The Complete Serials Read online

  Kingsley spoke, and the rising feeling snapped.

  “Gravity-suits,” said Kingsley, almost bursting with excitement. “But even more than that! Suits that will let a man move about comfortably under any sort of conditions. Under any pressure, any gravity, in any kind of atmosphere.”

  “With these,” Gary suggested, “we would be able to explore Jupiter.”

  “Sure,” said Tommy, “that is easy. Only one little thing. Find a fuel that will take you there and take you out again.”

  “Hell,” enthused Herb, “I bet the Engineers could tell us how to make that fuel. These boys are bell-ringers all around.”

  “If there is any way we can help you—anything you want, anything at all,” declared the Engineer, “we would be so glad, so proud to help you.”

  “I, bet you would at that,” said Herb.

  “Only a few of the denizens we called have arrived,” said the Engineer. “More of them should have come. Others are on their way. We are afraid—”

  He must have decided not to say what was in his mind, for the thought clicked off—broken in the middle of the sentence.

  “Afraid?” asked Kingsley. “Afraid of what?”

  “Funny,” said Gary, almost to himself. “Funny they should be afraid of anything.”

  “Not afraid for ourselves,” explained the Engineer. “Afraid that we may be forced to stop our work. Afraid of an interruption. Afraid someone will interfere.”

  “But who would interfere?” asked Caroline. “Who could possibly interfere in a thing like this? The danger is a common one. All things within the universe should unite to try to stop it.”

  “What you say is right,” declared the Engineer. “So right that it seems impossible any could think otherwise. But there are some who do not. A race so blinded by ambition and by hatred that they see in this approaching catastrophe an opportunity to wipe us out, to destroy the Engineers.”

  THE EARTHLINGS stood stockstill, shocked. “Now, wait a second,” said Gary slowly. “Let us understand this. You mean to say that you have enemies who would die themselves just for the satisfaction of knowing that you were destroyed, too?”

  “Not exactly,” said the Engineer. “Many of them would be destroyed, but a select few would survive. They would go back to the point where the universe must start again, back to the point where space and time would once more begin expanding. And, starting there, they would take over the new universe. They would shape it to fit their needs. They would control it. They would have complete domination over it.”

  “But,” cried Gary, “that is mad—utterly mad. Sacrificing a present people, sacrificing an entire universe for a future possibility.”

  “Not so mad,” said Kingsley quietly.

  “Our own Earth history will furnish many parallels. Mad rulers, power-mad dictators ready to throw away everything for the bare feel of power . . . ready to gamble with the horrors of scientific warfare. It almost happened on Earth once—back in 2896. The Earth was almost wiped out when one man yearned for power—and the man, himself, knew what the result would be. But that didn’t stop him. Nothing stopped him but the people themselves, the people who finally saw where he was leading them and turned on him and killed him like the mad dog that he was.”

  “They hate us,” said the Engineer. “They have hated us for almost a million years. Because we, and we alone, have stood between them and their dream of universal conquest. They see us as the one barrier they must remove, the one obstacle in their way. They know they never can defeat us by the power of arms so utterly that we still cannot smash their plans to take over the universe.”

  “And so,” said Gary, “they are perfectly willing to let the collision of universes wipe you out, even if it does mean disaster and destruction for the most of them.”

  “They must be nuts,” said Herb. “I’d like to see anyone make the people of our Solar System do a stunt like that.”

  “You do not understand,” protested the Engineer. “For many millions of years they have been educated with the dream of universal conquest. Have been so thoroughly impregnated with the philosophy that the state, the civilization, the race, is everything . . . that the individual does not count at all . . . that there is not a single one of them who would not die to achieve that dream. They glory in dying, glory in any sort of sacrifice that advances them the slightest toward their eventual goal.”

  “You said that some of them would survive even if the universe, as we know it, were destroyed,” said Caroline. “How would they do that?”

  “They have found a way to burst out of the universe,” said the Engineer. “How to navigate the inter-space that exists outside the universe. They are more advanced in many sciences than we. If they wished, I have no doubt, they could by themselves, with no aid at all, save us from the fate that is approaching.”

  “Perhaps,” rumbled Kingsley, “a treaty could be arranged. An armistice.”

  The impersonal thought of the Engineer struck at them. “There can be no peace with them. No treaty. No armistice. For millions of years they have thought and practiced war. Their every thought has been directed toward conquest. To them the word ‘peace’ is meaningless.”

  “You mean,” asked Gary, horror in his voice, “that they actually want the universe destroyed? That they would fight you to prevent your saving it?”

  “That,” said the Engineer, “is exactly what I mean. You understand so well.”

  “Do you expect them to attack soon?” asked Tommy.

  “We do not know. They may attack at any time. We are ready at all times. We know they will attack whenever they are ready.”

  “We must find a way,” said Caroline. “We can’t let them stop us! We must find a way!”

  “We will find a way,” rumbled Kingsley. “There has to be a way, and we’ll find it.”

  “WHAT DO you call these rip-snorters you’ve been fighting all these years?” asked Herb.

  “We call them the Hellhounds,” said the Engineer, but that was not exactly what he meant. The thought brought together a certain measure of loathing mixed with hatred and fear. Hellhounds was the nearest the Earthlings could translate the thought.

  “They can break through the time-space curve,” said Caroline, musingly, “and they can travel in the fifth-dimensional inter-space.” She flashed a look at Gary, a look filled with the flare of inspiration. “Perhaps,” she said, “that is the answer. Perhaps that is what we should try to find the answer to.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” said Gary, “but maybe you are right.”

  “The time-space curve would be rigid,” said Kingsley. “Rigid and hard to unravel. Lines of stress and force that would be entirely new. That would take mathematical knowledge. That and tremendous power.”

  “The power of new energy,” said Gary. “Perhaps the power of the energy the rubbing universes will create.”

  Kingsley stared at him as if he had struck him with an open hand. “You have it,” he shouted. “You have it.”

  “But we haven’t got the energy,” said Gary bluntly.

  “No,” agreed Kingsley, “we’ll have to get that first.”

  “And control it,” said Caroline. “Perhaps,” suggested the Engineer, “we should go now. The others are waiting for us. They have come so far. Many of them from greater distances than you.”

  “How many are there?” asked Gary. “Only a few,” said the Engineer, “so very few. Life is so seldom found throughout the universe. The universe does not care for life. I sometimes think it is merely a strange disease that should not be here at all. That it is some accidental arrangement of matter that has no right to be. The universe is hostile to it. There are so few places where it can take root and live.”

  “But throughout those billions of galaxies there must be many races,” declared Kingsley.

  “There may be many we do not know about,” said the Engineer, “but very few that we can contact. It is so very hard to get in touch with them. A
nd some of them would be useless to us. Races’ that have followed entirely different lines of development. Races that live without the application of any of the practical sciences. Races that are sunken in a welter of philosophy and thought. Races that have submerged themselves in aesthetics and are untrained for science.”

  “Hell,” said Herb, “it takes all kinds of people to make a universe.”

  The Engineer led them through an air lock which opened from the room into a mighty corridor. A corridor that seemed to stretch away for inconceivable distances, a vast place that held a brooding sense of empty space.

  The suits functioned perfectly. Gravity and pressure were normal and the suits themselves were far more comfortable than the space-suits developed for space-travel back in the Solar System.

  Slowly they trudged down the hall behind the Engineer.

  “How long did it take to build this city?” asked Gary.

  “Many years,” said the Engineer. “Since we came here.”

  “Came here?” asked Gary. “Then this isn’t your native planet?”

  “No,” said the Engineer, but he did not offer to explain.

  “Say,” said Herb, “you didn’t ask our names. You don’t know who we are?”

  Gary thought he detected a faint semblance of dry humor in the answer of the Engineer.

  “Names,” he said. “You mean personal designations? I know who you are without knowing names.”

  “Maybe,” said Herb, “but we can’t read thoughts like you can. We got to have names.” He trotted along at the heels of the Engineer. “Don’t you fellows have names?” he asked.

  “We are designated by numbers,” said the Engineer. “Purely as a matter of record. The individual doesn’t count so much here as he does where you came from.”

  “Numbers,” said Herb. “Just like in a penitentiary.”

  “If it is necessary for you to designate me,” said the Engineer, “my number is 1824. I should have told you sooner. I am so sorry I forgot.”

  THEY HALTED before a massive door and the Engineer sounded a high-pitched thought-wave that beat fantastically against their brains. The great door slid back into the wall and they walked into a room that swept away in lofty reaches of vast distances, with a high-vaulted ceiling that formed a skylike cup above them.

  The room was utterly empty of any sort of furniture. Just empty space that stretched away to the dim, far walls of soaring white. But in its center was a circular elevation of that same white stone, a daislike structure that reared ten feet or more above the white-paved floor.

  Upon the dais stood several of the Engineers and around them were grouped queer misshapen things, nightmares snatched from some book of olden horrors, monstrosities that made Gary’s blood run cold as he gazed upon them.

  He felt Caroline’s fingers closing on his arm. “Gary,” her whisper was thin and weak, “what are they?”

  “Those are the ones that we have called,” said the Engineer. “The ones who have come so far to help us in our fight.”

  “They look like something a man would want to step on,” said Herb, and there was a horrible loathing in his words.

  Gary stared at them, fascinated by their very repulsiveness. Lords of the universe, he thought. These are the things that represent the cream of the universe’s intelligence. These things that looked, like Herb had said, something you wanted to step on.

  The Engineer was walking straight ahead, toward the wide, shallow steps that led up to the dais.

  “Come on,” rumbled Kingsley. “Maybe we look as bad to them.”

  They crossed the hall and tramped up the steps. The Engineer crossed to the other Engineers.

  “These,” he said, “are the ones, who have come from the outer planet of the Solar System we have watched so many years.”

  The Engineers looked at them. So did the other things. Gary felt his skin crawling under the scrutiny.

  “They are welcome,” came the thought-waves of one of the Engineers. “You have told them how glad we are to have them here?”

  “I have told them,” declared Engineer 1824.

  There were chairs for the Earthlings. One of the Engineers waved an invitation to them. They sat down.

  Gary looked around. They were the only ones who had chairs. The Engineers, apparently tireless, remained standing. Some of the other things stood, too. One of them on a single leg with his second leg tucked tight against his body—like a dreaming stork—except that he didn’t look like a stork. Gary tried to classify him. He wasn’t a bird or a reptile or a mammal. He wasn’t anything a human being had ever imagined. Long, skinny legs, great bloated belly, head with unkempt hair falling over brooding, dead-fish eyes.

  One of the Engineers began to talk.

  “We have gathered here,” said the thought-waves, “to consider ways and means of meeting one of the greatest dangers—”

  Just like a political speaker back on Earth, thought Gary. He tried to make out which one of the Engineers was talking, but there was no facial expression, no movement of any sort to determine who the speaker might be. He tried to pick out Engineer 1824, but all the Engineers looked exactly alike.

  The talk rumbled on . . . a smooth roll of thought explaining the situation that they faced . . . the many problems it presented . . . the need of acting at once . . .

  Gary studied the other things round about them, the loathsome, unnatural things that had been brought here from unguessed depths of the universe. He shuddered and felt cold sweat break out upon his body as he looked at them.

  Several of them were immersed in tanks filled with different liquids. One tank boiled and steamed as if with violent chemical action, another was cloudy and dirty-looking, a third was clear as water and in it lurked a thing that struck stark horror into Gary’s soul. Another was confined in a huge glass sphere, through which shifted and swirled a poisonous-appearing atmosphere. Gary felt cold fingers touch his spine as he watched the sphere and suddenly was thankful for the shifting mists within it, for through them he caught sight of something that he was certain would have shattered one’s mind to look upon without the shielding swirl of fog within the glass.

  In a small glass cage set upon a pedestal of stone were several writhing grublike things that palpitated disgustingly. Squatting on its haunches directly across from Gary was a monstrosity with mottled skin and drooling mouth, with narrow, slitted eyes and slimy features. He fastened his pinpoint eyes upon the Earthman and Gary quickly looked away.

  Nothing resembled mankind—nothing except the Engineers. Things that were terrible caricatures of the loathsome forms of Earth life, other things that bore not even the remotest resemblance to anything that mankind had ever seen or imagined.

  Was this a fair sample of the intelligence the universe contained? Did he and Kingsley and Caroline appear as disgusting, as fearsome in the eyes of these other things as they appeared in his?

  HE SHOT a quick glance at Caroline. She was listening intently, bent forward, her chin cupped in one hand, her eyes upon the Engineers. Just as well that way. She didn’t see these other things.

  The Engineer had stopped talking and silence fell upon the room. Then a new impulse of thought beat against Gary’s brain . . . thought that seemed cold and cruel, thought that was entirely mechanistic and consciousless. He glanced swiftly around, trying to find who was speaking. It must be the thing in the glass sphere. He could not understand the thought. Just vague impressions of atomic structures and mathematics that seemed to represent enormous pressure used in the control of surging energy.

  The Engineer was talking again.

  “Such a solution,” he was saying, “would be possible on a planet such as yours, where an atmosphere many miles in depth, composed of heavy gases, created the pressures that you speak of. While we can create such pressures artificially, we could not create or maintain them outside a laboratory.”

  “What the hell,” asked Herb, “are they talking about?”

  “Shut up,�
� hissed Gary, and the photographer lapsed into shamefaced silence.

  The cold, cruel thought was arguing, trying to explain something Gary could only guess at. He looked at Caroline, wondered if she understood. Her face was twisted into tiny lines of concentration.

  The cold stream of thought had stopped and another thought broke in . . . a little piping thought, perhaps the little sluglike creatures in the glass cage. Disgusting little things!

  Gary looked at the mottled, droopy-mouth thing that squatted opposite him. It raised its head, and in the beady eyes he thought he caught a glimmer of amusement.

  “By the Lord,” he said to himself, “he thinks it’s funny, too.”

  This arguing of hideous entities! The piping thoughts of slimy things that should be wriggling through some stagnant roadside ditch back on the planet Earth. The cold thought of the brainblasting thing that lived on a planet covered by miles of swirling gases. The pin-point eyes of the thing with the mottled skin.

  Cosmic Crusade! He laughed to himself, deep in his throat. This wasn’t the way he had imagined it. He had thought of gleaming ships of war . . . of sounding bugles . . . of stabbing rays . . . of might arrayed against might . . . a place where courage would be on premium.

  But there was nothing to fight. No physical thing. Nothing a man could get at. Another universe—a mighty thing of curving time and space. A man couldn’t do anything about that.

  “Cripes,” Herb whispered to him, “this place is giving me the creeps.”

  IX.

  “WE can do it,” said Caroline. She flicked a pencil against a sheet of calculations. “This proves it,” she declared.

  Kingsley bent over her shoulder and gazed at the sheet. “If you don’t mind,” he said, “would you lead me through it all again. Go slowly, please. I find it hard to grasp a lot of it.”