“Yes,” said the voice, “there is drink.”
Herb’s jaw dropped.
Tommy stepped out of the pilot’s chair. “I’m hungry,” he said. He strode to
the inner valve of the air lock and spun the wheel. The others crowded
behind him.
They stepped out of the ship onto a great slab of stone placed in the
center of a gigantic room. The stone, apparently, was merely there for the
ship to rest upon, for the rest of the floor was paved in scintillating
blocks of mineral that flashed and glinted in the light from the three suns
pouring in through a huge, translucent skylight. The walls of the room were
done in soft, pastel shades, and on the walls were hung huge paintings,
while ringed about the ship was furniture, perfect rooms of furniture, but
with no dividing walls. An entire household, of palatial dimension, set up
in a single room.
A living room, a library, bedrooms and a dining room. A dining room with
massive oaken table and five chairs, and upon the table a banquet to do
justice to a king.
“Chicken!” cried Herb and the word carried a weight of awe.
“And wine,” said Tommy.
They stared in amazement at the table. Gary sniffed. He could smell the
chicken.
“Antique furniture,” said Kingsley. “That stuff would bring a fortune back
in the solar system. Mostly Chatterton and it looks authentic. And
beautiful pieces, museum pieces, every one. Thousand years old at least.”
He stared from piece to piece. “But how did they got it here?” he burst
out.
Caroline’s laughter rang through the room, a chiming, silver laughter that
had a note of wild happiness in it.
“What’s the matter?” demanded Tommy.
“I don’t see anything funny,” declared Herb. “Unless there is a joke.
Unless that chicken really isn’t chicken.”
“It’s chicken,” Caroline assured him. “And the rest of the food is real,
too. And so is that furniture. Only I didn’t think of it as antique. You
see, a thousand years ago that sort of furniture was the accepted style.
That was the smartest sort of pieces to have in your home.”
“But you?” asked Gary. “What did you have to do with it?”
“I told the Engineers,” she said. “They asked me what we ate and I told
them. They must have understood me far better than I thought. I told them
the kind of clothes we wore and the kind of furniture we used. But, you
see, the only things I knew about were out of date, things the people used
a thousand years ago. All except the chicken. You still eat chicken, don’t
you?”
“And how,” grinned Herb.
“Why,” said Gary, “this means the Engineers can make anything they want to.
They can arrange atoms to make any sort of material. They can transmute
matter!”
Kingsley nodded. “That’s exactly what it means,” he said.
Herb was hurrying for the table.
“If we don’t get there, there won’t be anything left,” Tommy suggested.
The chicken, the mashed potatoes and gravy, the wine, the stuffed olives…
all the food was good. It might have come out of the kitchen of the solar
system’s smartest hotel only a few minutes before. After days of living on
coffee and hastily slapped-together sandwiches, they did full justice to
it.
Herb regarded with regret the last piece of chicken and shook his head
dolefully.
“I just can’t do it,” he moaned. “I just can’t manage any more.”
“I never tasted such food in all my life,” Kingsley declared.
“They asked me what we ate,” Caroline said, “so I thought of all the things
I like the best. They didn’t leave out a single one.”
“But where are the Engineers?” asked Gary. “We haven’t seen a thing of
them. We have seen plenty of what they have done and can do, but not one
has showed himself.”
Footsteps rasped across the floor and Gary swung around in his chair.
Advancing toward them was something that looked like a man, but not exactly
a man. It was the same height, had the same general appearance – two arms,
two legs, a man-shaped torso and a head. But there was something definitely
wrong with the face; something wrong with the body, too.
“There’s the answer to your question,” said Tommy.
“There’s an Engineer.”
Gary scarcely heard him. He was watching the Engineer intently as the
creature approached. And he knew why the Engineer was different. Cast in
human shape, he was still a far cry from the humans of the solar system,
for the Engineer was a metal man! A man fashioned of metallic matter
instead of protoplasm.
“A metal man,” he said.
“That’s right,” replied Kingsley, and keen interest rather than wonderment
was in his words. “This must be a large planet. The force of gravity must
be tremendous. Protoplasm probably would be unable to stand up under its
pull. We’d probably just melt down if the Engineers hadn’t fixed up this
place for us.”
“You are right,” said the metal man, but his mouth didn’t open, his facial
expression didn’t change. He was speaking to them as the voice had spoken
to them back on Pluto and again as they had entered the city. The Engineer
stopped beside the table and stood stiffly, his arms folded across his
chest.
“Is everything satisfactory?” asked the Engineer.
It was funny, this way he had of talking. No sound, no change of
expression, no gesture… just words burning themselves into one’s brain,
the imprint of thought thrust upon one’s consciousness.
“Why, yes,” said Gary, “everything is fine,”
“Fine,” shouted Herb, waving a drumstick. “Why, everything is perfect.”
“We tried so hard to do everything just as you told us,” said the Engineer.
“We are pleased that everything is all right. We had a hard time
understanding one thing. Those paintings on the wall. You said they were
things you had and were used to and we wanted so much to make everything as
you wanted it. But they were something we had never thought of, something
we had never done. We are sorry that we were so stupid. They are fine
things. When this trouble is over, we may make more of them. They are so
very beautiful. How queer it was we hadn’t thought of them.”
Gary swung around and stared at the painting opposite the table. Obviously
it was a work in oils and seemed a very fine one. It portrayed some
fantastic scene, a scene with massive mountains in the background and
strange twisted trees and waist-high grass and the glitter of a distant
waterfall. A picture, Gary decided, that any art gallery would be proud to
hang.
“You mean,” be asked, “that these are the first pictures you ever painted?”
“We hadn’t even thought of it before,” said the Engineer.
They hadn’t known of paintings before. No single Engineer had ever thought
to capture a scene on canvas. They had never wielded an artist’s brush. But
here was a painting that was perfect in color and in composition, well
balanced, pleasing to the eye!
“One thing about you fellows,” said Tommy, “is that you will tackle
anything.”
“It was so simple,” said the Engineer, “that we are ashamed we never
thought of it.”
“But this trouble,” rumbled Kingsley. “This danger to the universe. You
told us about it back on Pluto, but you didn’t explain. We would like to
know.”
“That,” said the Engineer, “is what I am here to tell you…”
No change in the tone of the thoughts… no slightest trend of emotion. No
change of expression on his face.
“We will do whatever we can to help,” Kingsley told him.
“We are sure of that,” said the Engineer. “We are glad that you are here.
We were so satisfied when you said that you would come. We feel you can
help us very, very much.”
“But the danger,” prompted Caroline. “What is the danger?”
“I will begin,” said the Engineer, “with information that to us is very
elemental, although I do not believe you know it. You had no chance to find
it out, being so far from the edge of the universe. But we who have lived
here so many years, found the truth long ago.
“This universe is only one of many universes. Only one of billions and
billions of universes. We believe there are as many universes as there are
galaxies within our own universe.”
The Earthlings looked in astonishment at him. Gary glanced at Kingsley and
the scientist seemed speechless. He was sputtering, trying to talk.
“There are over fifty billion galaxies within our universe,” he finally
said. “Or at least that is what our astronomers believe.”
“Sorry to contradict,” said the Engineer. “There are many more than that.
Many times more than that.”
“More!” said Kingsley, faintly for him.
“The universes are four-dimensional,” said the Engineer, “and they exist
within a five-dimensional inter-space, perhaps another great super-universe
with the universes within it taking the place of the galaxies as they are