All Judgment Fled (22 page)

 

 

McCullough cleared his throat and said, "At the risk of sounding like
General Brady, I suggest that the mass of important new data which has
been made available should be very carefully considered before we make
a move toward communicating with one of the crew."

 

 

With the exception of Drew, they all returned to the study of the room's
fittings. They reminded each other several times that they were examining
what were almost certainly personal effects which should be treated with
great care. Sometimes they laughed for no apparent reason, or shouted
in excitement, or spoke in guilty whispers in case someone or something
overheard them.

 

 

As well as the medicine cabinet with its Three symbol, there were wall
racks to which were clipped surprisingly Earthlike spools of tape or film.
Another cabinet held books which were not illustrated, much to the men's
disappointment, and yet another contained flexible plastic tubes full
of liquid and semiliquid substances which smelled to high heaven.

 

 

"Probably booze or beauty cream," said Berryman as he wriggled out of an
alien bed. He had been investigating the interiors of both hammocks. When
his legs were clear he added, "They're almost comfortable if it wasn't
for the dampness and smell. When you push against the inside, the padding
secretes something which smells like -- like . . . It's a damp smell,
not altogether unpleasant."

 

 

McCullough investigated with eye and nose, finding that he had to push
away several of the Threes to do so. But the animals were wriggling and
flapping around only one of the hammocks. He was reminded suddenly of
dogs excited by the scent of their master or by the clothing or personal
possessions of their master. One of these beds had been occupied recently,
he felt sure, or the Threes would not be so excited. He turned back to
look again at the pictures.

 

 

Most of them showed pallid, leafless vegetation set against a dark,
mottled background or one that resembled rough-grained wood. While there
was a definite feeling of depth to the pictures, there was no middle
distance or horizon, and McCullough assumed that they were some kind of
still-life studies. But there were two pictures which had everything --
size, perspective and almost photographic detail. One of them showed the
plant or thing or whatever it was that they had at first mistaken for a
multicolored pile of spaghetti, with trees in the foreground and clouds
behind to give a true indication of its tremendous size. Another showed
trees with strange leaves on them, thick, wiry undergrowth harboring a
running Two and a dazzlingly bright sky. A great many questions regarding
the Two life-form were answered by that picture.

 

 

The e-t stag at bay,
he thought drily.

 

 

He could now tell General Brady that the Twos were, in fact, animals
and not intelligent beings. While this knowledge would be a load off
everyone's mind, it still meant that McCullough was faced with the problem
of making contact with the intelligent extraterrestrial on the Ship,
and all at once he was most horribly afraid and unsure of himself. He
did not want the responsibility and he could not make the decision which
was being forced on him -- at least, not right now.

 

 

In a couple of hours, perhaps, or days . . .

 

 

Right now he wanted to slap an indefinite Hold on everything. He wanted
time to look at all the evidence old and new, and discuss it quietly
and in the greatest possible detail. This time he could not afford to
push the wrong psychological button, for he was now firmly convinced
that there was only one intelligent extraterrestrial left in the Ship
and that physically and emotionally it was not in good shape.

 

 

It took a tremendous effort for him to make his voice sound firm and
steady when he spoke.

 

 

"Everybody out," he said. "We must report this to Brady and decide on
our next move. This time we can't afford to make a mistake. Collect your
Threes and let's go. Quickly!"

 

 

But the Threes did not want to leave. It took more than ten minutes'
coaxing and petting to make them leave the vicinity of that one
cylindrical hammock. Meanwhile Drew reported Twos beginning to gather
a little way along the corridor and asked permission to close the door,
and Berryman, his Threes covering his body like a form-fitting fur coat,
continued to look around.

 

 

Suddenly he called, "Over here!"

 

 

The pilot had opened what he thought was the door of a recessed cupboard
-- there were a number of them in the room -- and found himself looking
along a short stretch of corridor. There was another door containing a
large transparent panel at the other end, and beyond that another room
which was in darkness except for the myriads of indicator lights burning
like regimented stars on the facing wall. As they watched, a black shadow
began to occlude some of the stars.

 

 

"Outside!" shouted McCullough again. "Quickly, and make sure the door
is closed properly behind us!"

 

 

"But there's dozens of them out here," said Drew angrily. "Something is
biting them. I've never heard Twos make a noise like this before.

 

 

"Get out of here!"

 

 

When the entrance to the alien crew's compartment was safely closed
behind him, McCullough tried to explain why he had insisted on them
leaving a relatively safe position for their present highly dangerous
one, but they were all too angry to talk and there were so many Twos in
the corridor that they couldn't risk taking their eyes off them even to
look at him. Probably they were hating him for being stupid or a coward,
or both. But McCullough, while scared stiff of meeting the alien face to
face, had been even more afraid of another possibility. He had suddenly
thought of the animal enclosure with its half-eaten body of the other
crew member, and he had had a picture of what the Twos would do if they
broke into that last compartment.

 

 

He wondered if the alien had considered his reaction cowardly, always
supposing that the being was capable of reasoning at all. But even if
grief over the loss of what was very probably its mate, and loneliness
and fear inside this vast, Two-infested Ship -- and possibly physical
injuries as well -- had driven it insane or close to insanity, a cowardly
reaction might actually be reassuring to it. There was nobody who helped
a coward like an even greater coward. But he could not cure the alien,
or communicate with it, by running away all the time.

 

 

On Earth, psychiatric treatment of seriously disturbed patients -- insane
was not considered a nice word -- had had only limited success, so what
chance had a doctor, who was not even a psychologist, of curing a patient
whose archetypal images were out of this world, whose phallic symbols were
unrecognizable, and whose culture contained in all probability a welter of
psychological theories even more complex and mutally contradictory than
those current on Earth? There might be some relatively simple form of
therapy possible, of course. The e-t equivalent of the snake pit where
the patient cured itself with just a little, unskilled help and a lot
of sympathy.

 

 

But that was asking for too much. Right now McCullough needed specialist
advice and assistance, from Earth.

 

 

"Back to the hull lock chamber," he said. "We have to contact Walters,
and Brady. Hurry it up!"

 

 

The Twos attacked while he was speaking, filling the corridor with
colliding, cartwheeling bodies and slashing, horn-tipped tentacles. In the
confusion Drew and Hollis got three of them and Berryman one before they
were able to pull clear of the mêlée. McCullough seriously
wounded a couple of them and lost contact with his Three after the furry
creature had started to strangle another Two which had been trying to
swarm onto his back. But suddenly it was with him again, flapping along
behind him as they retreated along the corridor. He reached back, caught
it and pulled it onto his shoulders like a great, furry cape.

 

 

Suddenly they were trapped. Another group of Twos came boiling out of an
intersection ahead of them, bouncing off the wall netting and each other
like outsize, tentacled molecules illustrating the Brownian movement
of gases. Obviously the humans had not reduced the number of Twos as
efficiently as they had hoped.

 

 

Berryman shouted, "In here!"

 

 

He was holding open the sliding door into a large dormitory compartment
and they went through it backward, spears jabbing at full extension,
fighting off Twos. Seconds after they had slid it shut, the door bulged
alarmingly as several Twos charged it together, but it did not come off
its runners. Drew and Berryman were able to get their spears through
the warped outsides of the door and stab attacking Twos with comparative
safety and they killed four of the animals without, however, seriously
discouraging the attack. Hollis and McCullough, meanwhile, made a quick
check of the compartment. Their most important discoveries were another
exit and, floating in one of the corners, a thick, illustrated magazine.

 

 

The color reproduction and values were strange and the printed characters
even stranger, not to mention the raised, embossed pattern on the bottom
outside corner of each page, which allowed them to be turned by alien
digits terminating in osseous material, but somehow it still managed
to look like a copy of an illustrated magazine that might have been
picked up anywhere on Earth. McCullough longed for time to examine it
and discuss it at length with the others. He wanted to photograph it
page by page and have Walters transmit the pictures to Earth and have
everyone there discuss it and offer specialist advice.

 

 

But behind him the Twos were battering their way through the warped
sliding door. McCullough folded the magazine carefully and wedged it
between his air tanks and his back, then led the way out of the other
exit and along the corridor.

 

 

They continued to duck in and out of compartments, some of which were
large, interconnected dormitories with several exits, and for several
minutes they completely lost the Twos. By then they were completely
lost themselves.

 

 

"Berryman," said McCullough, steadying himself against a hammock as he
tried to catch his mental and physical breath. "Check the plumbing with
a view to contacting Walters. Hollis, help him. While you're doing so,
try to think of a quick way of repairing the sabotaged generator. Drew,
stay by the door. To save time I'll begin taping a report for the general
while you two try to contact P-One."

 

 

But the Twos battered down the door a few minutes later and they were
forced to move again.

 

 

Drew swore horribly and said that he did not know what had got into them.
Normally ferocious and blindly antagonistic, they were now literally killing
themselves, cracking open their bony carapaces against the metal doors
and running into each others' horns in their attempts to get at the
humans. It was as if some dreadful hysteria had them in its grip and
the grip was tightening by the minute.

 

 

Some very special kind of killing instinct was being aroused, McCullough
told himself as the men were forced to flee once again. It had to be
a very deep-rooted instinct because these Twos were almost certainly
second or third generation.

 

 

The report was finally completed during a lull while the Twos, who were
still in the grip of the conditioning which made them visit the food
dispensers at mealtimes, were absent. Berryman identified a section of
plumbing belonging to the hydraulic systern actuating the hull cargo
locks and said that it should make a very good link with their ship. The
pilot quickly connected his suit radio antenna, said that someone was
already talking at the other end, and turned up the volume.

 

 

Tinny, distorted and furiously angry, Brady's voice rattled out at them.

 

 

". . . What you said was bad enough. Thoughtless, irresponsible,
downright criminal considering the political situation here -- and I'm
disregarding the tone, which was insubordinate to the point of mutiny! But
those pictures, that cold-blooded slaughter of what are almost certainly
intelligent beings -- you've been secretive, McCullough is afraid even to
talk to me, and no wonder! Killing Twos has been reduced to a fine art,
and judging by those pictures . . ."

 

 

"Walters -- " began McCullough.

 

 

". . . enjoying practicing that art! You act like barbarians instead
of so-called reasoning beings! And you can't even claim the excuse of
honest insanity, because your actions are too cold-blooded and carefully
thought out. Moral cowardice, which is not an excuse, and megalomania is
what ails you all -- you made a mistake, McCullough made a mistake with
the Twos at the onset and will slaughter every last one of them rather
than admit it! I want to talk to you, Doctor. I know you're afraid to
listen but . . ."

 

 

"Turn him down, Walters, I want to talk to you . . ."

 

 

". . . All things being equal, the simple rather than the complicated
explanation is usually the true one! Try THIS theory, Doctor. It
was evolved by people here who know their stuff, and it also fits the
facts. The Ship dormitory accommodation was meant for its large complement
of Twos -- it may have been a colonization project, a troop transport,
or it may simply have needed a very large crew. A couple of Twos could
squeeze into those hammocks, you know -- have you considered that? Then
something happened during the early part of the trip, after the course had
already been set for this solar system. Whatever catastrophe occurred, it
was almost certainly nonphysical. The end result was a process of cultural
devolution which brought the crew close to the level of animals. They
broke into, not out of, the animal cages in search of food and eventually
sank to practicing cannibalism. But they did not forget all their early
training -- or their ancestors' early training -- beca1use they reacted
violently toward anyone who appeared to threaten their Ship.
I can even make a prediction based on this theory, McCullough. It is
this. The closer you approach the Ship's control center -- which the
Twos must regard as some sort of mystic shrine or taboo area by now,
since they know it is vital to the Ship without understanding why --
their antagonism toward you will increase . . ."