Some hundreds of light-years away, the _Jodrell Bank_ was making up
lost time on its Betelgeuse run.
Herrell McCray swept the long line from Sol to Betelgeuse, with his
perceptions that were not his eyes and his touch that was not of
matter, until he found it. The giant ship, fastest and hugest of
mankind's star vessels, was to him a lumbering tiny beetle.
It held friends and something else--something his body needed--air and
water and food. McCray did not know what would happen to him if, while
his mind was out in the stars, his body died. But he was not anxious to
find out.
McCray had not tried moving his physical body, but with what had
been done to his brain he could now do anything within the powers of
Hatcher's people. As they had swept him from ship to planet, so he
could now hurl his body back from planet to ship. He flexed muscles
of his mind that had never been used before, and in a moment his body
was slumped on the floor of the _Jodrell Bank's_ observation bubble.
In another moment he was in his body, opening his eyes and looking out
into the astonished face of Chris Stoerer, his junior navigator. "God
in heaven," whispered Stoerer. "It's you!"
"It is," said McCray hoarsely, through lips that were parched and
cracked, sitting up and trying the muscles of the body. It ached. He
was bone-weary. "Give me a hand getting out of this suit, will you?"
It was not easy to be a mind in a body again, McCray discovered. Time
had stopped for him. He had been soaring the star-lanes in his released
mind for hours; but while his mind had been liberated, his body, back
on Hatcher's "planet," had continued its slow metabolism, its steady
devouring of its tissues, its inevitable progress toward death. When he
had returned to it he found its pulse erratic and its breathing ragged.
A grinding knot of hunger seethed in its stomach. Its muscles ached.
Whatever might become of his mind, it was clear that his body would die
if it were left unfed and uncared-for much longer. So he had brought it
back to the _Jodrell Bank_. He stood up and avoided Chris's questions.
"Let me get something to eat, and then get cleaned up a little." (He
had discovered that his body stank.) "Then I'll tell you everything
you want to know--you and the captain, and anybody else who wants to
listen. And we'll have to send a dispatch to Earth, too, because this
is important.... But, please, I only want to tell it once." Because--he
did not say--I may not have time to tell it again.
For those cold and murderous presences in the clustered inner suns had
reached out as casually as a bear flicking a salmon out of a run and
snatched the unknown woman from Hatcher's planet. They could reach
anywhere in the galaxy their thoughts roamed.
They might easily follow him here.
* * * * *
It was good to be human again, and McCray howled with pain and joy as
the icy needle-spray of the showers cleansed his body. He devoured the
enormous plates of steak and potatoes the ship's galley shoved before
him, and drank chilled milk and steaming black coffee in alternate pint
mugs. McCray let the ship's surgeon look him over, and laughed at the
expression in the man's eyes. "I know I'm a little wobbly," he said.
"It doesn't matter, Doc. You can put me in the sickbay as long as you
like, as soon as I've talked to the captain. I won't mind a bit. You
see, I won't be there--" and he laughed louder, and would not explain.
An hour later, with food in his belly and something from the surgeon's
hypospray in his bloodstream to clear his brain, he was in the
captain's cabin, trying to spell out in words that made sense the
incredible story of (he discovered) eight days since he had been
abducted from the ship.
Looking at the ship's officers, good friends, companions on a dozen
planetside leaves, McCray started to speak, stumbled and was for a
moment without words. It was too incredible to tell. How could he make
them understand?
They would have to understand. Insane or not, the insane facts had
to be explained to them. However queerly they might stare, they were
intelligent men. They would resist but ultimately they would see.
He settled his problem by telling them baldly and plainly, without
looking at their faces and without waiting for their questions,
everything that had happened. He told them about Hatcher and about the
room in which he had come to. He told them about the pinkish light
that showed only what he concentrated on--and explained it to them,
as he had not understood it at first; about Hatcher's people, and how
their entire sense-world was built up of what humans called E.S.P.,
the "light" being only the focusing of thought, which sees no material
objects that it is not fixed on. He told them of the woman from the
other ship and the cruel, surgical touch on his brain that had opened
a universe to him. He promised that that universe would open for them
as well. He told them of the deadly, unknowable danger to Hatcher's
people--and to themselves--that lay at the galaxy's core. He told them
how the woman had disappeared, and told them she was dead--at the hands
of the Old Ones from the Central Masses--a blessing to her, McCray
explained, and a blessing to all of them; for although her mind would
yield some of its secrets even in death, if she were alive it would be
their guide, and the Old Ones would be upon them.
He did not wait for them to react.
He turned to the ship's surgeon. "Doc, I'm all yours now, body and
soul ... cancel that. Just body!"
And he left them, to swim once more in space.
* * * * *
In so short a time McCray had come to think of this as life, and a sort
of interregnum. He swept up and out, glancing back only to see the
ship's surgeon leaping forward to catch his unconscious body as it fell
and then he was in space between the stars once more.
Here, 'twixt Sol and Betelgeuse, space was clear, hard and cold, no
diffuse gas cloud, no new, growing suns. He "looked" toward Hatcher's
world, but hesitated and considered.
First or last, he would have to look once more upon the inimical
presences that had peered out at him from the Central Masses. It might
as well be now.
His perceptions alert, he plunged toward the heart of the galaxy.
Thought speeds where light plods. The mind of Herrell McCray covered
light-millenia in a moment. It skipped the drifty void between spiral
arms, threaded dust clouds, entered the compact central galactic
sphere to which our Earth's sector of the galaxy is only a remote and
unimportant appendage. Here a great globular cluster of suns massed
around a common center of gravity. McCray shrank himself to the
perspective of a human body and stared in wonder. Mankind's Sol lies in
a tenuous, stretched-out arm, thinly populated by stellar standards: if
Earth had circled one of these dense-clustered suns, what a different
picture of the sky would have greeted the early shepherds! Where Man's
Earthbound eyes are fortunate to count a thousand stars in a winter
sky, here were tens of thousands, bright enough to be a Sirius or a
Capella at the bottom of a sink of atmosphere like Earth's--tens of
billions of stars in all, whirling close to each other, so that star
greets star over distances that are hardly more than planetary. Sol's
nearest neighbor star is four light-years away. No single sun in this
dense, gyrating central mass was as much as one light-year from its
fellows.
Here were suns that had been blazing with mature, steady light when Sol
was a mere contracting mass of hydrogen--whose planets had cooled and
spawned life before Earth's hollows cupped the first scalding droplets
that were the beginnings of seas.
On these ancient worlds life existed.
McCray had not understood all of what Hatcher had tried to communicate
to him, but he had caught the terror in Hatcher's thoughts. Hatcher's
people had fled from these ancients many millenia before--fled and
hidden in the heart of the Orion gas cloud, their world and all. Yet
even there they were not safe. They knew that in time the Old Ones
would find them. And it was this fear that had led them to kidnap
humans, seeking allies in the war that could not forever be deferred.
Hatcher's people were creatures of thought. Man was the wielder
of physical forces--"paranormal" to Hatcher, as teleportation and
mind-seeing were "paranormal" to McCray. The Old Ones had mastered both.
McCray paused at the fringe of the cluster, waiting for the touch of
contemptuous hate. It came and he recoiled a thousand light-years
before he could stop.
To battle the Old Ones would be no easy match--yet time might work for
the human race. Already they controlled the electromagnetic spectrum,
and hydrogen fusion could exert the force of suns. With Hatcher's
help--and his own--Man would free his mind as well; and perhaps the Old
Ones would find themselves against an opponent as mighty as themselves.
He drew back from the Central Masses, no longer afraid, and swept out
to see Hatcher's planet.
It was gone.
* * * * *
In the great gas cloud the tunneling blue suns swept up their graze of
hydrogen, untroubled by planets. Themselves too young to have solid
satellites, Hatcher's adopted world removed again, they were alone.
Gone!
It was for a moment, a panicky thought. McCray realized what they had
done. Hatcher's greatest hope had been to find another race to stand
between his people and the Old Ones. And they had found it!
Now Hatcher's world could hide again and wait until the battle had been
fought for them.
With a face light-years across, with a brain made up of patterns in the
ether, McCray grinned wryly.
"Maybe they made the right choice," he thought, considering. "Maybe
they'd only be in the way when the showdown comes." And he sought out
_Jodrell Bank_ and his body once more, preparing to return to being
human ... and to teach his fellow-humans to be gods.
[Transcriber's Note: No Secton V heading in original]