The Fifth Element

2

EXACTLY FIVE HUNDRED YEARS LATER, THE SAME THREE SUNS glowed on the digital control screen of a United Federation starship.

The coordinates projected from them, plotted by the fuzzilogical implicator imbedded in the EPROM chips of the starship’s calculators, crossed at one point in the emptiness called space.

A captain, wearing the colorful uniform of the United Federation Space Command, stood on the bridge, studying the crossed lines with a worried air. The control screen was his only view out of the ship, since the windows of the bridge were opaque by a protective energy shield.

A door slid open and shut behind him.

Moving buoyantly in the temporary gravity, General Staedert of the UF Central Command entered the bridge.

The arrogance and impatience of headquarters military brass was apparent in the tone of his query. “Anything yet?”

“No, sir,” the captain said. The resentment of line officers to headquarters interference could be heard in the tone of his reply.

“Not even a temperature?” The general had been debriefed by his analysts earlier that morning, and he hoped his question reflected both the depth of his concern and the breadth of his knowledge.

The captain shook his head. “Our thermo-analyzers have jammed. One of them reads over a million degrees, and the other’s at minus five thousand.”

Staedert turned to the grizzled old man with one runny eye who had been his representative on the bridge in his absence. “Major Gruber?”

“Never seen anything like it,” Gruber said, or rather growled.

A technician on a nearby terminal broke in: “It’s taking shape!”

“Let’s see it,” said Staedert.

“Shield,” ordered the captain.

A tech slid a fingertip along a control strip. The stars appeared, one by one, as the shield powered down.

The captain and the others on the bridge were looking out on an unmapped sector of the galaxy. And in the center of it…

An amoebic, moving mass, swirling like a storm.

Something between a planet, an embryonic star, and a black hole.

Its writhing shape, continually changing,

evoked every horror in the universe. It altered color as it roiled and bubbled, spattered and burbled, sputtered and burned―a hideous amalgam of decaying rose, rancid green, cold blue, blood red, and gangrenous purple.

It was all the colors of death, come to life.

The captain had expected it. In fact, it was he who had reported the new disturbance in the sector. Yet even he was terrified and awestruck at the grotesque sight before him.

“What the hell can it be?” he asked.

“Send out a probe,” said Staedert, in a voice that was dearly accustomed to being obeyed.

Light years away, high in the web of towers that was the office of the President of the United Federation, a rustling was heard.

The unmistakable sound of power.

The President entered. He embodied the authority of his office. He was a huge, black, burly man, of African ancestry, with the bull neck of a fullback and the steely eye of a hunter. A war hero, he had been elected in a time of peace, out of public nostalgia for the lost simplicities of interstellar conflict. But now a new conflict had arrived, even though no one knew what it was, from whence it came, or what―if anything―it meant.

“On air with Staerdert in thirty seconds,” whispered an aide.

The President nodded and sat down at his massive desk. His office was crowded with uniformed military men, scientists, aides, techs and advisers.

In the midst of them, all hut unnoticed, was all old priest in a rough black cassock, attended by a young novice.

The young man whispered in the priest’s ear, “I’ll find a seat for you, Father Cornelius.”

“Thank you, David, my son.”

A screen lit up at one end of the room, like a doorway to the far reaches of the galaxy; as indeed it was, since it showed the bridge of a distant star-ship, where an identical screen was opening to show the President’s office.

“President on the line, sir!”

General Staedert looked at the screen, across a wilderness of light years, at the President and his guests.

“We’re in position, Mr. President,” he said.

The President’s deep, commanding voice shook both rooms.

“I have to address the Supreme Council in ten minutes. Just the facts, General.”

“There are no results from the chemical and molecular analysis as yet,” said Staedert. “All the calibers are overshot. We’re initiating a thermonucleatic imaging―“

The President broke in. “What you are saying is that you don’t know what it is!”

Staedert seemed, if anything, relieved. “Not yet,

Sir. The only thing we know is that it just keeps getting bigger?”

A murmur rippled through the ranks in the President’s office. The old priest and the young novice kept their eyes glued to the screen.

The President turned to face his staff.

“Options!” he said. It was neither a statement nor a question; it was a command.

“Wait or act,” said a general, stepping forward.

The President turned back toward the screen. “Staedert. Recommendations?”

Staedert considered for only a moment before answering. “My philosophy, Mr. President, is shoot first and ask questions later. I don’t like uninvited guests.”

The President swiveled in his chair. He sent his next question over the heads (literally) of the military men, addressing the scientists who stood behind them.

“Gentlemen?”

The scientists shuffled and cleared their throats. The boldest of them stood on tiptoes to speak.

“I think it would be foolish to shoot at an organism that seems to be alive, without first taking the time to study it more. Besides, it has shown no signs of hostility.”

There was a murmur of protest from the military men on both sides of the screen.

The President quieted them with a barely perceptible wave of his hand.

“No…” he agreed. “It’s just getting bigger.”

“So do people,” said the scientist, reddening. “But that’s no reason to shoot them!”

The President seemed exasperated by this reply. “The security of the Federated territories is, and remains, number one priority,” his voice boomed.

Then he lowered his voice to address his. gathered generals once more.

“I suppose General Staedert’s ‘philosophy’ is acceptable to you?”

As one, they all nodded.

The President wheeled in his chair. “All right then. Staedert?”

Suddenly a voice broke through from the back of the room. “Mr. President?”

The military men parted like the Red Sea, and a small but imposing figure moved through. It was the old priest, a short, stocky man with a strange silver amulet around his neck.

The novice followed him a respectful step behind. “Yes?” asked the President.

“Cornelius,” said the priest, stepping forward to introduce himself. “Vito Cornelius. I have a different theory to offer you, Mr. President.”

The President seemed simultaneously amused and irritated by this interruption. An aide bent and whispered into his ear: “From the religious delegation, sir.”

The President of the United Federation, elected guardian of 200 billion souls, both human and otherwise, studied the man who had forced himself into his circle of attention.

“You have twenty seconds,” he said.

If his fierce look was designed to intimidate the diminutive old priest, it didn’t work.

“Imagine for a moment,” said Father Cornelius, “that this thing is not anything that can be identified, because it prefers not to be. Because it is evil. Total evil.”

The President shrugged. “One more reason to shoot first, eh?”

The generals all nodded in perfect, simultaneous agreement.

Father Cornelius shook his head.

“Evil begets evil, Mr. President. Shooting would only make it stronger.”

There was a flurry of activity on the screen. The President turned in his chair to watch.

“The probe will attain its objective in five seconds!” announced an excited tech on the bridge of the starship.

“Drop the shield,” muttered the starship’s captain, and the tech’s finger slid along the control strip.

The starship’s windows went clear, and for the first time the bubbling, multicolored dark mass was visible on the screen in the President’s? office.

A gasp went up.

Followed by a breathless silence as the blinking light of a probe drew closer and closer to its object five.

Then a groan as the probe disappeared into the tumorous darkness―and the strange, evil mass began to boil and bubble even more furiously.

“Mr. President,” cried General Staedert. “We’re at a crisis point!”

“Growth rate is at twenty-seven percent!” put in a panicked technician.

All eyes in both rooms―the office and the bridge of the starship―were on the President.

Who seemed puzzled.

Without turning back toward the priest, he said politely, “Your theory is interesting, Father, but I don’t think we have time to go into it right now.”

“Time is of no importance,” said Father Cornelius. “Only life is important.“

“That’s exactly what we are going to do,” said the President. “Protect the lives of some 200 billion of our fellow citizens!”

He spun in his chair as if to put a period on his conversation with the priest.

“General―you may fire when ready!”

A silence fell over the room. The young novice and the old priest stood exactly where the President had left them, between his chair and the rank of sycophantic generals.

All eyes were on the screen at the far end of the office, which showed the bridge of the starship.

Staedert was giving the orders. He was all busi-

“Up front loading of a 120ZR missile. Marker lights on the objective.”

As he spoke, something was changing outside the starship’s windows. The amoeba-like, roiling, boiling mass was taking on solid form. It was becoming a planet, covered with a null black crust.

A technician looking at a control terminal readout confirmed what people were witnessing with their own eyes:

“Its structure has just solidified on the surface.” From the second tier of watchers in the President’s office, a scientist spoke out, sending his words over the heads of the military men.

“I think it’s anticipating the attack,” he said excitedly. “Anticipation denotes intelligence!” Another, quieter voice was heard―the priest’s, who added: “The most terrible intelligence imaginable, Mr. President.”

On hearing this, the President hesitated. But he didn’t turn away from the screen. “Staedert!?” “Yes, sir!” The general turned to face the President. He was all action, seeming to tingle from the toes of his boots to the tips of his blunt fingers.

The President looked around the room: from the generals, to the scientists, to his own aides, to the priest and the novice who stood apart, patiently watching.

“I have a doubt,” said the President.

“I don’t, Mr. President,” muttered Staedert in reply.

And before his orders could be countermanded, be nodded toward a tech at the starship’s control board, who touched a switch―

The screen was filled with a brilliant light as the missile was fired.

The light faded to a pinprick as the 120ZR sped away, covering a thousand kilometers with a single leap, thanks to its cold-fusion faux-warp drive. It blinked briefly in and out of realspace as it zeroed in on its massive target.

Then just before impact, it shifted down from hyper to fusion drive, and with a chemical blast penetrated the evil black mass.

Following the lead of Staedert and the starship crew, the President and his entourage covered their eyes so that they wouldn’t be blinded by the explosion.

Except there was no explosion.

The missile penetrated the blade mass and was swallowed. There was a slight disturbance on the surface, and then―

Nothing.

But not quite nothing.

For immediately the dark planet began to grow again, at an even faster rate than before.

“Prepare to fire three,” General Staedert barked. “Load a series of 240ZR missiles. Maximum shield protection.”

“Yes sir,” said the captain behind him.

“Staedert,” said the President. “What’s going on? Can you destroy it?”

“I’m about to, Mr. President.”

The General gave a nod, and the tech at the control board flipped three switches.

There was a flash of light, three times as bright as before.

This time three pinpricks of light headed toward their hideous target. The missiles flickered in and out of existence as they covered the distance at a high fraction of the speed of light.

And they were absorbed as easily, as quietly, as effectively, as the first missile had been.

Except that this time, the dark planet immediately doubled in size!

A panicked voice came from the row of scientists in the President’s office. “The planet’s diameter has increased by two hundred percent!”

It was echoed by a shout from the rank of generals: “And it’s moving toward the ship!”

This was enough for the President, who rolled forward in his chair and shouted at the screen. “Staedert, get out of there immediately! I don’t want an incident. Do you hear me, Staedert?” Staedert was pretending not to hear. He turned to the starship captain. “What do we have that’s bigger than the 240?”

“Nothing, General.”

The President, furious at being ignored, shouted: “Staedert, get out of there! That’s an order!”

The volume of the President’s shout triggered the voice-activated viewscreen zoom, so that the attire screen was filled with Staedert’s face.

His forehead was damp with sweat.

And something else. A thick black liquid was beading up on his brow, starting to drip down slowly, like syrup… .

Staedert was just about to reach up and wipe his brow, when a tremendous flash filled the screen.

The photosensitive zoom pulled back, and the screen showed the bridge of the starship again. Everyone was frozen with terror, watching a tongue of flame emerge from the black planet.

It reached toward the starship. Closer and closer

“Good God!” Staedert cried.

And the starship was obliterated in a storm of light and noise.

“Good God!” cried the President―and behind him, in a smaller voice, the old priest whispered it more as a prayer than an exclamation―

“Good God!”