Bob Shaw - The Fugitive Worlds

“This is obviously a handrail,” Toller said. “I fancy we are about to meet travelers from another star.”

Steenameert’s face was all but hidden by his scarf, but his eyes were wide with wonder. “I hope they bear no ill will towards trespassers. Anybody who can loft a redoubt like this into the sky…”

Toller nodded thoughtfully as he surveyed the structure and saw that it was at least half a mile across. He and Steenameert were perched at the edge of a flat area the size of a large parade ground, beyond which a central tower-like extrusion projected a hundred feet or more into the chilled air. As Toller studied it his senses made an adjustment and suddenly he was no longer “beneath” a fantastic landscape. In his new orientation he was looking across a plain towards a strange castle, and the great disk of Overland was directly overhead. Far off to his right was a cluster of curved, tapering poles—like giant reeds sculpted in steel—and as he watched a cold green fire began to flicker around their tips. The phenomenon served as a reminder that he was venturing far beyond the limits of his people’s understanding.

“We have nothing to gain by waiting here,” he said briskly, fending off an unwelcome surge of doubt and timidity. “Are you ready to… ?”

He broke off, shocked into silence, as from behind him came a sudden and unexpected sound. It was a hissing noise and a continuous crackling noise merged into one, like dried leaves and twigs being consumed in a fierce blaze. Toller tried to spin around, but panic and the absence of gravity combined to thwart his intention. He only succeeded in thrashing helplessly for a few seconds, and by the time he had used the handrail to steady himself it was too late—the trap had been sprung.

A sparkling globe composed of fist-sized crystals had grown up around him and his companion with breath-stopping speed, enclosing them in a spherical prison some six paces in diameter.

It had extruded itself from the greater crystals of the frozen sea and part of its lower edge was molded and attached to the metal of the alien station. The glittering material of it encompassed a section of the handrail to which the two men were clinging. Toller and Steenameert gaped at each other for a moment, faces contorted with shock, then Toller pulled off one of his gloves and touched the inner surface of the sphere. It was as cold as ice, and yet remained dry under his fingertips.

“Glass!” He pointed at the pistol slung on Steenameert’s equipment belt. “Blow a few holes in it and we’ll soon be out of here.”

“Yes, yes…” Steenameert unclipped the weapon and at the same time removed a pressure sphere from his carrier net. He was feverishly screwing it to the pistol’s underside when a silent voice—cool, all-knowing and totally convincing—reverberated inside Toller’s head.

I advise you not to fire the weapon. The material with which you are surrounded is protected by a reciprocal energy layer. The layer’s prime function is to deflect meteors away from the parent construction, but it is effective against any kind of projectile. If the weapon is fired the bullet will ricochet around the interior of the sphere with undiminished velocity until its energy is absorbed by one of your bodies. If the weapon is discharged the sphere will not be weakened in any way, but one of you may be killed.

Toller knew at once, without being able to explain why, that both he and Steenameert had been party to the same communication. The non-voice, modulations of silence, had addressed itself directly to their inner selves… mind had spoken to mind… which meant that…

He glanced to his left and flinched as he saw that there was a figure just outside the sphere. The glass honeycomb surface of the sphere was distorting and fragmenting the outline, but the figure was man-sized, human in its general appearance, and was holding itself in place by gripping the handrail as any man would have done. Toller had no doubt that it was the source of the mentally-heard voice, but he was unable to understand how the alien newcomer had crossed the metallic plain so quickly and without being seen.

He also felt afraid. His fear was unlike anything he had experienced before—a compound of xenophobia, shock and simple concern for his own safety which rendered him speechless and almost unable to move. He saw that Steenameert was equally stricken, equally immobilized, and had stopped attaching the pressure sphere to his pistol. The voiceless communication had not merely been a statement—it had passed on pure knowledge and now both men understood that a bullet striking the inside of the sphere would be repelled by a force whose magnitude was directly influenced by its speed.

There is no reason for you to be alarmed. The non-voice conveyed assurance and something which might have been mistaken for kindliness but for its underlying condescension and lack of warmth.

We are not afraid …of… Toller’s unspoken challenge was lost in the chaos of his mind as he began to wonder if he could communicate with his captor.

Speaking in your normal way will organize your thoughts sufficiently for us to exchange ideas, the alien told him. But do not waste time on untruths, empty boasts or threats. You were about to assert that you are not afraid of me, and that is manifestly untrue. What you must do now is compose yourselves and avoid the mistake of trying to offer me any form of resistance.

The utter confidence with which the alien spoke, the sheer smugness of the assumption of superiority, triggered in Toller a response—inherited from his grandfather—which he had never been able to control. A surge of red-clouded anger erupted through his system, freeing him from the stasis which had affected his mind and body.

“You are the one in danger of making a mistake,” he cried out. “I don’t know what your design is, but I will resist it to the death—and the death I have in mind is yours!”

This is quite interesting. The alien’s thought was tinged with amusement. One of your females reacted with exactly the same kind of irrational belligerence, Toller Maraquine — and I am almost certain she was the one to which you are emotionally bonded.

The reply jolted Toller into a wider frame of awareness. “Have you taken our women?” he bellowed, suddenly forgetful of his own situation. “Where are they? If they have come to any harm…”

They have not been harmed in any way. I have simply transported them to a place of safety far from here —as I am about to do with you. I shall now inject a sedative gas into the confine. Do not be alarmed by it. The gas will cause you to enter a deep sleep, and when you recover consciousness you will be in comfortable surroundings. And although it will be necessary to detain you there indefinitely, you will be adequately provisioned.

“We are not animals to be penned and provisioned,” Toller snapped, his anger further fuelled. “We will go with you to the place to where the women are imprisoned, but of our own free will and with our eyes wide open. Those are my terms, and if you consent to them I give you my word that neither of us will cause you any injury.”

Your arrogance is quite astonishing—and equaled only by your ignorance, came the reply, calm and amused. Beings at your primitive stage of development could never injure me, but I will sedate you, nevertheless, to prevent your causing any minor inconvenience while you are being transported.

The figure beyond the crystal wall made a slight movement—which was translated into flowing color transformations of icy facets—and then a particular darkening of one of the hexagonals showed that something was being placed against its outer surface. Steenameert completed his arming of the pistol, raised it and aimed at the focus of activity.