“That was an accident, sir. The jeep—”
“I know. We’ll review that matter at a later date. What I’m calling about is more important right now. The code men have made some headway on that box of yours. It’s putting out some sort of transmission.”
“Yes, sir.”
“They’ve rigged a receiver set-up that puts out audible sound. Half the message—it’s only twenty seconds long, repeated—is in English: It’s a fragment of a recording from a daytime radio program; one of the network men here identified it. The rest is gibberish. They’re still working over it.”
“What—”
“Bryant tells me he thinks there’s some sort of correspondence between the two parts of the message. I wouldn’t know, myself. In my opinion it’s a threat of some sort.”
“I agree, General. An ultimatum.”
“All right; keep your men back at a safe distance from now on. I want no more casualties.”
* * *
Straut cursed his luck as he hung up the phone. Margrave was ready to relieve him; and after he had exercised every precaution. He had to do something, fast, something to sew this thing up before it slipped out of his hands. He looked at Greer.
“I’m neutralizing this thing once and for all. There’ll be no more men killed while I stand by.”
Lieberman stood up. “General! I must protest any attack against this—”
Straut whirled. “I’m handling this, Professor. I don’t know who let you in here or why—but I’ll make the decisions. I’m stopping this man-killer before it comes out of its nest, maybe gets into that village beyond the woods; there are four thousand civilians there. It’s my job to protect them.” He jerked his head at Greer, strode out of the room. Lieberman followed, protesting.
“The creature has shown no signs of aggressiveness, General Straut—”
“With two men dead—?”
“You should have kept them back—”
Straut stopped, turned.
“Oh, it was my fault, was it?” Straut stared at Lieberman with cold fury. This civilian pushed his way in here, then had the infernal gall to accuse him, Brigadier General Straut, of causing the deaths of his own men. If he had the fellow in uniform for five minutes . . .
“You’re not well, General. That fall—”
“Keep out of my way, Professor,” Straut said. He turned and went on down the stairs: The present foul-up could ruin his career; and now this egghead interference . . .
With Greer at his side, Straut moved out to the edge of the field.
“All right, Major. Open up with your .50 calibers.”
Greer called a command and a staccato rattle started up. The smell of cordite, and the blue haze of gunsmoke . . . This was more like it. This would put an end to the nonsense. He was in command here, he had the power . . .
Greer lowered his binoculars. “Cease fire!” he commanded.
“Who told you to give that order, Major?” Straut barked.
Greer looked at him. “We’re not even marking the thing.”
Straut took the binoculars, stared through them.
“All right,” he said. “We’ll try something heavier. Let it have a round of 40mm.”
Lieberman came up to Straut. “General, I appeal to you in the name of science. Hold off a little longer; at least until we learn what the message is about. The creature may—”
“Get back from the firing line, Professor.” Straut turned his back on the civilian, raised the glasses to observe the effect of the recoilless rifle. There was a tremendous smack of displaced air, and a thunderous boom! as the explosive shell struck. Straut saw the gray shape jump, the raised lid waver. Dust rose from about it. There was no other effect.
“Keep firing, Greer,” Straut snapped, almost with a feeling of triumph. The thing was impervious to artillery; now who was going to say it was no threat?
“How about the mortars, sir?” Greer said. “We can drop a few rounds in and blast the thing out of its nest.”
“All right, try it, if the lid doesn’t drop first. We won’t be able to touch it if it does.” And what we’ll try next, I don’t know, he thought; we can’t drop anything really big on it, not unless we evacuate the whole country.
* * *
The mortar fired, with a muffled thud. Straut watched tensely. Five second later, the ship erupted in a gout of pale pink debris. The lid rocked, pinkish fluid running down its opalescent surface. A second burst, and a third. A great fragment of the menacing claw hung from the branch of a tree a hundred feet from the ship. Straut grabbed for the phone. “Cease fire!”
Lieberman stared in horror at the carnage.
The telephone rang. Straut picked it up.
“General Straut,” he said. His voice was firm. He had put an end to the threat for all time.
“Straut, we’ve broken the message,” Margrave said excitedly. “It’s the damnedest thing . . .” Straut wanted to interrupt, announce his victory, but Margrave was droning on.
” . . . strange sort of reasoning, but there was a certain analogy. In any event, I’m assured the translation is accurate. Put into English—”
Straut listened. Then he carefully placed the receiver on the hook.
Lieberman stared at him. “What was it, the message? Have they translated it?”
Straut nodded.
“What did it say?”
Straut cleared his throat. He turned and looked at Lieberman for a long moment before answering.
“It said, ‘Please take good care of my little girl!’ ”
Test to Destruction
The late October wind drove icy rain against Mallory’s face above his turned-up collar where he stood concealed in the shadows at the mouth of the narrow alley.
“It’s ironic, Johnny,” the small, grim-faced man beside him muttered. “You—the man who should have been World Premier tonight—skulking in the back streets while Koslo and his bully boys drink champagne in the Executive Palace.”
“That’s all right, Paul,” Mallory said. “Maybe he’ll be too busy with his victory celebration to concern himself with me.”
“And maybe he won’t,” the small man said. “He won’t rest easy as long as he knows you’re alive to oppose him.”
“It will only be a few more hours, Paul. By breakfast time, Koslo will know his rigged election didn’t take.”
“But if he takes you first, that’s the end, Johnny. Without you the coup will collapse like a soap bubble.”
“I’m not leaving the city,” Mallory said flatly. “Yes, there’s a certain risk involved; but you don’t bring down a dictator without taking a few chances.”
“You didn’t have to take this one, meeting Crandall yourself.”
“It will help if he sees me, knows I’m in this all the way.”
In silence, the two men waited the arrival of their fellow conspirator.
* * *
Aboard the interstellar dreadnought cruising half a parsec from Earth, the compound Ree mind surveyed the distant solar system.
Radiation on many wavelengths from the third body, the Perceptor cells directed the impulse to the sixty-nine hundred and thirty-four units comprising the segmented brain which guided the ship. Modulations over the forty-ninth through the ninety-first spectra of mentation.
A portion of the pattern is characteristic of exocosmic manipulatory intelligence, the Analyzers extrapolated from the data. Other indications range in complexity from levels one through twenty-six.
This is an anomalous situation, the Recollectors mused. It is the essential nature of a Prime Intelligence to destroy all lesser competing mind-forms, just as I/we have systematically annihilated those I/we have encountered on my/our exploration of the Galactic Arm.
Before action is taken, clarification of the phenomenon is essential, the Interpretors pointed out. Closure to a range not exceeding one radiation/second will be required for extraction and analysis of a representative mind-unit.
In this event, the risk level rises to Category Ultimate, the Analyzers announced dispassionately.
RISK LEVELS NO LONGER APPLY, the powerful thought-impulse of the Egon put an end to the discussion. NOW OUR SHIPS RANGE INTO NEW SPACE, SEEKING EXPANSION ROOM FOR THE GREAT RACE. THE UNALTERABLE COMMAND OF THAT WHICH IS GREAT REQUIRES THAT MY/OUR PROBE BE PROSECUTED TO THE LIMIT OF REE CAPABILITY, TESTING MY/OUR ABILITY FOR SURVIVAL AND DOMINANCE. THERE CAN BE NO TIMIDITY, NO EXCUSE FOR FAILURE. LET ME/US NOW ASSUME A CLOSE SURVEILLANCE ORBIT!
In utter silence, and at a velocity a fraction of a kilometer/sec below that of light, the Ree dreadnought flashed toward Earth.
* * *
Mallory tensed as a dark figure appeared a block away under the harsh radiance of a polyarc.
“There’s Crandall now,” the small man hissed. “I’m glad—” He broke off as the roar of a powerful turbine engine sounded suddenly along the empty avenue. A police car exploded from a side street, rounded the corner amid a shriek of overstressed gyros. The man under the light turned to run—and the vivid blue glare of a SURF-gun winked and stuttered from the car. The burst of slugs caught the runner, slammed him against the brick wall, kicked him from his feet, rolled him, before the crash of the guns reached Mallory’s ears.