Collision Course

TWELVE

Down, down, dropping through the blackness past glittering suns, pulled like a helpless plaything—and there was nothing any of them could do about it. Aboard the XV-ftl nine men waited impotently.

The controls were jammed; the plasma jets would not fire; the stabilizer rockets were out of commission; the velocity indicators did not register. It was not even possible to switch to the Daviot-Leeson drive and convert into no-space.

Nothing to do but wait.

Silently. What could be said? This was beyond comprehension, beyond reason. And beyond control.

“Postulate an enormous magnetic field,” Dominici suggested. “Something like fifty trillion gauss—a field of an intensity we can’t even begin to imagine. The magnetic field of the entire cluster, maybe. And we’re caught in it. Being dragged down.”

“Magnetic fields don’t interfere with a spaceship’s rocket tubes,” Bernard said. “They don’t freeze the controls. Not even a hyper-zillion gauss field of the kind you’re trying to postulate. There’s intelligence behind this, I say—and maybe it’s intelligence as far ahead of ours as your imaginary magnetic field is beyond anything we’ve ever measured.”

In his bunk, Havig stirred, moaning incoherently. He slumped back without breaking through the threshold of consciousness. “How fast are we moving?” Stone asked.

Commander Laurance looked up, a taut, white-lipped figure. “I can’t tell. We’re going plenty fast. The boys are trying to draft some doppler measurements up front. I’d say we’re going pretty close to light velocity.”

“Without accelerating,” Nakamura said dolefully. “Right from a standing start to C, without acceleration. You figure it out. I give up.”

The conversation petered out. In the vision screen, the stars rushed blindingly toward them, their disks streaking and changing color, and sped past. Laurance’s vectors had been accurate: they were heading toward a yellowish sun that grew by gigantic bounds with each passing instant.

Onward and onward they sped. An hour of this involuntary journey had passed; a second came, went, and a third. Hernandez reported that he estimated their velocity, reckoning by observed doppler ships, at about nine and six nines out of ten that of light. Which meant that they were traveling at virtually the ultimate speed of the normal universe—with no apparent source of velocity.

It was incredible.

It made no sense.

It continued to make no sense for the next three hours. By that time, Havig had awakened. The linguist sat up with a start, shaking his head.

“What…”

“Feeling better, Havig?”

“What’s been going on? You’re all looking at me so strangely. What’s happened?”

“Nothing much,” Bernard said. “You got a little upset; we had to dope you up with an ampoule of quicksleep. Are you feeling calmer now?”

Havig passed a quivering hand over his forehead. “Yes—yes, the terror came over me. I want to apologize. And— Bernard, I’ve got to thank you for trying to comfort me. It was a generous thing to do, and I admire the effort it cost you. The Job analogy—yes, that was it exactly…”

“It seemed that way to me, too,” Bernard said.

Havig smiled. “I suppose one can hold one’s self under control only so long, and then one’s strength gives out—even if one is strong, or thinks he is. I behaved like a weakling, a coward. But it was an important experience for me. It showed me that my faith can still be shaken. Shaken, though not destroyed. Do you see, now, as I do, that God may sometimes withdraw His gifts and grace for our best interests—though we may not see His purpose clearly? Job did not understand, but he obeyed. As I should have done, but for my moment of weakness—but now I have come through the trial stronger than ever. It is the test of faith which confirms…” Havig stopped and smiled sheepishly. “But I mustn’t spoil my thanks by turning them into a lecture. I beg your indulgence for the scene I created.”

“Forget it, Havig,” Dominici said. “We’ve all been taking turns at having tantrums. You’ve been holding everything in, and it all exploded at once.”

Havig nodded. “Yes. But thank you, thank you so much. However—there’s something you’re keeping from me, something new that happened while I slept. I see it in your faces. You all look so pale, so frightened…”

“We better tell him,” Dominici said.

“Go on,” Stone urged.

As concisely as he could, Bernard explained the situation as it now stood. Havig listened gravely, frowning more deeply with each sentence.

“So we’re out of control,” Bernard finished bluntly. “That’s the long and short of it. We just have to sit tight. There’s not a damned thing we can do otherwise but wait and see what’s going to happen to us. If there ever was a time for your Neopuritan brand of stoicism, this is it.”

“Now we must all be courageous,” Havig said firmly. “We must all of us realize that what is destined for us is destined for our good, and we must not fear it.”

Bernard nodded. He was beginning to see the real Havig now, a man who was austere and gloomy enough, certainly, but who, despite his ascetic ways, was somebody Bernard could respect. Not agree with, but respect. There was a solid core of strength in Havig. He didn’t use his belief as a crutch to help him limp through life, but as a guide that enabled him to meet existence squarely and honestly. Which was a realization that Bernard knew he would not have been capable of before this voyage.

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.

“The joke’s on us,” Bernard said. “On all of us in this cabin, and on the Norglans, and on poor old Technarch McKenzie too. You remember what Skrinri and Vortakel told us? The terms of the ultimatum?”

“Sure,” Stone said. He imitated the tone of the Norglans. ” You may keep these worlds. All other worlds belong to Norgla.’”

“That’s right,” Bernard said. “In a puffed-up huff of cosmic pride, we came across space to the Norglans, magnanimously offering to divide the universe equally with them. In even greater pride, they sent us packing. And who were we, anyway, to say, This universe is ours? Insects! Apes! Lowly grubbing creatures of no particular importance!”

“We are men,” Havig said stoutly.

Bernard wheeled to face the Neopuritan. ” Men!” he mocked. “You talk about knowing the ways of God, Havig. What do you know? What does God care for you, for all of us? We’re an insignificant part of creation. If He exists, he regards us as just another life-form. Nothing special about us. We’re worms in a puddle, and because we happened to be the lords and masters of our particular puddle we tried to say we owned the cosmos!”

“Hold on a minute here, Bernard,” Dominici protested. “Is it your turn to go nuts now? What are you trying to tell us, anyway?”

In a quiet voice Bernard said, “I’m not really sure what I want to say—yet. But I think I see what’s ahead for us. I think we’re going to be put into our true slot in the order of things. We’re not lords of creation. We’re hardly even civilized, in the eyes of these people. Did you hear what the Rosgollan said? They were like us, a few hundred thousand years ago! On their time-scale, it’s only a couple of minutes since we came down from the trees, just two or three seconds since we learned how to read and write, just a fraction of an instant since we got even the slightest control over our environment.”

“All right, all right,” Dominici said. “So they’re greatly advanced…”

“Greatly?” Bernard shrugged. “The difference is inconceivable. The evolutionary gulf between that—that being and us is so tremendous we can’t begin to imagine it. It’s enough to knock some of the arrogance out of you, isn’t it, to find out that you’re not really king of the heap?”

“Earth will be in for some surprises,” Havig remarked quietly.

“If we ever get back,” said Dominici.

“Earth will be in for surprises, all right,” Bernard said. “Surprises enough to upset the applecart with a crash. We had it good too long. Supreme masters of all we surveyed. It was bad enough finding the Norglans cluttering up our nice universe—but now, on top of that, to run into these people…”

“And who knows what other races there may be?” Stone said suddenly, a trace of wildness in his eyes. “In Andromeda, in the other galaxies? Creatures far beyond even the Rosgollans…”

It was a numbing thought.

Bernard looked away, feeling a kind of dizziness at the sudden revelation of the universe’s immensity. Man was not alone. Far from it. And on planets incredibly distant, older races thrived and watched the brash newcomers. Bernard’s eyeballs throbbed; his throat was dry, his lips gummed together.

He could still see, in his mind’s eye, that weird golden glow. Could still hear the calm, assured voice ringing in his mind. Could still remember the infinitely humiliating words…

“Let’s go up front,” he suggested. “We ought to tell Laurance about it.”

“Yes, we should,” Stone said.

They made their way fore. But there was no need to tell Laurance the story of the strange visitation. The crewmen were sitting in their cramped cabin looking dazed and shaken.

“You saw it too?” Dominici asked.

“The Rosgollan?” Laurance said. “Yes. Yes, we saw it too.” His voice was utterly flat.

Clive began to giggle. It began as a ratcheting hoo-ha sound deep in his chest, rising rapidly in pitch until it approached hysteria. For an instant no one moved. Bernard strode quickly across the cabin, grabbed Clive by the bunched-up collar of his shirt, and slapped him three times, hard, without pause.

“Stop it! Cut it out, Clive!”

The giggling stopped. Clive blinked, shook his head, rubbed his flaming cheeks. Bernard stared down in surprise at his fingers, which still tingled with the impact of the blows. He realized it was the first time in his life he had ever struck another human being. But it had been the sensible thing to do; if not checked, Clive’s giggling might have infected them all within moments. Just now all of them rode the thin edge between sanity and madness. Bernard moistened his lips.

“We can’t let this crack us up!”

“Why not?” Laurance asked tonelessly. “It’s the end, isn’t it? The finish for all our big talk of galactic empires? Now we know just how insignificant we are. Just the mammals who happen to live on a certain little yellow sun in that little galaxy there on the screen. We may have spread to a few other worlds, but that isn’t the same as saying we’re masters of the universe, is it?”

Bernard did not reply. He stared at the master screen in the control panel. A planet hung large in the visual focus. The XV-ftl had drifted into an orbit round it, an ever-narrowing orbit.

“We’re landing,” Bernard said.