Robert Silverberg - The Man In The Maze

“If you’re inventing this,” said Muller, “I’ll kill you!”

“It’s true. I swear.”

“When did this begin?”

“Within the past year.”

“And what happens? Do they just march right through our galaxy and turn us all into zombies?”

“Boardman thinks we have one chance to prevent that.”

“Which is?”

Rawlins said, “The aliens don’t appear to realize that we’re intelligent beings. We can’t communicate with them, you see. They function on a completely nonverbal level, some kind of telepathic system. We’ve tried all sorts of ways to reach them, bombarding them with messages at every wavelength, without any flicker of a sign that they’re receiving us. Boardman believes that if we could persuade them that we have—well, souls—they might leave us alone. God knows why he thinks so. It’s some kind of computer prediction. He feels that these aliens work on a consistent moral scheme, that they’re willing to grab any animals which look useful, but that they wouldn’t touch a species that’s on the same side of the intelligence boundary as they are. And if we could show them somehow—”

“They see that we have cities. That we have a star drive. Doesn’t that prove intelligence?”

“Beavers make dams,” said Rawlins. “But we don’t make treaties with beavers. We don’t pay reparations when we drain their marshes. We know that in some way a beaver’s feelings don’t count.”

“Do we? Or have we simply decided arbitrarily that beavers are expendable? And what’s this talk of an intelligence boundary? There’s a continuous spectrum of intelligence, from the protozoa up through the primates. We’re a little smarter than the chimps, sure, but is it a qualitative difference? Does the mere fact that we can record our knowledge and use it again make that much of a change?”

“I don’t want to argue philosophy with you,” Rawlins said hoarsely. “I’m trying to tell you what the situation is—and how it affects you.”

“Yes. How it affects me.”

“Boardman thinks that we really can get the radio beasts to leave our galaxy alone if we show them that we’re closer to them in intelligence than we are to their other slaves. If we get across to them that we have emotions, needs, ambitions, dreams.”

Muller spat. “Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? If you prick us, do we not bleed?”

“Like that, yes.”

“How do we get this across to them if they don’t speak a verbal language?”

“Don’t you see?” Rawlins asked. “No, I — yes. Yes. God, yes!”

“We have one man, out of all our billions, who doesn’t need words to communicate. He broadcasts his inner feelings. His soul. We don’t know what frequency he uses, but they might.”

“Yes. Yes.”

“And so Boardman wanted to ask you to do one more thing for mankind. To go to these aliens. To allow them to pick up your broadcast. To show them what we are, that we’re something more than beasts.”

“Why the talk of taking me to Earth to be cured, then?”

“A trick. A trap. We had to get you out of the maze somehow. Once you were out, we could tell you the story and ask you to help.”

“Admitting that there was no cure?”

“Yes.”

“What makes you think I would lift a finger to keep all of man’s worlds from being swallowed up?”

“Your help wouldn’t have to be voluntary,” Rawlins said.

Now it came flooding forth, the hatred, the anguish, the fear, the jealousy, the torment, the bitterness, the mockery, the loathing, the contempt, the despair, the viciousness, the fury, the desperation, the vehemence, the agitation, the grief, the pangs, the agony, the furor, the fire. Rawlins pulled back as though singed. Now Muller cruised the depths of desolation. A trick, a trick, all a trick! Used again. Boardman’s tool. Muller blazed. He spoke only a few words aloud; the rest came from within, pouring out, the gates wide, nothing penned back, a torrent of anger.

When the wild spasm passed Muller said, standing braced between two jutting facades, “Boardman would dump me onto the aliens whether I was willing to go or not?”

“Yes. He said this was too important to allow you free choice. Your wishes are irrelevant. The many against the one.”

With deadly calm Muller said, “You’re part of this conspiracy. Why have you been telling me all this?”

“I resigned.”

“Of course.”

“No, I mean it. Oh, I was part of it. I was going along with Boardman, yes, I was lying in everything I said to you. But I didn’t know the last part—that you wouldn’t be given any choice. I had to pull out there. I couldn’t let them do this to you. I had to tell you the truth.”

“Very thoughtful. I now have two options, eh, Ned? I can let myself be dragged out of here to play catspaw for Boardman again —or I can kill myself a minute from now and let mankind go to hell. Yes?”

“Don’t talk like that,” Rawlins said edgily.

“Why not? Those are my options. You were kind enough to tell me the real situation, and now I can react as I choose. You’ve handed me a death sentence, Ned.”

“No.”

“What else is there? Let myself be used again?”

“You could—cooperate with Boardman,” Rawlins said. He licked his lips. “I know it sounds crazy. But you could show him what you’re made of. Forget all this bitterness. Turn the other cheek. Remember that Boardman isn’t all of humanity. There are billions of innocent people—”

“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

“Yes!”

“Every one of those billions would run from me if I came near.”

“What of it? They can’t help that! But they’re your own people!”

“And I’m one of theirs. They didn’t think of that when they cast me out.”

“You aren’t being rational.”

“No I’m not. And I don’t intend to start now. Assuming that it could affect humanity’s destiny in the slightest if I became ambassador to these radio people—and I don’t buy that idea at all—it would give me great pleasure to shirk my duty. I’m grateful to you for your warning. Now that at last I know what’s going on here, I have the excuse I’ve been looking for all along. I know a thousand places here where death is quick and probably not painful. Then let Charles Boardman talk to the aliens himself. I—”

“Please don’t move, Dick,” said Boardman from a point about thirty meters behind him.

Boardman found all this distasteful. But it was also necessary, and he was not surprised that events had taken this turn. In his original analysis he had forecast two events of equal probability: that Rawlins would succeed in winning Muller out of the maze, and that Rawlins would ultimately rebel and blurt out the truth. He was prepared for either.

Now Boardman had advanced into the center of the maze, coming from Zone F to follow Rawlins before the damage became irreparable. He could predict one of Muller’s likely responses: suicide. Muller would never commit suicide out of despair, but he might do it by way of vengeance. With Boardman were Ottavio, Davis, Reynolds, and Greenfield. Hosteen and the others were monitoring from outer zones. All were armed.

Muller turned. The look on his face was not easy to behold.

“I’m sorry, Dick,” Boardman said. “We had to do this.”

“You have no shame at all, do you?” Muller asked.

“Not where Earth is concerned.”

“I realized that a long time ago. But I thought you were human, Charles. I didn’t comprehend your depths.”