A. E. van Vogt - The Voyage of the Space Beagle

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The Voyage of the Space Beagle
by A. E. van Vogt
to Ford McCormack
CHAPTER ONE
On and on Coeurl prowled. The black, moonless, almost starless night yielded reluctantly before a
grim reddish dawn that crept up from his left. It was a vague light that gave no sense of approaching
warmth. It slowly revealed a nightmare landscape.
Jagged black rock and a black, lifeless plain took form around him. A pale red sun peered above
the grotesque horizon. Fingers of light probed among the shadows. And still there was no sign of the family
of id creatures that he had been trailing now for nearly a hundred days.
He stopped finally, chilled by the reality. His great forelegs twitched with a shuddering movement
that arched every razor-sharp claw. The thick tentacles that grew from his shoulders undulated tautly. He
twisted his great cat head from side to side, while the hair-like tendrils that formed each ear vibrated
frantically, testing every vagrant breeze, every throb in the ether.
There was no response. He felt no swift tingling along his intricate nervous system. There was no
suggestion anywhere of the presence of the id creatures, his only source of food on this desolate planet.
Hopelessly, Coeurl crouched, an enormous catlike figure silhouetted against the dim, reddish sky line, like a
distorted etching of a black tiger in a shadow world. What dismayed him was the fact that he had lost
touch. He possessed sensory equipment that could normally detect organic id miles away. He recognized
that he was no longer normal. His overnight failure to maintain contact indicated a physical breakdown.
This was the deadly sickness he had heard about. Seven times in the past century he had found coeurls, too
weak to move, their otherwise immortal bodies emaciated and doomed for lack of food. Eagerly, then, he
had smashed their unresisting bodies, and taken what little id was still keeping them alive.
Coeurl shivered with excitement, remembering those meals. Then he snarled audibly, a defiant
sound that quavered on the air, echoed and re-echoed among the rocks, and shuddered back along his
nerves. It was an instinctive expression of his will to live.
And then, abruptly, he stiffened.
High above the distant horizon he saw a tiny glowing spot. It came nearer. It grew rapidly,
enormously, into a metal ball. It became a vast, round ship. The great globe, shining like polished silver,
hissed by above Coeurl, slowing visibly. It receded over a black line of hills to the right, hovered almost
motionless for a second, then sank down out of sight.
Coeurl exploded from his startled immobility. With tigerish speed, he raced down among the rocks.
His round, black eyes burned with agonized desire. His ear tendrils, despite their diminished powers,
vibrated a message of id in such quantities that his body felt sick with the pangs of his hunger.
The distant sun, pinkish now, was high in the purple and black sky when he crept up behind a mass
of rock and gazed from its shadows at the ruins of the city that sprawled below him. The silvery ship, in
spite of its size, looked small against the great spread of the deserted, crumbling city. Yet about the ship
was leashed aliveness, a dynamic quiescence that, after a moment, made it stand out, dominating the
foreground. It rested in a cradle made by its own weight in the rocky, resisting plain which began abruptly
at the outskirts of the dead metropolis.
Coeurl gazed at the two-legged beings who had come from inside the ship. They stood in little
groups near the bottom of an escalator that had been lowered from a brilliantly lighted opening a hundred
feet above the ground. His throat thickened with the immediacy of his need. His brain grew dark with the
impulse to charge out and smash these flimsy-looking creatures whose bodies emitted the id vibrations.
Mists of memory stopped that impulse when it was still only electricity surging through his muscles.
It was a memory of the distant past of his own race, of machines that could destroy, of energies potent
beyond all the powers of his own body. The remembrance poisoned the reservoirs of his strength. He had
time to see that the beings wore something over their real bodies, a shimmering transparent material that
glittered and flashed in the rays of the sun.
Cunning came, understanding of the presence of these creatures. This, Coeurl reasoned for the first
time, was a scientific expedition from another star. Scientists would investigate, and not destroy. Scientists
would refrain from killing him if he did not attack. Scientists in their way were fools.
Bold with his hunger, he emerged into the open. He saw the creatures become aware of him. They
turned and stared. The three nearest him moved slowly back toward larger groups. One individual, the
smallest of his group, detached a dull metal rod from a sheath at his side, and held it casually in one hand.
Coeurl was alarmed by the action, but he loped on. It was too late to turn back.
Elliott Grosvenor remained where he was, well in the rear, near the gangplank. He was becoming
accustomed to being in the background. As the only Nexialist aboard the Space Beagle, he had been
ignored for months by specialists who did not clearly understand what a Nexialist was, and who cared very
little anyway. Grosvenor had plans to rectify that. So far, the opportunity to do so had not occurred.
The communicator in the headpiece of his space suit came abruptly to life. A man laughed softly,
and then said. "Personally, I'm taking no chances with anything as large as that."
As the other spoke, Grosvenor recognized the voice of Gregory Kent, head of the chemistry
department. A small man physically, Kent had a big personality. He had numerous friends and supporters
aboard the ship, and had already announced his candidacy for the directorship of the expedition in the
forthcoming election. Of all the men facing the approaching monster, Kent was the only one who had
drawn a weapon. He stood now, fingering the spindly metalite instrument.
Another voice sounded. The tone was deeper and more relaxed. Grosvenor recognized it as
belonging to Hal Morton, Director of the expedition. Morton said, "That's one of the reasons why you're on
this trip, Kent—because you leave very little to chance."
It was a friendly comment. It ignored the fact that Kent had already set himself up as Morton's
opponent for the directorship. Of course, it could have been designed as a bit of incidental political virtuosity
to put over to the more naive listeners the notion that Morton felt no ill will towards his rival. Grosvenor did
not doubt that the Director was capable of such subtlety. He had sized up Morton as a shrewd, reasonably
honest, and very intelligent man, who handled most situations with automatic skill.
Grosvenor saw that Morton was moving forward, placing himself a little in advance of the others.
His strong body bulked the transparent metalite suit. From that position, the Director watched the catlike
beast approach them across the black rock plain. The comments of other departmental heads pattered
through the communicator into Grosvenor's ears.
"I'd hate to meet that baby on a dark night in an alley."
"Don't be silly. This is obviously an intelligent creature. Probably a member of the ruling race."
"Its physical developments," said a voice, which Grosvenor recognized as that of Siedel, the
psychologist, "suggest an animal-like adaptation to its environment. On the other hand, its coming to us like
this is not the act of an animal but of an intelligent being who is aware of our intelligence. You will notice
how stiff its movements are. That denotes caution, and consciousness of our weapons. I'd like to get a good
look at the end of those shoulder tentacles. If they taper into handlike appendages or suction cups, we could
start assuming that it's a descendant of the inhabitants of this city." He paused, then finished, "It would be a
great help if we could establish communication with it. Off-hand, though, I'd say that it has degenerated into
a primitive state."
Coeurl stopped when he was still ten feet from the nearest beings. The need for id threatened to
overwhelm him. His brain drifted to that ferocious edge of chaos, where it cost him a terrible effort to hold
back. He felt as if his body were bathed in molten liquid. His vision kept blurring.
Most of the men walked closer to him. Coeurl saw that they were frankly and curiously examining
him. Their lips moved inside the transparent helmets they wore. Their form of intercommunication—he
assumed that was what he sensed—came to him on a frequency that was well within his ability to receive.
The messages were meaningless. In an effort to appear friendly, he broadcast his name from his ear
tendrils, at the same time pointing at himself with one curving tentacle.
A voice Grosvenor didn't recognize drawled, "I got a sort of static in my radio when he wiggled
those hairs, Morton. Do you think—"
Morton's use of the man's name identified the other. Gourlay, chief of communications. Grosvenor,
who was recording the conversation, was pleased. The coming of the beast might enable him to obtain
recordings of the voices of all the rest of the important men aboard the ship. He had tried to do that from
the beginning.
"Ah," said Siedel, the psychologist, "the tentacles end in suction cups. Provided the nervous system
is complex enough, he could with training operate any machine."
Director Morton said, "I think we'd better go inside and have lunch. Afterwards, we'll have to get
busy. I'd like a study made of the scientific development of this race, and particularly I want to know what
wrecked it. On Earth, in the early days before there was a galactic civilization, one culture after another
reached its peak and then crumbled. A new one always sprang up in its dust. Why didn't that happen here?
Each department will be assigned its special field of investigation."
"What about pussy?" somebody said. "I think he wants to come in with us."
Morton chuckled, then said seriously, "I wish there were some way we could take it in with us,
without forcibly capturing it. Kent, what do you think?"
The little chemist shook his head decisively. "This atmosphere has a higher chlorine than oxygen
content, though actually not much of either. Our oxygen would be dynamite to his lungs."
It was clear to Grosvenor that the catlike being had not considered that danger. He watched the
monster follow the first men up the escalator and through the great door.
The men glanced back towards Morton, who waved a hand at them and said, "Open the second
lock and let him get a whiff of the oxygen. That'll cure him."
A moment later the Director's amazed voice was loud on the communicator. 'Well, I'll be damned!
He doesn't notice the difference! That means he hasn't any lungs, or else the chlorine is not what his lungs
use, You bet he can go in! Smith, here's a treasure house for a biologist—harmless enough if we're careful.
What a metabolism!"
Smith was a tall, thin bony man with a long, mournful face. His voice, unusually forceful for his
appearance sounded in Grosvenor's communicator. "In the various exploring trips I've been on, I've seen
only two higher forms of life. Those dependent on chlorine, and those who need oxygen—the two elements
that support combustion. I've heard vague reports of a fluorine-breathing life form, but I've yet to see an
example. I'd almost stake my reputation that no complicated organism could ever adapt itself to the actual
utilization of both gases. Morton, we mustn't let this creature get away if we can help it."
Director Morton laughed, then said soberly, "He seems anxious enough to stay."
He had been riding up the escalator on one side of the gangplank. Now he moved into the air lock
with Coeurl and the two men. Grosvenor hurried forward, but he was only one of a dozen men who also
entered the large space. The great door swung shut, and air began to hiss in. Everybody stood well clear of
the catlike monster. Grosvenor watched the beast with a growing sense of uneasiness. Several thoughts
occurred to him. He wished he could communicate them to Morton. He should have been able to. The rule
aboard these expeditionary ships was that all heads of departments should have easy access to the director.
As head of the Nexial department—though he was the only one in it—that should have applied to him also.
The communicator of his space suit should have been fitted so that he could talk to Morton as did the heads
of the other departments. But all he had was a general receiver. That gave him the privilege of listening in
to the great men when they were doing field work. If he wanted to talk to anyone, or if he were in danger,
he could throw a switch that would open a channel to a central operator.
Grosvenor did not question the general value of the system. There were just under one thousand
men aboard, and it was obvious that all of them could not talk to Morton whenever they pleased.
The inner door of the lock was opening. Grosvenor pushed his way out with the others. In a few
minutes they were all standing at the bottom of a series of elevators that led up to the living quarters. There
was a brief discussion between Morton and Smith. Finally, Morton said, "We'll send him up alone if he'll
go."
Coeurl offered no objection until he heard the door of the elevator clang shut behind him, and the
closed cage shot upward. He whirled with a snarl. Instantly, his reason twisted into chaos. He pounced at
the door. The metal bent under his plunge, and the desperate pain maddened him. Now he was all trapped
animal. He smashed at the metal with his paws. He tore the tough welded panels loose with his thick
tentacles. The machinery screeched in protest. There were jerks as the magnetic power pulled the cage
along in spite of projecting pieces of metal scraping against the outside walls. Finally, the elevator reached
its destination and stopped. Coeurl snatched off the rest of the door and hurtled into the corridor. He waited
there until the men came up with drawn weapons.
Morton said, "We're fools. We should have shown him how it works. He thought we'd
double-crossed him, or something." He motioned to the monster. Grosvenor saw the savage glow fade from
the beast's coal-black eyes as Morton opened and closed the door of a nearby elevator several times. It
was Coeurl who ended the lesson. He trotted into a large room that led off from the corridor.
He laydown on the carpeted floor and fought down the electric tautness of his nerves and muscles.
He was furious at the fright he had shown. It seemed to him that he had lost the advantage of appearing a
mild and placid individual. His strength must have startled and dismayed them.
It meant greater danger in the task he must accomplish: to seize this ship. On the planet from which
these beings had come, there would be unlimited id.
CHAPTER TWO
With unwinking eyes, Coeurl watched two men clear away loose rubble from the metal doorway of
a huge, old building. The human beings had eaten lunch, had again donned their space units, and now he
could see them, singly and in groups, wherever he looked. Coeurl assumed that they were still investigating
the dead city.
His own interest was entirely in food. His body ached with the hunger of his cells for id. The
craving put a quiver in his muscles, and his mind burned with the desire to be off after the men who had
gone deeper into the city. One of them had gone alone.
During the lunch period, the human beings offered him a variety of their own food, all valueless to
him. They apparently did not realize that he must eat living creatures. Id was not merely a substance but a
configuration of a substance, and it could be obtained only from tissues that still palpitated with the flow of
life.
The minutes went by. And still Coeurl restrained himself. Still he lay there watching, aware that the
men knew he watched. They floated a metal machine from the ship to the rock mass that blocked the great
door of the building. His fierce state noted all their movements. Even as he shivered with the intensity of his
hunger, he saw how they operated the machinery, and how simple it was.
He knew what to expect finally when the flame ate incandescently at the hard rock. In spite of his
preknowledge, he deliberately jumped and snarled as if in fear.
From a small patrol ship, Grosvenor observed the action. It was a role he had assigned himself,
watching Coeurl. He had nothing else to do. No one seemed to feel the need of assistance from the one
Nexialist aboard the Space Beagle.
As he watched, the door below Coeurl was cleared. Director Morton and another man came over
together. They went inside, and disappeared from view. Presently their voices came through Grosvenor's
communicator. The man with Morton spoke first.
"It's a shambles. There must have been a war. You can catch the drift of this machinery. It's
secondary stuff. What I'd like to know is, how was it controlled and applied?"
Morton said, "I don't quite understand what you mean."
"Simple," said the other. "So far, I've seen nothing but tools. Almost every machine, whether it's a
tool or a weapon, is equipped with a transformer for receiving energy, altering its form, and applying it.
Where are the power plants? I hope their libraries will give us a clue. What could have happened to make a
civilization crash like this?"
Another voice broke through the communicators. "This is Siedel. I heard your question, Mr
Pennons. There are at least two reasons why a territory becomes uninhabited. One is lack of food. The
other is war."
Grosvenor was glad that Siedel had used the other's name. It was another voice identified for his
collection. Pennons was chief ship's engineer.
Pennons said, "Look, my psychological friend, their science should have enabled them to solve their
food problems, for a small population at least. And failing that, why didn't they develop space travel and go
elsewhere for their food?"
"Ask Gunlie Lester." It was Director Morton. "I heard him expounding a theory before we landed."
The astronomer answered the first call. "I've still got to verify all the facts. But one of them, you'll
agree, is significant by itself. This desolate world is the only planet revolving around that miserable sun.
There's nothing else. No moon. Not even a planetoid. And the nearest star system is nine hundred
light-years away. So tremendous would have been the problem of the ruling race of this world that in one
jump they would have had to solve not only interplanetary but interstellar-space flight. Consider for
comparison how slow our own development was. First, we reached the moon. The planets followed. Each
success led to the next, and after many years the first long journey was made to a near-by star. Last of all,
man invented the anti-accelerator drive which permitted galactic travel. With all this in mind, I maintain it
would be impossible for any race to create an interstellar drive without previous experience."
Other comments were made, but Grosvenor did not listen. He had glanced towards where he had
last seen the big cat. It was not in sight. He cursed under his breath for having let himself be distracted.
Grosvenor swung his small craft over the whole area in a hasty search. But there was too much confusion,
too much rubble, too many buildings. Everywhere he looked there were obstacles to his vision. He landed
and questioned several hard-working technicians. Most recalled having seen the cat "about twenty minutes
ago." Dissatisfied, Grosvenor climbed back into his lifeboat and flew out over the city.
A short while before, Coeurl had moved swiftly, seeking concealment wherever he found it. From
group to group he sped, a nervous dynamo of energy, jumpy and sick from his hunger. A little car rolled up,
stopped in front of him, and a formidable camera whirred as it took a picture of him. Over on a mound of
rock, a gigantic drilling machine was just going into operation. Coeurl's mind became a blur of images of
things he watched with half-attention His body ached to be off after the man who had gone alone into the
city.
Suddenly he could stand it no longer. A green foam misted his mouth. For a moment, it seemed, no
one was looking at him. He darted behind a rocky embankment and began to run in earnest. He floated
along with great, gliding leaps. Everything but his purpose was forgotten, as if his brain had been wiped
clean by some magic, memory-erasing brush. He followed deserted streets, taking short cuts through gaping
holes in time-weakened walls and through long corridors of mouldering buildings. Then he slowed to a
crouching lope as his ear tendrils caught the id vibrations.
Finally, he stopped and peered from a scatter of fallen rock. A two-legged being was standing at
what must once have been a window, directing the beams of his flashlight into the gloomy interior. The
flashlight clicked off. The man, a heavy-set, powerful individual, walked off swiftly, turning his head alertly
this way and that. Coeurl didn't like that alertness. It meant lightning reaction to danger. It presaged trouble.
Coeurl waited until the human being had disappeared around a corner, then he padded into the
open, faster than a man could walk. His plan was clearly made. Like a wraith he slipped down a side street
and past a long block of buildings. He turned the first corner at great speed, leaped across an open space,
and then, with dragging belly, crept into the half-darkness between the building and a huge chunk of debris.
The street ahead was a channel between two unbroken hills of loose rubble. It ended in a narrow
bottleneck, which had its outlet just below Coeurl.
In the final moment he must have been too eager. As the human being started to pass by below,
Coeurl was startled by a tiny shower of rocks that streamed down from where he crouched. The man
looked up with a jerk of his head. His face changed, twisted, distorted. He snatched at his weapon.
Coeurl reached out and struck a single crushing blow at the shimmering, transparent headpiece of
the space suit. There was a sound of tearing metal and a gushing of blood. The man doubled up as if part of
him had been telescoped. For a moment his bones and legs and muscles combined almost miraculously to
keep him standing. Then he crumpled with a metallic jangling of his space armour.
In a convulsive movement, Coeurl leaped down upon his victim. He was already generating a field
that prevented the id from being released into the blood. Swiftly, he smashed the metal and the body within
it. Bones cracked. Flesh spattered. He plunged his mouth into the warm body and let the lacework of tiny
suction cups strain the id out of the cells. He had been at this ecstatic task about three minutes when a
shadow flicked across his eye. He looked up with a start, and saw that a small ship was approaching from
the direction of the lowering sun. For one instant, Coeurl froze, then he glided into the shelter of a great pile
of debris.
When he looked again, the small vessel was floating lazily off to the left. But it was already circling,
and he saw that it might come back toward him. Almost maddened by the interruption of his feeding, Coeurl
nevertheless deserted his kill and headed back towards the space ship. He ran like an animal fleeing danger,
and slowed only when he saw the first group of workers. Cautiously, he approached them. They were all
busy, and so he was able to slip up near them.
In his search for Coeurl, Grosvenor grew progressively dissatisfied. The city was too large. There
were more ruins, more places of concealment than he had first thought. He headed back finally to the big
ship. And was considerably relieved when he found the beast comfortably sprawled on a rock sunning
himself. Carefully, Grosvenor stopped his ship at a vantage height behind the animal. He was still there
twenty minutes later when the chilling announcement came over the communicator that a group of men
who were exploring the city had stumbled over the smashed body of Dr. Jarvey of the chemistry
department.
Grosvenor took down the direction given, and then headed for the scene of the death. Almost
immediately he discovered that Morton was not coming to look at the body. He heard the Director's solemn
voice on the communicator. "Bring the remains to the ship."
Jarvey's friends were present, looking sober and tense in their space suits. Grosvenor stared down
at the horror of tattered flesh and blood-sprayed metal and felt a tightening in his throat. He heard Kent say,
"He would go alone, damn him!"
The chief chemist's voice was husky. Grosvenor recalled having heard that Kent and his principal
assistant, Jarvey, were very good friends. Somebody else must have spoken on the private band of the
chemistry department, for Kent said, "Yes, we'll have to have an autopsy." The words reminded Grosvenor
that he would miss most of what was going on unless he could tune in. Hastily, he touched the man nearest
him and said, "Mind if I listen in to the chemistry band through you?"
"Go ahead."
Grosvenor kept his fingers lightly on the other's arm. He heard a man say in a shuddering tone,
"The worst part of it is, it looks like a senseless murder. His body is spread out like so much jelly, but it
seems to be all there."
Smith, the biologist, broke in on the general wave. His long face looked gloomier than ever. "The
killer attacked Jarvey, possibly with the intention of eating him, and then discovered that his flesh was alien
and inedible. Just like our big cat. Wouldn't eat anything set before him -" His voice trailed into thoughtful
silence. He went on finally, slowly, "Say, what about that creature? He's big enough and strong enough to
have done this with his own little paws."
Director Morton, who must have been listening, interrupted: "That's a thought that has probably
already occurred to a lot of us. After all, he's the only living thing we've seen. But, naturally, we can't
execute him just on suspicion."
"Besides," said one of the men, "he was never out of my sight."
Before Grosvenor could speak, the voice of Siedel, the psychologist, came over the general wave.
"Morton, I've been talking by touch to a number of the men, and I get the following reaction: Their first
feeling is that the beast was never out of their sight. And yet, when pinned down, they admit that maybe he
was for a few minutes. I, also, had the impression that he was always around. But, thinking back over it, I
find gaps. There were moments, probably long minutes, when he was completely out of sight."
Grosvenor sighed, and deliberately remained silent now. His point had been made by somebody
else.
It was Kent who broke the silence, He said in a fierce voice, "I say, take no chances. Kill the brute
on suspicion before he does any more damage."
Morton said, "Korita, are you around?"
"Right here at the body, Director."
"Korita, you've been wandering around with Cranessy and Van Home. Do you think pussy is a
descendant of the dominant race of this planet?"
Grosvenor located the archaeologist standing slightly behind Smith and partly surrounded by
colleagues from his department.
The tall Japanese said slowly, almost respectfully, "Director Morton, there is a mystery here. Take
a look, all of you, at that majestic sky line. Notice the architectural outline. In spite of the megalopolis which
they created, these people were close to the soil. The buildings are not merely ornamented. They are
ornamental in themselves. Here is the equivalent of the Doric column, the Egyptian pyramid, and the big
Gothic cathedral, growing out of the ground, earnest, big with destiny. If this lonely, desolate world can be
regarded as a mother earth, then the land had a warm, a spiritual place in the hearts of the inhabitants. The
effect is emphasized by the winding streets. Their machines prove they were mathematicians, but they
were artists first. And so they did not create the geometrically designed cities of the ultra-sophisticated
world metropolis. There is a genuine artistic abandon, a deep, joyous emotion written in the curving and
unmathematical arrangements of houses, buildings, and avenues; a sense of intensity, of divine belief in an
inner certainty. This is not a decadent hoary-with-age civilization but a young and vigorous culture,
confident, strong with purpose. There it ended. Abruptly, as if at this point the culture had its Battle of
Tours and began to collapse like the ancient Mohammedan civilization. Or as if in one leap it spanned
centuries of adjustment and entered the period of contending states.
"However, there is no record of a culture anywhere in the universe making such an abrupt jump. It
is always a slow development. And the first step is a merciless questioning of all that was once held sacred.
Inner certainties cease to exist. Previously unquestioned convictions dissolve before the ruthless probings of
scientific and analytical minds. The sceptic becomes the highest type of human being. I say that this culture
ended suddenly in its most flourishing age. The sociological effects of such a catastrophe would be an end
of morality, a reversion of bestial criminality unleavened by a sense of ideal. There would be a callous
indifference to death. If this—if pussy is a descendant of such a race, then he will be a cunning creature, a
thief in the night, a cold-blooded murderer who would cut his own brother's throat for gain."
"That's enough!" It was Kent, his voice curt. "Director, I'm willing to act as executioner."
Smith interrupted sharply. "I object. Listen, Morton, you're not going to kill that cat yet, even if he is
guilty. He's a biological treasure house."
Kent and Smith were glaring angrily at each other. Smith said slowly, "My dear Kent, I appreciate
the fact that in the chemistry department they would like to put pussy into retorts and make chemical
compounds out of his blood and his flesh. But I regret to inform you that you're getting ahead of yourself. In
the biology department we want the living body, not the dead one. I have a feeling the physics department
would like to have a look at him, also, while he's still alive. So I'm afraid you're last on the list. Adjust
yourself to that thought, please. You may see him a year from now, certainly not sooner."
Kent said thickly, 'I'm not looking at this from the scientific point of view."
"You should be, now that Jarvey is dead and nothing can be done for him."
"I'm a human being before I'm a scientist," Kent said in a harsh voice.
"You would destroy a valuable specimen for emotional reasons?"
"I would destroy this creature because he is an unknown danger. We cannot take the risk of having
another human being killed."
It was Morton who interrupted the argument. He said thoughtfully, "Korita, I'm inclined to accept
your theory as a working basis. But one question. Is it possible that his culture is a later one on this planet
than ours is in the galactic-wide system we have colonized?"
"It is definitely possible,' said Korita. "His could be the middle of the tenth civilization of his world;
while ours, as far as we've been able to discover, is the end of the eighth sprung from Earth. Each of his
ten will, of course, have been built on the ruins of the one before it."
"In that case, pussy would not know anything about the scepticism that made us suspect him as a
criminal and a murderer?"
"No, it would be literally magic to him."
Morton's grim laugh sounded on the communicator. He said, "You get your wish, Smith. We'll let
pussy live. And if there are any fatalities, now we know him, it will be due to carelessness. There's a
possibility, of course, that we're wrong. Like Siedel, I also have the impression that the creature was always
around. We may be doing him an injustice. There may be other dangerous creatures on this planet." He
broke off. "Kent, what are your plans for Jarvey's body?"
The chief chemist said in a bitter voice, "There'll be no immediate funeral. The damned cat wanted
something from the body. It looks to be all there, but something must be missing. I'm going to find out what,
and pin this murder on that beast, so you'll have to believe it beyond a shadow of a doubt."
CHAPTER THREE
Back on the ship, Elliott Grosvenor headed for his own department. The sign on the door read,
"science of nexialism." Beyond it were five rooms measuring altogether forty by eighty feet of floor space.
Most of the machines and instruments that the Nexial Foundation had asked the government for had been
installed. As a result, space was rather cramped. Once through the outer door, he was alone in his private
preserve.
Grosvenor seated himself at his work desk and started his brief to Director Morton. He analysed
the possible physical structure of the catlike inhabitant of this cold and desolate planet. He pointed out that
so virile a monster should not be regarded merely as a "biological treasure house". The phrase was
dangerous in that it might make people forget that the beast would have its own drives and needs based on
a non-human metabolism. "We have enough evidence now," he dictated into the recorder, "to make what
we Nexialists call a Statement of Direction."
It took him several hours to complete the Statement. He carried the wire to the stenography section
and put in a requisition for an immediate transcription. As head of a department, he got prompt service.
Two hours later, he delivered the brief to Morton's office. An under-secretary gave him a receipt for it.
Grosvenor ate a late dinner in the commissary, convinced , that he had done what was possible to him.
Afterwards, he inquired of the waiter where the cat was. The waiter wasn't sure, but he believed the beast
was up in the general library.
For an hour, Grosvenor sat in the library watching Coeurl. During that time, the creature lay
stretched out on the thick carpet, never once moving his position. At the end of the hour, one of the doors
swung open, and two men came in carrying a large bowl. Following close behind them was Kent. The
chemist's eyes were feverish. He paused in the middle of the room, and said in a weary yet harsh voice, "I
want you all to watch this!"
Though his words included everyone in the room, he actually faced a group of top scientists who
sat in a special reserved section. Grosvenor stood up and had a look at what was in the bowl carried by the
two men. It contained a brownish concoction.
Smith, the biologist, also climbed to his feet. "Wait a minute, Kent. Any other time I wouldn't
question your actions. But you look ill. You're overwrought. Have you got Morton's permission for this
experiment?"
Kent turned slowly. And Grosvenor, who had seated himself again, saw that Smith's words had
conveyed only a part of the picture. There were dark circles under the chief chemist's eyes. And his
cheeks seemed sunken. He said, "I invited him to come up here. He refused to participate. His attitude is
that if this being does willingly what I want, no harm will be done,"
Smith said, "What have you got there? What's in that bowl?"
"I've identified the missing element," Kent said. "It's potassium. There was only about two-thirds or
three-quarters of the normal amount of potassium left in Jarvey's body. You know how potassium is held by
the body cells in connection with a large protein molecule, the combination providing the basis for the
electrical charge of the cell. It's fundamental to life. Usually, after death the cells release their potassium
into the blood stream, making it poisonous. I proved that some potassium is missing from Jarvey's cells but
that it did not go into the blood. I'm not sure of the full significance of that, but I intend to find out."
"What about the bowl of food?" somebody interrupted. Men were putting away magazines and
books, looking up with interest.
"It's got living cells with potassium in suspension. We can do that artificially, you know. Maybe
that's why he rejected our food at lunch time. The potassium was not in a useable form for him. My idea is
he'll get the scent, or whatever he uses instead of scent—"
"I think he gets the vibrations of things," Gourlay interjected with a drawl. "Sometimes when he
wiggles those tendrils, my instruments register a distinct and very powerful wave of static. And then, again,
there's no reaction. My guess is he moves on to a point higher or lower on the wave scale. He seems to
control the vibrations at will. I'm assuming the actual motion of the tendrils does not in itself generate these
frequencies."
Kent waited with obvious impatience for Gourlay to finish, then he went on. "All right, so it's
vibrations that he senses. We can decide what his reaction to this vibration proves when he starts reacting."
He concluded in a mollifying tone, "What do you think, Smith?"
"There are three things wrong with your plan," the biologist replied. "In the first place, you seem to
assume that he is only animal. You seem to have forgotten he may be surfeited after having fed on
Jarvey—if he did. And you seem to think he will not be suspicious. But have the bowl set down. His
reaction may tell us something."
Kent's experiment was reasonably valid, despite the emotion behind it. The creature had already
shown that he could respond violently when suddenly stimulated. His reaction to being locked up in the
elevator could not be dismissed as unimportant. So Grosvenor analysed.
Coeurl stared with unblinking eyes as the two men set the bowl before him. They retreated quickly,
and Kent stepped forward. Coeurl recognized him as the one who had held the weapon that morning. He
watched the two-legged being for a moment, then gave his attention to the bowl. His ear tendrils identified
the thrilling emanation of id from the contents. It was faint, so faint as to have been unnoticeable until he
concentrated on it. And it was held in suspension in a manner that was almost useless to him. But the
vibration was strong enough to point at the reason for this incident. With a snarl, Coeurl rose to his feet. He
caught the bowl with the suction cups at the end of one looping tentacle, and emptied its contents into the
face of Kent, who shrank back with a yell.
Explosively, Coeurl flung the bowl aside and snapped a hawser-thick tentacle around the cursing
man's waist. He didn't bother with the gun that hung from Kent's belt. It was only a vibration gun, he
sensed—atomic powered, but not an atomic disintegrator. He tossed the squirming Kent into a corner, and
then realized with a hiss of dismay that he should have disarmed the man. Now he would have to reveal his
defensive powers.
Kent furiously wiped the gruel from his face with one hand, and with his other hand reached for his
weapon. The muzzle snapped up, and the white beam of the traced light flashed at Coeurl's massive head.
Ear tendrils hummed as they automatically cancelled out the energy. Round black eyes narrowed as he
caught the movement of men reaching for their vibrators.
From near the door, Grosvenor said sharply, "Stop! We'll all regret it if we act hysterically."
Kent clicked off his weapon and half turned to send a puzzled glance at Grosvenor. Coeurl
crouched down, glowering at this man who had forced him to reveal his ability to control energies outside
his body. There was nothing to do now but wait alertly for repercussions.
Kent looked again at Grosvenor. This time his eyes narrowed "What the hell do you mean by giving
orders?"
Grosvenor made no reply. His part of the incident was finished. He had recognized an emotional
crisis, and he had spoken the necessary words in the right tone of peremptory command. The fact that
those who had obeyed him now questioned his authority to give the command was unimportant. The crisis
was over.
What he had done had no relation to the guilt or innocence of Coeurl. Whatever the eventual result
of his interference, any decision made about the creature must be made by the recognized authorities, not
摘要：

[VersionHistory][BackCover][FrontBlurb]TheVoyageoftheSpaceBeaglebyA.E.vanVogttoFordMcCormackCHAPTERONEOnandonCoeurlprowled.Theblack,moonless,almoststarlessnightyieldedreluctantlybeforeagrimreddishdawnthatcreptupfromhisleft.Itwasavaguelightthatgavenosenseofapproachingwarmth.Itslowlyrevealedanightmare...

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