Collision Course

TWO

Four hours later the entire Archonate convened at Archonate Center in an extraordinary meeting called by McKenzie. The thirteen men who ruled Earth and her network of dependent worlds foregathered in the Long Room, on the hundred-and-ninth story of the Center building.

They had come from every part of the world, summoned from their individual duties by McKenzie’s call, arraying themselves in their traditional places along the rectangular table. In the center of the table sat the Geoarch, old Ronholm, nominal first among the thirteen equals who comprised the Archonate. To Ronholm’s right sat the Technarch McKenzie. At the Georach’s left was Wissiner, Arcon of Communications. At Wissiner’s side of the table were Nelson, Archon of Education; Heimrich, Archon of Agriculture; Vornik, Archon of Health; Lestrade, Archon of Security; Dawson, Archon of Finance. To the right of McKenzie sat Klaus, Archon of Defense; Chang, Archon of the Colonies; Santelli, Archon of Transportation; Minek, Archon of Housing; Croy, Archon of Power.

As the Archon of technology, science, and research, McKenzie was the most important man in the room, but he observed protocol scrupulously; he permitted Geoarch Ronholm the first word.

“We have been called together into extraordinary session,” the old man quavered, “to hear of matters the Technarch considers of prime importance to the future welfare of our worlds. I relinquish the chair to the Archon of Technological Development.”

McKenzie spoke without rising. “Members of the Archonate, four hours ago a spaceship landed in Australia after completing a journey of nearly ten thousand light-years in less than a month—and of that month, better than three weeks were spent in exploration. The actual interstellar trip was virtually instantaneous. That would normally be occasion for great rejoicing; for now, the stars lie within the reach of us all, within our lifetimes. But there is a complicating factor. I call now on Dr. John Laurance, Commander of the XV-ftl which returned a short while ago, to explain the nature of this factor to us all.”

McKenzie gestured, and Laurance rose, a thin, tall figure, in the center of the room. The five crewmen of the faster-than-light ship sat facing the Archons, looking upward toward them as they sat at the dais.

The five had, so they said, been without sleep for better than thirty-six hours; but the Technarch had seen fit to call the extraordinary session of the Archonate at once, and so there had been no chance for Laurance and his men to rest. They had merely had time to trim their beards and hair, wash, and treat themselves with anti-fatigue stimulants, before getting the call to the Long Room.

Laurance came forward until he was within twenty feet of the Archons. He showed no great awe, merely the normal respect. He was a man of forty, with close-cropped hair just turning a grizzled gray, and a lean, bony face which just now reflected the many tensions of his recent trip. His eyes, pale gray, had a warm softness about them that belied the triphammer quickness of his mind and the catlike muscularity of his body.

He said carefully, in a deep, solemn voice, “Excellencies, I was chosen by you to command the first manned Daviot-Leeson interstellar ship. I left Earth on the First of Fivemonth past, with my crew of four whom you see here. Traveling at a constant velocity of interplanetary rate, we reached the orbit of Pluto, the assigned safety zone, and converted to the Daviot-Leeson drive there.

“We left the ‘normal’ universe at a distance of some forty astronomical units from the Earth and followed our pre-calculated course for seventeen hours, until reaching our intended position. Making use of the Daviot-Leeson drive once again, we returned to the ‘normal’ universe and found that we had indeed reached our goal, the star NGCR 185143 at a mean distance of approximately ninety-eight hundred light-years from Earth.

“This star is a G-type main sequence sun with eleven planets. Following our instructions, we made landing on the fourth of these planets, which was Earthtype to six places and thus suitable for colonization. To our great surprise, we found that a city was in the process of construction on this planet.”

At the dais, McKenzie scowled. Laurance’s narration so far had been utterly flat, schematic, synoptic; the man had managed to strip away all the wonder of the first interstellar f-t-1 flight and turn it into a mechanical report, the Technarch thought in irritation.

He said, “Tell us about the aliens you saw.”

“Yes, Excellency. I despatched my crewmen Hernandez and Clive to reconnoiter. They observed the aliens for several hours.”

“Unnoticed?” McKenzie asked.

“So far as is known,” replied Laurance.

“What were these aliens like?” asked the Archon of Defense, Klaus, in his thin, testy voice.

“Humanoid, Excellencies. We have photographs of them which would have been available for display had we—had we been given sufficient notice to prepare them. They stand about two meters in height, are two-legged, oxygen-breathing, and in many respects are much like ourselves. Skin pigmentation is green, though some observed aliens were blue. They appear to have a somewhat more complex joint structure than we do; their arms are double-elbowed, permitting motion in all directions, and as best as we could see at a distance they seem to have seven or perhaps eight fingers. Opposable thumbs, of course. They wear clothing. In brief, they seem to be an intelligent and energetic race of about the same stage of evolutionary development as we ourselves are.”

The Archon of Security asked quietly, “Are you certain you were not observed?”

“They paid no outward attention to our ship. At all times my men remained hidden while observing them. After two hours of observation we left the fourth planet and proceeded to the third, which was also Earthtype and likewise was undergoing construction of a colony. From there we proceeded by warp-drive to a star two light-years away, where similar colonization was taking place. A third visit, seven light-years farther, showed yet another alien colony being built. We concluded from this that a substantial colonial movement is being carried on by these people in their sector of space. After our visit to the third stellar system, we left on our homeward journey and arrived several hours ago.”

“We’re not alone, then,” said Geoarch Ronholm, half to himself. “Other beings out there, building their colonies too…”

“Yes,” interrupted McKenzie crisply. “Building their colonies too. I submit that we’ve stumbled over the greatest threat to Earth in our entire history.”

“Why do you say that?” asked Nelson, the Archon of Education, with some fervor. “Just because another species ten thousand light-years away is settling a few worlds, Technarch, you can’t really draw dire conclusions.”

“I can, and I am. Today the Terran sphere of worlds and the alien sphere are thousands of light-years apart. But we’re expanding constantly, even forgetting the new space-drive for the moment, and so are they. It’s a collision course. Not a collision between spaceships, or planets, or even suns; it’s an inevitable collision between two stellar empires, theirs and ours.”

“Have you a proposal?” the Geoarch asked.

“I have,” McKenzie said. “We’ll have to contact these people at once. Not a hundred years from now, not next year, but next week. We’ll have to show them that we’re in the universe, too—and that some kind of accord is going to have to be reached—before the collision comes!”

There was a ringing moment of silence. McKenzie stared forward, at the standing figure of Laurance flanked by his four crewmen.

“How do you know,” asked Security Archon Lestrade, “that these—aliens—have any hostile intent at all?”

“Intent of hostility is irrelevant. They exist; we exist. They colonize their area; we, ours. We’re headed for a collision.”

“Make your recommendation, Technarch McKenzie,” the Geoarch said mildly.

McKenzie rose. “I recommend that the newly returned faster-than-light ship be sent out once again, this time carrying a staff of negotiators who will contact the aliens. The negotiators will attempt to discover the purposes of these beings and to arrive at a cooperative entente, in which certain areas of the galaxy will be reserved for one or the other of the colonizing races.”

“Who’s going to pilot the ship this time?” asked the Archon of Communication.

McKenzie looked surprised. “Why, we have a trained crew with us today who have proved their capabilities.”

“They’ve just returned from a month-long expedition,” Archon Wissiner protested. “These men have relatives, families. You can’t send them out again immediately!”

“Would it be better to risk our one completed faster-than-light ship by putting it in the hands of inexperienced men?” McKenzie asked. “If the Archonate approves, I will present before the end of the day a list of those men I think are suited for treating with the aliens. Once they have been assembled, the ship can leave at once. I leave the matter in your hands.”

McKenzie returned to his seat. A brief, spiritless debate followed; although several of the Archons privately resented the sometimes high-handed methods of the Technarch, they rarely dared to block his will when it came to a vote. McKenzie had been proved right too often in the past for anyone to go against him now.

He sat quietly, listening to the discussion and taking part in it only when it was necessary to defend some point. His features reflected none of the bitterness that had welled up within him since the return of the XV-ftl. The homecoming had been ruined for him.

Aliens building colonies, he thought bleakly. The shiny toy that was the universe was thus permanently tarnished in the Technarch’s mind. He had dreamed of a universe of waiting planets, through which mankind could spread like a swiftly flowing river. But that was not to be; after hundreds of years, another species had been encountered. Equals? It seemed that way—if no worse. Whatever their capabilities, it meant that mankind now was limited, that some or perhaps all of the universe now was barred to them. And in that respect McKenzie himself felt diminished.

There was nothing to do but negotiate, to salvage some portion of infinity for the empire of Earth. McKenzie sighed. The man best fitted for the task of ambassador to the aliens was himself. But Terran law forbade an Archon to leave Earth; only by renouncing the Archonate could he accompany the negotiating team—and that renunciation would be impossible for McKenzie to embrace.

He waited, impatient in his seat, for the debate to wind on to its predetermined end. They would have to give in. But not yet.

Not until Dawson had finished demanding if this extension of mankind past the boundaries of the present sphere was financially wise; not until Wissiner was through questioning the wisdom of the negotiation; not until Croy had exhausted the objection that perhaps the aliens were expanding in the o ther direction; not until Klaus had finished suggesting in a veiled way that immediate war, and not negotiation, was the clearest course.

It went down the table that way, each man ridding himself of his private phantom, while the five spacemen, weary and travelworn, were treated to the unusual spectacle of watching Earth’s ruling oligarchy quarrel. At length the Geoarch said in his quavering, uncertain voice, “I call for the vote.”

The vote took place. Each Archon operated a concealed switch beneath his section of the table. To the right for support of the measure, to the left for opposition. Above the table, a gleaming globe registered the secret tally. White was the color of acceptance, black that of defeat. McKenzie was the first to throw his switch; a swirl of pure white danced in the mottled gray depths of the globe. An instant later a spear of black lanced through the white—Wissiner’s vote, McKenzie wondered?—and then another white, another black. Gray predominated, swirling inconclusively. The hue leaned now toward the white, now to the black. Sweat beaded the Technarch’s forehead. The color grew light as votes were shifted.

At last the globe displayed the pure white of unanimity. The Geoarch said, “The proposal is approved. Technarch McKenzie will prepare plans for negotiating mission and present them to us for our approval. This meeting is adjourned until reconvened by the Technarch.”

Rising, McKenzie made his way down from the dais and walked toward the five spacemen muttering uncertainly to each other in the center of the room. As he approached, one of them—it was Peterszoon, the big blonde—glared at him with an expression of unmistakable hatred.

“May we go now, Excellency?” Laurance asked, obviously keeping himself under tight leash.

“One moment. I’d like to have a word.”

“Of course, Excellency.”

McKenzie forced his grave features to contort into the unfamiliar pattern of a smile. “I didn’t come over to apologize; but I want to say that I know you boys deserve a vacation, and I’m sorry you can’t have one yet. Earth needs you to take that ship out. You’re the best we have; that’s why you have to go.”

He eyed the five of them—Laurance, Peterszoon, Nakamura, Clive, Hernandez. Half-throttled anger smouldered in their eyes. They were defiant; they had every reason to be. But they could see beyond their own momentary rage.

Laurance said, in his slow, deliberate way, “We’ll have a day or two, won’t we?”

“At least that much,” the Technarch said. “But as soon as the negotiators are gathered, you’ll have to go.”

“How many men will you pick? The ship can’t hold much more than nine or ten.”

“I won’t name many men. A linguist, a diplomat, a couple of biophysicists and sociologists. You’ll have enough room.” The technarch smiled again; “I know it’s a lousy trick to send you out on another trip right after you’ve come back. But I know you understand. And—if it’s worth anything to you—you’ll have a Technarch’s gratitude for going.” It was as far as McKenzie could lower himself toward being an ordinary human being. The smile slowly left his face, and he nodded a stiff salute and turned away. Laurance and his men would go. Now to pick the negotiating team.