Complete Short Fiction, page 381
Now, suddenly, here was a colossal being, with unknown powers.
“Would you say,” asked one man huskily, “that to a degree the Silkies are slaves of this creature.”
Cemp said, “E-Lerd definitely didn’t know what he was dealing with. He simply had what he conceived to be a scientific system for utilizing a force of nature. The Glis responded to his manipulation of this system, as if it were simply another form of energy. But I would guess that it controlled him, perhaps through pre-conditioning, installed long ago.”
As he pointed out, such a giant life form would not be concerned with the everyday living details of its subjects. It would be satisfied with having a way of invariably getting them to do what it wanted.
“But what does it want?” That came from another man.
“It goes around doing good,” said Cemp. He smiled a tight smile. “That’s the public image it tried to give me. I have the impression that it’s willing to make over the solar system to our specifications.”
At this point Mathews spoke, “Mr. Cemp,” he said, what does all this do to the Silkie situation?” Cemp said that the Silkies who had defected had clearly acted hastily. “But,” he finished, “I should tell you that I find the Space Silkies a very likable group. In my opinion, they are not the problem. They have the same problem, in another way, that we have.”
“Nat—” said Charley Baxter, “do you trust this monster?”
Cemp hesitated, remembering the deadly attacks; remembering that only the Kibmadine defense screen and energy reversal process had saved him; and that the great being had been compelled to reveal its presence to prevent him from forcing E-Lerd to open his mind—which would have apprised the Space Silkies of the nature of the Power.
“No!” he said.
Having spoken, he realized that a simple negative was not enough answer. It could not convey the reality of the terrifying danger that was out there in space.
He said slowly, “I realize that my own motives may be suspect in what I am about to say. But it’s my true opinion. I think all Earth Silkies should be given full knowledge of the Kibmadine attack and defense system at once, and that they work in teams to keep a constant watch on the Glis, permitting no one to leave the planetoid—except to surrender.”
There was a pregnant silence. Then a scientist said in a small voice, “Any chance of logic of levels applying?”
“I don’t see how,” said Cemp.
“I didn’t either,” said the man, unhappily.
Camp addressed the group again: “I believe we should gird ourselves to drive this thing from the solar system. We’re not safe until it’s gone.”
It was as he finished speaking that he sensed an energy tension . . . familiar!
He had a sensation, then, of cosmic distance and cosmic time—opening.
Power unlimited!
It was the same feeling he had had in the second attack . . . when his senses had been confused.
The fear that came to Cemp in that moment had no parallel in his experience. It was the fear of a man who suddenly has a fleeting glimpse of death and destruction for all his own kind and for his planet.
As he had that awful consciousness, Cemp whirled from where he was standing. He ran headlong toward the great window behind him, shattering it with an arc of lightning as he did so. And with eyes closed against the flying glass, he plunged out into the empty air seventy stories above the ground.
As he fell, the fabric of space and time collapsed around him like a house of cards tumbling. Cemp transformed into Class C Silkie, and became immensely more perceptive. Now he sensed the nature of the colossal energy at work: a gravitational field so intense that it actually closed in upon itself. Encompassing all things, organic and inorganic, it squeezed with irresistable power—
Defensively, Cemp put up, first, his inverter system.
And perceived that that was not the answer.
Instantly, he triggered gravity transformation—an infinite variable system, which converted the encroaching superfield to a harmless energy in relation to himself.
With that, he felt the change slow.
It did not stop. But he was no longer so involved, no longer so enveloped; and yet he was not completely free.
He realized what held him. He was oriented to this massive segment of space-time. To an extent, anything that happened here happened to him. To that extent, he could not get away.
The world grew dim. The sun disappeared.
Cemp saw with a start that he was inside a chamber, and realized that his automatic screens had protected him from striking the hard, glittering walls.
And he became aware of three other realities.
The chamber was familiar, in that there below him was one of the glowing images of a planet. The image showed the oceans and the. continents, and the fact that he was looking down at it seemed to indicate that he was—somehow—back inside the Silkie planetoid, in one of the “art” rooms.
What was different was that as he looked down at the planetary image, he saw the familiar outlines of the continents and oceans of Earth.
Realized—
That the feeling of a virtually unlimited force pressing was a true explanation of what had happened.
The ancient monster that lived at the core of the planetoid had taken Earth, compressed it and everything in it and on it, from an 8000-mile-in-diameter planet into a hundred foot ball and had added it to its fabulous collection.
It was not a jewel-like image of Earth there in the floor.
It was Earth itself.
Even as he had the thought, Cemp sensed that the planetoid was increasing speed.
He thought: “We’re leaving the solar system.”
In a matter of minutes, as he hovered there, helpless to act, the speed of the planetoid became hundreds, then thousands of miles a second.
After about an hour of continuing acceleration, the velocity of the tiny planetoid in its ever-widening hyperbolic orbit was nearly half that of the speed of light.
A few hours later, the planetoid was beyond the orbit of Pluto, and it was traveling at near light-speed.
And still accelerating—
XI
Somewhere in there, Cemp began to brace himself. Anger spilled through him like a torrent down a rocky decline.
“You incredible monster!” he telepathed.
No answer.
Cemp raged on: “You’re the most vicious creature that ever existed. I’m going to see that you get what’s coming to you!”
This time he got a reply. “I’m leaving the solar system forever,” said the Glis. “Why don’t you get off before it’s too late? I’ll let you get away.”
Cemp had no doubt of that. He was its most dangerous enemy, and his escape and unexpected appearance must have come as a hideous shock to the Glis.
“I’m not leaving,” he retorted, “until you undo what you’ve done to the Earth.”
There was silence.
“Can you and will you?” Cemp demanded.
“No. It’s impossible.” The response came reluctantly.
“But you could, if you wanted to, bring Earth back to size?”
“No. But I now wish I had not taken your planet,” said the Glis unhappily. “It has been my policy to leave alone inhabited worlds that are protected by powerful life forms. I simply couldn’t bring myself to believe that any Silkie was really dangerous to me. I was mistaken.” It was not the kind of repentance that Cemp respected. “Why can’t you—unsqueeze—it?” he persisted.
It seemed that the Glis could create a gravity field, but it could not reverse such a field. It said apologetically, “It would take as much power to undo it as it took to do it. Where is there such power?”
Where, indeed? But still he could not give up. “I’ll teach you what anti-gravity is like,” Cemp offered, “from what I can do in my own energy control system.”
But the Glis pointed out that it had had the opportunity to study such systems in other Silkies. “Don’t think I didn’t try. Evidently antigravity is a late manifestation of matter and energy. And I’m an early form—as you, and only you, know.”
Cemp’s hope faded suddenly. Somehow, he had kept believing that there was a possibility. There wasn’t.
The first grief touched him, the first real acceptance of the end of Earth.
The Glis was communicating again: “I can see that you and I now have a serious situation between us. So we must arrive at an agreement. I’ll make you the leader of the Silkie nation. I’ll subtly influence everything and everyone to fit your wishes. Women—as many as you desire. Control—as much as you want. Future actions of this planetoid you and I shall decide.” Cemp did not even consider the offer. He said grimly, “You and I don’t think alike. I can just imagine trusting you to leave me alone if I ever took the chance of changing to human form.”
He broke off, said curtly, “The deal as I see it is a limited truce, while I consider what I can do against you, and you figure out what to do to me.”
“Since that’s the way you feel,” was the harsh reply, “let me make my position clear. If you begin any action against me, I shall first destroy Earth and the Silkie nation, and then give you my attention.”
Cemp replied in his own steely fashion: “If you ever damage anything I value—and that includes all Silkies and what’s left of Earth—I’ll attack you with everything I’ve got.”
The Glis said scornfully, “You have nothing that can touch me—except those defense screens that reverse the attack flow. That way, you can use my own force against me. So I won’t attack. Therefore—permanent stalemate.”
Cemp said, “We’ll see.”
The Glis said, “You yourself stated that your levels of logic wouldn’t work on me.”
“I meant not directly,” said Cemp. “There are many indirect approaches to the mind.”
“I don’t see how anything like that can work on me,” was the reply.
At the moment, Cemp didn’t either.
XII
Through miles of passageways, up as well as down, and roundabout, Cemp made his way. The journey took him through long chambers filled with furniture and art objects from other planets.
En route, he saw strange and wonderful scenes in bas-relief and brilliant color on one wall after another. And always there were the planets themselves, glowingly beautiful, but horrifying too, in his awareness that each one represented a hideous crime.
His destination was the city of the Silkies. He followed the internal pathway to it because he dared not leave the planetoid to take an external route. The Glis had virtually admitted it had not anticipated that he—its most dangerous enemy—would survive. So if he ever left these caves, he would have no further choice, no chance to decide on what the penalty—if any—or the outcome should be, and no part at all in the Silkie future. For he would surely never be allowed to return.
Not that there was any purpose in him. His grief was too deep and terrible. He had failed to protect, failed to realize, failed in his duty.
Earth was lost.
So quickly, so completely, a disaster so great it could not even be contemplated for more than instants at a time.
At intervals, he mourned Joanne, and Charley Baxter, and other friends among the Special People, and the human race.
By the time he was sunk into these miseries, he had taken up an observation position on top of a tree overlooking the main street of the Silkie city.
There he waited, with all of his signal systems constantly at peak alert.
While he maintained his tireless vigil, the life of the Silkie community had its being around him. The fact that the Silkies continued to live mostly as humans began to seem significant.
Cemp thought, shocked: “They’re being kept vulnerable.”
In human form, they could all be killed in a single flash of intolerable flame.
He telepathed on the Glis band: “Free them from that compulsion, or I’ll tell them the truth about what you are.”
An immediate, ferocious answer came: “You say one word, and I shall wipe out the entire nest.”
Cemp commanded: “Release them from that compulsion, or we come to our crisis right now!”
His statement must have given the Glis pause, for there was a brief silence. Then: “I’ll release half of them. No more. I must retain some hold over you.”
Cemp considered that and, realized its truth. “But it has to be on an alternating basis. Half are free for twelve hours, then the other half.” The Glis accepted the compromise without any further argument.
It was clear that it was prepared to recognize the balance of power.
“Where are we heading?” said Cemp.
“To another star system.”
The answer did not satisfy Cemp. Surely, the Glis didn’t expect to go on with its malignant game of collecting inhabited planets.
He challenged, “I feel that you have some secret purpose.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, and don’t bother me any more!”
. . . Stalemate.
As the days and the weeks went by, Cemp tried to keep track of the distance the planetoid was covering and the direction it was going.
The speed of the meteorite had reached nearly a light year a day, Earth time.
Eighty-two of those days passed. And then there was the feel of slowing down. The deceleration continued all that day and the next. And, for Cemp, there was finally no question: He could not permit this strange craft, which was now his home, to arrive at a destination about which he knew nothing.
“Stop this ship!” he ordered.
The Glis replied angrily: “You can’t expect to control such minor things as this.”
Since it could be a deadly dangerous scheme, Cemp replied: “Then open yourself to me. Show me everything you know about this system.”
“I’ve never been here before.”
“All right, then that’s what I’ll see when you open up.”
“I can’t possibly let you look inside me. You may see something this time that will make me vulnerable to your techniques.”
“Then change course.”
“No. That would mean I could not go anywhere until you die about a thousand years from now. I refuse to accept such a limitation.” The second reference to Silkie age gave Cemp great pause. On Earth no one had known how long Silkies could live, since none born there had died a natural death. He himself was only thirty-eight years of age.
“Look,” he said finally, “If I have only a thousand years, why don’t you just sit me out? That must be only a pinpoint in time compared to your own life span.”
“All right, we’ll do that!” replied the Glis.
But the deceleration continued.
Cemp telepathed: “If you don’t turn aside, I must take action.”
“What can you do?” was the contemptuous response.
It was a good question. What, indeed?
“I warn you,” said Cemp.
“Just don’t tell anyone about me. Other than that do anything you please.”
Cemp said, “I gather you’ve decided I’m not dangerous. And this is the way you act with those you consider harmless.”
The Glis said that it believed that, if he had been able to do something, he would already have done it. It finished: “And so I tell you flatly, I’m going to do as I please; and the only restriction on you is, don’t violate my need for secrecy. Now, don’t bother me again.”
The meaning of the dismissal was clear. He had been judged to be helpless. Categorized as someone whose desires need not be considered. The eighty days of inaction had stood against him. He hadn’t attacked; therefore he couldn’t. That was palpably the other’s logic.
Well . . . what could he do?
He could make an energy assault But it would take time to mount, and he could expect that the Silkie nation would be wiped out in retaliation, and Earth destroyed.
Cemp decided he was not ready to force such a calamity.
He was presently dismayed to realize that the Glis’s analysis was correct. He could keep his mind shut and respect its need for secrecy—and nothing more.
He ought, it seemed to him, to point out to the Glis that there were different types of secrecy. Gradations. Secrecy about itself was one type. But secrecy about the star system ahead was quite another. The whole subject of secrecy—
Cemp’s mind poised. Then he thought: “How could I have missed it?”
Yet, even as he had the awareness, he realized how it happened. The Glis’s need to withhold knowledge of itself had seemed understandable. And somehow the naturalness of it had made him by-pass its implications. But now—
“Secrecy!” he thought. “Of course! That’s it!”
To Silkies, secrecy was an understood phenomenon.
After a few more seconds of thinking about it, Cemp took his first action. He reversed gravity in relation to the planetoid mass below him. Light as a thistledown he floated up and away from the tree top that had been his observation post for so long.
Soon he was speeding along granite corridors.
XIII
He reached without incident the chamber which contained Earth.
As he set his signals, so that all his screens would protect that precious round ball, Cemp permitted himself another increment of hope.
“Secrets!” he thought again, and his mind soared.
Life, in its natural impulse, had no secrets.
Baby gurgled, or cried, or manifested needs, instant by instant, as each feeling was experienced. But the child, growing older, was progressively admonished and inhibited; subjected to a thousand restraints. Yet all his life the growing being would want open-ness and unrestraint; would struggle to free himself from childhood—and that was what it was—conditioning.
Conditioning was not of itself logic of levels. But it was related; a step lower, only. The appearance was of a control center; that is, a rigidity. But it was a created center, which could be repeatedly mobilized by the correct stimulus. That part was automatic.
The decisive fact was that, since the Glis had conditioned itself to secrecy . . . it was conditionable.
