A. van Vogt - The Voyage of the Space Beagle

“—adjourned!” said Kent.

The men remained sitting. Kent hesitated, and then said lamely, “I beg your pardon, Mr. Grosvenor, you have the floor.”

Grosvenor said firmly, “It is hard to believe that this being will be capable of refined interpretation of our symbols, but I think we should destroy our star maps.”

“I was about to suggest the same thing,” said von Grossen excitedly. “Continue, Grosvenor.”

There was a chorus of approval, Grosvenor went on. “We are taking action in the belief that our main screen can protect us. Actually, we have no choice but to carry on as if that were true. But when we finally land, we might be advised to have available some large encephalo-adjusters. We could use them to create confusing brain waves, and so prevent any further mind reading.”

Once more, the audience made enough noise to show that they favoured the suggestion.

Kent said in a flat voice, “Anything else, Mr. Grosvenor?” “A general comment only,” said Grosvenor. “The department heads might make a survey of material they control with a view to destroying any that might endanger our race if the Beagle were captured.”

He sat down amid a chilling silence.

As time went on, it seemed clear that the inimical intelligence was deliberately refraining from further action, or else that the screen was doing an effective job. No further incident occurred.

Lonely and remote were the suns at this distant rim of the galaxy. The first sun grew big out of space, a ball of light and heat that burned furiously into the great night. Lester and his staff located five planets close enough to the parent body to be worth investigating. One of the five — all were visited — was habitable, a world of mists and jungles and giant beasts. The ship left it after flying low over an inland sea and across a great continent of marsh growth. There was no evidence of civilization of any kind, much less the stupendous one whose existence they had reason to suspect.

The Space Beagle sped three hundred light-years, and came to a small sun with two planets crowding up close to its cherry-red warmth. One of the two planets was habitable, and it also was a world of mists and jungles and saurianlike beasts. They left it, unexplored, after darting down low over a marshy sea and a land choked with riotous growth.

There were more stars now. They pinpointed the blackness of the next hundred and fifty light-years. A large blue-white sun, with a retinue of at least twenty planets, attracted Kent’s eye; and the swift ship flashed towards it. The seven planets nearest the sun were burning hells, without hope of supporting life. The ship spiralled past three close-together planets that were habitable, and then sped off to interstellar vastness without investigating the others.

Behind them, three steamy jungle planets whirled in their orbits around the hot sun that had spawned them. And, on board, Kent called a meeting of the heads of departments and their chief assistants.

He began the discussion without preamble. He said, “Personally, I don’t think the evidence is very significant as yet. But Lester has urgently requested me to call you.” He shrugged. “Perhaps we’ll learn something.”

He paused, and Grosvenor, watching him, was puzzled by a faint aura of satisfaction that radiated from the little man. He thought, What is he up to? It seemed odd that the Acting Director had taken the trouble to disclaim in advance all credit for any good results that might come from the meeting.

Kent was speaking again, and his tone was friendly. “Gunlie, will you come up here and explain yourself?”

The astronomer climbed to the lower platform. He was a man as tall and thin as Smith. He had eyes of royal blue set in an expressionless face. But there was a hint of emotion in his voice as he spoke.

“Gentlemen, the three habitable planets of that last system were identical triplets, and it was an artificially induced state. I don’t know how many of you are familiar with the current theory regarding the formation of planetary systems. Those of you who are not will perhaps take my word for it that the distribution in mass in the system we have just visited is dynamically impossible. I can say definitely that two of the three habitable planets of that sun were moved into their present position. In my opinion we should go back and investigate. Somebody seems to be deliberately creating primeval planets; for what reason I don’t pretend to guess.”

He stopped and glared belligerently at Kent. The chemist came forward, a faint smile on his face. He said, “Gunlie came to me and asked me to order that we return to one of those jungle planets. In view of his feeling on the matter, I now call for a discussion, and a vote.”

So that was it. Grosvenor sighed, not exactly with admiration for Kent, but at least with appreciation. The Acting Director had made no attempt to build up a case for his opposition. It was quite possible that he did not really oppose the astronomer’s plan. But by calling a meeting when his own views would be overruled, he was proving that he regarded himself as subject to democratic procedure. It was an adroit if somewhat demagogic means of maintaining the good will of his supporters.

Actually, there were valid objections to Lester’s request. It was hard to believe that Kent knew of them, for that would mean he was deliberately ignoring possible danger for the ship. He decided to give Kent the benefit of the doubt, and waited patiently while several scientists asked the astronomer questions of minor importance. When those had been answered, when it seemed clear that the discussion was over except for himself, Grosvenor stood up and said, “I should like to argue in favour of Mr. Kent’s viewpoint in this matter.”

Kent replied coldly, “Really, Mr. Grosvenor, the attitude of the group seems to be indicated by the briefness of the discussion so far, and taking up any more time—”

At that point, he stopped. The real meaning of Grosvenor’s words must finally have penetrated. A thunderstruck expression came into his face. He made an uncertain gesture toward the others, as if appealing for help. When no one spoke, he dropped his arm to his side and muttered, “Mr. Grosvenor, you have the floor.”

Grosvenor said firmly, “Mr. Kent is right: It is too soon. So far we have visited three planetary systems. It should be not less than thirty, taken at random. This is the minimum number, with respect to the order of magnitude of our search, that could have any conclusive significance. I shall be glad to turn over my mathematics to the mathematics department for corroboration. Moreover, in landing we would have to come out from inside our protective energy screen. We would have to be prepared to resist a surprise attack by an intelligence that can use the instantaneous medium of hyperspace to deliver his forces. I have a mental picture of a billion tons of matter projected down upon us as we sit helpless on some planet. Gentlemen, as I see it, there is a good month or two of detailed preparation ahead of us. During that time, naturally, we should visit as many suns as we can. If their habitable planets also are exclusively — or even predominantly — the primeval type, then we shall have a sound basis for Mr. Lester’s idea that it is an artificial state.” Grosvenor paused, then finished. “Mr. Kent, have I expressed what you had in mind?”

Kent had full control of himself again. “Almost precisely, Mr. Grosvenor.” He glanced about him. “Unless there are any further comments, I move that we vote on Gunlie’s proposal.”

The astronomer stood up. “I withdraw it,” he said, “I confess I hadn’t considered some of the points against an early landing.” He sat down.