Produced by Greg Weeks, Bruce Albrecht, Louise Pryor and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
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[Transcriber's note:
This etext was produced from Astounding Science Fiction August 1959.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright
on this publication was renewed.]
THE ALIENS
BY MURRAY LEINSTER
Illustrated by van Dongen
[Illustration]
_The human race was expanding through the galaxy ... and so, they
knew, were the Aliens. When two expanding empires meet ... war is
inevitable. Or is it ...?_
At 04 hours 10 minutes, ship time, the _Niccola_ was well inside the
Theta Gisol solar system. She had previously secured excellent evidence
that this was not the home of the Plumie civilization. There was no tuned
radiation. There was no evidence of interplanetary travel--rockets would
be more than obvious, and a magnetronic drive had a highly characteristic
radiation-pattern--so the real purpose of the _Niccola's_ voyage would
not be accomplished here. She wouldn't find out where Plumies came from.
There might, though, be one or more of those singular, conical,
hollow-topped cairns sheltering silicon-bronze plates, which constituted
the evidence that Plumies existed. The _Niccola_ went sunward toward the
inner planets to see. Such cairns had been found on conspicuous landmarks
on oxygen-type planets over a range of some twelve hundred light-years.
By the vegetation about them, some were a century old. On the same
evidence, others had been erected only months or weeks or even days
before a human Space Survey ship arrived to discover them. And the
situation was unpromising. It wasn't likely that the galaxy was big
enough to hold two races of rational beings capable of space travel. Back
on ancient Earth, a planet had been too small to hold two races with
tools and fire. Historically, that problem was settled when _Homo
sapiens_ exterminated _Homo neanderthalis_. It appeared that the same
situation had arisen in space. There were humans, and there were Plumies.
Both had interstellar ships. To humans, the fact was alarming. The need
for knowledge, and the danger that Plumies might know more first, and
thereby be able to exterminate humanity, was appalling.
Therefore the _Niccola_. She drove on sunward. She had left one frozen
outer planet far behind. She had crossed the orbits of three others. The
last of these was a gas giant with innumerable moonlets revolving about
it. It was now some thirty millions of miles back and twenty to one side.
The sun, ahead, flared and flamed in emptiness against that expanse of
tinted stars.
Jon Baird worked steadily in the _Niccola's_ radar room. He was one of
those who hoped that the Plumies would not prove to be the natural
enemies of mankind. Now, it looked like this ship wouldn't find out in
this solar system. There were plenty of other ships on the hunt. From
here on, it looked like routine to the next unvisited family of planets.
But meanwhile he worked. Opposite him, Diane Holt worked as steadily, her
dark head bent intently over a radar graph in formation. The immediate
job was the completion of a map of the meteor swarms following cometary
orbits about this sun. They interlaced emptiness with hazards to
navigation, and nobody would try to drive through a solar system without
such a map.
Elsewhere in the ship, everything was normal. The engine room was a place
of stillness and peace, save for the almost inaudible hum of the drive,
running at half a million Gauss flux-density. The skipper did whatever
skippers do when they are invisible to their subordinates. The weapons
officer, Taine, thought appropriate thoughts. In the navigation room the
second officer conscientiously glanced at each separate instrument at
least once in each five minutes, and then carefully surveyed all the
screens showing space outside the ship. The stewards disposed of the
debris of the last meal, and began to get ready for the next. In the
crew's quarters, those off duty read or worked at scrimshaw, or simply
and contentedly loafed.
Diane handed over the transparent radar graph, to be fitted into the
three-dimensional map in the making.
"There's a lump of stuff here," she said interestedly. "It could be the
comet that once followed this orbit, now so old it's lost all its gases
and isn't a comet any longer."
* * * * *
At this instant, which was 04 hours 25 minutes ship time, the alarm-bell
rang. It clanged stridently over Baird's head, repeater-gongs sounded all
through the ship, and there was a scurrying and a closing of doors. The
alarm gong could mean only one thing. It made one's breath come faster or
one's hair stand on end, according to temperament.
The skipper's face appeared on the direct-line screen from the navigation
room.
"_Plumies?_" he demanded harshly. "_Mr. Baird! Plumies?_"
Baird's hands were already flipping switches and plugging the radar room
apparatus into a new setup.
"There's a contact, sir," he said curtly. "No. There was a contact. It's
broken now. Something detected us. We picked up a radar pulse. One."
The word "one" meant much. A radar system that could get adequate
information from a single pulse was not the work of amateurs. It was the
product of a very highly developed technology. Setting all equipment to
full-globular scanning, Baird felt a certain crawling sensation at the
back of his neck. He'd been mapping within a narrow range above and below
the line of this system's ecliptic. A lot could have happened outside the
area he'd had under long-distance scanning.
But seconds passed. They seemed like years. The all-globe scanning
covered every direction out from the _Niccola_. Nothing appeared which
had not been reported before. The gas-giant planet far behind, and the
only inner one on this side of the sun, would return their pulses only
after minutes. Meanwhile the radars reported very faintfully, but they
only repeated previous reports.
"No new object within half a million miles," said Baird, after a suitable
interval. Presently he added: "Nothing new within three-quarter million
miles." Then: "Nothing new within a million miles ..."
The skipper said bitingly:
"_Then you'd better check on objects that are not new!_" He turned aside,
and his voice came more faintly as he spoke into another microphone.
"_Mr. Taine! Arm all rockets and have your tube crews stand by in combat
readiness! Engine room! Prepare drive for emergency maneuvers!
Damage-control parties, put on pressure suits and take combat posts with
equipment!_" His voice rose again in volume. "_Mr. Baird! How about
observed objects?_"
Diane murmured. Baird said briefly:
"Only one suspicious object, sir--and that shouldn't be suspicious. We
are sending an information-beam at something we'd classed as a burned-out
comet. Pulse going out now, sir."
Diane had the distant-information transmitter aimed at what she'd said
might be a dead comet. Baird pressed the button. An extraordinary complex
of information-seeking frequencies and forms sprang into being and leaped
across emptiness. There were microwaves of strictly standard amplitude,
for measurement-standards. There were frequencies of other values, which
would be selectively absorbed by this material and that. There were
laterally and circularly polarized beams. When they bounced back, they
would bring a surprising amount of information.
They returned. They did bring back news. The thing that had registered as
a larger lump in a meteor-swarm was not a meteor at all. It returned four
different frequencies with a relative-intensity pattern which said that
they'd been reflected by bronze--probably silicon bronze. The polarized
beams came back depolarized, of course, but with phase-changes which said
the reflector had a rounded, regular form. There was a smooth hull of
silicon bronze out yonder. There was other data.
"It will be a Plumie ship, sir," said Baird very steadily. "At a guess,
they picked up our mapping beam and shot a single pulse at us to find out
who and what we were. For another guess, by now they've picked up and
analyzed our information-beam and know what we've found out about them."
The skipper scowled.
"_How many of them?_" he demanded. "_Have we run into a fleet?_"
"I'll check, sir," said Baird. "We picked up no tuned radiation from
outer space, sir, but it could be that they picked us up when we came out
of overdrive and stopped all their transmissions until they had us in a
trap."
"_Find out how many there are!_" barked the skipper. "_Make it quick!
Report additional data instantly!_"
His screen clicked off. Diane, more than a little pale, worked swiftly to
plug the radar-room equipment into a highly specialized pattern. The
_Niccola_ was very well equipped, radar-wise. She'd been a type G8 Survey
ship, and on her last stay in port she'd been rebuilt especially to hunt
for and make contact with Plumies. Since the discovery of their
existence, that was the most urgent business of the Space Survey. It
might well be the most important business of the human race--on which its
survival or destruction would depend. Other remodeled ships had gone out
before the _Niccola_, and others would follow until the problem was
solved. Meanwhile the _Niccola's_ twenty-four rocket tubes and
stepped-up drive and computer-type radar system equipped her for
Plumie-hunting as well as any human ship could be. Still, if she'd been
lured deep into the home system of the Plumies, the prospects were not
good.
* * * * *
The new setup began its operation, instantly the last contact closed. The
three-dimensional map served as a matrix to control it. The
information-beam projector swung and flung out its bundle of
oscillations. It swung and flashed, and swung and flashed. It had to
examine every relatively nearby object for a constitution of silicon
bronze and a rounded shape. The nearest objects had to be examined first.
Speed was essential. But three-dimensional scanning takes time, even at
some hundreds of pulses per minute.
Nevertheless, the information came in. No other silicon-bronze object
within a quarter-million miles. Within half a million. A million. A
million and a half. Two million ...
Baird called the navigation room.
"Looks like a single Plumie ship, sir," he reported. "At least there's
one ship which is nearest by a very long way."
"_Hah!_" grunted the skipper. "_Then we'll pay him a visit. Keep an open
line, Mr. Baird!_" His voice changed. "_Mr. Taine! Report here at once to
plan tactics!_"
Baird shook his head, to himself. The _Niccola's_ orders were to make
contact without discovery, if such a thing were possible. The ideal would
be a Plumie ship or the Plumie civilization itself, located and subject
to complete and overwhelming envelopment by human ships--before the
Plumies knew they'd been discovered. And this would be the human ideal
because humans have always had to consider that a stranger might be
hostile, until he'd proven otherwise.
Such a viewpoint would not be optimism, but caution. Yet caution was
necessary. It was because the Survey brass felt the need to prepare for
every unfavorable eventuality that Taine had been chosen as weapons
officer of the _Niccola_. His choice had been deliberate, because he was
a xenophobe. He had been a problem personality all his life. He had a
seemingly congenital fear and hatred of strangers--which in mild cases is
common enough, but Taine could not be cured without a complete breakdown
of personality. He could not serve on a ship with a multiracial crew,
because he was invincibly suspicious of and hostile to all but his own
small breed. Yet he seemed ideal for weapons officer on the _Niccola_,
provided he never commanded the ship. Because _if_ the Plumies were
hostile, a well-adjusted, normal man would never think as much like them
as a Taine. He was capable of the kind of thinking Plumies might
practice, if they were xenophobes themselves.
But to Baird, so extreme a precaution as a known psychopathic condition
in an officer was less than wholly justified. It was by no means certain
that the Plumies would instinctively be hostile. Suspicious, yes.
Cautious, certainly. But the only fact known about the Plumie
civilization came from the cairns and silicon-bronze inscribed tablets
they'd left on oxygen-type worlds over a twelve-hundred-light-year range
in space, and the only thing to be deduced about the Plumies themselves
came from the decorative, formalized symbols like feathery plumes which
were found on all their bronze tablets. The name "Plumies" came from that
symbol.
Now, though, Taine was called to the navigation room to confer on
tactics. The _Niccola_ swerved and drove toward the object Baird
identified as a Plumie ship. This was at 05 hours 10 minutes ship time.
The human ship had a definite velocity sunward, of course. The Plumie
ship had been concealed by the meteor swarm of a totally unknown comet.
It was an excellent way to avoid observation. On the other hand, the
_Niccola_ had been mapping, which was bound to attract attention. Now
each ship knew of the other's existence. Since the _Niccola_ had been
detected, she had to carry out orders and attempt a contact to gather
information.
* * * * *
Baird verified that the _Niccola's_ course was exact for interception at
her full-drive speed. He said in a flat voice:
"I wonder how the Plumies will interpret this change of course? They know
we're aware they're not a meteorite. But charging at them without even
trying to communicate could look ominous. We could be stupid, or too
arrogant to think of anything but a fight." He pressed the skipper's call
and said evenly: "Sir, I request permission to attempt to communicate
with the Plumie ship. We're ordered to try to make friends if we know
we've been spotted."
Taine had evidently just reached the navigation room. His voice snapped
from the speaker:
"_I advise against that, sir! No use letting them guess our level of
technology!_"
Baird said coldly:
"They've a good idea already. We beamed them for data."
There was silence, with only the very faint humming sound which was
natural in the ship in motion. It would be deadly to the nerves if there
were absolute silence. The skipper grumbled:
"_Requests and advice! Dammit! Mr. Baird, you might wait for orders! But
I was about to ask you to try to make contact through signals. Do so._"
His speaker clicked off. Baird said:
"It's in our laps. Diane. And yet we have to follow orders. Send the
first roll."
Diane had a tape threaded into a transmitter. It began to unroll through
a pickup head. She put on headphones. The tape began to transmit toward
the Plumie. Back at base it had been reasoned that a pattern of
clickings, plainly artificial and plainly stating facts known to both
races, would be the most reasonable way to attempt to open contact. The
tape sent a series of cardinal numbers--one to five. Then an addition
table, from one plus one to five plus five. Then a multiplication table
up to five times five. It was not startlingly intellectual information to
be sent out in tiny clicks ranging up and down the radio spectrum. But it
was orders.
Baird sat with compressed lips. Diane listened for a repetition of any of
the transmitted signals, sent back by the Plumie. The speakers about the
radar room murmured the orders given through all the ship. Radar had to
be informed of all orders and activity, so it could check their results
outside the ship. So Baird heard the orders for the engine room to be
sealed up and the duty-force to get into pressure suits, in case the
_Niccola_ fought and was hulled. Damage-control parties reported
themselves on post, in suits, with equipment ready. Then Taine's voice
snapped: "_Rocket crews, arm even-numbered rockets with chemical
explosive warheads. Leave odd-numbered rockets armed with atomics. Report
back!_"
Diane strained her ears for possible re-transmission of the _Niccola's_
signals, which would indicate the Plumie's willingness to try
conversation. But she suddenly raised her hand and pointed to the
radar-graph instrument. It repeated the positioning of dots which were
stray meteoric matter in the space between worlds in this system. What
had been a spot--the Plumie ship--was now a line of dots. Baird pressed
the button.
"Radar reporting!" he said curtly. "The Plumie ship is heading for us.
I'll have relative velocity in ten seconds."
He heard the skipper swear. Ten seconds later the Doppler measurement
became possible. It said the Plumie plunged toward the _Niccola_ at miles
per second. In half a minute it was tens of miles per second. There was
no re-transmission of signals. The Plumie ship had found itself
discovered. Apparently it considered itself attacked. It flung itself
into a headlong dash for the _Niccola_.
* * * * *
Time passed--interminable time. The sun flared and flamed and writhed in
emptiness. The great gas-giant planet rolled through space in splendid
state, its moonlets spinning gracefully about its bulk. The
oxygen-atmosphere planet to sunward was visible only as a crescent, but
the mottlings on its lighted part changed as it revolved--seas and
islands and continents receiving the sunlight as it turned. Meteor
swarms, so dense in appearance on a radar screen, yet so tenuous in
reality, floated in their appointed orbits with a seeming vast leisure.
The feel of slowness was actually the result of distance. Men have always
acted upon things close by. Battles have always been fought within
eye-range, anyhow. But it was actually 06 hours 35 minutes ship time
before the two spacecraft sighted each other--more than two hours after
they plunged toward a rendezvous.
The Plumie ship was a bright golden dot, at first. It decelerated
swiftly. In minutes it was a rounded, end-on disk. Then it swerved
lightly and presented an elliptical broadside to the _Niccola_. The
_Niccola_ was in full deceleration too, by then. The two ships came very
nearly to a stop with relation to each other when they were hardly twenty
miles apart--which meant great daring on both sides.
Baird heard the skipper grumbling:
"_Damned cocky!_" He roared suddenly: "_Mr. Baird! How've you made out in
communicating with them?_"
"Not at all, sir," said Baird grimly. "They don't reply."
He knew from Diane's expression that there was no sound in the headphones
except the frying noise all main-sequence stars give out, and the
infrequent thumping noises that come from gas-giant planets' lower
atmospheres, and the Jansky-radiation hiss which comes from everywhere.
The skipper swore. The Plumie ship lay broadside to, less than a score of
miles away. It shone in the sunlight. It acted with extraordinary
confidence. It was as if it dared the _Niccola_ to open fire.
Taine's voice came out of a speaker, harsh and angry:
"_Even-numbered tubes prepare to fire on command._"
Nothing happened. The two ships floated sunward together, neither
approaching nor retreating. But with every second, the need for action of
some sort increased.
"_Mr. Baird!_" barked the skipper. "_This is ridiculous! There must be
some way to communicate! We can't sit here glaring at each other forever!
Raise them! Get some sort of acknowledgment!_"
"I'm trying," said Baird bitterly, "according to orders!"
But he disagreed with those orders. It was official theory that
arithmetic values, repeated in proper order, would be the way to open
conversation. The assumption was that any rational creature would grasp
the idea that orderly signals were rational attempts to open
communication.
But it had occurred to Baird that a Plumie might not see this point.
Perception of order is not necessarily perception of information--in
fact, quite the contrary. A message is a disturbance of order. A
microphone does not transmit a message when it sends an unvarying tone. A
message has to be unpredictable or it conveys no message. Orderly clicks,
even if overheard, might seem to Plumies the result of methodically
operating machinery. A race capable of interstellar flight was not likely
to be interested or thrilled by exercises a human child goes through in
kindergarten. They simply wouldn't seem meaningful at all.
But before he could ask permission to attempt to make talk in a more
sophisticated fashion, voices exclaimed all over the ship. They came
blurringly to the loud-speakers. "_Look at that!_" "_What's he do--_"
"_Spinning like--_" From every place where there was a vision-plate on
the _Niccola_, men watched the Plumie ship and babbled.
This was at 06 hours 50 minutes ship time.
* * * * *
The elliptical golden object darted into swift and eccentric motion.
Lacking an object of known size for comparison, there was no scale. The
golden ship might have been the size of an autumn leaf, and in fact its
maneuvers suggested the heedless tumblings and scurrying of falling
foliage. It fluttered in swift turns and somersaults and spinnings. There
were weavings like the purposeful feints of boxers not yet come to
battle. There were indescribably graceful swoops and loops and curving
dashes like some preposterous dance in emptiness.
Taine's voice crashed out of a speaker:
"_All even-number rockets_," he barked. "_Fire!_"
[Illustration]
The skipper roared a countermand, but too late. The crunching, grunting
sound of rockets leaving their launching tubes came before his first
syllable was complete. Then there was silence while the skipper gathered
breath for a masterpiece of profanity. But Taine snapped:
"_That dance was a sneak-up! The Plumie came four miles nearer while we
watched!_"
Baird jerked his eyes from watching the Plumie. He looked at the master
radar. It was faintly blurred with the fading lines of past gyrations,
but the golden ship was much nearer the _Niccola_ than it had been.
"Radar reporting," said Baird sickishly. "Mr. Taine is correct. The
Plumie ship did approach us while it danced."
Taine's voice snarled:
"_Reload even numbers with chemical-explosive war heads. Then remove
atomics from odd numbers and replace with chemicals. The range is too
short for atomics._"
Baird felt curiously divided in his own mind. He disliked Taine very
much. Taine was arrogant and suspicious and intolerant even on the
_Niccola_. But Taine had been right twice, now. The Plumie ship had crept
closer by pure trickery. And it was right to remove atomic war heads from
the rockets. They had a pure-blast radius of ten miles. To destroy the
Plumie ship within twice that would endanger the _Niccola_--and leave
nothing of the Plumie to examine afterward.
The Plumie ship must have seen the rocket flares, but it continued to
dance, coming nearer and ever nearer in seemingly heedless and
purposeless plungings and spinnings in star-speckled space. But suddenly
there were racing, rushing trails of swirling vapor. Half the _Niccola's_
port broadside plunged toward the golden ship. The fraction of a second
later, the starboard half-dozen chemical-explosive rockets swung
furiously around the ship's hull and streaked after their brothers. They
moved in utterly silent, straight-lined, ravening ferocity toward their
target. Baird thought irrelevantly of the vapor trails of an
atmosphere-liner in the planet's upper air.
The ruled-line straightness of the first six rockets' course abruptly
broke. One of them veered crazily out of control. It shifted to an almost
right-angled course. A second swung wildly to the left. A third and
fourth and fifth--The sixth of the first line of rockets made a great,
sweeping turn and came hurtling back toward the _Niccola_. It was like a
nightmare. Lunatic, erratic lines of sunlit vapor eeled before the
background of all the stars in creation.
Then the second half-dozen rockets broke ranks, as insanely and
irremediably as the first.
Taine's voice screamed out of a speaker, hysterical with fury:
"_Detonate! Detonate! They've taken over the rockets and are throwing 'em
back at us! Detonate all rockets!_"
The heavens seemed streaked and laced with lines of expanding smoke. But
now one plunging line erupted at its tip. A swelling globe of smoke
marked its end. Another blew up. And another--
The _Niccola's_ rockets faithfully blew themselves to bits on command
from the _Niccola's_ own weapons control. There was nothing else to be
done with them. They'd been taken over in flight. They'd been turned and
headed back toward their source. They'd have blasted the _Niccola_ to
bits but for their premature explosions.
There was a peculiar, stunned hush all through the _Niccola_. The only
sound that came out of any speaker in the radar room was Taine's voice,
high-pitched and raging, mouthing unspeakable hatred of the Plumies, whom
no human being had yet seen.
* * * * *
Baird sat tense in the frustrated and desperate composure of the man who
can only be of use while he is sitting still and keeping his head. The
vision screen was now a blur of writhing mist, lighted by the sun and
torn at by emptiness. There was luminosity where the ships had
encountered each other. It was sunshine upon thin smoke. It was like the
insanely enlarging head of a newborn comet, whose tail would be formed
presently by light-pressure. The Plumie ship was almost invisible behind
the unsubstantial stuff.
But Baird regarded his radar screens. Microwaves penetrated the mist of
rapidly ionizing gases.
"Radar to navigation!" he said sharply. "The Plumie ship is still
approaching, dancing as before!"
The skipper said with enormous calm:
"_Any other Plumie ships, Mr. Baird?_"
Diane interposed.
"No sign anywhere. I've been watching. This seems to be the only ship
within radar range."
"_We've time to settle with it, then_," said the skipper. "_Mr. Taine,
the Plumie ship is still approaching._"
Baird found himself hating the Plumies. It was not only that humankind
was showing up rather badly, at the moment. It was that the Plumie ship
had refused contact and forced a fight. It was that if the _Niccola_ were
destroyed the Plumie would carry news of the existence of humanity and of
the tactics which worked to defeat them. The Plumies could prepare an
irresistible fleet. Humanity could be doomed.
But he overheard himself saying bitterly:
"I wish I'd known this was coming, Diane. I ... wouldn't have resolved to
be strictly official, only, until we got back to base."
Her eyes widened. She looked startled. Then she softened.
"If ... you mean that ... I wish so too."
"It looks like they've got us," he admitted unhappily. "If they can take
our rockets away from us--" Then his voice stopped. He said, "Hold
everything!" and pressed the navigation-room button. He snapped: "Radar
to navigation. It appears to take the Plumies several seconds to take
over a rocket. They have to aim something--a pressor or tractor beam,
most likely--and pick off each rocket separately. Nearly forty seconds
was consumed in taking over all twelve of our rockets. At shorter range,
with less time available, a rocket might get through!"
The skipper swore briefly. Then:
"_Mr. Taine! When the Plumies are near enough, our rockets may strike
before they can be taken over! You follow?_"
Baird heard Taine's shrill-voiced acknowledgment--in the form of
practically chattered orders to his rocket-tube crews. Baird listened,
checking the orders against what the situation was as the radars saw it.
Taine's voice was almost unhuman; so filled with frantic rage that it
cracked as he spoke. But the problem at hand was the fulfillment of all
his psychopathic urges. He commanded the starboard-side rocket-battery to
await special orders. Meanwhile the port-side battery would fire two
rockets on widely divergent courses, curving to join at the Plumie ship.
They'd be seized. They were to be detonated and another port-side rocket
fired instantly, followed by a second hidden in the rocket-trail the
first would leave behind. Then the starboard side--
"I'm afraid Taine's our only chance," said Baird reluctantly. "If he
wins, we'll have time to ... talk as people do who like each other. If it
doesn't work--"
Diane said quietly:
"Anyhow ... I'm glad you ... wanted me to know. I ... wanted you to know,
too."
She smiled at him, yearningly.
* * * * *
_There was the crump-crump_ of two rockets going out together. Then the
radar told what happened. The Plumie ship was no more than six miles
away, dancing somehow deftly in the light of a yellow sun, with all the
cosmos spread out as shining pin points of colored light behind it. The
radar reported the dash and the death of the two rockets, after their
struggle with invisible things that gripped them. They died when they
headed reluctantly back to the _Niccola_--and detonated two miles from
their parent ship. The skipper's voice came:
"_Mr. Taine! After your next salvo I shall head for the Plumie at full
drive, to cut down the distance and the time they have to work in. Be
ready!_"
The rocket tubes went _crump-crump_ again, with a fifth of a second
interval. The radar showed two tiny specks speeding through space toward
the weaving, shifting speck which was the Plumie.
Outside, in emptiness, there was a filmy haze. It was the rocket-fumes
and explosive gases spreading with incredible speed. It was thin as
gossamer. The Plumie ship undoubtedly spotted the rockets, but it did not
try to turn them. It somehow seized them and deflected them, and darted
past them toward the _Niccola_.
"They see the trick," said Diane, dry-throated. "If they can get in close
enough, they can turn it against us!"
There were noises inside the _Niccola_, now. Taine fairly howled an
order. There were yells of defiance and excitement. There were more of
those inadequate noises as rockets went out--every tube on the starboard
side emptied itself in a series of savage grunts--and the _Niccola's_
magnetronic drive roared at full flux density.
The two ships were less than a mile apart when the _Niccola_ let go her
full double broadside of missiles. And then it seemed that the Plumie
ship was doomed. There were simply too many rockets to be seized and
handled before at least one struck. But there was a new condition. The
Plumie ship weaved and dodged its way through them. The new condition was
that the rockets were just beginning their run. They had not achieved the
terrific velocity they would accumulate in ten miles of no-gravity. They
were new-launched; logy: clumsy: not the streaking, flashing
death-and-destruction they would become with thirty more seconds of
acceleration.
So the Plumie ship dodged them with a skill and daring past belief. With
an incredible agility it got inside them, nearer to the _Niccola_ than
they. And then it hurled itself at the human ship as if bent upon a
suicidal crash which would destroy both ships together. But Baird, in the
radar room, and the skipper in navigation, knew that it would plunge
brilliantly past at the last instant--
And then they knew that it would not. Because, very suddenly and very
abruptly, there was something the matter with the Plumie ship. The life
went out of it. It ceased to accelerate or decelerate. It ceased to
steer. It began to turn slowly on an axis somewhere amidships. Its nose
swung to one side, with no change in the direction of its motion. It
floated onward. It was broadside to its line of travel. It continued to
turn. It hurtled stern-first toward the _Niccola_. It did not swerve. It
did not dance. It was a lifeless hulk: a derelict in space.
And it would hit the _Niccola_ amidships with no possible result but
destruction for both vessels.
* * * * *
The _Niccola's_ skipper bellowed orders, as if shouting would somehow
give them more effect. The magnetronic drive roared. He'd demanded a
miracle of it, and he almost got one. The drive strained its
thrust-members. It hopelessly overloaded its coils. The _Niccola's_
cobalt-steel hull became more than saturated with the drive-field, and it
leaped madly upon an evasion course--
And it very nearly got away. It was swinging clear when the Plumie ship
drifted within fathoms. It was turning aside when the Plumie ship was
within yards. And it was almost safe when the golden hull of the
Plumie--shadowed now by the _Niccola_ itself--barely scraped a side-keel.
There was a touch, seemingly deliberate and gentle. But the _Niccola_
shuddered horribly. Then the vision screens flared from such a light as
might herald the crack of doom. There was a brightness greater than the
brilliance of the sun. And then there was a wrenching, heaving shock.
Then there was blackness. Baird was flung across the radar room, and
Diane cried out, and he careened against a wall and heard glass shatter.
He called:
"Diane!"
He clutched crazily at anything, and called her name again. The
_Niccola's_ internal gravity was cut off, and his head spun, and he heard
collision-doors closing everywhere, but before they closed completely he
heard the rasping sound of giant arcs leaping in the engine room. Then
there was silence.
"Diane!" cried Baird fiercely. "Diane!"
"I'm ... here," she panted. "I'm dizzy, but I ... think I'm all right--"
The battery-powered emergency light came on. It was faint, but he saw her
clinging to a bank of instruments where she'd been thrown by the
collision. He moved to go to her, and found himself floating in midair.
But he drifted to a side wall and worked his way to her.
She clung to him, shivering.
"I ... think," she said unsteadily, "that we're going to die. Aren't we?"
"We'll see," he told her. "Hold on to me."
Guided by the emergency light, he scrambled to the bank of
communicator-buttons. What had been the floor was now a side wall. He
climbed it and thumbed the navigation-room switch.
"Radar room reporting," he said curtly. "Power out, gravity off, no
reports from outside from power failure. No great physical damage."
He began to hear other voices. There had never been an actual
space-collision in the memory of man, but reports came crisply, and the
cut-in speakers in the radar room repeated them. Ship-gravity was out all
over the ship. Emergency lights were functioning, and were all the lights
there were. There was a slight, unexplained gravity-drift toward what had
been the ship's port side. But damage-control reported no loss of
pressure in the _Niccola's_ inner hull, though four areas between inner
and outer hulls had lost air pressure to space.
"_Mr. Baird_," rasped the skipper. "_We're blind! Forget everything else
and give us eyes to see with!_"
"We'll try battery power to the vision plates," Baird told Diane. "No
full resolution, but better than nothing--"
They worked together, feverishly. They were dizzy. Something close to
nausea came upon them from pure giddiness. What had been the floor was
now a wall, and they had to climb to reach the instruments that had been
on a wall and now were on the ceiling. But their weight was ounces only.
Baird said abruptly:
"I know what's the matter! We're spinning! The whole ship's spinning!
That's why we're giddy and why we have even a trace of weight.
Centrifugal force! Ready for the current?"
There was a tiny click, and the battery light dimmed. But a vision screen
lighted faintly. The stars it showed were moving specks of light. The sun
passed deliberately across the screen. Baird switched to other outside
scanners. There was power for only one screen at a time. But he saw the
starkly impossible. He pressed the navigation-room button.
"Radar room reporting," he said urgently. "The Plumie ship is fast to us,
in contact with our hull! Both ships are spinning together!" He was
trying yet other scanners as he spoke, and now he said: "Got it! There
are no lines connecting us to the Plumie, but it looks ... yes! That
flash when the ships came together was a flash-over of high potential.
We're welded to them along twenty feet of our hull!"
The skipper:
"_Damnation! Any sign of intention to board us?_"
"Not yet, sir--"
Taine burst in, his voice high-pitched and thick with hatred:
"_Damage-control parties attention! Arm yourselves and assemble at
starboard air lock! Rocket crews get into suits and prepare to board this
Plumie--_"
"_Countermand!_" bellowed the skipper from the speaker beside Baird's
ear. "_Those orders are canceled! Dammit, if we were successfully boarded
we'd blow ourselves to bits! Those are our orders! D'you think the
Plumies will let their ship be taken? And wouldn't we blow up with them?
Mr. Taine, you will take no offensive action without specific orders!
Defensive action is another matter. Mr. Baird! I consider this welding
business pure accident. No one would be mad enough to plan it. You watch
the Plumies and keep me informed!_"
His voice ceased. And Baird had again the frustrating duty of remaining
still and keeping his head while other men engaged in physical
activity. He helped Diane to a chair--which was fastened to the
floor-which-was-now-a-wall--and she wedged herself fast and began a
review of what each of the outside scanners reported. Baird called for
more batteries. Power for the radar and visions was more important than
anything else, just then. If there were more Plumie ships ...
* * * * *
Electricians half-floated, half-dragged extra batteries to the radar
room. Baird hooked them in. The universe outside the ship again appeared
filled with brilliantly colored dots of light which were stars. More
satisfying, the globe-scanners again reported no new objects anywhere.
Nothing new within a quarter million miles. A half-million. Later Baird
reported:
"Radars report no strange objects within a million miles of the
_Niccola_, sir."
"_Except the ship we're welded to! But you are doing very well. However,
microphones say there is movement inside the Plumie._"
Diane beckoned for Baird's attention to a screen, which Baird had
examined before. Now he stiffened and motioned for her to report.
"We've a scanner, sir," said Diane, "which faces what looks like a port
in the Plumie ship. There's a figure at the port. I can't make out
details, but it is making motions, facing us."
"_Give me the picture!_" snapped the skipper.
Diane obeyed. It was the merest flip of a switch. Then her eyes went
back to the spherical-sweep scanners which reported the bearing and
distance of every solid object within their range. She set up two
instruments which would measure the angle, bearing, and distance of the
two planets now on this side of the sun--the gas-giant and the
oxygen-world to sunward. Their orbital speeds and distances were known.
The position, course, and speed of the _Niccola_ could be computed from
any two observations on them.
[Illustration]
Diane had returned to the utterly necessary routine of the radar room
which was the nerve-center of the ship, gathering all information needed
for navigation in space. The fact that there had been a collision, that
the _Niccola's_ engines were melted to unlovely scrap, that the Plumie
ship was now welded irremovably to a side-keel, and that a Plumie was
signaling to humans while both ships went spinning through space toward
an unknown destination--these things did not affect the obligations of
the radar room.
Baird got other images of the Plumie ship into sharp focus. So near, the
scanners required adjustment for precision.
"Take a look at this!" he said wryly.
She looked. The view was of the Plumie as welded fast to the _Niccola_.
The welding was itself an extraordinary result of the Plumie's
battle-tactics. Tractor and pressor beams were known to men, of course,
but human beings used them only under very special conditions. Their
operation involved the building-up of terrific static charges. Unless a
tractor-beam generator could be grounded to the object it was to pull, it
tended to emit lightning-bolts at unpredictable intervals and in entirely
random directions. So men didn't use them. Obviously, the Plumies did.
They'd handled the _Niccola's_ rockets with beams which charged the
golden ship to billions of volts. And when the silicon-bronze Plumie ship
touched the cobalt-steel _Niccola_--why--that charge had to be shared. It
must have been the most spectacular of all artificial electric flames.
Part of the _Niccola's_ hull was vaporized, and undoubtedly part of the
Plumie. But the unvaporized surfaces were molten and in contact--and they
stuck.
For a good twenty feet the two ships were united by the most perfect of
vacuum-welds. The wholly dissimilar hulls formed a space-catamaran, with
a sort of valley between their bulks. Spinning deliberately, as the
united ships did, sometimes the sun shone brightly into that valley, and
sometimes it was filled with the blackness of the pit.
While Diane looked, a round door revolved in the side of the Plumie ship.
As Diane caught her breath, Baird reported crisply. At his first words
Taine burst into raging commands for men to follow him through the
_Niccola's_ air lock and fight a boarding party of Plumies in empty
space. The skipper very savagely ordered him to be quiet.
"Only one figure has come out," reported Baird. The skipper watched on a
vision plate, but Baird reported so all the _Niccola's_ company would
know. "It's small--less than five feet ... I'll see better in a moment."
Sunlight smote down into the valley between the ships. "It's wearing a
pressure suit. It seems to be the same material as the ship. It walks on
two legs, as we do ... It has two arms, or something very similar ... The
helmet of the suit is very high ... It looks like the armor knights used
to fight in ... It's making its way to our air lock ... It does not use
magnetic-soled shoes. It's holding onto lines threaded along the other
ship's hull ..."
The skipper said curtly:
"_Mr. Baird! I hadn't noticed the absence of magnetic shoes. You seem to
have an eye for important items. Report to the air lock in person. Leave
Lieutenant Holt to keep an eye on outside objects. Quickly, Mr. Baird!_"
* * * * *
Baird laid his hand on Diane's shoulder. She smiled at him.
"I'll watch!" she promised.
He went out of the radar room, walking on what had been a side wall. The
giddiness and dizziness of continued rotation was growing less, now. He
was getting used to it. But the _Niccola_ seemed strange indeed, with the
standard up and down and Earth-gravity replaced by a vertical which was
all askew and a weight of ounces instead of a hundred and seventy pounds.
He reached the air lock just as the skipper arrived. There were others
there--armed and in pressure suits. The skipper glared about him.
"I am in command here," he said very grimly indeed. "Mr. Taine has a
special function, but I am in command! We and the creatures on the Plumie
ship are in a very serious fix. One of them apparently means to come on
board. There will be no hostility, no sneering, no threatening gestures!
This is a parley! You will be careful. But you will not be
trigger-happy!"
He glared around again, just as a metallic rapping came upon the
_Niccola's_ air-lock door. The skipper nodded:
"Let him in the lock, Mr. Baird."
Baird obeyed. The humming of the unlocking-system sounded. There were
clankings. The outer air lock dosed. There was a faint whistling as air
went in. The skipper nodded again.
Baird opened the inner door. It was 08 hours 10 minutes ship time.
The Plumie stepped confidently out into the topsy-turvy corridors of the
_Niccola_. He was about the size of a ten-year-old human boy, and
features which were definitely not grotesque showed through the clear
plastic of his helmet. His pressure suit was, engineering-wise, a very
clean job. His whole appearance was prepossessing. When he spoke, very
clear and quite high sounds--soprano sounds--came from a small
speaker-unit at his shoulder.
"For us to talk," said the skipper heavily, "is pure nonsense. But I take
it you've something to say."
The Plumie gazed about with an air of lively curiosity. Then he drew out
a flat pad with a white surface and sketched swiftly. He offered it to
the _Niccola's_ skipper.
"We want this on record," he growled, staring about.
Diane's voice said capably from a speaker somewhere nearby:
"_Sir, there's a scanner for inspection of objects brought aboard. Hold
the plate flat and I'll have a photograph--right!_"
The skipper said curtly to the Plumie:
"You've drawn our two ships linked as they are. What have you to say
about it?"
He handed back the plate. The Plumie pressed a stud and it was blank
again. He sketched and offered it once more.
"Hm-m-m," said the skipper. "You can't use your drive while we're glued
together, eh? Well?"
The Plumie reached up and added lines to the drawing.
"So!" rumbled the skipper, inspecting the additions. "You say it's up to
us to use our drive for both ships." He growled approvingly: "You
consider there's a truce. You must, because we're both in the same fix,
and not a nice one, either. True enough! We can't fight each other
without committing suicide, now. But we haven't any drive left! We're a
derelict! How am I going to say that--if I decide to?"
Baird could see the lines on the plate, from the angle at which the
skipper held it. He said:
"Sir, we've been mapping, up in the radar room. Those last lines are
map-co-ordinates--a separate sketch, sir. I think he's saying that the
two ships, together, are on a falling course toward the sun. That we have
to do something or both vessels will fall into it. We should be able to
check this, sir."
"Hah!" growled the skipper. "That's all we need! Absolutely all we need!
To come here, get into a crazy right, have our drive melt to scrap, get
crazily welded to a Plumie ship, and then for both of us to fry together!
We don't need anything more than that!"
Diane's voice came on the speaker:
"_Sir, the last radar fixes on the planets in range give us a course
directly toward the sun. I'll repeat the observations._"
The skipper growled. Taine thrust himself forward. He snarled:
"Why doesn't this Plumie take off its helmet? It lands on oxygen planets!
Does it think it's too good to breathe our air?"
Baird caught the Plumie's eye. He made a gesture suggesting the removal
of the space helmet. The Plumie gestured, in return, to a tiny vent in
the suit. He opened something and gas whistled out. He cut it off. The
question of why he did not open or remove his helmet was answered. The
atmosphere he breathed would not do men any good, nor would theirs do him
any good, either. Taine said suspiciously:
"How do we know he's breathing the stuff he let out then? This creature
isn't human! It's got no right to attack humans! Now it's trying to trick
us!" His voice changed to a snarl. "We'd better wring its neck! Teach its
kind a lesson--"
The skipper roared at him.
"Be quiet! Our ship is a wreck! We have to consider the facts! We and
these Plumies are in a fix together, and we have to get out of it before
we start to teach anybody anything!" He glared at Taine. Then he said
heavily: "Mr. Baird, you seem to notice things. Take this Plumie over the
ship. Show him our drive melted down, so he'll realize we can't possibly
tow his ship into an orbit. He knows that we're armed, and that we can't
handle our war heads at this range! So we can't fool each other. We might
as well be frank. But you will take full note of his reactions, Mr.
Baird!"
* * * * *
Baird advanced, and the skipper made a gesture. The Plumie regarded Baird
with interested eyes. And Baird led the way for a tour of the _Niccola_.
It was confusing even to him, with right hand converted to up and left
hand to down, and sidewise now almost vertical. On the way the Plumie
made more clear, flutelike sounds, and more gestures. Baird answered.
"Our gravity pull was that way," he explained, "and things fell so fast."
He grasped a handrail and demonstrated the speed with which things fell
in normal ship-gravity. He used a pocket communicator for the falling
weight. It was singularly easy to say some things, even highly technical
ones, because they'd be what the Plumie would want to know. But quite
commonplace things would be very difficulty to convey.
Diane's voice came out of the communicator.