A. van Vogt - The Voyage of the Space Beagle

Grosvenor turned away. The shattered relics that lay around might hold the secret of the fundamental physical character of a vanished race. But it was unlikely that the skeletons held any clue to the identity of the unimaginably merciless beings who had murdered them. These were the pitiful victims, not the arrogant and deadly destroyers.

He made his way gingerly to where McCann was examining soil dug up from the street itself. The geologist said, “I think we’ll be justified in taking a stratigraphical survey from here on down several hundred feet.”

At his word, a drill crew sprang into action. During the next hour, as the machine tore its way through rock and clay, Grosvenor was kept busy. A steady trickle of soil samplings passed under his eyes. Occasionally, he put a bit of rock or earth through a chemical-breakdown process. By the time the lifeboats headed back to the parent ship, McCann was in a position to give a fairly accurate generalized report to Kent. Grosvenor stayed out of the receptive field of the communicator plate while McCann gave the report.

“Director, you will recall that I was particularly asked to check if this could be an artificial jungle plant. It seems to be. The strata below the mud appears to be that of an older, less primitive planet. It is hard to believe that a layer of jungle could have been skimmed from some distant planet and super-imposed on this one, but the evidence points in that direction.”

Kent said, “What about the city itself? How was it destroyed?”

“We have made a few of the calculations, and we can say cautiously that the enormous weight of rock and soil and water could have done all the damage we saw.”

“Have you found any evidence to indicate how long ago this catastrophe took place?”

“We have a little geomorphological data. In several places we examined, the new surface has formed depressions in the old one, indicating that the extra weight is forcing down weaker areas below. By identifying the type of land fault that would sag under such circumstances, we have some figures that we intend to feed into a computing machine. A competent mathematician” — he meant Grosvenor — “has roughly estimated that the pressure of the weight was first applied not more than a hundred years ago. Since geology deals in events that require thousands and millions of years to mature, all the machine can do is to check the manual calculation. It cannot give us a closer estimate.”

There was a pause, and then Kent said formally, “Thank you. I feel that you and your staff have done a good job. One more question: In your investigation, did you find anything that might be a clue to the nature of the intelligence that could bring about such a cataclysmic destruction?”

“Speaking only for myself, without having consulted with my assistants — no!”

It was, Grosvenor reflected, just as well that McCann had so carefully limited his denial. For the geologist, the investigation of this planet was the beginning of the search for the enemy. For himself, it had proved to be the final link in a chain of discovery and reasoning that had started when they first began to hear the strange murmurings in space.

He knew the identity of the most monstrous alien intelligence conceivable. He could guess its terrible purpose. He had carefully analysed what must be done.

His problem was no longer: What is the danger? He had reached the stage where he needed, above all, to put over his solution without compromise. Unfortunately, men who had knowledge of only one or two sciences might not be able, or even willing, to comprehend the potentialities of the deadliest danger that had ever confronted all the life of the entire inter-galactic universe. The solution itself might become the centre of a violent controversy.

Accordingly Grosvenor saw the problem as both political and scientific. He analysed, with a sharp awareness of the possible nature of the forthcoming struggle, that his tactics must be carefully thought out and carried through with the utmost determination.

It was too soon to decide how far he would have to go. But it seemed to him that he dared not place any limitation upon his actions. He would do what was necessary.

When he was ready to act, Grosvenor wrote a letter to Kent:

Acting Director Administrative Offices Expeditionary Ship Space Beagle

Dear Mr. Kent:

I have an important communication to make to all heads of departments. The communication relates to the alien intelligence of this galaxy, about the nature of which I have accumulated evidence adequate for action on the largest scale.

Would you please call a special meeting, so that I may present my suggested solution?

He signed it, “Sincerely yours, Elliott Grosvenor,” and wondered if Kent would notice that he was offering a solution, but not supporting evidence. While he waited for a reply, he quietly moved the rest of his personal belongings from his cabin to the Nexial department. It was the last act in a defence plan that included the possibility of a siege.

The answer arrived the following morning.

Dear Mr. Grosvenor:

I have communicated to Mr. Kent the gist of your memo of yesterday afternoon. He suggests that you make a report on the enclosed form, A — 16 — 4, and expressed surprise that you had not done so as a matter of course.

We are in receipt of other evidence and theory on this matter. Yours will be given careful consideration along with the rest.

Will you please submit the form, properly filled out, as soon as possible.

Yours truly John Fohran For Mr. Kent.

Grosvenor read the letter grimly. He did not doubt that Kent had made sharp remarks to the secretary about the only Nexialist on the ship. Even as it was, Kent had probably restrained his language. The turmoil, the reservoir of hatred that was in the man, was still suppressed. If Korita was right, it would come out in a crisis. This was the “winter” period of man’s present civilization, and entire cultures had been torn to pieces by the vaulting egotism of individuals.

Although he had not intended to offer factual information, Grosvenor decided to fill in the form the secretary had sent him. However, he only listed the evidence. He did not interpret it, nor did he offer his solution. Under the heading, “Recommendations,” he wrote, “The conclusion will be, instantly obvious to any qualified person.”

The titanic fact was that every item of evidence he had presented was known to one or another of the spacious science departments aboard the Space Beagle. The accumulated data had probably been on Kent’s desk for weeks.

Grosvenor delivered the form in person. He didn’t expect a prompt reply, but he remained in his department. He even had his meals sent up. Two twenty-hour periods went by, and then a note arrived from Kent.

Dear Mr. Grosvenor:

In glancing over Form A — 16 — 4, which you have submitted for consideration of the council, I notice that you have failed to specify your recommendations. Since we have received other recommendations on this matter, and intend to combine the best features of each in to comprehensive plan, we would appreciate receiving from you a detailed recommendation.

Will you please give this your prompt attention?

It was signed, “Gregory Kent, Acting Director”. Grosvenor took Kent’s personal signature to the letter to mean that he had scored a direct hit, and that the main action was about to begin.

He doctored himself with drugs that would produce symptoms indistinguishable from influenza. While he waited for his body to react, he wrote another note to Kent, this time to the effect that he was too sick to prepare the recommendations — “which are necessarily long, since they would have to include a considerable body of interpretive reasoning based on the known facts of many sciences. Still, it might be wise to start immediately on the preliminary propaganda in order to accustom the members of the expedition to the notion of spending an extra five years in space.”