The COMPLEAT Collected SFF Works, page 305
"Our water is being carefully rationed," McCullough continued, "and at the present rate of consumption the supply will last for thirty-two days. This will take us three days past the arrival time of the supply vehicle, but it will carry only a forty-day supply of water! A few minutes simple computation will show that unless we can return the marooned men to the P-ships where the water supply can be recycled properly, our supply problem is logistically insoluble.
"We have already drawn heavily on the food meant for the return trip," McCullough ended grimly, "and if we don't find a local source of water we can never come home."
About the only thing McCullough did not have to worry about was General Brady's reaction to this latest report. Earth and Prometheus Control were only a few weeks off the time when they would pass behind the sun, the relay vehicle designed to circumvent this difficulty was not yet in operation, and incoming messages were rendered almost unintelligible by interference.
Not completely unintelligible, of course. By asking Control to repeat every sentence anything up to ten times, Walters was usually able to piece together a complete message. Unlike McCullough, however, Walters had nothing better to do, and somehow a signal lost a good deal of its urgency and emotional content when it had to be repeated so many times.
PRECISELY on time the high-acceleration supply rocket homed-in on P-One's beacon and was taken aboard the alien Ship. It contained, in addition to the promised water, a twenty-day supply of food, film, paper, and a collapsed, carefully packed spacesuit. Some well-wisher had tucked a .45 automatic inside the spacesuit, probably on impulse and without taking time to think about packing it properly, and the forty-G acceleration of the supply vehicle had caused the heavy gun to tear a large hole in the hip and leg sections, rendering the suit completely useless.
They had lost a spacesuit and gained an automatic pistol for which there was no ammunition.
THEIR SEARCH pattern took the form of a flat spiral which wound slowly around the lateral axis of the Ship while moving even more slowly forward. At regular intervals a temporary base was set up with a search radius of twenty-five yards or more, depending on the available accommodation and the hostility and numbers of the local population. When completed, the search pattern would still leave a long, empty core of unexplored territory in the three-dimensional map they were constructing.
They found only storerooms and compartments, packed with equipment whose shapes and purpose were slowly becoming familiar to them, and the ever-present netted corridors linking them together. It seemed obvious that the crew's quarters, if any, the life-support system and other essential services were deep in the as yet unexplored center of the Ship.
"It is very bad tactics to cut ourselves off from the outer hull and contact with our ships," said the colonel as they paused, between sorties, to fill in another small section of their map, "but it seems to me that there are certain periods when the risk is lessened. You must all have noticed the regular decrease in alien activity and numbers which seems to occur every five or six hours. If we assume this to be due to periodic feeding, we can, at these times, push the search deeper into the Ship. Or we might try following some of the e-t's—at a safe distance, of course—in the hope of their leading us to the source of the food and water."
Hollis said, "The absence of e-t's is not entirely regular, sir. There seems to be a longer absence, possibly due to a sleep period, between every few meals. This could be an important datum in calculating the length of their day and the rotation of their home planet."
"Personally," said Drew impatiently, "I am more interested in gathering data which will aid our survival. For instance, if one of us should lose his weapon, is there enough known about their physical makeup for us to use an e-t form of karate on them? Or put another way, Doctor, where is the dirtiest spot I can plant my boot?"
Reluctantly, McCullough told him.
They did not deliberately try to kill the aliens, doing so only when the Twos attacked them—which was always. Once they came on a dead Two whose condition suggested that it had been partially eaten. This was another important datum, Hollis said, which gave strong support to McCullough's theory that the e-t's were experimental animals running wild rather than sentient beings.
This did not comfort McCullough as much as it should have done, because he was developing a new theory. It rested on the premise that the Ship had suffered some kind of nonmaterial catastrophe—the psychological pressures of a too lengthy voyage, perhaps—which had driven the crew insane so that the Twos were either the survivors or descendants of the original personnel now reduced to little more than animals.
But he did not mention his new theory to the others because it would have made them unhappy and uncertain again.
Hollis and Berryman were becoming expert at identifying and tracing power and control lines without actually knowing what it was the lines powered or controlled. It should be possible, they insisted, to utilize one of these currently dead circuits to carry radio messages from deep inside the Ship to the metal of the outer hull. In effect the circuit or section of plumbing would be an extension of their suit antennae and, since the signals would be in the form of radio frequency impulses rather than a flow of current, there was little danger of them inadvertently switching on one of the alien controls or mechanisms.
In order to test this idea and also to get a line on the whereabouts of the Twos' feeding place, the next base was established some forty yards inboard.
It was a large, gray-walled compartment filled with disciplined masses of plumbing and the usual sealed cabinets growing out from all six sides. A quick search showed it to be empty, and McCullough guarded the only entrance, which was a sliding door rather than the airtight seals found under the hull area. Hollis, Berryman and Drew were bunched together with Morrison floating close by, when they started to argue about a Two they had killed and whether they had defended themselves before or after it had actually attacked. They began talking loudly, vehemently, obviously feeling safe in this bright alien cupboard, when the Two which had been hiding somewhere in the compartment landed among them.
There were shouts, curses and a scream that jerked on and off regularly, as if someone was trying to hold a high note while his back was being clapped. McCullough swung round and raised his weapon, but the center of the room was a confused mass of twisting, struggling bodies which were rapidly becoming obscured by a growing red fog and there was nothing he could do. The Two had wrapped its tentacles around someone and was furiously disembowelling him with its horn while the others tried to tear it loose and kick and stab it to death.
When they finally succeeded in pulling it away, McCullough launched himself toward the man, grabbed him around the waist and held him tightly face to face so that he would not be able to see his terrible wounds. Then he told the man lies in a gentle, reassuring voice until Drew separated them, saying harshly that the colonel was dead.
Berryman, Hollis and Drew were watching him, obviously waiting for instructions, or possibly for some indication that he was unwilling to accept his responsibility. McCullough squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to obliterate the sight of Morrison's body from his mind's eye as well as from normal vision. He tried to picture the colonel alive, as he had been a few days or hours ago, but great soft balls of coagulating blood like tacky grapes drifted against his face as a reminder that all images of Morrison alive would inevitably lead to the one he was trying to blot out of Morrison dead. It was impossible for McCullough to think of the colonel without seeing the grisly thing which spun slowly beside him like a bloody Catherine wheel. Because it had once been Morrison it inhabited every second of the past as well as the present. It was only in the future that the colonel did not really exist.
There was a feverish sort of logic about that thought, McCullough told himself. He must think only of a time when the colonel did not exist, and avoid bringing up memories of him; he must think only of the future. But there were a number of futures and they began flickering past his mind's eye like pictures from the Black Museum. A drowning man was supposed to see his past life passing before his eyes, but McCullough was seeing an endless succession of future deaths, so he opened his eyes and stared back at the others.
He said, "Berryman, find an empty tool locker or something and put the colonel's body in it. Wire or wedge the fastening so's those animals won't be able to get at him. When you've finished, go to the nearest hull lock chamber and report what has happened to Walters. Today we planned to follow the Twos to their food and water supply and that is still at the top of our list of priorities.
"However," he concluded, "if you hear a disturbance, don't come charging to our rescue. Stay in a safe place until the next lunch break and then mate your way back here. Understand?"
Berryman looked from Hollis to Drew and then back to McCullough. Despite the differences in rank and the military discipline which was supposed to bind them, this, McCullough knew, was something in the nature of an election. From his expression it was obvious that Hollis was voting a timid positive, Drew's features registered an angry negative, and Walter's opinions, since he was no longer directly involved in the Two-human running battle which was being waged in the Ship, were not being considered. It was Berryman, therefore, who had the casting vote in this election, and while the silence dragged on, McCullough wondered what qualities this normally lighthearted pilot thought important in a leader, and if his qualifications were insufficient, how exactly Berryman would let him know about it.
He would be an extremely tactful and kindly mutineer, McCullough thought.
Finally Berryman nodded and said drily, "The Colonel is dead. Long live the Lieutenant Colonel ..."
It had been Morrison's intention to probe the Ship as deeply as possible today, and to follow the aliens to their feeding place despite the risk of the Earth party ending up being surrounded by practically every Two in the Ship. McCullough's instructions were not unexpected, and they probably thought he was carrying on as planned out of respect for their dead colonel, or if they were feeling cynical, because he could think of nothing better to do.
As he led them into the corridor, McCullough wondered why it was so important to him that he should get as far away from the colonel's body as possible. In the past he had treated automobile accident cases and examined the pulverized remains of jet pilots who had hit the deck at close to Mach One, so that Morrison's body was not by any means the worst sight he had had to witness in his life. He had even seen a matador gored repeatedly by a bull on one occasion, and while he had felt clinical concern for the unfortunate man, some detached portion of his mind—a group of rebel brain cells, perhaps, which had abstained when the majority were taking the Hippocratic Oath—had been glad that on this occasion the bull had been able to hit back. It was just that in some obscure fashion the colonel's had been such a dirty death, and McCullough did not want to think about it at all.
They spotted a Two about ten minutes later and trailed it at a distance of twenty yards or less, depending on the turns and twists of its route. At intervals they wrapped pieces of paper around the netting so that they would be able to find their way back again. But the Two ignored them, either because it did not see them or because it had something more important on its mind. A few minutes later it was joined by another of its kind, then three more, none of which showed any interest in their pursuers. The men were pushing deeper and deeper into the Ship now, and large stretches of the corridors were permanently lit—they did not have to switch on the corridor lighting here and could not even see the switches which controlled it. They also became aware of a low, moaning sound which rose and fell and changed pitch constantly but erratically and grew steadily louder as they went on.
Suddenly there were three aliens following them and gaining steadily. Before they became sandwiched too tightly between the two groups of e-t's, McCullough led his party into the next empty compartment. Its sliding door had a large window so he did not switch on the room lights. While waiting for the second group to pass he had a few minutes to look around, and he discovered something which almost made him call off the search for a water supply.
This compartment was different from the others they had examined. Even the light which filtered in from the corridor made that very plain. The cable runs and ducting were absent or hidden behind flush wall panels and the objects occupying the room had the unmistakable, finished look of items of furniture. In the center of the room there was suspended a long, cylindrical shape which could very well be a free-fall hammock.
"They've gone past," said Drew, opening the sliding door. "We'll have to hurry—they're turning into an intersection ..."
Very carefully McCullough marked the position of the compartment on his map, then left with the others. He still felt that he should have made them stop until they had examined and considered all the implications of the room they had just left.
A lab animal would not require a furnished room, which meant that there were intelligent extraterrestrials on the Ship.
He needed time to think. The search for water could be postponed for a few hours or days while they decided what was the best thing to do. McCullough was the boss and he would order a return to base.
But McCullough did not give the order because everything began happening at once.
They turned into a corridor unlike any they had seen before. One wall was made up of heavy wire mesh through which they could see a large compartment filled with Twos, while other Twos fought and wriggled their way through gaps in the mesh. Inside the enclosure the fighting and jockeying for position was so vicious that several of the e-t's were dead. The object of the fighting seemed to be to gain a position near a long plastic panel running along one wall of the enclosure. From the panel there sprouted a large number of open, small-diameter pipes and a similar number which terminated in rubbery swellings. The fighting which was going on made it difficult to see exactly what it was that was oozing out of them.
"Semiliquid food from the pipes, I think," said Hollis excitedly, "and what looks like water from the nipples!"
He broke off as a single, deafening chime reverberated along the corridor and they heard their first alien voice.
It could have been his imagination, but McCullough felt sure that the sound was subtly unlike the alien gobblings of the Twos. The word-sounds seemed more complex and meaningful somehow, and there was almost a quality of urgency about them. He knew that it was ridiculous to read meanings into a completely alien sequence of sounds, but his feeling of being warned remained strong. Each time the voice paused, the single, tremendous chime was repeated—or perhaps the voice was speaking quickly between chimes.
The Twos on the other side of the mesh became more agitated when a chime sounded, but they did not stop either eating or fighting each other.
Drew said something about Pavlov to Hollis and McCullough unstrapped his tape recorder. Drew swung his weapon to point at a nearby speaker grill where it would be possible to get a recording without too much interference from the feeding animals, but he never completed the movement. There was a blinding double flash as the spear touched the mesh and the corridor. Drew jerked violently, then became motionless except for a slow, lateral spin.
A second alien voice joined the first one and the moaning sounds increased in intensity.
The new voice seemed to be speaking the same language. Very often it repeated the same word-sounds as the first voice, but it spoke over or around it and did not pause for the chimes. Sometimes it spoke quickly and at other times the words were dragged out and their pitch, volume and inflection varied so widely that it seemed to be trying to sing.
McCullough felt confused and stupid as he blinked away the green afterimage of the flash and tried to make some kind of sense out of what was happening. He needed time to think.
But he was given no time to think, because Berryman was coming back and shouting at them from the other end of the corridor.
"Doctor! Doctor! Walters says the generator blisters are beginning to glow—all of them that he can see from P-Two! He says the Ship is leaving!"
Chapter Fifteen
FOR THE first few seconds McCullough's feeling was one of outrage rather than fear. This was going too far, he thought; being marooned on the Ship, running short of water, under nearly constant attack by aliens, the deaths of Colonel Morrison and Drew. This was piling on the agony and taking misfortune to ridiculous extremes. The Ship couldn't be leaving!
But Berryman kept babbling on about Walters and the glow emanating from the interior of the transparent generator blisters and the interference which was being picked up by P-Two's radio, all of which indicated a steady build-up of power within the Ship. Then there was the constant gabbling of the Twos, the chiming, the alien voices and moaning sound pouring out of the wall speaker. If the Ship was leaving, McCullough would be expected to do something about it, react in some fashion, make decisions, give orders now.
He couldn't.
The problem was too big and complicated for quick decisions and inspired leadership—at least, so far as he was concerned. He had to put it into some sort of order in his mind, take time to consider the events in consecutive fashion and break the problem down, even though they might have no time at all. He must go back past Berryman's arrival to the time when Drew was alive and only the alien voices ...
McCullough's mind came to a sudden halt at that point and ground into reverse. Drew might very well be still alive. Now that he had time to think about it, the more likely it became. He pointed at the mesh and at Drew and tried to speak.
What he wanted to say was that the mesh was electrified and they should stay clear of it, and that Drew's weapon had touched it while the haft was in contact with the floor, so that the flash had been a short along the shaft of the spear. He wanted to tell them that in his opinion the mesh was not too highly charged—the way he saw it there should be just enough kick in it to keep the captive animals under control—and in any case Drew had been wearing his suit gauntlets which would give added protection. Considering the gauntlets and the fact that the discharge had gone through the weapon and not by way of Drew's body, he tried to say, there was a good chance that prompt resuscitation measures would save him. But all he could do was stammer and point. He could not make them understand or even hold their attention.
