_New Earth!_ Fred was stunned but managed to keep silent.
"Sure," Charlesworth beamed, a big happy bear, "that way you get a
couple of days vacation at government expense, and no one's the wiser."
Fred shrugged, trying to appear normal. "I don't see anything wrong
with it." Hardly aware of his words, he was thinking rapidly. Why
convince me? Have the four of them sensed my attitude?
"There could be something so right with it!" Beth added. "If it turns
out to be what it seems, we'll take the news home. You don't find many
planets like this--"
_You sure don't!_ The young anthropologist gripped the chair arms,
again swept by nausea. He was sure he hadn't thought that or said it.
Was he hearing voices? Neither Beth nor John seemed to notice. He had
to get out of there, caught in a sudden claustrophobic nightmare.
"I don't need any convincing," he said, hoping it sounded convincing.
"I'm ready for that vacation right now. Good night." Drenched with
sweat, he stumbled from the cabin.
During the next few days, Fred went through a series of emotional
oscillations the like of which he'd never experienced. He'd nosedive
into the pit of depression; when he landed, he found himself atop the
peak of Mount Euphoria. Finally, however, he came to an important
conclusion. If he were ready for the squirrel factory, he'd wait until
the DLE 560 returned to Earth. He certainly didn't feel violent, so
he'd be crazy like a fox and keep his mouth shut.
He was amazed at the adaptability of the human psyche, for there were
three most-probable alternatives to face: he was mentally ill, the
other four were ditto, or all of them were. Facing that, he could be
quite calm. He doubted but didn't discount the possibility that they
were all sane.
* * * * *
After two days of self-imposed exile, he came out of his cabin. His
relations with the opposition--how easily he fell into the term!--were
polite but strained. Except Lodgesen. The two men, never cordial, now
fell into a state of cold war, characterized chiefly by refusal to
speak. This was the only open rupture.
Fred began to help them, to join their somewhat frenetic activities.
Apparently each was engaged in exploration, bringing back to the ship
samples of soil, rocks, vegetation, and the like. However, he was never
invited to go with them, and as time passed, he found it harder and
harder to reach them.
JoAnn was his last link. Perhaps it was the feeling of rapport they'd
had on the journey out here--or perhaps it was simply that she felt
sorry for his present state. In any event, Jo would talk freely to him.
* * * * *
It was late in the evening of the sixth day. Jo was showing him the
samples they'd collected a few hours earlier. The recreation area had
been hastily converted into a sort of museum. In it, the exhibit had
grown to an impressive pile ... of junk. But Jo was vivacious enough to
make a mummy jump, and he enjoyed listening to her.
"Don't you see, Fred? We've got huge amounts of data; New Earth is
a paradise, rich in everything we could possibly want. This is the
place where our peoples will want to come. We'll be hailed for this
discovery!"
For a moment, as she spoke, he did see through her eyes: the place man
had always dreamt of. This Eden abounded in game, in forests drained
by sparkling brooks. All of the riches were here; animal, vegetable,
mineral wealth were so plentiful that ... _that the streets were paved
with gold_, he thought sourly, as the vision faded. No, it was just a
common planet, undistinguished.
"Why don't we go home, Jo, and tell them?"
The blonde lost her sparkle, became blank. As though she hadn't heard
his question, she cast about nervously, picked up a rock.
"Look at this!" She was enthusiastic again. "Uranium! Dick Lodgesen has
been analyzing ores. He says the place is fantastically rich in heavy
minerals."
Fred turned the specimen in his hand. It was dense quartzite. Heavy
enough, but it lacked the other characteristics.
"What makes you think it isn't uranium?" she demanded furiously.
"I said nothing of the sort." Fred suddenly had the feeling of a clue,
especially because of Jo's reaction: again the blankness, again the
nervousness.
"I saw it in your face." Jo edged to the end of one table. "Here's
today's find. Seedless grapes, each as big as a lemon. Have one." She
held out her hand.
_There was nothing in it._
Fred didn't bat an eyelash; he'd grown used to shocks. He merely
replied, "No, thanks. Still full from dinner." And then integrated more
data.
They finished the tour at her cabin. From the time that the trip
started, and until the last few nights, Fred had insisted on "walking
the girl home." And each time, before he left her, he'd quasi-seriously
propositioned her with a request that the door be left open. It was
always shut, very firmly.
Tonight, Fred was grave. Almost curt, he said, "Goodnight. See you in
the morning."
"Wait." She smiled. "If you could learn to be as happy as we on this
planet, you might find the door open."
He smiled in return. "I'll think about it. Night." Fred strode away,
thinking: Jo, you'd make a lousy Mata Hari. But thanks for convincing
me I'm sane!
Relief brought emotional reaction; he wanted to laugh, but it was
aggressive, humorless laughter, and he couldn't afford it. Instead, he
permitted himself the luxury of silent anger. Complete. Total.
* * * * *
When the curtain of fury dissolved, Fred found himself in the
recreation area. Unknowingly, he'd wandered there. Unknowingly, he'd
arrived at a course of action--
_You won't have a chance to carry it out._
That voice again! It was inside his head. This time, however, Fred
straightened, unconsciously, said, "So I was wrong, and we did find
intelligent life."
_But not the sort you expected._
"Admitted. It's difficult to believe that a planet is alive."
_Why so? Logically, you animals are the difficult beliefs. Nearly
all else in the universe is direct--energy conversion, formation of
elements, and the like. You animals require many things to get started:
a planet; a fluid medium such as water; and the delicate balance
of conditions for food input and waste removal. In a sense, you're
parasites._
"Certainly. But why are you trying so hard to convince my friends to be
parasites?" Fred stopped for a second, struck by a thought. "Come to
think of it, why am I immune?"
_There is always a certain small percentage who have crossed mental
patterns, whom we can communicate with. What the others see as
desirable, you dislike. If you'll think a moment, you'll realize you've
always been that way._
Fred nodded. He was the eternal pessimist surrounded by optimists.
_My desire is simple. I want a population._
"Why?"
_We use animal intelligence. When you die, we absorb the life force
directly. It sustains our own._
"In a sense," Fred felt he'd scored, "you also are a parasite. You talk
as though there are other sentient planets in the universe."
_There are, though not in great numbers. Our life cycle is similar to
yours. We are born in cosmic space of elemental material; we attract
animal populations that have evolved on the dead planets, and thereby
gain the energy needed to live--just as you live from the lower
animals. We even grow old and die after two or three billion years. But
I'm young, and this is the first time I've been in this portion of the
galaxy--I need a population._
"You seem to know what's in my mind," Fred said calmly, "so I'm afraid
you're going to be disappointed."
_No, I need the others here for a little more time; they must be
completely convinced of my wonders so they can take the story home. I
can do without you, however. Why do you think I've bothered at all to
communicate with you?_
Fred's spine was icy. His mouth was dry, and all of the dark shapes
that terrified him throughout his youth came home to jibber behind his
back. But Fred was a man, and he refused to turn his head, to give in
to the fear. "I don't know why."
_I couldn't let you take the ship from my surface. I have no physical
control over you, and I can't speak directly to the others, only
influence their emotions. While I've delayed you, I've aroused one of
them.... Now you have your answer._
* * * * *
There was a step behind him. Expecting Lodgesen, Fred turned, stopped
in shock. The 6-1/2-foot, 285-pound bulk of Charlesworth stood poised,
then raced forward. Fred hadn't time to get set, bounced when the
automaton hit him, fell heavily against the exhibit table. Instantly,
Charlesworth had dropped on him. The big man's hands were around Fred's
throat.
His vision blurred; little spots of ink crept down over Charlesworth's
face; it was too much of an effort to lift his arms and try to push him
away.
There was a quick rush of thoughts. Wish you'd stop; it hurts. But
what's this? Something cool and heavy in my hand. I suppose I should
try it....
When Fred's head cleared, he saw Charlesworth stretched out beside him,
his chin split and bleeding. The hunk of quartzite lay between the
captain and Fred.
He hadn't the time to be glad he was alive. The others were up; running
footsteps were converging on him. He got up, staggered from the room.
Then, as strength returned, he raced for the control center.
He almost made it. But Beth suddenly appeared from the opposite end of
the corridor. Face contorted in some nameless horror, she screamed a
warning, ran towards the door to the center. And Beth was closer.
Agonizingly closer. She'd be there a step ahead of him, and if she got
that door locked--With crystal clarity, he knew it meant the end of
progress for the human race.
Fred, who was hardly aware of baseball, desperately arched his body
into a perfect slide. It got faint cheers from Cobb, Mays, and all the
kids who ever played sandlot ball. Beth's feet tangled with Fred's; she
stumbled against the door, tripped, and rolled into the corridor.
Fred scrambled inside, locked the door. He was home safe.
He would now bring them all home safe.
He couldn't know that the worst was coming.
* * * * *
Charlesworth gingerly felt his jaw as he walked into the recreation
area. "Did you have to clobber me so hard?"
Fred grinned weakly. "What are you complaining about? Did you have to
choke me so hard? After three days, I still can't swallow. And I've got
a busted toe where I hit that doorway."
"Speaking of which," Beth said, "I've got bruises on my arms and legs."
"I couldn't be feeling better." Jo delivered the line perfectly, broke
them up.
"We still have to thank you," Beth said, suddenly serious. "What a
nightmare!"
"Not thanks, Beth. I couldn't help myself any more than you. I can
imagine what you went through; I suspect it was even worse for Jo."