Collision Course

FOURTEEN

Morning came swiftly. Bernard woke feeling cramped and musty from having slept fully dressed, and rose to a sitting position. The others were strewn around the floor, still asleep, and the room was still dark. But he was awake. He tiptoed to the wall, touched it to make it transparent, and saw that the sun had risen. He glanced at his watch. It was only little more than nine hours since the night had fallen, and here the sun had risen again. Which meant that the day, here on this world Rosgolla, was only about eighteen or nineteen hours long.

Stepping through the conveniently opening door, Bernard sucked in his breath sharply and felt a quick stab of awe and delight. The air was marvelously fresh and sweet, like young wine. The distant hills, smooth rounded humps, looked new-minted in the transparent morning sky. A silvery sheen of dew glistened over the meadow.

For an instant Bernard almost forgot where he was and how he had come to be here.

He had dreamed of Katha. Now, in wakefulness, the lingering memory of the dream surprised him, and made his mood a sadly introspective one. He rarely thought, never dreamed, of the slim, bright-eyed, copper-haired girl who had been his second wife. Yet last night he had dreamed of Katha.

He thought he knew the reason why, too. The Rosgollan interrogation had stirred up the old memories, and the long-hidden patterns would return to trouble him in dreams until once again they settled, like particles suspended in water, to their depth. He would suffer meanwhile. He had thought he had come to an accomodation with himself on the subject of Katha, but the dream had disturbed him in a way he had thought was far behind.

“Morning,” a voice said, behind him, startling him out of his reverie.

Bernard turned. “Morning,” he said to Dominici. “You surprised me.”

“Been up long?”

“Only a little while, Dom. Ten minutes, maybe. I just walked out to have a look-see.” Bernard’s eyebrows scooped into a frown; Dominici’s sudden blurt of sound had shattered the dream for good.

“You sleep well?” Dominici wanted to know.

“Middling.” Bernard knelt and ran his hand over the cool dewy grass. “I was bothered by dreams.”

“Dreams? That’s funny. So was I.” Dominici laughed quietly. “I dreamed I was honeymooning again. Took me back fifteen, eighteen years. The two of us in a watercar, skimming over the waves. My arm around her waist. Her hair billowing out in the breeze. And casting a line, pulling a big thing with teeth out, Jan afraid of it and asking me to throw it back, into the water…” Dominici paused. “I used to wake up drenched with sweat when I dreamed about Jan. Not now, though. I suppose I’m starting to forget. She was killed in a transmat discontinuity,” he added after a brief pause.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Bernard flinched at the image of a young woman smiling goodbye, stepping into the radiant transmat field, then vanishing forever into the void in a one-in-a-trillion accident. The transmat was not perfect; yet this was the first time Bernard had ever spoken to someone directly involved in any sort of transmat accident.

“If you have to die,” Dominici said, “I suppose that’s the best way of any. You don’t feel a thing, not even for a quarter of a second. One minute you’re alive, the next you don’t exist. I didn’t have a funeral for her. I kept hoping she’d turn up, you know. There was always that element of doubt. But the transmat people said no, there definitely had been a slipup in the coordinates, she was gone forever. They gave me two hundred thousand in damages. And you know something? When I held that check in my hands I broke down and cried for the first time since it had happened. Because then I believed it.”

“What a terrible thing to happen,” Bernard muttered.

“We were going on vacation,” Dominici said quietly. “Everything was packed, I was standing there with the suitcases in my hands. She kissed me, stepped through…”

“Don’t go on. You’re hurting yourself.”

“I don’t mind,” Dominici said. “Some of the pain is dying down now. After ten years. Look, I’m not shaking. I’m talking about her, and I’m not shaking. That’s a step. I’m just slow to get over it, that’s all.”

They talked on for a while, as the others of the group began one by one to awaken within. It occurred to Bernard that he liked Dominici more than any of his other fellow wayfarers; Havig, though not the stereotyped fanatic Bernard had originally pictured him as, was far too austere and unbending to make a close friend, while Stone, for all his superficial diplomatic guile, was much too open and simple a person. But Dominici had an agreeable complexity, this vitriolic little man who blasphemed irreverently at Havig and yet, in times of genuine stress, bowed himself to utter a Latin prayer and make the sign of the Cross.

One at a time, now, the others were coming out, stretching their legs after the short night. Stone joined them first, then Nakamura with his cheery greeting, then Havig, nodding brusquely in that neither-friendly-nor-hostile way of his, and then Laurance, lost in his own private bitterness. After him came Clive and Hernandez, with the taciturn Peterszoon strolling out last and glaring at the group in general as though each one, personally, bore the direct responsibility for his current predicament.

“What are we supposed to be doing?” Clive asked. “We just stand here and wait, eh?”

“Maybe they’ll feed us,” Stone said. “I’m starved. Is there any sign of breakfast?”

“Not yet,” answered Bernard. “Maybe they were just waiting until we were all awake.”

“Or maybe they won’t feed us at all,” Dominici suggested. “We’re just a pack of filthy lower beings, after all. And if they decide…”

“Look there!” Hernandez sang out suddenly. “I’ll be damned! Look!”

Every head turned as one to look in the direction of Hernandez’ tautly pointing arm.

“No,” Bernard gasped in flat disbelief. “It just isn’t so. It’s a hoax—an illusion…”

For an instant, a nimbus of radiance had settled lightly to the meadow some fifty yards from the group of Earthmen, having drifted down from far above. The light had glimmered briefly, then flickered out.

And in the glowing afterimage of the light, two burly figures could be seen—two massive dark-skinned figures, not precisely human, that staggered uncertainly over the moist grass, looking about them in bewilderment and—perhaps— fear.

Skrinri and Vortakel.

The kharvish.

The haughty Norglan diplomats.

“We have brought you companions,” said a Rosgollan voice of invisible source. “The negotiations may now proceed once more.”

The big Norglans looked as though they were drunk, or else just badly disorientated. They came to a halt, though, seemingly collecting their wits, and made a swift recovery from their attack of the blind staggers. Then all their recovery went for nought as they recoiled in astonishment upon catching sight of the Earthmen.

“Are they the same ones as—as we talked to before?” Dominici asked.

“I’m sure of it,” Bernard said. “Take a look. See, the bigger one is Skrinri, the one with the scar on his shoulder is Vortakel.”

It was so hard to tell alien beings one from another, Bernard thought. Their very alienness served to draw the attention away from any minor differences of appearance that would aid in distinguishing them. But unmistakably these were the two Norglans who had come as kharvish to the Earthmen.

The Norglans drew near, seemingly making an attempt to master their total bewilderment. In a tone that was harsh, guttural, quite unlike his mellow and confident boom of old, Skrinri said, “You—Earthmen? The same Earthmen?”

Stone was supposed to be the spokesman of the Terran group. But Stone was gaping in dumbstruck wonderment. After an instant of cold silence Bernard called out, “Yes. We have met before with you. You are Skrinri—and you, you are Vortakel.”

“We are.” It was Skrinri who still answered. “But—why have you come here…?”

“We were taken here, not of our own will.” Bernard illustrated the process by graphically snatching up a blade of grass. “Our ship was captured and taken here. But what of you?”

Skrinri, apparently still overwhelmed by the enormity of what had been done to him, did not reply. It was Vortakel who spoke, in an unsteady voice. “There was—there was light all around. And a voice said, Come, and the world was not there any more. And—and we are now here…” He stopped, as though abashed at his admission of the ease with which they had been yanked across the universe.

It was discomforting, and yet in a way strangely satisfying and pleasant, to see how completely shaken the two Norglan emissaries were. Not surprisingly, Skrinri and Vortakel seemed thoroughly demolished by the abrupt discovery that they did not represent the pinnacle of evolution in the universe after all.

“Where are we?” Skrinri asked.

“Far from home,” Bernard said. He groped for the words he wanted; how was it possible to explain in communicable terms the concepts “galaxy,” “parsec,” “universe”? He abandoned the effort. “We are—so far from home,” he said after a moment’s thought, “that neither your sun nor ours can be seen in the sky.”

The Norglans looked at each other in a way that seemed to connote simultaneous suspicion and distress. The two aliens spoke with each other for a long while, in their own consonant-studded, vastly involuted language. The Earthmen stood by, listening without comprehension, as Skrinri and Vortakel discussed the situation.

Bernard pitied them. If anything, the Norglans had a higher opinion of themselves and their relation to the universe at large than any of the Earthmen had; and it had been crushing enough to the Terran ego to discover that such a race as the Rosgollans existed. How much more agonizing it must be, he wondered, for the Norglans to discover that they could be plucked from their planet and hurled incalculable distances across the sky by strange glowing beings of another galaxy?

He became aware that Rosgollans were returning. Like fireflies they glimmered on the horizon, flickering into existence all about. Two, three, fifty, a hundred: soon the meadow was ringed with the radiant creatures, will-o’-the-wisps floating above the dew-flecked ground.

A silent Rosgollan voice said, “We have interrogated the Norglans while they journeyed here. We learn from them that they hold it is their manifest destiny to conquer all the universe, while you Earthmen have something of the same belief. Obviously, one side or the other must give ground or there can be no peace between you, and war will sunder your planets.”

Skrinri growled—evidently the Rosgollan’s words had been intelligible to the Norglans as well as the Earthmen— “We have been fair to the Terrans. We permit them to keep their own worlds. But the other planets—these must be ours.”

“By whose grant?” asked the Rosgollan with a trace of mockery in the bland voice. “At whose behest do you take possession of all the worlds there are?”

“At our own!” rumbled the Norglan, getting some of his self-confidence back. “The worlds are there; we reach them; we take them. What greater authority do we need than our own strength?”

“None,” replied the Rosgollan. “But your own strength is insufficient. Weak, arrogant, blustering creatures you are, nothing more. I speak now to both participants in this dispute.”

Skrinri and Vortakel seemed to curdle with rage. “We do not speak more! Return us to our world or we shall take steps! Imperial Norgla does not tolerate this manner of abuse. We…”

Vortakel’s voice died away in sudden confusion. He and Skrinri had risen from the ground during their outburst; now they hovered, better than a yard above the grasstops, kicking their feet in rage and frustration. Involuntarily, several of the Earthmen laughed—but the laughter died away, quickly, guiltily. Bernard felt a twinge of shame at his laughter. Two intelligent creatures were being humiliated before their eyes; proud spirits were being broken. Ludicrous though the scene might be, no Earthman had a right to laugh. We may be dangling next, for all we know, Bernard thought somberly as he watched the outraged Norglans writhe.

“Put us down!” Skrinri howled.

“Come, show us your strength now, men of Imperial Norgla,” came the dry, mocking murmur of the Rosgollan spokesman. Calmly, they put into words their challenge. “You do not tolerate levitation, Norglans? Very well, then. Force us to stop.”

Double-elbowed purple arms flailed the air madly. The Norglans rose, inch by inexorable inch, while the Earthmen kept stony silence. Now Skrinri and Vortakel were more than their own heights above the ground, and looking down in dismay and anger.

“Put—us—down!” Skrinri grunted.

“Very well.”

“You—ummph!” The Norglans dropped suddenly, much to their own great surprise. They landed in an undignified heap and remained on the ground a moment, hugging it, as though wanting to be absolutely certain they were no longer under the control of the Rosgollans’ powers. When the two Norglans rose, it was slowly, with bowed heads, and they did not look at the Earthmen.

There was an instant of silence.

Then the Rosgollans said, “We have taken you from your home world, and we have shown you the true extent of your strength. Answer us now, men of Imperial Norgla. And still you claim the universe is yours?”

The Norglans made no reply.

The Rosgollan voice continued, quiet but rolling with monumental majesty all the same, “And there stand the Earthmen, creatures less sure of themselves than these Norglans, but equally proud, equally greedy. You, Earthmen: you would divide the universe with the men of Norgla, we learn. But does it lie in your hands to make such an apportionment, Earthmen?”

For a long moment none of the little bank of Terrans dared speak. It was futile to trumpet slogans of strength, in the teeth of beings who held powers beyond comprehension. Shaking a fist at a whirlwind is more a demonstration of weakness than of strength.

But something had to be said.

Some justification had to be made.

I am not the spokesman, Martin Bernard thought. I have no need to speak out. Why should 1 not keep silence?

But silence, he saw, would be intolerable, and if no one else spoke forth he would have to do so. Someone had to speak in defense of Earth and Earth’s pretensions, at what was rapidly taking on many of the aspects of a trial by jury.

Bernard moved forward self-consciously, standing between his group and the Norglans and looking off at where he thought the Rosgollan spokesman stood.

“We acted in no sense of pride,” Bernard said quietly. “Our actions stem from motives that do not need apology. We are a growing race; we sought room to expand. The Norglans, like us, must have more room. Our hope was to reach an agreement that would prevent a conflict of interests and thus a destructive war.”

“You laid claim to half the universe,” the Rosgollan voice said accusingly. “Where is the humility in this? Where the self-restraint?”

Bernard held his ground, sensing the silent encouragement of his fellow Earthmen. “We laid claim to half the universe, yes,” he said. “We did so thinking that the universe held no people but Terran and Norglan. There lay our pride, in that blind assumption. We were wrong, tragically wrong. There are other races in the universe, we now know, and of all the races we are the youngest, and therefore the most foolish, and for this rashness of youth we ask indulgence. But we still claim the right to expand. We still claim the right to colonize worlds which now lie empty.”

He thought he had scored a point. But then he felt waves of ironic laughter sweeping down from the circling jury of Rosgollans. Color mounted to his face, and he realized that what he had hoped was a ringing declaration had turned into a whining plea.

“The Earthmen reduce their claim,” commented the Rosgollan voice sardonically. “Instead of half the universe, now they simply demand half of the uninhabited worlds. It is a major concession, we must suppose. It shows commendable willingness to be flexible. What of you proud men of Imperial Norgla? Speak for your people, give us your answer. Will you, too, reduce your claim?”

The Norglans did not hurry to reply. They had adjusted to the strangeness of their situation by this time, and they conferred for a long time before Vortakel said slowly, “You have shown us that— perhaps—we are not—not yet—the strongest people of the universe. We cannot fight you. Therefore we yield.”

Well, now, Bernard thought. I’d say that was pretty noble of you, old boy. He grinned. You’re willing to make the grudging admission that you’re licked. I’ll bet it must have hurt!

For a long frozen moment after the Norglan declaration no one moved, no one reacted visibly. The slump-shouldered Norglans remained standing at each other’s side like a pair of beleaguered Vikings making a last stand, while the Earthmen huddled in their little group some twenty feet away, and the ringing circle of Rosgollans remained around them, more sensed than seen.

Then the stasis broke.

“Just one moment!” Laurance cried suddenly.

“Yes? A point of order?”

“You might call it that,” the spaceman said tightly, stepping forward to take the space Bernard had held. Looking up defiantly, Laurance said, “You’ve brought us all to this place, somehow, these Norglans and us. It wasn’t much of a trick for you to grab us and yank us here. And now you’re holding a little kangaroo court here. Well, fine. You have some fancy powers that we don’t pretend to have, and you’ve shown them off beautifully. You can knock spaceships off course, walk through walls, hoist people across space in a flash. But now tell me this: what right do you have to come meddling inside our galaxy? Who set you up as our judge in the first place, anyway? Answer me that! Is it just the right of might that lets you push us around?”

“We are not judging you here,” replied the Rosgollan voice levelly. “We are merely mediating a dispute between two races. Two young races, be it understood. In order to mediate successfully, we must establish our authority, we must demonstrate our strength. It is the only way to deal with children,” the Rosgollan said.

“With…”

“Children, yes. Life has come late to your galaxy. As yet, only two intelligent races have evolved there—energetic, vigorous races. For the first time the paths of these young races have crossed. Your fledgling empires soon would be at war without our mediation. We take it upon ourselves, therefore— acting in the interest of the races of the universe, of which we are neither the oldest nor the most powerful—to prevent this war.

“Therefore limits will be drawn for the empire of Earth, and limits for the empire of Norgla. You shall not exceed these bounds in your search for colonies. And in this way your galaxy shall live in peace, forever and to all eternity, world without end.”