Between The Galaxies Read online

  Quinto's ship was exactly half a year old as of that day. In the casual vernacular of Division 3, the Joann was a cruising work shop. It was classed as a battle cruiser but in addition to its excellent armaments it was fitted out with a full work shop which enabled the crew to build or repair a number of complicated equipment on board. thus the Joann was only dependent upon her home base to a very limited extent, which included any other sources of maintenance and supplies.

  Quinto knew that in this case such a feature was important. When you were 500 light years beyond the rim of the Milky Way you operated on different tactics than you did inside the galaxy where every small hop could bring you to an inhabited world.

  The Joann used its trans-light linear spacedrive to cover the 34000 light years to Arkon 3. After landing, Mike Quinto advised Eric Furchtbar on the hyper-beam that he was now considerably closer to his position.

  For his part, Eric Furchtbar had a few new items on hand to report.

  • • •

  The receivers registered a 2nd transmission on another frequency. the first signal had been holding steady for 5 hours. It could be clearly seen on the scope screen that a definite modulation pattern was repeating itself every 14 minutes.

  Art Cavanaugh had explained to Furchtbar that it looked like some kind of distress call which was sent out by an automatic transmitter—in a repeated pattern until somebody answered it. Eric had retorted that such an assumption could be made if they were dealing with inhabitants of the Milky Way. But one had to be more careful about anything that came from "out there," at least as far as seemingly logical deductions were concerned.

  Art didn't understand too much about the art of logic but he had enough confidence in his captain not to insist on sticking to his analysis. Yet in the back of his mind the thought persisted that somebody out there was frantically yelling for help. Or at least their automatic transmitter was still operating when perhaps the people it served had already died. Because that sun that Mike Kirkpatrick had mentioned had meanwhile been defined as a nuclear explosion of tremendous size.

  Then this 2nd signal had come in. Whoever was sending it wasn't making an effort to repeat it too often. Art adjusted the receiver frequency but all he could see on the scope was a single decaying wave spike. Then the scope was blank again. Warren Lee wound the recorder tape back to where he could snip off the strip that contained the short transmission. Ken Lodge felt he ought to make himself useful, so he placed the tape strip in a bright red envelope and sent it through a pneumatic tube to the positronic analysis section.

  Meanwhile, Cavanaugh had notified the main control room. Eric Furchtbar was still at his post although he had been 12 hours on duty without interruption. Eric asked for the tracking readouts, and considering his agitated condition Art knew he was lucky that the automatic tracker had completed its task in the meantime. The readout consisted of three triangular coordinates and a radius vector. The radius vector indicated the distance between the BOB 21 and the unknown transmitter. It turned out to be 410 light years.

  This was the same distance of the first transmitter, which placed it in the same area where the nuclear explosion had occurred.

  • • •

  During the next few hours further explosions were detected. A portion of the mighty energies unleashed were 5th-dimensional in nature and 5-D hyperfields were registered by the instruments on board the BOB 21 practically with no lapse of time.

  Eric Furchtbar began to feel nervous. The BOB 21 was merely an observation station, not a true spaceship. It had been brought here by a space tender, which had simply decoupled itself and gone back to where it had come from. The BOB 21 had no real propulsion system and its only navigational engines were for limited movements to correct its position. The station was stationary. In case they should come under attack the crew was supplied with weapons, fairly effective ones at that—but if the situation became hopeless there was no way of making a fast exit.

  During Eric's 13 hours of duty, 11 explosions were registered—all of them in relatively quick succession. And there was no change in the hyper signal that Art Cavanaugh thought as a distress call. It looked as if a great space battle were taking place out there somewhere. The radiation fields registered by the instruments indicated that each explosion was caused by a bomb in the range of 1000 gigatons.

  Eric had almost forgotten about the 2nd short hyper message when the analysis section announced that the positronic deciphering run had been successful. The man talking over the intercom was Lt. Hynes.

  "After everything we've been taught we can't be certain that the decoder is actually giving us the true content of the message," he said. "But everything seems to fit. Every test result comes up with the same coefficient of probability. What this would indicate—"

  Eric interrupted him impatiently. "Alright, alright! What does it say?"

  In the viewscreen, Lt. Hynes could be seen picking up a piece of paper. He studied it a few seconds dubiously and then read it aloud: "Are you a true life form?"

  • • •

  The incomprehensible generates uncertainty and a presentiment of impending danger.

  For Eric Furchtbar and the other men on board the BOB 21, this question about a true life form was the most inconceivable thing they had ever heard before in their lives. Nonetheless there was little doubt that the question had really been asked–by somebody who was 410 light years out there engaged in an argument with somebody else, in the process of which they were batting around monster fusion bombs.

  Eric Furchtbar had experienced a sense of uncertainty and approaching danger before but this feeling now was coming on like a slow panic.

  However, before he could beam out another message, a dispatch came in from the Joann , announcing its arrival on Arkon 3. Eric answered practically on a simultaneous beam, and thus in a matter of seconds Nike Quinto was the recipient of information which caused him to take off immediately after just having landed. The Joann sped outward, prepared to leave the galaxy.

  For the time being, no one had answered the mysterious question: "Are you a true life form?"

  2/ STRANGER FROM THE ABYSS

  The blackness out here was absolute.

  On board the Joann Ron Laundry was watching their approach to the disc-shaped observation station. Only a few seconds before it had become visible on the screens.

  Ron had an uneasy feeling when he noted the effect created by a total absence of background behind the BOB 21. The station actually did not appear to come nearer. Instead it was as if somebody inside it were inflating it steadily with an air pump. It seemed merely to swell up rather than reveal any motion of itself or the Joann . There was no sense of approaching it. The station simply grew larger.

  The BOB 21 continued to grow until it almost filled one of the viewscreens. Then the impression of growth ceased. The ship and the station were stationary, relative to each other. Col. Nike Quinto and Maj. Ron Landry shuttled across in a space glider and Capt. Furchtbar met them in the main lock. On his face was an obvious expression of relief.

  But that relief was short-lived because Nike Quinto advised him that this was just a brief visit and that he had no intention of just parking the Joann next to the station for no good reason. Nor did he indicate how far away he intended to be after he left. But Eric Furchtbar had the feeling that it would be fairly distant. If things got rough all of a sudden, he and his men would be back on their own resources, the same as before—at least in the first crucial moments of alien confrontation.

  He didn't complain about it. The Terran space fleet was not a discussion society.

  Nike Quinto asked to see all the data that had been picked up by the automatic recorders since the detection of the first bomb explosion. He studied the tapes and graphs carefully while discussing them with Ron Landry in such low tones that no one else could hear him. Finally he requested the use of the station's positronic facilities. He and Landry occupied themselves with the computer equipment for half an hour, and
then they called Furchtbar into another meeting.

  Quinto's face looked flushed then he spoke. "There can be no doubt that the second message you received was deciphered correctly. It actually does say: "Are you a true life form?" So, somebody is out there whose perception or mode of thinking lies somewhere between a 'true' life form or an 'untrue' form—or maybe they can differentiate between a dozen different grades of being. What they may mean by 'true' in this sense is something we don't know. These unknown aliens are waiting for an answer. In that connection we'll have to rely on our own best instincts. To me, Captain, you're as true a life form as Major Landry, and it's to be hoped that I make the same impression on you. So in my opinion we should answer: Yes, we are a true life form."

  Furchtbar was so horrified that he jumped up out of his chair. He was utterly amazed. "You mean—we should actually give them a return message?"

  Quinto pretended to be surprised. "And why not?"

  "But if we do we'll reveal our position! Out there are unknown intelligences battling each other with weapons of such a destructive power that it's even hard to imagine! If we answer them they'll be able to trace us. That will probably draw the battle to this area and we'll be right in the middle...!"

  Nike Quinto was surprisingly calm for a change. "You're overlooking something, Captain. The aliens have asked if 'you' are a true life form. The real question is: who is this 'you' they are addressing?"

  Still agitated, Furchtbar looked at him helplessly. "That I couldn't say, sir."

  Quinto nodded as if he hadn't expected any other response. "Have you checked the energy indicators of your hypercom receiver?"

  "Just roughly. We were sure there wouldn't be much to help us there."

  Quinto waved a finger at him. "That was a mistake. Otherwise you would have found out that the output power of the alien transmitter wasn't especially high. Even though it's a hypercom signal it's probable that it couldn't be picked up at a distance of 5000 light years. Of course we'll check immediately to see if anyone else has picked it up somewhere but I'm fairly sure of what we'll find out. So what does that mean?"

  Eric felt perplexed. He did not like the situation. He wasn't fond of being asked questions when the questioner knew from the beginning that he couldn't answer them. "I haven't any idea, sir," he said curtly.

  Quinto continued patiently. "That message had a target destination. Nobody just shoots a question like that into the blue without knowing that someone's at the other end to hear it. But it was transmitted in such a way that it could not be received even at the outer edge of the Milky Way. So who in thunder were they aiming it at?

  It was just you—here in your observation station. Between the edge of the galaxy and that alien transmitter there is nothing—nothing at all,except the BOB 21...!"

  This almost took Eric's breath away. "But—how could they know...? I mean—" He broke off, unable to finish his question.

  Quinto smiled reassuringly. "Better not batter your brains over it just now," he said. "We don't know what technique these aliens are using. Maybe they have sensitive enough equipment to trace the small radiations of this station over hundreds of light years. They could also have looked you over at close range without your knowing it. We can't be sure of anything—except one thing the aliens know the position of the BOB 21. That's why it's too late to worry about that part of it. We've nothing to lose by giving them an answer. In fact, we want to find out what they'll have to say then."

  Eric Furchtbar gave up. He arranged to have an answer sent out in the same code pattern in which the original question had been received. It's simple statement was: "Yes, we are a true life form."

  Neither Eric nor the men who transmitted the message felt especially relaxed about the situation. They had a feeling that they were reaching out their hand to something monstrous and they didn't know it the monster would shake it or tear it off.

  Nike Quinto considered that his task on board the BOB 21 had been taken care of and he said his adieus. He assured Furchtbar that the Joann would back him up if he got into any danger. Eric expressed his appreciation but he knew that things could happen faster than a ship could move to come to his aid if it was cruising around somewhere else in the void.

  Nike and Ron returned to their "cruising factory." A few minutes later the Joann got underway. While picking up speed it grew smaller and finally disappeared from view.

  The BOB 21 was alone once more.

  • • •

  The next few hours on board the station were passed in a state of nervous tension. Furchtbar had explained to his men what had happened, what the situation was at the moment, and what they might expect. Everyone was strangely convinced that there would be an attack, so he told them unequivocally that they could only expect help from the Joann if the hostilities developed slowly enough. But since nobody figured that an alien force bent upon conquest was going to take much time, what it all boiled down to was that there would be no help.

  Eric gave orders to put the gun positions through a thorough inspection. He told the men to make sure that the weapons would function at the moment when they were needed. Basically the order was rather superfluous. If anyone wanted to know if the weapons were still in working order, all he had to do was press a couple of buttons on the IFPM panel and green indicator lamps would confirm that there was no cause for worry. But the instruction he had given would occupy about 10 men for at least a couple of hours, and that was Eric's main objective. As a final test, each of the guns would have to be fired, and that might also help the morale.

  Another 10 men were also at their various posts. The com Room had a double crew. Five men were on duty and a sixth was soon going to join them, which was Furchtbar himself. He was just about at the end of his stamina. One hour after the Joann departed he turned over his post to the 1st officer, Lt. Hynes. He then went to his cabin and dropped onto his bed. A few seconds later he was fast asleep.

  Lt. Hynes took his work very seriously. He meticulously recorded a series of new bomb explosions out in the far abyss. The first hypercom signal the station had received was still being transmitted without interruption. However, they couldn't make anything out of its analysis. It was obvious that, unlike the other message, it was not intended for human eyes and ears. The code was indecipherable. An alien logic had produced it.

  There was excitement on board when at 15:23 hours the question concerning a true life form was received a second time. Hynes was sure that he was acting in accordance with Eric Furchtbar's thinking—and above all with Nike Quinto's wishes—when he had the BOB 21 send back the same answer a second time. The fact that the question was repeated indicated that the first answer had not been understood.

  Or at least that was a possibility, Ed Hynes corrected himself. He realized he was using Terran logic, and those out there were far from being Terrans. For example they might have the custom of not recognizing that something was said until it had been repeated several times.

  At 15:57 hours the 68th bomb explosion was registered. Then after that there was a sudden cessation. At 16:02 the continuous signal finally broke off, and 3 minutes later the question was repeated for the 3rd time: "Are you a true life form?" Hynes had the same answer sent out also for the 3rd time, and after that all was quiet in the vast darkness of starless space. It seemed that the battle had ended, the automatic transmitter had been destroyed, and the strange questioner was no longer interested.

  Until 19:00 the void was as silent as it had been all the days before but the nervousness on board the BOB 21 only increased. So far the events registered had been happening at a distance of 410 light years but now the sudden cessation of activity could be variously interpreted—such as the possibility that the aliens were approaching the Terran station. The men were so tense at their posts that a momentary surge in cosmic ray reception came within a hair of setting off the alarms again.

  The men didn't begin to believe that the danger was over with until 4 hours later. The strangers had not been
heard from and was not another indication of there existence on the detection instruments. The tension on board slowly began to subside. Meanwhile Eric Furchtbar had returned to take over his post again and one hour after midnight he sent the men off duty back to bed. The station was back on its normal schedule.

  That was about 20 minutes before the catastrophe began.

  • • •

  Art Cavanaugh was alone again. Ken Lodge and Warren Lee had greeted the end of the alert condition with a sigh of relief and had disappeared immediately. Ken Lodge would probably go to the mess hall to look for a new partner at Gogo, and Warren would no doubt hit the sack and go to sleep.

  Art rubbed his eyes. He himself was tired. Yet he still thought that Eric Furchtbar had jumped the gun in canceling the alert this soon. Since the first bomb explosion had been registered, hardly half a day had gone by. He smoked a cigarette while he watched his instruments. The receivers were quiet. The alien transmitters remained silent. The radiation gauge showed the usual constant—17 nanowatt per square meter, which was the diffuse radiation from the home galaxy, 5000 light years away, and from other island universes afar off across the starless gulf.

  Everything was so quiet that even Cavanaugh's anxiety began to slowly subside. The chronometer read

  1:19. Just about 20 minutes since the alert condition had been lifted. Maybe he could risk taking a little nap. He had a built-in sensitivity to his instruments and knew he'd wake up instantly if any of them showed any activity.

  He placed his arms across the top of the console and lay his head down. He slowly closed his eyes and began to take in the atmosphere of peace and quiet around him.