A. van Vogt - The Voyage of the Space Beagle

Kent hesitated, then said, “If someone cares to take up Gunlie’s proposal….” When, after several seconds, no one had spoken, Kent continued confidently. “I want each department head to prepare for me a detailed account of what he can contribute to the success of the landing we must eventually make. That’s all, gentlemen.”

In the corridor outside the control room, Grosvenor felt a hand on his arm. He turned and recognized McCann, the chief geologist. McCann said, “We’ve been so busy doing repair work this last few months that I haven’t had a chance to invite you to come to my department. I anticipate that when we finally make a landing, the equipment of the geology department will be used for purposes for which it was not precisely intended. A Nexialist could come in very handy.”

Grosvenor considered that, then nodded his acceptance. “I’ll be there tomorrow morning. I want to prepare my recommendations for the Acting Director.”

McCann looked at him quickly, hesitated, and then said, “You don’t think he’ll be interested, do you?”

So others had noticed Kent’s dislike of him. Grosvenor said slowly, “Yes, because he won’t have to give individual credit.” McCann nodded, “Well, good luck to you, my boy.” He was turning away when Grosvenor stopped him. Grosvenor said, “What, in your opinion, is the basis for Kent’s popularity as a leader?”

McCann hesitated, and seemed to be deliberating. Finally he said, “He’s human. He has likes and dislikes. He gets excited about things. He has a bad temper. He makes mistakes, and tries to pretend that he didn’t. He’s desperately anxious to be director. When the ship gets back to Earth, the publicity will flow around the executive officer. There’s something of Kent in all of us. He’s — well — he’s a human being.”

“I notice,” said Grosvenor, “you didn’t say anything about his qualifications for the job.”

“It’s not a vital position, generally speaking. He can get advice from experts on anything he wants to know.” McCann pursed his lips. “It’s hard to put Kent’s appeal into words, but I think that scientists are constantly on the defensive about their alleged unfeeling intellectualism. So they like to have someone fronting for them who is emotional but whose scientific qualifications cannot be questioned.”

Grosvenor shook his head. “I disagree with you about the director’s job not being vital. It all depends on the individual as to how he exercises the very considerable authority involved.”

McCann studied him shrewdly. He said finally, “Strictly logical men like you have always had a hard time understanding the mass appeal of the Kents. They haven’t much chance against his type, politically.”

Grosvenor smiled grimly. “It’s not their devotion to the scientific method that defeats the technologists. It’s their integrity. The average trained man often understands the tactics that are used against him better than the person who uses them, but he cannot bring himself to retaliate in kind without feeling tarnished.”

McCann frowned. “That’s too pat. Do you mean you have no such qualms?”

Grosvenor was silent.

McCann persisted. “Suppose you decided that Kent ought to be ousted, what would you do?”

“At the moment my thoughts are quite constitutional,” Grosvenor said carefully.

Grosvenor was surprised to see that there was relief in McCann’s expression. The older man gripped his arm in a friendly gesture. “I’m glad to hear your intentions are legal,” he said earnestly. “Ever since that lecture you gave, I’ve realized what hasn’t yet dawned on anyone else — that you are potentially the most dangerous man on this ship. The integrated knowledge you have in your mind, applied with determination and purpose, could be more disastrous than any outside attack.”

After a moment of astonishment, Grosvenor shook his head. “That is an overstatement,” he said. “One man is too easy to kill.”

“I notice,” said McCann, “you don’t deny possessing the knowledge.”

Grosvenor held out his hand in farewell. “Thanks for your high opinion of me. Although considerably exaggerated, it’s psychologically uplifting.”

The thirty-first star they visited was Sol-size, Sol-type. Of its three planets, one followed an orbit of eighty million miles. Like all the other habitable worlds they had seen, it was a steaming jungle and primeval sea.

The Space Beagle settled through its gaseous envelope of air and water vapour, and began to fly along at a low level, a great alien ball of metal in a fantastic land.

In the geology laboratory, Grosvenor watched a bank of instruments that metered the nature of the terrain below. It was a complex job which demanded the closest attention, since much of the interpretation of the data called for the associative processes of a highly trained mind. The constant stream of reflexions of the ultrasonic and short-wave signals being sent out had to be channelled into the proper computing devices at precisely the right time for comparative analysis. To the standard techniques with which McCann was familiar, Grosvenor had added certain refinements in accordance with Nexial principles, and an amazingly complete picture of the planet’s outer crust was being tabulated.

For an hour Grosvenor sat there, deeply involved in his educated guesswork. The facts emerging varied widely in detail, but consideration of molecular structure, arrangement and distribution of the different elements indicated a certain geologic sameness: mud, sandstone, clay, granite, organic debris — probably coal deposits — silicates in the form of sand overlying rock, water—

Several needles on the dials before him swung over sharply and held steady. Their reaction showed indirectly the presence of metallic iron in large quantities with traces of carbon, molybdenum—

Steel! Grosvenor snatched at a lever which precipitated a series of events. A bell started to ring. McCann came running. The ship stopped. A few feet from Grosvenor, McCann began to talk to Acting Director Kent.

“Yes, Director,” he was saying, “steel, not just iron ore.” He did not mention Grosvenor by name, but went on, “We set our instruments at a hundred feet maximum. This could be a city buried — or hidden — in a jungle mud.”

Kent said matter-of-factly, “We’ll know in a few days.”

Cautiously, the ship was kept well above the surface, and the necessary equipment was lowered through a temporary gap in its energy screen. Giant shovels, cranes, mobile conveyors were set up, along with supplementary devices. So carefully had everything been rehearsed that thirty minutes after the ship started to disgorge material it was again heading out into space.

The entire excavating job was done by remote control. Trained men watched the scene in communicator plates and operated the machines on the ground. In four days, the highly integrated mass of implements had dug a hole two hundred and fifty feet deep by four hundred feet wide and eight hundred feet long. What was exposed then was not so much a city as the incredible rubble of what had been a city.

The buildings looked as if they had crumpled under the weight of a burden too great for them to carry. The street level was at the full two-hundred-and-fifty-foot depth, and there they began to turn up bones. Cease-digging orders were given, and several lifeboats made their way down through the muggy atmosphere. Grosvenor went along with McCann, and presently he was standing with several other scientists beside what was left of one of the skeletons.

“Rather badly crushed,” said Smith. “But I think I can piece it together.”

His trained fingers arranged bones into a rough design. “Four-legged,” he said. He brought a fluoroscopic device to bear on one of the limbs. He said presently, “This one seems to have been dead about twenty-five years.”