A. van Vogt - The Voyage of the Space Beagle

What he had done had no relation to the guilt or innocence of Coeurl. Whatever the eventual result of his interference, any decision made about the creature must be made by the recognized authorities, not by one man.

“Kent,” said Siedel coldly, “I don’t believe you actually lost control of yourself there. You deliberately tried to kill pussy, knowing that the Director has ordered him kept alive. I have a good mind to report you, and to insist that you suffer the penalties. You know what they are. Loss of authority in your department, ineligibility for any of the dozen elective offices.”

There was a stirring and murmur in a group of men whom Grosvenor recognized as Kent supporters. One of them said, “No, no, don’t be foolish, Siedel.” Another was more cynical. “Don’t forget there are witnesses for Kent as well as against him.”

Kent stared grimly at the circle of faces. “Korita was right when he said ours was a highly civilized age. It’s positively decadent.” He went on passionately. “My God, isn’t there a man here who can see the horror of the situation? Jarvey dead only a few hours, and this creature, whom we all know to be guilty, lying here unchained, planning his next murder. And the victim is probably here in this room. What kind of men are we? Are we fools, cynics, or ghouls? Or is it that our civilization is so steeped in reason that we can contemplate even a murderer sympathetically?” He fixed his brooding eyes on Coeurl. “Morton was right. That’s no animal. That’s a devil from the deepest hell of this forgotten planet.”

“Don’t go melodramatic on us,” Siedel said. “Your analysis is psychologically unstable. We’re not ghouls or cynics. We’re simply scientists, and pussy here is going to be studied. Now that we suspect him, we doubt his ability to corner any of us. One against a thousand hasn’t got a chance.” He glanced around. “Since Morton isn’t here, I’ll put this to a vote here and now. Do I speak for all of you?”

“Not for me, Siedel.” It was Smith who spoke. As the psychologist stared in astonishment, Smith continued. “In the excitement and momentary confusion no one seems to have noticed that when Kent fired his vibration gun, the beam hit this creature squarely on his cat head, and didn’t hurt him!”

Siedel’s amazed glance went from Smith to Coeurl, and back again to Smith. “Are you certain it hit him? As you say, it all happened so swiftly — when pussy wasn’t hurt I simply assumed that Kent had missed him.”

“I was pretty sure it hit him in the face,” Smith said. “A vibration gun, of course, can’t even kill a man quickly, but it can injure him. Pussy is showing no sign of injury; he’s not even trembling. I don’t say that’s conclusive, but in view of our doubts—”

Siedel was briefly distracted. “Perhaps his skin is a good insulation against heat and energy.”

“Perhaps. But in view of our uncertainty, I think Morton should be requested to order him locked in a cage.”

While Siedel frowned doubtfully, Kent spoke up. “Now you’re talking sense, Smith.”

Siedel said swiftly, “Then you would be satisfied, Kent, if we put him in a cage?”

Kent considered, then said reluctantly, “Yes. If four inches of micro-steel can’t hold him, we’d better give him the ship.” Grosvenor, who had remained in the background, said nothing. He had discussed the problems of imprisoning Coeurl in his brief to Morton, and found the cage inadequate, principally because of its lock mechanism.

Siedel walked to a wall communicator, talked in a low voice to someone, and then returned. “The Director says if we can get him into the cage without violence, it’s fine with him. Otherwise, just lock him up in any room that he’s in. What do you think?”

“The cage!” A score of voices spoke in unison. Grosvenor waited for a moment of silence, then said, “Put him outside for the night. He’ll stay around.”

Most of the men ignored him. Kent glanced at him and said sourly, “You don’t seem to be able to make up your mind, do you? One moment you save his life, the next you recognize him as dangerous.”

“He saved his own life,” said Grosvenor shortly. Kent turned away, shrugging. “We’ll put him in the cage. That’s where a murderer ought to be.”

Siedel said, “Now that we’ve made up our minds, how are we going to do this?”

Grosvenor said, “You definitely want him in the cage?” He didn’t expect an answer to that, and he didn’t get one. He walked forward and touched the end of the nearest of Coeurl’s tentacles.

It shrank away from him slightly, but Grosvenor was determined. He grasped the tentacle again firmly, and indicated the door. The animal hesitated a moment longer, and then started silently across the room.

Grosvenor called, “There’s got to be exact timing here. Get set!”

A moment later Coeurl trotted docilely after Grosvenor through another door. He found himself in a square metal room, with a second door on the opposite wall. The man went through that. As Coeurl started to follow, the door slid shut in his face. Simultaneously, there was a metallic clang behind him. He whirled, and saw that the first door was shut also. He felt the flow of power as an electric lock clicked into place. His lips parted in a grimace of hate as he realized the intent of the trap, but he gave no other outward indication. He was aware of the difference between his earlier reaction to a small enclosure and his present one. For hundreds of years he had been intent on food, and food only. Now a thousand memories of the past were reawakening in his brain. There were powers in his body that he had long since ceased using. In remembering them, his mind automatically fitted their possibilities to his present situation.

He sat back presently on the thick, lithe haunches into which his body tapered. With his ear tendrils he examined the energy content of his surroundings. Finally he lay down, his eyes glowing with contempt. The fools!

It was about an hour later when he heard the man — Smith — fumbling with some mechanism on top of the cage. Coeurl leaped to his feet, startled. His first feeling was that he had misjudged these men, and that he was to be killed out of hand. He had counted on being given time, and on being able to do what he planned.

The danger confused him. And when he suddenly sensed radiation far below the level of visibility, he stimulated his entire nervous system against possible peril. Several seconds went by before he realized what was happening. Somebody was taking pictures of the inside of his body.

After a while the man went away. For a time, then, there were noises of men doing things far away. These died away gradually. Coeurl was patient as he waited for the silence to envelop the ship. In the long ago, before they had achieved relative immortality, coeurls also had slept at night. Watching some of the men dozing in the library, he had remembered the habit. There was one sound that did not fade away. Long after the great ship was generally silent, he could hear the two pairs of feet. They paced rhythmically past his cell, receded to some remote distance, and then came back. The trouble was, the guards were not together. First one pair of footsteps walked past. Then, about thirty feet behind, came the second pair.

Coeurl let them come by several times. Each time he estimated how long it took them. Finally, he was satisfied. Once again he waited for them to make their round. This time, the moment they were past, he switched his senses from concentration on human-made vibrations to a vastly higher range. The pulsating violence of the atomic pile in the engine room stammered its soft story to his nervous system. The electric dynamos hummed their muffled song of pure power. He felt the whisper of that flow through the wires in the walls of his cage, and through the electric lock of his door. He forced his quivering body into straining immobility, while he tried to tune in on that sibilant tempest of energy. Abruptly, his ear tendrils vibrated in harmony.