The man at the microscope only half-turned. "This is the most amazing
cell I've ever examined. Incredible. Apparently it's the effect of
oxygen on the organism. What a sensational announcement this will be on
Terra. Sensational."
Dirk nodded at Tabor's back. Why should he have thought the scientist
would be interested in his going? He was just another space officer
washing out. Wearily, he donned his space suit once more. The gelatine
was everywhere. An expanding pool of it stood in the compression
chamber. Idly, he wondered if it could be the specimen causing Tabor's
excitement.
Parties were already out combing Caliban. This would be another triumph
for Commandant Jemson; another glorious achievement for the Grand Old
Man of Space. The reports need carry no mention of the disgrace and
shame of a lieutenant in the commandant's armada--an ex-lieutenant
whose name also happened to be Jemson.
* * * * *
Dirk stopped beside the trim little SD-4. What if he went back to his
father--if he begged for another chance--a chance to prove that he WAS
a Jemson worthy of the name. The answer was there in the crawling dark
of Caliban. There was no second chance. His father had made a decision.
Slipping out of his space suit in the narrow confines of the little
reconnaissance ship, Dirk noticed that the omnipresent grey ooze had
clung to his suit and boots. It lay in quivering globules on the floor.
Automatically, he checked his controls and got a clearance from the
command center. The take-off was uneventful, and with the speed of
light, he slipped through the atmosphere of Caliban and into the
whirling void of space.
Quickly, he made his calculations and set his course for Terra. No
margin for error in an SD-4. The fuel tank held only enough for the
one-way trip to Terra. Any miscalculation might prove fatal.
Once set, however, the controls were fool-proof. He could relax, forget
the spinning galaxies around him, forget that he was a lost mote in the
infinite void. He could close his eyes and forget the last twenty-four
hours, or even the last twenty-four years, for after all, the error
over Caliban was only the climax of his many years of maladjustment.
His father would be all right. He would still have his beloved armada,
and there would always be new worlds to conquer; until after one such
expedition, the commandant would fail to return; and that was the way
he'd want it. Yes. His father was all right. His life was too solidly
based to be shaken.
But what of himself? What lay ahead for him on Terra? A space pilot
with a dishonorable discharge!
... For some time, he had experienced a growing sensation that he was
being observed, that someone or something was behind him, watching. He
closed his eyes. Space nerves. That's all it was. There was no one else
in the SD-4. He was alone. And yet, the feeling persisted. He felt the
small hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and a cold shiver
shook him. He had to turn around. He couldn't resist the impulse.
Slowly, he opened his eyes and swiveled in his chair.
The floor in the corner where he had hung his space suit was alive!
A spreading, pulsating jelly ... quivering in the half-light of the
cabin. This was a living thing--growing.
For a moment, all he could do was sit and stare in hypnotic horror at
the tremelloid monstrosity quaking in the corner. Even as he watched,
another section of the floor was obscured by the viscous transparency.
He crouched against the instrument panel and drew his disinteray.
Fighting down the sick, panic that swelled in his throat, he fired,
time after time, into the undulating, pulpy mass on the floor. The
impact had no visible effect. Still he could see it growing ...
spilling with soft, slobbery noises across the ship toward him.
Frantically, he threw up a temporary barricade between himself and the
Thing: some filing cabinets, a desk, an up-ended chair. Perhaps that
would check its terrible, oozing progress for a little while.
* * * * *
At the instrument panel, he checked his position. With a little luck,
he might reach Terra before the thing got through to him. It depended
on how rapidly it was growing. As he strained to hear, a sort of
sucking sound came from it now as it worked behind the barricade.
His audio-visor suddenly flickered and hummed. Who would be calling
him? Only someone on Caliban. His father? But why? Unless....
The face rippled onto the screen. His father's face--but it seemed that
the face had aged twenty years since the interview short hours before.
"Dirk," the voice said. "Dirk--have you checked your ship?"
He pushed the talk-back. "Yes, dad. There's something ... something
that looks like jelly. It's growing. The disinteray doesn't stop it."
"You've got to turn back, Dirk. Nothing will stop that jelly-thing. As
long as it gets oxygen, it'll keep growing! You've got to turn back to
Caliban."
Dirk's eyes flickered to the gauges on the panel. "There's not enough
fuel to get me back to Caliban. I can feel the pull of Terra's solar
system already."
The visor went abruptly blank and then Tabor's face replaced his
father's on the screen. "Listen to me, Dirk," Tabor said, and the
academic hesitancy had been discarded for a terrible urgency. "That
stuff in your ship is wild cells. They're the only life on Caliban.
Oxygen has a peculiar effect on them. Makes them multiply by geometric
progression. Do you understand that?"
"I understand." Dirk's voice was a thing remote from him, apart.
"There's nothing you can do to stop that growth. The disinteray won't
help. You've got to get it back to Caliban--out of oxygen."
"I can't. I haven't enough fuel, Tabor." Dirk fought to keep his voice
controlled and calm, but he could see already a crystalline ooze
seeping under the desk, the filing cabinet. It couldn't be stopped.
"Can you reach Terra?" Tabor's face was knit into a perplexed maze of
wrinkles.
"I might, if the thing doesn't grow too fast."
Tabor nodded. "If you get through to Terra, you'll live a little longer
at least."
"What do you mean--a little longer?"
Tabor's face seemed to fill the screen and his eyes caught and held
Dirk. "Don't you see? Even if you get out of the ship on Terra, the
thing will follow. There'll be no stopping it. Eventually, it will
engulf the whole earth."
"No!" Dirk's voice was a hoarse whisper. "No!"
"There will be nothing to stop it there. It will have all the oxygen it
needs. I didn't know you were taking off. I'd have warned you. It's my
fault." Tabor's voice trailed away and again the visor went blank.
"No," Dirk said softly. "It's my fault. All my fault. Not only have I
failed dad, but now I'm going to destroy Terra." He stared at the slime
as it inched with increasing speed across the cabin. The sucking,
bubbling noise was quite dear now.
* * * * *
With an effort, Dirk pulled his eyes away from the Thing and looked
through the visi-shield. Dead ahead lay the disc that was Terra--his
home--a chance at life. To the left was the glimmering white brilliance
of the sun.
"Dirk," The Commandant's face blurred back on the audio-visor. "Dirk,
are you sure you can't get back here? Can't you try?"
"I know I can't," Dirk answered, and his tongue seemed to cling to the
roof of his mouth.
"Maybe you can hit a spot on Terra that isn't thickly populated. Maybe
they'll be able to devise some way of stopping it." The Commandant's
voice sounded lame, strained.
For a moment, Dirk was unaware of his father's face on the audio-visor,
unaware of the sucking mass that crept closer and closer to him,
unaware of the swirling universe outside.
Dirk remembered only the spring green of the low, rolling hills around
his home; the smell of lilacs battered by April rains; the cry of
fledgling birds in the pink-grey of summer dawns; the crisp sound of
snow under sled runners; and the gentle caress of water in a blue-green
lake. Dirk remembered these things, and abruptly, he changed his
course.
"What are you doing?" His father checked him from the audio-visor.
"You've changed your course. You're headed for the sun, Dirk!"
"I can't land on Terra, dad. You heard Tabor. I can't destroy Terra
to save my own skin." He looked down at his shoes. The first jellied
tentacle had slipped over his foot. With a wild kick, he threw it off.
The floor was almost covered now, and it was rising on the walls. By
geometric progression Tabor had said. It would go rapidly toward the
end.
"You're going to crash into the sun. You're going to destroy the Thing,
Dirk." His father's voice was hoarse, "If only there was something I
could do to help!"
Dirk turned and looked full in his father's face. "There's nothing,
dad. And I ... I think it would be better if ... if you didn't look any
more. I'll smash the audio-visor." He raised the butt of his disinteray.
"Son. Wait." His father's voice stopped him as surely as if he had
restrained him with his hand. "Son, I said some terrible things to you.
I can only beg you to forgive me."
"I knew, dad. I understand."
The voice rumbled on, and tears formed in the steely eyes. "I beg you
to forgive me. You're the bravest of the Jemsons, Dirk. The bravest.
I'm proud of you, son. Understand? Proud of you."
Dirk managed a nod. The gelatine lapped now over the top of the desk.
The ship was filled with the terrible sucking, bubbling noise.
Then with the butt of his disinteray, he smashed the audio-visor. He
was alone; alone with the horror that inched toward him.
He concentrated on the visi-shield. The disc of Terra was plainer now,
but safely to his right. Ahead lay the blazing furnace of the sun.
Dirk braced himself and waited. He tried not to think of the smothering
ooze which crept slowly up to possess him. Instead, he thought of the
purifying, purging white heat of the sun toward which they plunged; he
thought of the sound of his father's voice saying: "I'm proud of you,
son. I'm proud of you."
Dirk closed his eyes and smiled.