Robert Silverberg - Collision Course

He felt relieved. Evidently Havig’s momentary lapse from control was over, a brief hysterical flare that had died down as quickly as it had arisen.

Dominici whispered to Bernard, “I think you were right about the Job deal. He’s going to pull out of it.”

“He has pulled out of it,” Bernard answered. “He’s tougher than you think.”

It was comforting, Bernard thought, to know that once again there was one man on board who was utterly calm, fatalistically resigned to whatever might come. No, Bernard corrected. Not fatalistically. Wrong word. He’s much too cheerful now. Faith and resignation aren’t the same thing .

For an hour more the plunge continued, until it seemed as though it might go on forever, an endless drop, Lucifer’s fall stretched out to infinity—or until the ship vanished into the yellow sun that was its destination.

The men aboard forced themselves to ignore the situation. It was too far from control to worry about.

Nakamura prepared a meal; they ate, without enthusiasm. Clive produced a sonic synthesizer and played old folk tunes, singing along with them in a nasal, rasping voice that achieved a surprising quality of artistry. Bernard listened to the words of the songs, fascinated: many of them were in the old languages of the nations of the Earth, the buried tongues of the medieval world, and the snatches the sociologist could understand were tantalizingly delightful.

But eventually even the singing wore thin. Clive put the synthesizer away. All pleasure had been drained from the pastime.

It was impossible to forget for very long that the ship was out of control, carrying its helpless passengers impotently to almost certain fiery doom.

It was impossible to forget that they were coping—or trying to cope—with forces beyond all imagining.

It was impossible to live under such conditions. But they continued to live.

And then the Rosgollan came aboard.

Laurance and the crew were up front, all five of them wrestling vainly with the controls, only a hollow hope of regaining mastery over the ship spurring them on. In the passenger compartment time passed slowly. Bernard read a while without absorbing, then tiredly laid his book aside to stare fixedly into nowhere.

His first inkling that something strange was about to happen came when he sensed a sudden glow streaming from the rear corner of the cabin, about from the region of Dominici’s bunk. The strangely luminous golden-brown light filtered through the cabin. Frowning, Bernard turned to see what was causing it.

Before he had turned halfway round there came the harsh, panicky wail of Dominici’s voice.

“Mary, Mother of God, protect me!” the biophysicist cried. ” I’m losing my mind! ”

Bernard mouth sagged open as he saw. A figure had materialized in the cabin, directly behind Dominici’s bunk. It hovered, some three or four feet off the ground, at the intersection of the planes of the wall. From the figure the sudden glow was radiating.

It was a being of small stature, perhaps four feet high, poised calmly in the air. Although it was completely without clothing, it was impossible to consider it as being naked. A garment of light enfolded it, softly streaming light that blurred the figure beneath without actually concealing it. Its face was a thing of shifting planes and maddeningly coalescing angles; after only a moment of looking at it, Bernard found himself growing dizzy, and he shifted his gaze lower.

The creature radiated not only light but an impression of total serenity, complete confidence, utmost ability to perform any act.

“What—the deuce—is it?” Stone asked in a strangled voice. Dominici was prostrate, speaking rapidly to himself in a low monotone. Havig, still in control of himself but plainly shaken, knelt, praying. Bernard gaped.

“You must not be afraid,” said the visitation. “You will not come to harm.”

The words were not spoken aloud. They simply seemed to stream from the creature’s body as clearly and as unmistakably as its radiance.

Despite the quiet command of assurance, Bernard felt a sickly wave of terror sweep over him. His legs began to give way, and he sank down limply onto his bunk, hugging his arms together. He knew, beyond a doubt, that he was in the presence of a creature as far surpassing man as mankind surpasses the apes. And perhaps the gap was unimaginably greater than that. Bernard felt awe, reverence, and above all else a great resonating chord of fear.

“You must not be afraid,” the creature repeated, every word precise and distinct. For an instant the light it radiated grew more intense, deepening in hue to a warm maroon. Bernard felt the weight of fear lifting from him.

He looked up hesitantly and asked, in a thick, fumbling voice, “What—are you?”

“I am of the Rosgollans, Earthman. I shall be your guide until we land.”

“And—where are we being taken…?”

“To Rosgolla, Earthman.” The answer was bland, forthright, and totally noninformative.

Bernard shook his head. It’s all an hallucination, that’s the answer , he thought grimly. It’s the only explanation. Even in the Greater Magellanic Cloud they simply don’t have beings that can come drifting through the solid walls of a spaceship and who speak perfect Terran.

He struggled to his feet.

“Dominici!” he barked. “Get up! Havig! Get off your knees! Can’t you see it isn’t real? We’re having an hallucination, all of us!”

“Do you really believe that?” the Rosgollan asked gently. There was the hint of an amused laugh. The quiet voice said without malice, “You pitiful little creatures, so arrogantly deciding for yourselves what may and what may not be called real ! Far more exists in the universe than Earthmen may ever understand, even though you think you hold dominion over all. We are not hallucinations. Far from it, Earthman.”

Bernard’s cheeks burned. He bowed his head, thinking… more things in heaven and earth, Horatio …

He bit his lip and remained silent.

Peals of enormous silent laughter thundered through the cabin now. The strange being seemed vastly amused by the pretensions of the humans. “We were like you, once, Earthmen—hundreds of thousands of your years ago. We were eager, questing, brawling, foolish, petty little beings. Even as you are today. We survived that stage of our development. Perhaps you shall, too.”

Stone looked up, his face pasty-white. He moistened his lips and said, “How—how did you find us? Was it you that caused us to get lost?”

“No,” replied the Rosgollan. “We watched you from afar as your race developed, but we had no desire for contact with you. Until the moment came when we learned that a ship of yours was approaching our galaxy. We feared, at first, that you had come seeking us—but we saw at once that you were lost. I was sent to guide you to safety! There is much you must be told.”

“Where—how…” Stone stammered.

“Enough,” the Rosgollan said, in a firm tone that brooked no debate. “The answers will come to you later, all in due course. I will return.”

The light winked out.

The Rosgollan was gone.

The vision screen showed the yellow sun swelling to cover an entire quadrant of space.

In the cabin, four frightened men stared at each other in confusion and dismay.

Stone found words first. Wild-eyed, he asked, “Did we really see it?”

“Yes, we saw it,” Havig said. His face was even more grim than usual. “It appeared there in that corner. It glowed. It spoke to us.”

Bernard abruptly began to laugh. It was a dry, thin, ratcheting laugh that held little mirth. The others frowned at him.

“He’s amused,” Stone said. “What’s the joke?” Dominici asked.