A. van Vogt - The Voyage of the Space Beagle

As soon as he had slipped the letter into the mail chute, he called Dr. Eggert’s office. His timing, as it turned out, was sharper than he had anticipated. In ten minutes Dr. Eggert came in and put down his bag.

As he straightened, footsteps sounded in the corridor. A moment later, Kent and two husky chemistry technicians entered.

Dr. Eggert glanced round casually, and nodded cheerfully as he recognized the chemist chief. “Hello, Greg,” he said in his deep voice. Having acknowledged the other’s presence, he gave his full attention to Grosvenor. “Well,” he said finally, “looks like we’ve got a bug here, my friend. It’s amazing. No matter how much protection we give on these landings, some virus or bacteria break through occasionally. I’ll have you taken down to the isolation ward.”

“I’d rather stay up here.”

Dr. Eggert frowned, then shrugged. “In your case, it’s feasible.” He packed his instruments. “I’ll have an attendant up right away to look after you. We don’t take any chances with strange bugs.”

There was a grunt from Kent. Grosvenor who had glanced occasionally at the Acting Director with simulated puzzlement, looked up questioningly. Kent said in an annoyed tone, “What seems to be the trouble, Doctor?”

“Can’t tell yet. We’ll see what the lab tests bring out.” He frowned. “I’ve taken samples from almost every part of him. So far, the symptoms are fever and some evidence of fluid in the lungs.” He shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t let you talk to him now, Greg. This may be serious.”

Kent said brusquely, “We’ll have to take the risk. Mr. Grosvenor is in possession of valuable information and” — he spoke deliberately — “I feel sure he is still strong enough to give it.”

Dr. Eggert looked at Grosvenor. “How do you feel?” he asked.

“I can still talk,” Grosvenor said weakly. His face felt hot. His eyes ached. But one of the two reasons why he had made himself sick was the hope that it would impel Kent to come up, as he now had.

The other reason was that he didn’t want to attend in person any meeting of scientists Kent might call. Here in this department and here alone he could defend himself from hasty actions the others might decide to take against him.

The doctor glanced at his watch. “Tell you what,” he said to Kent, and more indirectly to Grosvenor, “I’m sending up an attendant. The conversation has to be over by the time he gets here. All right?”

Kent said with false heartiness, “Fine!”

Grosvenor nodded.

From the door, Dr. Eggert said, “Mr. Fander will be up in about twenty minutes.”

When he had gone, Kent came slowly to the edge of the bed and looked down at Grosvenor. He stood like that for a long moment, and then said in a deceptively mild voice, “I don’t understand what you’re trying to do. Why are you not giving us the information you have?”

Grosvenor said, “Mr. Kent, are you really surprised?”

Once more there was silence. Grosvenor had the distinct impression of a very angry man restraining himself with difficulty. Finally, Kent said in a low, tense voice, “I am the Director of this expedition. I demand that you make your recommendations at once.”

Grosvenor shook his head, slowly. He suddenly felt hot and heavy. He said, “I don’t know just what to say to that. You’re a pretty predictable man, Mr. Kent. You see, I expected you to handle my letters the way you did. I expected you to come up here with” — he glanced at the other two men — “a couple of hatchetmen. Under the circumstances, I think I’m justified in insisting on a meeting of the heads, so that I can personally present my recommendations.”

If he had had time, he would have jerked up his arm then to defend himself. Too late, he saw that Kent was more furious than he had suspected.

“Pretty smart, eh!” the chemist said savagely. His hand came up. He struck Grosvenor in the face with his palm. He spoke again through clenched teeth. “So you’re sick, are you? People sick with strange diseases sometimes go out of their heads, and they sometimes have to be severely handled because they insanely attack their dearest friends.”

Grosvenor stared at him blurrily. He put his hand up to his face. And, because he was feverish and genuinely weak, he had trouble slipping the antidote into his mouth. He pretended to be holding his cheek where Kent had struck him. He swallowed the new drug, and then said shakily, “All right, I’m insane. Now what?”

If Kent was surprised by the reaction, his words did not show it. He asked curtly, “What do you really want?”

Grosvenor had to fight a moment of nausea. When that was past, he replied, “I want you to start propaganda to the effect that, in your judgment, what has been discovered about the enemy intelligence will require the members of this ship to adjust themselves to staying in space five years longer than was anticipated. That’s all for now. When you’ve done that, I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

He was beginning to feel better. The antidote was working. The fever was down. And he meant exactly what he had said. His plan was not inflexible. At any stage, Kent or, later on, the group could accept his proposals, and that would end his series of stratagems.

Twice, now, Kent parted his lips as if he intended to speak. Each time, he closed them again. Finally, he said in a choked voice, “Is this all you’re going to offer at this time?”

Grosvenor’s fingers under the blanket were poised on a button at one side of the bed, ready to press it. He said, “I swear you’ll get what you want.”

Kent said sharply, “It’s out of the question. I couldn’t possibly commit myself to such madness. The men won’t stand for even a one-year extension of the voyage.”

Grosvenor said steadily, “Your presence here indicates that you don’t think I have a mad solution.”

Kent clenched and unclenched his hands. “It’s impossible! How could I possibly explain my action to the department heads!”

Watching the little man, Grosvenor suspected that the crisis was imminent: “You don’t have to tell them at this point. All you have to do is promise the information.”

One of the technicians, who had been watching Kent’s face, spoke up. “Look, chief, this man doesn’t seem to realize he’s speaking to the Director. How about us working him over?”

Kent, who had been on the point of saying something more, stopped himself. He stepped back, licking his lips. Then he nodded vigorously. “You’re right, Bredder, I don’t know how I came to start arguing with him. Just a minute while I lock the door. Then we’ll—”

Grosvenor warned, “I wouldn’t shut it if I were you. It’ll set off alarms all over the ship.”

Kent, one hand on the door, stopped and turned. There was a set smile on his face. “All right then,” he said stiffly, “we’ll take you apart with the door open. Start talking, my friend.”

The two technicians stepped forward quickly. Grosvenor said, “Bredder, have you ever heard of peripheral electrostatic charge?” As the two men hesitated, he went on grimly. “Touch me and you’ll burn. Your hands will blister. Your face—”

Both men were straightening, pulling away. The blond Bredder glanced uneasily at Kent. Kent said angrily, “The amount of electricity in a man’s body couldn’t kill a fly,”

Grosvenor shook his head. “Aren’t you a little out of your field, Mr. Kent? The electricity isn’t in my body, but it will be in yours if you lay a hand on me.”

Kent took out his vibrator and deliberately made an adjustment on it. “Stand back!” he said to his assistants. “I’m going to give him a timed spray of one-tenth of a second. It won’t knock him unconscious, but it’ll jar every molecule in his body.”