_Out in the reaches of space an ultimate
disaster raced at light-speeds
toward Earth. Only a massive sacrifice
could save Mankind now. And so he
turned, as always, to his Eternal Mother._
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Amazing Stories September 1960.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Fred Kirr, stomach twisting with shock, turned from the viewscreen and
looked directly into the deep blue eyes of the girl. "Would you repeat
that?" he asked, fighting to keep urgency from his voice.
Ordinarily, JoAnn Chase's eyes danced merrily in tune with her
vivacious personality; now, however, they were filled with an inner
light akin to fanaticism, and Fred felt his scalp crawl. Without taking
her eyes from the planet, in a hypnotic-like state, Jo answered, "I
just said, 'Oh, my God!'"
"I know," Fred interjected hastily. "We were in complete agreement up
to that point. But what did you say next?"
"It's indescribably lovely, heavenly! Compared to it, Earth is a
desiccated old hag, a vapid, colorless rock that tediously circles the
sun."
Fred thought silently: When we left Earth, a few days ago, you looked
back and called her a blue-green jewel. Then, to check himself, he
looked once more at the planet, even now perceptibly larger in the
center of the screen. Heavenly? Far from it, a diametric opposite,
for he still saw in it a face that might have been dredged from the
nightmare horror of his unconscious. It was a face from hell, and he
couldn't shake the impression. Even if he wanted to be dispassionate
in evaluation, he'd still have to call the cancerous blob a desert
planet....
"Jo!" Fred's call was a plea for help, "I've got to speak to you--"
The girl interrupted with an impatient shake of her blonde locks,
put a finger to her lips. For a moment, Fred was reminded of a small
boy being quieted during the Sunday sermon. His confusion and fear
came boiling out as aggression. After all, this _was_ only a
planet; Jo hadn't the right to make it a religious ceremony. He stamped
away ... but soon was wrestling with the problem again; Fred was too
well trained in the scientific method not to. Given: two reasonably
competent observers. Event: a planet that the expedition had set out
to find. Descriptions: completely opposite. Conclusion: well, what? Is
sanity to be questioned? Whose? And be honest with yourself. Add the
overtones of what could be emotional involvement with a girl you've
only recently met.
* * * * *
Fred was surprised to find himself in the ship's control center. The
hugeness of Captain John Charlesworth was bent over a star chart.
Charlesworth was a big, solid man who loved living. He had taught
Fred practically everything there was to know about operating the
ship--with automation being what it was, he was able to do it in the
three days they'd been traveling. The two men were friends from the
time they'd been introduced, so perhaps it wasn't strange that Fred
should be here.
"John," Fred began without preamble, "there's something about that
planet--"
Charlesworth's face split into a grin. "There sure is! Beauty, isn't
she? Thought you'd like it. If we find life, it'll be there."
Fred was caught short. It was another strike against him. Some instinct
warned him to be quiet, and he left as soon as he could. "Curiouser and
curiouser," he mused, then reached a decision. He had a purpose now.
The other two members of the expedition were also watching the
approach to the planet. Fred found them in the recreation area.
Richard Lodgesen, the lean, tall chemist-physicist, looked up at
Fred's approach, said with a supercilious air, "I should think the
anthropology section would be studying the planet as hard as we."
* * * * *
Data, Fred, data! Ignore the jerk; just integrate this information: he
was easily distracted. "I _am_ studying. What do you think of it?"
Lodgesen smiled warmly, the first time he'd reacted pleasantly around
Fred. "I think we're all of the same opinion. This discovery will rock
'em up back home."
"And you, Beth?"
Beth Rosen, their data coordinator, _Huh?ed_, and gave Fred her
attention grudgingly. "My opinion? It's ... it's like coming home,
Fred. Why do you ask?"
Of them all, Beth was the only one who was curious about Fred's
activities. "No important reason," he was suddenly aware of a bead of
sweat on his forehead as he looked at the screen. Home? More like the
poorhouse. But he continued to lie, "Just doing a little survey." He
wandered away, thoughts in turmoil.
He must be careful of Beth. He'd learned very fast to respect her on
both professional and interpersonal grounds. The gal had a mind like a
steel trap; she had a body that caused males--adolescents to elders--to
fantasy, and females--of _any_ age--to envy. Beth, as data coordinator,
had a role on the ground similar to Charlesworth's in space. Although
the data coordinator rarely went to extremes, she or he was fed all
information the expedition collected, had ultimate power for decision
and responsibility.
And how was Fred to give her this information? Add it up--but it
wouldn't add. JoAnn Chase, semantics, deeply taken with the planet;
Beth Rosen, data coordinator, in a state of lassitude but not
as strongly influenced as Jo; John Charlesworth, captain, highly
enthusiastic; Richard Lodgesen, chemistry-physics, showing more joyous
emotion than the cold fish could possibly be expected to; and Fred
Kirr, anthropology, who tended as far toward dislike as Beth did like,
possibly as far as Jo.
Item: no one acted abnormal.
Item: on the basis of very bad statistical sampling, it seemed the
women were reacting far more than the men to this particular encounter.
Item: you, Fred Kirr, are the only one to have an anti-reaction.
Are you insane? No, you've always been this way. In school, the
times you got good grades were when you were sure you'd flunked. Or,
take your Tanganyika discovery in 1965: a complete skeleton of the
Dryopithecinae, showing anthropoid differentiation by late Miocene.
The scientific world hailed this as strong evidence that, in _Life's_
words, "the evolution of that primate called 'man' began fantastically
farther back than we'd ever before dreamed." Your reaction was
discouragement; there was too much conclusion jumping; nothing at all
had been proved.
Come to think of it, all 28 of your years have been spent with reverse
reaction. And now you have a situation that must soon be resolved.
* * * * *
Fred shook his head. The change in the others seemed so sudden. It was
only a few hours ago that the ship had come out of hyper.
He'd been watching the newly visible star system wondering, Will you be
the one? Somewhere in your depths, is there the key to our mystery?
"Hi, Gloomy Gus!" JoAnn joined him, excited pleasure bubbling from her.
"Gloomy--"
"All right, you weren't being gloomy, just concentrating. You're still
known to the rest of us as Gloomy Gus...." She giggled.
"I was thinking about intelligent life," Fred said.
"I'll bet," the girl added, "you were thinking I wouldn't have a job
because, as usual, we won't find it. But we're _bound_ to, eventually,
so why not now?"
He had to smile; her attitude was infectious. "Matter of fact, I _was_
thinking we'd miss. I even wonder what we're doing out here--"
Charlesworth's voice, on the intercom, broke in: "Attention, please. We
have come out of hyperspace in the constellation Taurus. As you know,
nothing has been said about our destination; this is done to avoid
prejudicing you. I'll now play the recorded instructions from General
Anderson."
A new voice took over, sounding even more mechanical. "Ladies and
gentlemen, you are making history. Whatever you do will make history,
United States' history--"
Fred, the only member who'd been out before, said, "They always begin
that way. You'd think--"
Jo shooshed him, and they continued listening. "This expedition is one
of the many under the administration of the National Aeronautics and
Space Administration and coordinated by the joint armed forces. You
are aboard the Exploration Frigate DLE 560, also known as USS Taurus.
The general volume of space around you is the Taurus moving cluster,
a roughly globular group of 100 stars. Your destination is the Hyades
open cluster, specifically Gamma Tauri.
"Your primary mission is, as always, to find and contact intelligent
life. However, secondarily, you may be able to shed some light on the
phenomenon we call 'moving clusters.' These are ill-defined groups of
stars, all in parallel motion.
"Taurus is moving away from us at 28.5 miles per second. Now 130 light
years away, the group was closest to us--some 65 light years--only 800
thousand years ago...."
Fred stopped listening. Why, that long ago, man was already
differentiated. In another half-million years, more or less, the
gang around the old juke box in Java would be using fire ... only
he wouldn't really be man, just an unreasonable facsimile. Man? He
wouldn't show up for another 450 millennia--too soon, too soon.
Something's got to be done about our theories: in 25,000 years, we
appeared as a clever savage, developed to our present state. What were
we doing in all the years the lower hominids were evolving? Where were
we?
No matter. In 25,000 years, we haven't had a chance to mature. Because
of political pressure, DLE 560 is out into the universe, trying to
befriend other intelligences. And so are a host of other peoples from
Earth: peoples who owe their allegiance to imaginary lines on Earth's
surface. Suppose we do make contact? Can we--man, that is--handle the
job? _Have_ we matured? Why are we here?
* * * * *
The learning curve is exponential. It took man nearly 50 years to
go from Jenny to jet, from Kittyhawk to Canaveral. It took him
little more than a decade to go from _Titan_ to transcontinuum, from
exploring Earth to exploring the universe. And man being a contrary,
contumacious, cockeyed Cat, it wasn't a good thing, Man.
There were some cynics who thought it was the most miserable thing
that could happen to the universe. They based this on the shrieking
ambivalence man displayed in the total course of events, primarily
bad, he'd created and lived through. He began meekly enough. Hunted
and planted and found a little leisure. With that commodity, he set up
special caves and began to paint, to sculpture, to philosophize.
Then he changed. Maybe it was the cold draughts in the caves, maybe
it was the old lady complaining about the draughts, or maybe it was
plain frustration: he'd been trying, for a couple of thousand years,
to invent writing and had failed. In any event, man was suddenly
different. He found that scrambled brains--his neighbor's--were good
eating. Ever the artist, he enjoyed the color of blood much more than
those dull old mineral pigments. If a couple of the guys sneaked up
behind a herd of horses and suddenly scared them, what fun! The whole
herd would stampede off a cliff.
Aesthetic? Certainly. He went back into the caves and tried his
hand at dirty pictures; had to give that up, though, until he
invented plain brown envelopes and photography. Anyway, he'd lost
the touch ... except in one area. These products were works of art, a
delight to behold: man was making the damnedest, finest arrowheads and
spear points he'd ever seen.
She, who may have jerked him out of the cave in the beginning,
continued to warm her feet on his back, with the result that he'd go
out and knock over a country rich in coal deposits. She didn't really
like it, but she was stuck with it. Certainly, she was carrying out
her function. If there were a war or two too many, she could always up
production--having discovered how well before they set up cave-keeping.
The flutter of an eyelash or an exposed ankle ... she carried out her
function, and the population kept rising.
* * * * *
By the opening of the twentieth century, however, she'd grown
apprehensive. Man was playing with bigger and bigger boom-boom toys.
She tried to exert control, discovered too late it was out of her
hands. For one day, man brought home the keenest, ginger-peachiest job
of them all. Like maybe he could blow himself to hell with an atomic
bomb.
Elders had shaken their heads over it; youngsters had joined them when
the fusion bomb came next. And the world settled down to hold its
breath while the two leading powers fenced economically--with Russia
thrusting and the U. S. parrying.
* * * * *
Suddenly, two other nations appeared on the world scene--rather,
reappeared. Great Britain, at one time the strongest nation, in one
stroke became the richest: Britain, of necessity, for years had been
researching magnetohydrodynamics in an effort to get controlled fusion.
While the two "leading" powers were threatening one another, the
British engineered practical atomics and had energy to burn, if the
phrase will be excused.
And then there was France. Long influential in world history, this
small country was reduced by two wars to a minor position. France had
at one time been the seat of scientific progress in the world. The
French regained status when they got antigravity. Zwicky, at Cal Tech,
had long ago shown that the effect of gravity occurred either twice or
one-half the speed of light. Apparently no one paid much attention,
except for a few obscure French philosophers.
And so, in the course of eight months in 1964-1965, the focus of power
in the world again shifted to the English Channel. Of course, these
developments were secret. If the U. S. and U. S. S. R. were left with
their tongues hanging out, they didn't realize it. But not for long.
You just can't keep things like that secret. And man being what he
is....
The French were spying on the British; the British on the Russians; the
Russians on the United States; and the U. S. was spying on all three.
Antigravity had its limits. With it, you could never exceed light
speed because you were confined to the physical, Einsteinian universe.
What was needed was raw energy to warp the continuum, fold it like a
piece of paper, and punch a hole through it as a short cut. That's
where controlled fusion came in. And even though it required tons of
equipment, antigravity made it possible to get those tons off the
ground.
By 1970, the four powers were racing to explore the universe. If
anything, relations between them were worse. All gave lip service to
the noble idea of finding intelligent life; actually, the world knew
that the first nation to find such life would be enlisting a powerful
ally, creating a shift in power that might mean control.
There were exceptions. Take Russia, who'd brought the Red Chinese along
too fast. As many had predicted as far back as 1941, the U. S. S. R.
was now trying to play footsie with the West. Unfortunately, there no
longer was a West as such. Each was to its own. So the world groaned
under a new burden when it was rumored that the Chinese were working on
their first transcontinuum ship.
With the power of fusion at his command, man had everything he could
possibly want. But it had come too soon; he was unaware. Instead, he
went into space looking for intelligence equal to or greater than his
own, looking for a new club to use against his neighbors on Earth.
Man, the cynics said, was too immature, would destroy himself before
1980--himself and the life he's trying to find. The cynics were in
overwhelming preponderance. Yet a few voices were raised in hope: Don't
let this throw you, but is it possible that the artist-philosopher had
again come to the fore?
* * * * *
The shift in the others had seemed abrupt to Fred. They were far more
interested in that damned planet than in him; this should have been
perfectly natural except for the speed of occurrence.
As the only space veteran, Fred was listened to carefully. Further,
as the anthropologist, he was in a position to tell them things they
wanted to know.
Soon after they'd come out of hyper, the group gathered in the
recreation area. In the three days of the trip, they'd grown used to
meeting there for discussion. And this time, they were excited about
the possibility of life.
"Somehow," Jo said, "I feel that _we_ are destined to do what none of
the others has done."
There was general concurrence. "Right!" Charlesworth interjected.
Fred frowned, shook his head.
"Why not? How can you know, Kirr?" Lodgesen, as usual, was his snobbish
self.
"Why not? You ought to know more than I about randomness and screwed-up
statistics, Lodgesen." Fred was on his feet for emphasis. "Frankly,
from what we've learned out here, I'd rather count on winning the
sweepstakes ... without having a ticket. That's how bad the odds are."
"Fred," Beth said softly, "we concede you know your business; and you
were on two other expeditions that found traces of very high orders of
intelligence on deserted planets. But why do you feel so strongly? I
should think those traces would be encouraging."
Again he shook his head. "It's not that simple. Here's the run-down:
five years ago we began sending out expeditions. So did the other
countries. Naturally, we tried the stars nearest us; so did they.
We've very effectively covered the nearest parts of the galaxy. No
life."
"But evidence of it," Lodgesen objected. "Counting all extinct cultures
found by the various powers, I'd guess the total is upwards of 10 or
11."
Fred smiled humorously. "The total is _47_ finds; for some reason, no
one is telling all. Security. Fortunately, Dr. Kousansky is a good
friend of mine, and Professeur de Poitiers is a friend of his, and so
on down the line.
"We're guessing, of course, but it seems our little corner of the
universe is deserted. A more profitable question than _where?_ is
_why?_ You might also be interested in the times involved; they're
lengthy enough to cause head scratching. Wendell, at London University,
came up with the oldest--some 585 thousand years, based on radioactive
dating, but he won't guarantee the figure any closer than +/- 50
thousand. And the French, as you know, were the first out; de Poitiers
did a very thorough job on Alpha Centauri IV. Until 30 thousand years
ago, give or take, she had a thriving little community. I don't think
you're going to find intelligent life this close, even within 500 light
years. To me, the wonder is why we're here at all when everyone else
has left."
There it was. He'd let them have it between the eyes, and they resented
it. From that time on, he was something of a pariah. Even Jo seemed
to be ignoring him. The nearer they came to planetfall, the worse it
got. At least she lost that look of inner truth, but she was terribly,
terribly busy. For what? Obviously, preparing for what they should find.
The USS Taurus circled the planet, Gamma Tauri II. As Fred had
expected, it seemed a negative quantity, just another of those hunks of
cosmic mediocrity. By the third trip, he was completely convinced this
thing had evolved nothing. He was more relieved than he cared to admit;
now Charlesworth would go on. There were more promising planets in the
system.
He'd spent the last hour writing his report--NASA/DD Form E-72, Rev.
B in triplicate--when it occurred to him that Charlesworth had made
no announcement. Fred went to the captain's cabin, found Beth in
discussion with him.
"Glad you're here; we want to talk something over," Charlesworth said.
There was a pause, and Fred, watching the other two, felt as though he
were an intruder.
"Sure," he said, dropping into a chair.
"You're sort of strait-laced, but rules are made to be broken...."
Charlesworth's voice trailed off.