadily while he wandered among the men and observed how they were reacting. Four individuals seemed to be worried about something. Grosvenor went up to one, who was shaking his head frequently.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

The man laughed unhappily. “I keep hearing a voice. Silly.”

“Loud?” It was not exactly the question a solicitous inquirer might normally be expected to ask, but Grosvenor was intent.

“No, it’s far away. It keeps going away, and then—”

“It’ll fade,” said Grosvenor soothingly. “You know how the mind can be overstimulated. I’ll wager it’s going away right now, just from having someone to talk to you and distract your attention.”

The man cocked his head to one side, as if he were listening. He shook his head wonderingly. “It is gone.” He straightened, and sighed with relief. “Had me worried for a while there.”

Of the other three men, two were reassured with comparative ease. But the remaining individual even with additional suggestion, continued to hear the voice. Grosvenor finally took him aside, and, under the pretence of examining his ear, removed the tiny radio. The man probably needed more training.

Grosvenor talked briefly with the other subjects. Then, satisfied, he returned to the technique room and set up a series of records to play three minutes out of every fifteen. In the outer room again, he glanced around and saw that all was well. He decided that he could safely leave the men to their work. He went out into the corridor and headed for the elevators.

A few minutes later, he entered the mathematics department and asked to see Morton. To his surprise, he was admitted at once.

He found Morton sitting comfortably behind a big desk. The mathematician indicated a chair, and Grosvenor sat down.

It was the first time he had been in Morton’s office, and he gazed around curiously. The room was large and had a view-plate occupying one whole wall. At the moment, the plate was focused on space at such an angle that the great wheeled galaxy, of which Sol was but one tiny dust mote, was visible from rim to rim. It was still near enough for innumerable individual stars to be seen, and far enough away from the misty grandeur of it to be at the peak of brilliance.

Also in the field of vision were several of the star clusters which, though outside the galaxy proper, spun with it through space. The sight of them reminded Grosvenor that the Space Beagle was at the moment passing through one of the smaller clusters.

The initial greeting being over, he asked, “Any decision yet as to whether we’re going to stop at one of the suns of this cluster?”

Morton nodded. “The decision seems to be against. I agree with that. We’re heading for another galaxy, and we’ll be away from Earth long enough as it is.”

The Director leaned forward to pick up a paper from his desk, then sank back in his chair. He said abruptly, “I hear you’ve been invaded.”

Grosvenor smiled wryly. He could imagine the satisfaction some of the members of the expedition would gain from the incident. He had made the ship’s company just aware enough of his presence to cause them to feel uneasy about what Nexialism might be able to do. Such individuals — and many of them were not yet Kent supporters — would be opposed to the Director’s interfering in the affair.

Knowing that, he had nevertheless come to find out if Morton understood the necessities of the situation. Tersely, Grosvenor described what had happened. He finished by saying, “Mr. Morton, I want you to order Kent to cease his encroachment.” He had no desire for such an order to be issued, but he wanted to see if Morton also realized the danger.

The Director shook his head, and said mildly, “After all, you do have a large space for one man. Why not share with another department?”

The answer was too noncommittal. Grosvenor had no recourse but to press on. He said firmly, “Am I to understand that it is possible for the head of any department aboard this ship to take over space in another department without permission from any authority?”

Morton did not reply immediately. There was a wry smile on his face. He toyed with a pencil as he said, finally, “I have an idea you misunderstand my position aboard the Beagle. Before making a decision involving a department head, I must consult with other department heads.” He gazed at the ceiling. “Let us suppose that I placed this matter on the agenda, and then it was decided that Kent could have that part of your department he has already taken over. The status, being affirmed, would thereafter be permanent.” He finished in a deliberate tone. “It occurred to me that you might not care to have that limitation placed upon you at this stage.” His smile broadened.

Grosvenor, his purpose accomplished, smiled back. “I am very happy to have your support in this matter. I can count on you then, not to let Kent place the matter on the agenda?”

If Morton was surprised by the swift reversal of attitude he gave no sign. “The agenda,” he said with satisfaction, “is one thing I do have considerable control over. My office prepares it. I present it. The department heads can vote to place Kent’s request on the agenda for a subsequent meeting, but not for any that is in progress.”

“I gather,” said Grosvenor, “that Mr. Kent has already made application to take over four rooms of my department.

Morton nodded. He put down the paper he had been holding and picked up a chronometer. He studied it thoughtfully. “The next meeting takes place in two days. Thereafter, every week unless I postpone them. I think” — he sounded as if he were musing aloud — “I should have no difficulty cancelling the one scheduled for twelve days hence.” He put down the chronometer and stood up briskly. “That will give you twenty-two days to defend yourself.”

Grosvenor climbed slowly to his feet, He decided not to comment on the time limit. At the moment, it seemed to be far more than adequate, but it might sound egotistical if he said so. Long before the time was up, he would either regain control of his department, or his defeat would be established.

Aloud, he said, “There’s another point I’ve been wanting to bring up. I feel I should be entitled to communicate directly with the other department heads when I am wearing a space suit.”

Morton smiled. “I am sure that is merely an oversight. The matter will be rectified.”

They shook hands and separated. As he headed back to the Nexial department, it seemed to Grosvenor that, in an extremely indirect manner, Nexialism was gaining ground.

As he entered the outer room, Grosvenor was surprised to see that Siedel was standing off to one side watching the chemists at work. The psychologist saw him and came over, shaking his head.

“Young man,” he said, “isn’t this a little unethical?”

Grosvenor guessed with a sinking sensation that Siedel had analysed what he had done to the men. He kept that awareness out of his voice as he said quickly, “Absolutely unethical, sir. I feel exactly as you would feel if your department were taken over in flagrant disregard of legal rights.”

He thought, Why is he here? Has Kent asked him to investigate?

Siedel stroked his jaw. He was a heavily built man with bright, black eyes. “That isn’t what I meant,” he said slowly. “But I see that you feel justified.”

Grosvenor changed his tactics. “Are you referring to the method of instruction I am using on these men?”

He felt no qualms of conscience. Whatever the reason this man was here, the opportunity had to be turned to his own advantage, if possible. His hope was to set up a conflict in the psychologist’s mind, to make him neutral in this fight between Kent and himself.

Siedel said, with a thinly sardonic edge to his words, “I am. At the request of Mr. Kent, I have examined those members of his staff who he thought were acting in an abnormal fashion. It is now my duty to report my diagnosis to Mr. Kent.”

“Why?” said Grosvenor. He went on earnestly. “Mr. Siedel, my department has been invaded by a man who dislikes me because I have openly stated that I will not vote for him. Since he acted in defiance of the laws of this ship, I have every right to defend myself as best I can. I beg you, therefore, to remain neutral in this purely private quarrel.”

Siedel was frowning. “You don’t understand,” he said: “I am here as a psychologist. I regard your use of hypnosis without the permission of the subject as completely unethical. I am surprised that you expect me to associate myself with such an act.”

Grosvenor said, “I assure you that my code of ethics is just as scrupulous as your own. While I have hypnotized these men without their permission, I have carefully refrained from taking advantage of it to harm or embarrass them in the slightest degree. Under the circumstances, I cannot see that you should feel obliged to take Kent’s side.”

Siedel frowned. “This is a quarrel between you and Kent — is that right?”

Grosvenor said, “Substantially.” He could guess what was coming.

“And yet,” said Siedel, “it is not Kent you have hypnotized, but a group of innocent bystanders.”

Grosvenor remembered how the four chemist technicians had acted at his lecture. Some of them at least were not quite innocent. He said, “I’m not going to argue with you about that. I could say that, from the beginning of time, the unthinking majority has paid the price for obeying without question the commands of leaders whose motivations they didn’t trouble themselves to inquire into. But rather than go into that, I’d like to ask one question.”

“Yes?” “Did you enter the technique room?”

Siedel nodded, but said nothing.

“You saw the records?” Grosvenor persisted.

“Yes.”

“You noticed what they dealt with?”

“Information on chemistry.”

“That’s all I’m giving them,” said Grosvenor. “That’s all I intend to give them. I regard my department as an educational centre. People who force themselves in here receive an education whether they like it or not.”

“I confess,” said Siedel, “I don’t see how that will help you get rid of them. However, I shall be happy to tell Mr. Kent what you are doing. He shouldn’t have any objection to his men learning more chemistry.”

Grosvenor did not answer. He had his own opinion as to how much Kent would like having a group of his underlings know, as they shortly would, as much as he did about his own speciality.

He watched gloomily as Siedel disappeared into the corridor. The man would undoubtedly give Kent a full report, which meant a new plan would have to be worked out. Standing there, Grosvenor decided that it was too soon for drastic defence measures. It was hard to be certain that any sustained, positive action would not produce on board the ship the very situation he was supposed to prevent. Despite his own reservations about cyclic history, it was well to remember that civilizations did seem to be born, grow older, and die of old age. Before he did anything more, he’d better hive a talk with Korita and find out what pitfalls he might inadvertently be heading towards.

He located the Japanese scientist at Library B, which was on the far side of the ship, on the same floor as the Nexial department. Korita was leaving as he came up, and Grosvenor fell in step beside him. Without preamble, he outlined his problem. Korita did not reply immediately. They walked the length of the corridor before the tall historian spoke, doubtfully. “My friend,” he said, “I’m sure you realize the difficulty of solving specific problems on the basis of generalizations, which is virtually all that the theory of cyclic history has to offer.”

“Still,” Grosvenor said, “a few analogies might be very useful to me. From what I’ve read on this subject, I gather we’re in the late, or ‘winter’, period of our own civilization. In other words, right now we are making the mistakes that lead to decay. I have a few ideas about that, but I’d like more.”

Korita shrugged. “I’ll try to put it briefly.” He was silent for a while, then he said, “The outstanding common denominator of the ‘winter’ periods of civilization is the growing comprehension on the part of millions of individuals of how things work. People become impatient with superstitious or supernatural explanations of what goes on in their minds and bodies, and in the world around them. With the gradual accumulation of knowledge, even the simplest minds for the first time ‘see through’ and consciously reject the claims of a minority to hereditary superiority. And the grim battle for equality is on.”

Korita paused for a moment, then continued. “It is this widespread struggle for personal aggrandisement that constitutes the most significant parallel between all the ‘winter’ periods in the civilizations of recorded history. For better or worse, the fight usually takes place within the framework of a legal system that tends to protect the entrenched minority. The late-comer to the field, not understanding his motivations, plunges blindly into the battle for power. The result is a veritable mêlée of undisciplined intelligence. In their resentment and lust, men follow leaders as confused as themselves. Repeatedly, the resulting disorder has led by well-defined steps to the final static fellahin state.

“Sooner or later, one group gains the ascendancy. Once in office, the leaders restore ‘order’ in so savage a blood-letting that the millions are cowed. Swiftly, the power group begins to restrict activities. The licensing systems and other regulative measures necessary to any organized society become tools of suppression and monopoly. It becomes difficult, then impossible, for the individual to engage in new enterprise. And so we progress by swift stages to the familiar caste system of ancient India, and to other, less well-known but equally inflexible societies, such as that of Rome after about A.D. 300. The individual is born into his station of life and cannot rise above it…. There, does that brief summary help you?”

Grosvenor said slowly, “As I’ve already said, I’m trying to solve the problem Mr. Kent has presented me without falling into the egotistical errors of the late-civilization man you have described. I want to know if I can reasonably hope to defend myself against him without aggravating the hostilities that already exist aboard the Beagle.”

Korita smiled wryly. “It will be a unique victory if you succeed. Historically, on a mass basis, the problem has never been solved. Well, good luck, young man!”

At that moment, it happened.