Kate Wilhelm - The Killer Thing

His voice awakened him. The nightmare was gone, leaving nothing but the memory of the fear that had knotted his stomach. He was shivering. He got up and checked his dinghy then; it had come through the wind storm without damage, and now the wind was gone, the night completely still. The dinghy was fifteen feet long, tapering from nine feet at its widest point to a blunt tail. The two seat-beds were over the engines and the front was filled with controls. There were circular windows of quartz over the seats, two more, smaller, over the storage units behind the seats. The hatch was an oval, five feet high, three feet wide, but the entire rear section of the little boat could be opened, in order to take on a stretcher, or a man in full in-space pressure suit.

The robot must have entered its own dinghy that way, it must have ripped out the seats to get to the controls…

He stepped outside, listening, feeling the cold night air on his skin, unwilling to return to sleep right away, despite the fact that he felt as tired as he had when he first lay down. He had slept four hours at the most, not enough to make up for the unaccustomed exercise of the day before, or the unending tension…

It was very dark on the planet, with only the pale indifferent starlight above. The mountain peaks were merely darker blobs against a dark star-pricked sky. The stars shone steadily, looking very far away and unreachable. He felt alone in the Universe as he stared up at the unfamiliar sky.

There are worlds out there, he told himself, not knowing if he thought the words or said them. Worlds where ships are making regular trade runs, where fleets are manoeuvring, buildings going up, wars going on, worlds where men are finding new things for the first time. Any of them might look and feel alone. It isn’t just me. Somewhere in warp sector a fleet ship is flashing near the speed of light, coming for me. I’m not really alone, not for long.

Damn him! Why hadn’t Duncan stayed alive? Why hadn’t they sent two ships after the metal monster? He went back inside, thoroughly chilled, still unwilling to face again the dream that had wakened him. He pulled out his space charts, wondering how far along the relief ship was by then. It should be in orbit in seven or eight days, ten at the most.

He looked at the familiar worlds: Earth, Venus, Mars—the original World Group, won through hard fighting. First had come the feeble colonies on Mars, and in another fifteen years, those on Venus. Then came a hiatus of nearly one hundred years, during which time the colonies grew, became powerful, waged war with Earth, and finally formed the World Group Government. Only then had come the nearer stars and their planets, taken one by one, painfully, with losses on both sides that none cared to think about any more. Seven Class A planets had been found so far, seven major planets with highly developed civilisations, with “common stock” human beings, and the seven had fought off the armies of the World Group. But they had taken and held them, all of them, and finally the seven had surrendered; now they were practically equal partners.

Trace didn’t even know how many minor planets had been found, although it was one of the first lessons taught in astro-politics. The numbers changed from week to week almost. Like an amoeba the powers had grown—the Earth splintering off a human segment to make the Mars Colony, to settle Venus, then the three rejoining, bigger, stronger than ever. After that the growth had been faster and faster, until now when a pseudopod reached out and claimed a new world for the parent body, there was little excitement. The organism had grown very large, and was reaching out in every direction, hungry for new worlds, impregnable, invulnerable now, seizing what it touched, incorporating all that fell before it.

This world would be added to the total, he knew, another minor planet, and he would receive a bonus. A team would be sent here to investigate its possibilities; if it had anything of value on it, the proper office of the government would be informed. In due time the proper group of people would be dispatched to take the new wealth back to the government. Mining camps might spring up on a world such as this one. Water would be made from the materials of the planet itself, the atmosphere doctored until it was more amenable for humans, who would clean it of everything needed, or wanted, on the other worlds.

If a planet was inhabited when found, the pattern changed but little. Sometimes the natives resisted the efforts to take from their world the spoils of exploration, but their resistance never lasted long. Sometimes they were eager for trade with extraterrestrials. It mattered little in the end. Minor planet, major planet, it mattered little.

As Trace stared at the tiny worlds depicted on the charts, they started to spin before his face, as if whirling in orbit, and he pushed the charts back into their rack. He felt lightheaded with fatigue when he crept back into his seat-bed. It would have helped if this world had a better atmosphere, he thought. It was like trying to live on a mountain peak after being used to the thick heady air of the valleys.

He heard the sand then, its shifting like whispers, too faint to make out the words, but a steady rising and falling sound of distant voices speaking with hushed tones. He listened harder. He knew it was the sand, settling now after the wind finished with it. The wind piled the sands high against rocks, against the dinghy, and after the winds left, the sand rested a while and then started shifting, seeking a comfortable balance with gravity once more. Some of it was running from the top of the little lifeboat, growing louder at a point just over his left shoulder, then fading again, voices rising and falling in conversations…

We saw the thing, Trace, don’t you remember? After the space fight in Section 13, near Ramses…

Yeah. We both got passes—three days on Ramses.

The screen was nicked a little, needed fixing. Wasn’t that it? Anyway, we went to the mine, remember where Doctor what’s-his-name was fooling around with the mining robots. You said you were going to report the thing. Did you, Trace? I never did ask you if you did.

I reported it, Duncan.

He remembered, in his dream, seeing the thing in Dr. Vianti’s laboratory. It had stood over eight feet tall, on treads, with a domelike top that could swivel. The others were good only for mining, but this one, the one the doctor was working with, it could do almost anything.

It’s almost as if you’re the proud father, Trace. That nutty doctor wouldn’t have told anyone about it. He’d still be back there changing it, talking to it like a baby, or a pet dog, or something, everything as innocent as nursery school. You’re its father, Trace. How about that?

Ramses. He remembered Ramses.

“Welcome to Ramses, land of little people, big drinks; and open mines! The women are small, but brother, watch out, they do know what they are doing!” Lo Ti chanted, glancing through a guide-booklet he had picked up at the space port. “Any of you ever been to Ramses before?” He was a second lieutenant of Korean descent.

Trace and Duncan shook their heads with the others. Trace stretched out full length in a reclining seat in the railed carrier that had been sent to transport the fleet from the space port to the nearest city. It was a pleasant feeling, being back on ground again after six months in space, four of them in battle.

“For your edification, gentlemen, may I enlighten you?” Lo Ti grinned, not looking to see the suffering expressions the other men assumed at his words. Someone moaned, “Cork him!” Another muttered, “Let’s toss him out!” Lo Ti ignored them.