The Second Murray Leinster Megapack (98 page)

That was why Joe Burke did not happen to complete the business for which he’d taken Sandy Lund to a suitable, romantic spot. She was his secretary and the only permanent employee in the highly individual business he’d begun and operated. He’d known her all his life, and it seemed to him that for most of it he’d wanted to marry her. But something had happened to him when he was quite a small boy—and still happened at intervals—which interposed a mental block. He’d always wanted to be romantic with her, but there was a matter of two moons in a strange-starred sky, and trees with foliage like none on Earth, and an overwhelming emotion. There was no rational explanation for it. There could be none. Often he’d told himself that Sandy was real and utterly desirable, and this lunatic repetitive experience was at worst insanity and at the least delusion. But he’d never been able to do more than stammer when talk between them went away from matter-of-fact things.

Tonight, though, he’d parked his car where a river sparkled in the moonlight. There was a scent of pine and arbutus in the air and a faint thread of romantic music came from his car’s radio. He’d brought Sandy here to propose to her. He was doggedly resolved to break the chains a psychological oddity had tied him up in.

He cleared his throat. He’d taken Sandy out to dinner, ostensibly to celebrate the completion of a development job for Interiors, Inc. Burke had started Burke Development, Inc., some four years out of college when he found he didn’t like working for other people and could work for himself. Its function was to develop designs and processes for companies too small to have research-and-development divisions of their own. The latest, now-finished, job was a wall-garden which those expensive interior decorators, Interiors, Inc., believed might appeal to the very rich. Burke had made it. It was a hydroponic job. A rich man’s house could have one or more walls which looked like a grassy sward stood on edge, with occasional small flowers or even fruits growing from its close-clipped surface. Interiors, Inc., would push the idea of a bomb shelter or in an atomic submarine where it would cation.{sic}

It was done. A production-job room-wall had been shipped and the check for it banked. Burke had toyed with the idea that growing vegetation like that might be useful in a bomb shelter or in an atomic submarine where it would keep the air fresh indefinitely. But such ideas were for the future. They had nothing to do with now. Now Burke was going to triumph over an obsessive dream.

“I’ve got something to say, Sandy,” said Burke painfully.

She did not turn her head. There was moonlight, rippling water, and the tranquil noises of the night in springtime. A perfect setting for what Burke had in mind, and what Sandy knew about in advance. She waited, her eyes turned away from him so he wouldn’t see that they were shining a little.

“I’m something of an idiot,” said Burke, clumsily. “It’s only fair to tell you about it. I’m subject to a psychological gimmick that a girl I—Hm.” He coughed. “I think I ought to tell you about it.”

“Why?” asked Sandy, still not looking in his direction.

“Because I want to be fair,” said Burke. “I’m a sort of crackpot. You’ve noticed it, of course.”

Sandy considered.

“No-o-o-o,” she said measuredly, “I think you’re pretty normal, except—No. I think you’re all right.”

“Unfortunately,” he told her, “I’m not. Ever since I was a kid I’ve been bothered by a delusion, if that’s what it is. It doesn’t make sense. It couldn’t. But it made me take up engineering, I think, and…”

His voice trailed away.

“And what?”

“Made an idiot out of me,” said Burke. “I was always pretty crazy about you, and it seems to me that I took you to a lot of dances and such in high school, but I couldn’t act romantic. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. There was this crazy delusion…”

“I wondered, a little,” said Sandy, smiling.

“I wanted to be romantic about you,” he told her urgently, “But this damned obsession kept me from it.”

“Are you offering to be a brother to me now?” asked Sandy.

“No!” said Burke explosively. “I’m fed up with myself. I want to be different. Very different. With you!”

Sandy smiled again.

“Strangely enough, you interest me,” she told him. “Do go on!”

But he was abruptly tongue-tied. He looked at her, struggling to speak. She waited.

“I w-want to ask you to m-m-marry me,” said Burke desperately. “But I have to tell you about the other thing first. Maybe you won’t want…”

Her eyes were definitely shining now. There was soft music and rippling water and soft wind in the trees. It was definitely the time and place for romance.

But the music on the car radio cut off abruptly. A harsh voice interrupted:

“Special Bulletin! Special Bulletin! Messages of unknown origin are reaching Earth from outer space! Special Bulletin! Messages from outer space!”

Burke reached over and turned up the sound. Perhaps he was the only man in the world who would have spoiled such a moment to listen to a news broadcast, and even he wouldn’t have done it for a broadcast on any other subject. He turned the sound high.

“This is a special broadcast from the Academy of Sciences in Washington, D. C.” boomed the speaker. “Some thirteen hours ago a satellite-tracking station in the South Pacific reported picking up signals of unknown origin and great strength, using the microwave frequencies also used by artificial satellites now in orbit around Earth. The report was verified shortly afterward from India, then Near East tracking stations made the same report. European listening posts and radar telescopes were on the alert when the sky area from which the signals come rose above the horizon. American stations have again verified the report within the last few minutes. Artificial signals, plainly not made by men, are now reaching Earth every seventy-nine minutes from remotest space. There is as yet no hint of what the messages may mean, but that they are an attempt at communication is certain. The signals have been recorded on tape, and the sounds which follow are those which have been sent to Earth by alien, non-human, intelligent beings no one knows how far away.”

A pause. Then the car radio, with night sounds and the calls of nightbirds for background, gave out crisp, distinct fluting noises, like someone playing an arbitrary selection of musical notes on a strange wind instrument.

The effect was plaintive, but Burke stiffened in every muscle at the first of them. The fluting noises were higher and lower in turn. At intervals, they paused as if between groups of signals constituting a word. The enigmatic sounds went on for a full minute. Then they stopped. The voice returned:

“These are the signals from space. What you have heard is apparently a complete message. It is repeated five times and then ceases. An hour and nineteen minutes later it is again repeated five times…”

The voice continued, while Burke remained frozen and motionless in the parked car. Sandy watched him, at first hopefully, and then bewilderedly. The voice said that the signal strength was very great. But the power for artificial-satellite broadcasts is only a fraction of a watt. These signals, considering the minimum distance from which they could come, had at least thousands of kilowatts behind them.

Somewhere out in space, farther than man’s robot rockets had ever gone, huge amounts of electric energy were controlled to send these signals to Earth. Scientists were in disagreement about the possible distance the signals had traveled, whether they were meant solely for Earth or not, and whether they were an attempt to open communication with humanity. But nobody doubted that the signals were artificial. They had been sent by technical means. They could not conceivably be natural phenomena. Directional fixes said absolutely that they did not come from Mars or Jupiter or Saturn. Neptune and Uranus and Pluto were not nearly in the line of the signals’ travel. Of course Venus and Mercury were to sunward of Earth, which ruled them out, since the signals arrived only on the night side of mankind’s world. Nobody could guess, as yet, where they did originate.

Burke sat utterly still, every muscle tense. He was so pale that even in the moonlight Sandy saw it. She was alarmed.

“Joe! What’s the matter?”

“Did you—hear that?” he asked thinly. “The signals?”

“Of course. But what…”

“I recognized them,” said Burke, in a tone that was somehow despairing. “I’ve heard signals like that every so often since I was a kid.” He swallowed. “It was sounds like that, and what went with them, that has been the—trouble with me. I was going to tell you about it—and ask you if you’d marry me anyway.”

He began to tremble a little, which was not at all like the Joe Burke that Sandy knew.

“I don’t quite under—”

“I’m afraid I’ve gone out of my head,” he said unsteadily. “Look, Sandy! I was going to propose to you. Instead, I’m going to take you back to the office. I’m going to play you a recording I made a year ago. I think that when you’ve heard it you’ll decide you wouldn’t want to marry me anyhow.”

Sandy looked at him with astonished eyes.

“You mean those signals from somewhere mean something special to you?”

“Very special,” said Burke. “They raise the question of whether I’ve been crazy, and am suddenly sane, or whether I’ve been sane up to now, and have suddenly gone crazy.”

The radio switched back to dance music. Burke cut it off. He started the car’s motor. He backed, swung around, and headed for the office and construction shed of Burke Development, Inc.

Elsewhere, the profoundest minds of the planet gingerly examined the appalling fact that signals came to Earth from a place where men could not be. A message came from something which was not human. It was a suggestion to make cold chills run up and down any educated spine. But Burke drove tensely, and the road’s surface sped toward the car’s wheels and vanished under them. A warm breeze hummed and thuttered around the windshield. Sandy sat very still.

“The way I’m acting doesn’t make sense, does it?” Burke asked. “Do you feel like you’re riding with a lunatic?”

“No,” she said. “But I never thought that if you ever did get around to asking me to marry you, somebody from outer space would forbid the banns! Can’t you tell me what all this is about?”

“I doubt it very much,” he told her. “Can you tell me what the signals are about?”

She shook her head. He drove through the night. Presently he said, “Aside from my private angle on the matter, there are some queer things about this business. Why should somebody out in space send us a broadcast? It’s not from a planet, they say. If there’s a spaceship on the way here, why warn us? If they want to be friends, they can’t be sure we’ll permit it. If they intend to be enemies, why throw away the advantage of surprise? In either case, it would be foolish to send cryptic messages on ahead. And any message would have to be cryptic.”

The car went whirring along the roadway. Soon twinkling lights appeared among the trees. The small and larger buildings of Burke Development, Inc., came gradually into view. They were dark objects in a large empty space on the very edge of Burke’s home town.

“And why,” he went on, “why send a complex message if they only wanted to say that they were space travelers on the way to Earth?”

The exit from the highway to Burke Development appeared. Burke swung off the surfaced road and into the four-acre space his small and unusual business did not begin to fill up.

“If it were an offer of communication, it should be short and simple. Maybe an arithmetic sequence of dots, to say that they were intelligent beings and would like the sequence carried on if we had brains, too. Then we’d know somebody friendly was coming and wanted to exchange ideas before, if necessary, swapping bombs.”

The car’s headlights swept over the building in which the experimental work of Burke Development was done and on to the small house in which Sandy kept the books and records of the firm, Burke put on the brakes before the office door.

“Just to see if my head is working right,” he said, “I raise a question about those signals. One doesn’t send a long message to emptiness, repeated, in the hope that someone may be around to catch it. One calls, and sends a long message only when the call is answered. The call says who’s wanted and who’s calling, but nothing more. This isn’t that sort of thing.”

He got out of the car and opened the door on her side, then unlocked the office door and went in. He switched on the lights inside. For a moment, Sandy did not move. Then she slowly got out of the car and entered the once which was so completely familiar. Burke bent over the office safe, turning the tumbler-wheel to open it. He said over his shoulder, “That special bulletin will be repeated on all the news broadcasts. You’ve got a little radio here. Turn it on, will you?”

Again slowly, Sandy crossed the office and turned on the miniature radio on her desk. It warmed up and began to make noises. She dimmed it until it was barely audible. Burke stood up with a reel of brown tape. He put it on the office recorder, usually used for the dictation of the day’s lab log.

“I have a dream sometimes,” said Burke, “A recurrent dream. I’ve had it every so often since I was eleven. I’ve tried to believe it was simply a freak, but sometimes I’ve suspected I was a telepath, getting some garbled message from somewhere unguessable. That has to be wrong. And again I’ve suspected that—well—that I might not be completely human. That I was planted here on Earth, somehow, not knowing it, to be of use to—something not of Earth. And that’s crazy. So I’ve been pretty leery of being romantic about anybody. Tonight I’d managed to persuade myself all those wild imaginings were absurd. And then the signals came.” He paused and said unsteadily, “I made this tape a year ago. I was trying to convince myself that it was nonsense. Listen. Remember, I made this a year ago!”