All Judgment Fled (13 page)

 

 

McCullough broke off. He was supposed to be careful of everything he said
and this was, after all, one of the less publicized aspects of space
travel . . .

 

 

His sarcasm would take just over sixteen minutes to reach General Brady
and the same time for the other's reaction to bounce back again. But it
seemed suddenly as if the project's chief was telepathic and that thought
traveled much faster than light, because Brady went on apologetically,
"We are not counting the pennies on this, however, or even the millions
of dollars, so there is no reason for concern over this aspect of the
situation. Just take it easy, do your best and, before you open your
mouth, remember all those listening millions who are ready to jump to
wrong conclusions.
"And now we will consider the matter of urgent supplies.
"These will reach you via a modified high-acceleration probe in forty-one
days -- a five-day countdown, which has already started, and thirty-six
days for the trip. We will discuss rendezvous procedure later. Right now
I must tell you that the payload is an integral part of the vehicle and
ask that you give urgent thought to its composition. Should priority
he given to food, water, replacement spacesuits, weapons and in what
proportion? "No doubt you will want to talk about this with the men on
the Ship, so I'll sign off now. Good luck to all of you."

 

 

The general was followed by a McDonnell man who talked endlessly about the
weight and size limitations of their supply vehicle and the rendezvous
problems. McCullough left Walters to listen to him while he relayed
a shortened version of Brady's instructions to the men in the Ship. He
spoke to Drew because everyone else was asleep. Drew did not want to wake
the colonel and McCullough agreed that the matter could wait for a few
hours. But the mention of sleep made him pause for a moment to calculate
how long it had been since he had had any, and the immediate result of
his calculations was a jaw-wrenching yawn. He told Drew that Walters,
Hollis and he would stand radio watch in turn while the others caught
up on their sleep, and asked to be called if there was the slightest
change in the condition of their wounds, or any other emergency.

 

 

Hollis returned while he was talking. As if his arrival was the cue,
a dry, pedantic voice replaced that of the McDonnell man. From the
physicist's expression McCullough knew that questions of a highly
specialized and technical nature were about to be directed at Hollis. He
wanted to avoid another delayed-action dialogue starting up while they
were all so tired, so he broke in to say that they all needed rest and
would resume contact, unless there was a sudden emergency, in twelve
hours.

 

 

To Walters and Hollis he suggested -- McCullough did not feel comfortable
about giving orders, despite his technically superior rank -- that they get
some rest while he stood first watch.

 

 

The physicist nodded and began struggling out of his suit prior to strapping
in. Walters, who was already strapped into his couch, linked fingers behind
his neck and elaborately closed his eyes. Shortly afterward the pilot was
asleep and Hollis had his eyes closed, pretending. He was scratching
surreptitiously at the side of his neck turned away from McCullough.
Despite himself, the doctor felt his own eyes closing.

 

 

Obviously he was going to need something more strenuous than worrying
about the physicist's mental health to keep him awake, and his first
thought was the investigation of the alien cadaver. But he could not
work here -- it would be stretching even Walters' sense of humor to the
breaking point if the pilot was to wake up to find the module filled with
drifting alien entrails -- and the lock where he had left the specimen
was too cramped. The best thing would be for him to move to P-Two's
command module, which he would have all to himself, and use the other
ship's radio to listen for trouble developing at the bridgehead.

 

 

After listening to Brady and Drew
, he thought irritably,
even
I'm beginning to think like a general!

 

 

But as his examination of the e-t proceeded, McCullough's tiredness
was forgotten. He had begun by assuming that the alien's vital organs,
including its brain, would be housed high under the protective carapace
and his assumption proved correct. He was able to identify and isolate
the lungs, the odd-looking muscular pump which was the heart, and the
mechanism of ingestion, digestion and excretion. At each major step in
the examination he took photographs.

 

 

There were puzzles at first, but one by one they were solved as he charted
the digestive, respiratory and, so far as he was able with the instruments
available to him, the nervous system. Tracing the connections to the eyes,
ears and to the vicious weapon projecting from its underside was relatively
easy -- the thing was simply a curved horn with a small degree of mobility
and not, as he had at first thought, a sting. But there were a few puzzles
which refused to be solved. The being's reproductive system was a completely
closed book to him. He had no idea what sort of environment could cause
a creature shaped as this one was to evolve, and there were points which
bothered him about angles of vision and the degree of control the being
exercised over all four tentacles. There was no evidence of specialization
in any of the appendages.

 

 

He wondered if ambidextrous was the right word to use for a being
with four hands, but he was too weary to solve that puzzle as well.
He began to tidy away the grisly pieces of alien which floated about the
command module, thinking that he would have to waken Walters so that he,
McCullough, would have a chance to sleep on his many problems.

 

 

But when he did go to sleep there were no solutions waiting to rise out
of his subconscious. Instead he dreamed only of Berryman, Morrison and
Drew and of the nightmarish fates which could befall them, culminating
in one which involved a fungus growing out of their wounds and spreading
over their whole bodies until they became great, livid, mobile sponges
which mewed and gobbled appealingly at him while they chased him along
the bright, net-covered corridors of the alien Ship.

 

 

That one woke him up screaming.

 

 

 

 

chapter thirteen

 

 

Six days went by and none of the men on the Ship died or even became
infected. Perhaps their bodies were too alien an environment for
extraterrestrial microorganisms to survive in them, or it may have
been that Earth medication and antibiotics were a match for most germs
regardless of origin. McCullough's pleasure and relief over this was
intense, but the feeling was banished shortly afterward by his row with
the general.

 

 

McCullough had evolved a number of theories about the alien Type Two,
but he wanted to have his conclusions regarding some of the more puzzling
aspects of its physiology vetted by someone more eminent in the field. He
had prepared, and had Walters transmit, a group of eight photographs
taken during the alien's post-mortem before commencing his verbal report,
and in the thousand-odd seconds it took for the signal to reach Earth
and for the general's first reaction to come back, he said quite a lot.

 

 

Too much, obviously.

 

 

"Silence! Stop talking at once!"
Brady's voice roared at him
suddenly.
"For God's sake STOP TALKING!"

 

 

But so far as the general was concerned, there was nothing that could
stop McCullough's voice arriving for at least another half hour, and
Brady quickly realized this. He was still angry but his tone became almost
resigned as he went on,
"You are supposed to be very careful of every
word you say, McCullough. If you do or say anything wrong, it reflects on
all of us. Not just on you people out there or on the project personnel,
our whole country and its ideology suffers as a consequence! Don't you
realize that what you've just done will cause a storm of criticism and
censure from inside as well as outside the country, that a large section
of the world's population is going to feel angry and ashamed of what
you have done out there?
"Every time you open your mouth, McCullough, you lose friends and we lose
support! Think, dammit, before you talk!
"There are some who will be pleased with what you are doing,"
the
general went on bitterly.
"The biologists who are too interested in
finding out what makes an alien tick to think of ethical and politicai
side effects. And there are the various groups advocating that a stronger
line should be taken against these unfriendly aliens. But even you must
be aware of how much trouble is caused by people who object to dissection
practiced on domestic animals and pets, and now YOU have to start cutting
up a member of an intelligent extraterrestrial species!"

 

 

And so it went on.

 

 

McCullough remained silent with a considerable effort. A lot had happened
during the six days since the fight with the aliens. From Earth the first
high-acceleration supply vehicle had been launched, proceeded, accompanied
and followed by thousands of words of cautious advice. In P-Two McCullough
had completed his examination of the alien and had passed his thoughts
about it to the three men marooned on the Ship. His chief reason for
doing this had been to give them something else to think about other
than their wounds -- wounds from which they had not really expected to
recover. But now that recovery was simply a matter of time, it was a
little embarrassing for McCullough that his theory had been accepted in
toto by everyone but himself.

 

 

The reason for that, of course, was that it made them feel less guilty
over some of the things they had done.

 

 

But it was, after all, only a theory, and the facts on which it was based
could be interpreted several ways. McCullough had transmitted a group
of pictures and a number of verbal facts before the general had started
having hysterics. He had not even mentioned his theory. Apparently Brady
did not want to hear it. Brady did not want to hear
anything
!

 

 

"Doctor," said Walters in a whisper. "You've been tapping that mike with
your finger for the past ten minutes. When the general gets around to
hearing it he will think something terrible is happening."

 

 

"Something is," said McCullough. "I'm losing my patience."

 

 

He paused, then choosing his words with great care, went on, "Since I
am forbidden to discuss my findings on the Type Two alien's physiology,
or draw conclusions from them or even ask questions regarding them from
people who are more knowledgeable than myself, there is nothing more to
say except this. The photographs and verbal report transmitted so far
represent facts, and both my theory and the questions arising from it
are implicit in these facts if you bring them to the attention of the
right people. Message ends."

 

 

The general was still complaining bitterly. McCullough tuned him down to
a whisper and knocked off the transmit switch. He picked up the length
of modified tubing Walters and he had been working on, then told the
pilot that he was going to the Ship and that he would send Hollis back
as soon as he arrived there. If the general or any lesser light from
Control wanted to hear from them, they should talk about hyperdrive
generators and nothing else.

 

 

He entered the lock chamber a few minutes later and Hollis left it,
closing the outer seal behind him. Immediately there was a rush of
air entering from the corridor which was quickly followed by the three
marooned men. Even though there were no aliens outside the chamber, the
men's movements were fast, precise and economical -- a complex, well
practiced drill. Outwardly at least, they were adapting to conditions
inside the Ship. Before McCullough could speak, Drew dived toward him,
checked himself expertly against a lashing point and said, "Is that the
new weapon?"

 

 

McCullough nodded and with obvious reluctance handed it over.

 

 

"I know how you feel, Doctor," said Drew. "You are worried about this new
form of frightfulness you are about to unloose on our little world. But
this isn't a mass-destruction weapon. We will be discriminating in its
use and kill only aliens who are trying to kill us . . ."

 

 

"But they are aliens!" said McCullough angrily. "My theory could be
completely wrong."

 

 

"I think not," said Colonel Morrison, joining them. "In any case we are
badly in need of a Two-stopper, and it looks as if you've given us one."

 

 

When a Two was stabbed with one of the existing spears it was still
possible for it to inflict considerable damage before it died, so
the weapon had been shortened slightly so as to make it handle like a
sword. At the business end, the tubing had been cut diagonally in the
manner of a hypodermic needle and the tip flattened and given a razor
edge on both sides. A few inches back from the tip, the blade curved
through an angle of about thirty degrees so that it looked a little like
a bullfighter's sword.

 

 

The effect would be to inflict a deep-punctured wound, after which
the damage could be multiplied and compounded by giving the weapon a
quick, semicircular twist before tugging it free. The thought of the
frightful internal devastation a properly delivered thrust and twist
would inflict on the victim's body made McCullough feel physically as
well as mentally uncomfortable. He was still not sure how he had become
a party to this thing.