The compleat collected s.., p.304
The COMPLEAT Collected SFF Works, page 304
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 political 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 any-thing!
"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.
Hippocrates and Asclepius, he thought, would not have approved of his behavior in this matter.
His only real excuse for producing the weapon was an unsatisfactory one even to himself, the fact that the Two's horn was also a cruel and deadly instrument of destruction. There was also the fact that the damage the new weapon would inflict on vital organs, the massive hemorrhaging it would cause, would paralyze the alien with shock and cause death within a few seconds, so that in a way it was almost humane.
The colonel's voice broke in on his thoughts, giving him a welcome change of mental subject. Morrison said, "What I really want to know is how much freedom of action I am allowed. Can we use our own initiative regarding the local situation and the problems rising out of it, or must all our thinking be done from the Cape?"
"Our thinking is being done," said McCullough with a deliberate lack of inflection in his voice, "by the Russians, the Buddhists, the United Nations, and the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals."
They were all watching him.
Morrison's shoulder and arm were still giving him pain, McCullough knew, and the other two were by no means comfortable. They had all lost a good deal of blood and been under constant strain with inadequate sleep since being marooned on the Ship. The bright-blue lighting made it impossible to conceal subtle changes of expression or variations of facial pallor. They were all staring at him so intently that the thought uppermost in his mind must have been plain for all of them to see.
I want to go home!
"Go on, Doctor," said Morrison harshly.
"Very well, sir," said McCullough. "Our problem, or rather your problem, is this. We are being told what to do by people who do not know all the facts, and who don't want to be told them because of the effect the telling might have on public opinion. Their instructions to us, if you could call them instructions, are so general in nature and so hedged around with qualifiers and warnings that they don't really seem to mean anything. We need help. Not only are we not getting it, we are being ordered not to ask for it!
"I, personally, would like corroboration of my findings in the Two autopsy," McCullough went on, anger gradually replacing the fear in his voice. "Moral support, if you like, for a theory and a decision I am too much a coward to take alone. Instead of giving me the necessary support, Brady nearly had a fit and would not let me finish explaining the situation! I don't know what has happened to them back there. They act as if they are having an emergency instead of us!"
"In a sense, they are—" began Morrison. "I think you're being too unselfish, sir," said McCullough bitingly. "It is my considered professional opinion, for which I do not need moral support, that the mental and physical stresses involved in coping with the local situation are severe enough without also making us responsible for possible changes in the political situation at home.
"The whole idea is ridiculous! We are in the limelight as no other group of men has ever been, we know this. In a sense we may be standing trial for our whole race. But our work here will be more valuable, or reactions more honest if you like, if we don't allow ourselves to be paralyzed with stage fright!
"I would like permission, sir," McCullough ended less vehemently, "to request information and assistance from Control without having to consider mass audience reactions."
"You have a point, Doctor," said Morrison, after a short pause. "At the same time, we can't afford to ignore public opinion completely."
"But that's the way Brady talks!"
"I'll think about it, Doctor," said Morrison sharply. "Right now we must discuss the food and water situation, weapons, tactics and—and a change of base. While we are here we may as well find out as much as possible about the Ship. And while we're talking, Doctor, I'd like you to look at my dressings."
McCullough wondered if the colonel was looking for sympathy, then immediately felt ashamed for thinking such a thing. Morrison's injury was painful and inflamed, although not infected, and it was only one of his many problems. For his physical impairment had seriously undermined his authority. With one arm virtually useless he was dependent on his inferior officers not only for protection but for the kind of assistance which was more common in a nurse-patient relationship. And cut off as he was from direct contact with Control, he could no longer speak with all the authority of Earth behind his words. As well, the project which he headed had come thoroughly unstuck.
At the present moment the colonel must be feeling frightened and impotent and pretty much a total loss to himself and everyone else, and as a doctor, McCullough should not be aggravating these feelings.
It was a time for applying oil to the situation, or perhaps butter. Not broken glass.
McCullough stayed on the Ship three days. In that time their 'bridgehead' was moved twice, on both occasions to compartments close to the generator blister so as to facilitate the work of Hollis. Despite the Twos which attacked them at frequent but irregular intervals, and at times kept them pinned down in their base for hours on end, the work of gathering information about the Ship went on.
When friction developed, which was frequently, he applied oil. McCullough was sure that his bedside manner had never had such a strenuous workout in all its long life. But his charm did not work very well on the colonel. Despite his arguments on the necessity of gathering further data either to support or disprove his theory, Morrison would not allow him to attempt communication with the Twos.
Twos, the colonel had said ...
Chapter Fourteen
DURING his next report to the general, McCullough's voice was as neutral and unemotional as any human voice could be—to begin with, anyway.
"In the light of additional data gathered within the past few days," he said carefully, "we may have to modify our thinking considerably regarding the purpose of the alien Ship and its crew.
"First, the Ship ..."
The alien vessel had made a controlled approach and had been inserted into an orbit which showed every indication of being precalculated, McCullough went on, after which it had taken no action of any kind. This, however, did not preclude the possibility that it was gathering data, since the forward section contained a number of transparent protective blisters which might very well house sensory equipment of some kind. In fact, the primary—perhaps the only—purpose of the Ship was the gathering of such data.
Where the Ship's construction was concerned—and here McCullough had to admit that they had investigated only a very small fraction of the vessel's enormous volume—they had come to certain fairly definite conclusions.
The way they now saw it, the Ship's construction was based on a design philosophy in which weight was of little or no importance. Apparently its source of power was so efficient that there was no necessity to save an ounce or a pound here and there by putting lightening holes in structural members or designing down an angle bracket so that it would take only the amount of stress necessary to its function plus a fractional safety overlap.
All the indications pointed to the fact that the Ship had been built in space, probably in an extrasolar asteroid belt or close to a small moon where metal and the means of working it were to hand. The more sophisticated power, control and life-support systems had almost certainly been built on the home planet and transported piecemeal to the hull. What little they had seen of the layout of corridors, wall nets and numerous access points to the Ship's interior made them certain that all this had been designed to facilitate the vessel's builders rather than its crew.
They may have been guilty of grossly overestimating the intelligence and capabilities of the crews as well.
"We have complete data on only one of these three life-forms," McCullough went on, "and that is the tentacled, starfish-shaped Type Two. During all our meetings with them these beings have been completely and uniformly aggressive, so much so that after the second alien attack, Drew remarked that if they behaved like wild animals they should be treated as such. My subsequent physiological investigation of the Two revealed a brain structure and nervous system which appeared unusually small and uncomplicated, and a lack of fine control in the appendages, facts which supported Drew's theory.
"We are all now of the opinion that we have been trying to establish intelligent communication with the alien equivalent of guinea pigs!"
Their current theory was that the Ship was an interstellar probe of some kind carrying experimental animals which had escaped and overrun the Ship and killed its crew. There was also a strong possibility that it did not, and had never had, a crew, and that the life-support system and internal lighting was initially for use during the vessel's construction and was subsequently being used by the animal passengers. This being the case, they felt free to fight a defensive war against the alien life-forms infesting the Ship while they mapped, photographed and learned everything they could about the vessel's equipment and function.
Priority, however, would be given to finding a method of patching-in to the alien life-support system. The reason for this, as had been already explained, was that the water used by the marooned men was almost completely lost since only a fraction was recoverable to be put through the P-ship's recycling system.
