There was an instantaneous appearance of blue-green figures surrounding the ship, and they at once smacked their hands against it. Their hands instantly sank into the gunk, and when they tried to pull loose, they were stuck fast. They promptly vanished, leaving a number of hand-shaped holes in the gunk. They reappeared with an irritated look, and changed position rapidly, apparently expecting someone to open fire. Instead, after a brief pause, a section of the ship began to exude more thick sticky substance, and a massive hatch swung open, the edges drawing out long bluey strands that broke, to hang in a curtain of large drops on threads and ropes of gunk. From the sides of the hatchway, streams of gunk oozed out. From inside, emaciated blue-green figures, bandaged around the ear membranes, some of them with bandages over their foreheads, eyes, and other parts of their bodies, staggered forward on slatted duckboards, and dropped unsteadily to the ground.
The teleports outside stared, rushed forward as if to get at the interior, got a look into a black chamber plastered top, bottom, and on all sides with a coat of thick sticky gunk, with nothing in there that could be touched except the easily disposable duckboards, and then several rushed forward and thrust their hands determinedly into the coating over the outside of the hull. After a few moments of pressure, they jerked back with a startled angry look. Their surprise evidently affected either their teleporting ability or their presence of mind. Instead of vanishing and reappearing at a distance, they pulled back, drawing out long strands of thick sticky adhesive. On close examination this adhesive turned out of have numerous small pointed objects in it, some straight, some curved, and many with ends like fishhooks. A quick look into the holes from which their hands had been withdrawn disclosed what appeared to be parallel hairs lying on the surface of the gunk underneath. A hard pressure against these produced screams, a sudden jump backwards, and the brief emergence of parallel razor-sharp edges. A glance at the underside of the ship disclosed short gunk-covered legs, not only hard to get at, but probably disposable. Another look inside seemed to offer no better prospects. The structure of the slowly oozing gunk couldn’t be learned, because it didn’t remain constant, and nothing else could be reached.
Meanwhile, the returning teleports were now outside the ship, and those who had stayed at home stared at them incredulously, and began to ask questions. The returnees tapped their bandaged ears. The local teleports pointed, vanished, and reappeared after a moment. The returnees spoke moodily. The locals looked shocked. They pointed at the sky, at the sea, smiled blissfully, and turned their palms upwards. The returnees looked sour, made wavy motions with their hands a foot or so above the ground, raked the air with their hands, picked up a handful of sand and hurled it through the air, coughed. They silently portrayed men freezing to death in a blizzard, with the added attraction of trying to keep their ears from bursting and their eyes from popping out of their heads.
The locals looked incredulous, and began to argue.
Just then, a loud voice issued from the ship, in the local tongue:
“Whoever wishes to visit a distant world, toss your shell into the ship. We will let you know when it’s there.”
The locals vanished.
The ship stayed where it was.
The locals reappeared with guns, and opened fire.
The voice spoke again:
“The darts do no damage, because what they strike is either too soft to be hurt, or so hard it doesn’t matter. You waste strength you should save for enemies.”
The teleports vanished.
The ship stayed there.
The teleports reappeared, ringing the ship, each bearing a shell which he pressed hard against the tarry surface.
Here was the real test of the Special Effect Team’s carefully compounded gunk:
The shells fell off.
The voice said patiently, “The shells must be placed inside. Then we will deliver them.”
For the first time, the locals looked jarred, and glanced at each other, to exchange angry comments.
Meanwhile, those who had just returned were walking around, feeling of bushes, dropping to their knees to place their hands flat on the sand, walking into the water to let it lap gently at their feet. Abruptly, one of them vanished, to reappear six feet away, beaming.
Amongst the locals who hadn’t left the planet, disorder had now reached the point where some vanished, to reappear uncertainly with guns.
Glossip, watching the screen with Towers, said, “You’ve done it, Towers! I never hoped to see them in confusion.”
“They’ve been able to fit everything else into the framework of conflict, which is apparently their specialty. But whether this confusion will spread, or—”
A large blue-green figure appeared, wearing a headdress of shells of pink and gold, raised his hands, and in the abrupt silence, spoke a single word. All of the locals, except this entity and the returnees, vanished; then one or two of the returnees disappeared. The one with the headdress remained, looking at the gunk-covered ship with no very pleasant expression.
The voice spoke from the ship: “More people may be returned from other planets later. Those who wish to travel there may place their shells within.”
The entity with the headdress started to speak, changed his mind, glared, and vanished.
Glossip beamed. “Well, Towers, that may not be victory, as yet; but after what we’ve been through, it’s highly satisfying to get a draw out of it.”
“Provided we’re careful, we ought to get that much, anyway. Meanwhile, they can’t help but learn, from those who’ve come back, just what they risk when they make a jump to invade another world. Who knows? It might change their attitude.”
“That’s what we’ve been trying for; for just between you and me, Towers, by now I’d be well content to leave them bottled up indefinitely. I can do without these manifestations of psychic power, if you know what I mean.”
Towers nodded, happened to glance at a scene of the planet, coming in on a screen across the room, and frowned.
Glossip was saying, “It’s a relief, at least, to find that material means and devices, with some careful thought, can beat psychic power. But still—”
Towers looked at the screen again. What the deuce was that, anyway, but a kind of mechanical clairvoyance? As a matter of fact, when you thought about it, how did any of the achievements of advanced technology differ from what psychic powers were supposed to do? And, come to think of it—”
“General,” said Towers, “what did you say it was that beat those teleports?”
“Why, material means and careful thought,” said Glossip. “What else? Certainly we have no psychic power.”
Towers thought it over. What did “psychic” mean but “not in the realm of the physical?” And what was “power” but “that which does work?” If a man could do twice as much work with a machine as without it, the extra work was naturally credited to the machine. But where did the machine come from? First, somebody had to think, and get an idea. Therefore, ultimately the extra work done by the machine could be credited to the thought. But thought was “not in the realm of the physical.” Therefore, since it did work, it was power; and since it was not in the realm of the physical, it was psychic; and if that didn’t make it psychic power, what would?
Glossip was looking at Towers wonderingly. “Why, Towers, what do you have in mind?”
Towers shook his head. There were some things it just didn’t pay to try to explain. “I was just thinking, sir, these people have been operating a kind of trap, based on their psychic power. It occurred to me—it would only have been justice for them to catch a race of wizards in their trap.”
Glossip smiled.
“I’d certainly enjoy seeing a thing like that, Towers. Unfortunately, such things are too good to be true. They don’t actually happen.”
Towers nodded. “Maybe not, sir.”
But he wasn’t so sure.
Part VIII: Pandora’s Galaxy
Once back at his headquarters, Horsip found it impossible to believe what he had seen with his own eyes. But his staff assured him that, as a matter of fact, Mikeril attacks were becoming common.
Moffis said moodily. The only bright spot in this mess is that Earth general we took on the Supreme Staff. Here’s a report from Sark Glossip, on the teleports.”
Horsip looked around blankly. “On the what?”
“Teleports. Glossip and his expedition were trapped by them, but Towers got them loose.”
“What are teleports?”
Moffis handed him the report, and pointed out a line. Horsip read:
” . . . although obviously impossible, we were driven to the conclusion that these natives are teleports, and can go from one place to another instantaneously, regardless of intervening bars, walls, armor plate, or, as far as we could find out, anything else . . .”