Dr. Weiss had locked himself in his own room. They were already within the solar system, and in three hours they would be landing. He had to think. He had three hours in which to decide.
Drake's devilish 'pebble' had been part of the organized life on Saybrook's Planet, of course, but it was dead. It was dead when he had first seen it, and if it hadn't been, it was certainly dead after they fed it into the hyper-atomic motor and converted it into a blast of pure heat. And the bacterial cultures still showed normal when Weiss anxiously checked.
That was not what bothered Weiss now.
Drake had picked up the 'pebble' during the last hours of the stay on Saybrook's Planet-after the barrier breakdown. What if the breakdown had been the result of a slow, relentless mental pressure on the part of the thing on the planet? What if parts of its being waited to invade as the barrier dropped? If the 'pebble' had not been fast enough and had moved only after the barrier was reestablished, it would have been killed. It would have lain there for Drake to see and pick up.
It was a 'pebble,' not a natural life form. But did that mean it was not some kind of life form? It might have been a deliberate production of the planet's single organism-a creature deliberately designed to look like a pebble, harmless-seeming, unsuspicious. Camouflage, in other words-a shrewd and frighteningly successful camouflage.
Had any other camouflaged creature succeeded in crossing the barrier before it was re-established-with a suitable shape filched from the minds of the humans aboard ship by the mind-reading organism of the planet? Would it have the casual appearance of a paperweight? Of an ornamental brass-head nail in the captain's old- fashioned chair? And how would they locate it? Could they search every part of the ship for the telltale green patches- even down to individual microbes?
And why camouflage? Did it intend to remain undetected for a time? Why? So that it might wait for the landing on Earth?
An infection after landing could not be cured by blowing up a ship. The bacteria of Earth, the molds, yeasts, and protozoa, would go first. Within a year the non- human young would be arriving by the uncountable billions.
Weiss closed his eyes and told himself it might not be such a bad thing. There would be no more disease, since no bacterium would multiply at the
expense of its host, but instead would be satisfied with its fair share of what was available. There would be no more overpopulation; the hordes of mankind would decline to adjust themselves to the food supply. There would be no more wars, no crime, no greed.
But there would be no more individuality, either.
Humanity would find security by becoming a cog in a biological machine. A man would be brother to a germ, or to a liver cell.
He stood up. He would have a talk with Captain Loring. They would send their report and blow up the ship, just as Saybrook had done.
He sat down again. Saybrook had had proof, while he had only the conjectures of a terrorized mind, rattled by the sight of two green spots on a pebble. Could he kill the two hundred men on board ship because of a feeble suspicion?
He had to think!
He was straining. Why did he have to wait? If he could only welcome those who were aboard now. Now!
Yet a cooler, more reasoning part of himself told him that he could not. The little multipliers in the darkness would betray their new status in fifteen minutes, and the keen-thinkers had them under continual observation. Even one mile from the surface of their planet would be too soon, since they might still destroy themselves and their ship out in space.
Better to wait for the main air locks to open, for the planetary air to swirl in with millions of the little multipliers. Better to greet each one of them into the brotherhood of unified life and let them swirl out again to spread the message.
Then it would be done! Another world organized, complete!
He waited. There was the dull throbbing of the engines working mightily to control the slow dropping of the ship; the shudder of contact with planetary surface, then-
He let the jubilation of the keen-thinkers sweep into reception, and his own jubilant thoughts answered them. Soon they would be able to receive as well as himself. Perhaps not these particular fragments, but the fragments that would grow out of those which were fitted for the continuation of life.
The main air locks were about to be opened-
And all thought ceased.
Jerry Thorn thought, Damn it, something's wrong now.
He said to Captain Loring, 'Sorry. There seems to be a power breakdown. The locks won't open.'
'Are you sure, Thorn? The lights are on.'
'Yes, sir. We're investigating it now.'
He tore away and joined Roger Oldenn at the air-lock wiring box. 'What's wrong?'
'Give me a chance, will you?' Oldenn's hands were busy. Then he said, 'For the love of Pete, there's a six-inch break in the twenty-amp lead.'
'What? That can't be!'
Oldenn held up the broken wires with their clean, sharp, sawn-through ends.
Dr. Weiss joined them. He looked haggard and there was the smell of brandy on his breath.
He said shakily, 'What's the matter?'
They told him. At the bottom of the compartment, in one corner, was the missing section.
Weiss bent over. There was a black fragment on the floor of the compartment. He touched it with his finger and it smeared, leaving a sooty smudge on his finger tip. He rubbed it off absently.
There might have been something taking the place of the missing section of wire. Something that had been alive and only looked like wire, yet something that would heat, die, and carbonize in a tiny fraction of a second once the electrical circuit which controlled the air lock had been closed.
He said, 'How are the bacteria?'
A crew member went to check, returned and said, 'All normal, Doc.'
The wires had meanwhile been spliced, the locks opened, and Dr. Weiss stepped out into the anarchic world of life that was Earth.
'Anarchy,' he said, laughing a little wildly. 'And it will stay that way.'
Hostess
Rose Smollett was happy about it; almost triumphant. She peeled off her gloves, put her hat away, and turned her brightening eyes upon her husband. 'f
She said, 'Drake, we're going to have him here.'
Drake looked at her with annoyance. 'You've missed supper. 1 thought you were going to be back by seven.'
'Oh, that doesn't matter. I ate something on the way home. But, Drake, we're going to have him here!'
'Who here? What are you talking about?'
'The doctor from Hawkin's Planet! Didn't you realize that was what today's conference was about? We spent all day talking about it. It's the most exciting thing that could possibly have happened!'
Drake Smollett removed the pipe from the vicinity of his face. He stared first at it and then at his wife. 'Let me get this straight. When you say the doctor from Hawkin's Planet, do you mean the Hawkinsite you've got at the Institute?'
'Well, of course. Who else could I possibly mean?'
'And may I ask what the devil you mean by saying we'll have him here?'
'Drake, don't you understand?'
'What is there to understand? Your Institute may be interested in the thing, but I'm not. What have we to do with it personally? It's Institute business, isn't it?'
'But, darling,' Rose said, patiently, 'the Hawkinsite would like to stay at a private house somewhere, where he won't be bothered with official cere-Copyright (c) 1951 by World Editions, Inc.
mony, and where he'll be able to proceed more according to his own likes and dislikes. I find it quite understandable.'
'Why at our house?'
'Because our place is convenient for the purpose, I suppose. They asked if I would allow it, and frankly,' she added with some stiffness, 'I consider it a privilege.'
'Look!' Drake put his fingers through his brown hair and succeeded in rumpling it. 'We've got a convenient little place here-granted! It's not the most elegant place in the world, but it does well enough for us. However, I don't see where we've got room for extraterrestrial visitors.'
Rose began to look worried. She removed her glasses and put them away in their case. 'He can stay in the spare room. He'll take care of it himself. I've spoken to him and he's very pleasant. Honestly, all we have to do is show a certain amount of adaptability.'
Drake said, 'Sure, just a little adaptability! The Hawkinsites breathe cyanide. We'll just adapt ourselves to that, I suppose!'
'He carries cyanide in a little cylinder. You won't even notice it.'
'And what else about them that I won't notice?'
'Nothing else. They're perfectly harmless. Goodness, they're even vegetarians.'
'And what does that mean? Do we feed him a bale of hay for dinner?'
Rose's lower lip trembled. 'Drake, you're being deliberately hateful. There are many vegetarians on Earth; they don't eat hay.'
'And what about us? Do we eat meat ourselves or will that make us look like cannibals to him? I won't live on salads to suit him; I warn you.'
'You're being quite ridiculous.'
Rose felt helpless. She had married late in life, comparatively. Her career had been chosen; she herself had seemed well settled in it. She was a fellow in biology at the Jenkins Institute for the Natural Sciences, with over twenty publications to her credit. In a word, the line was hewed, the path cleared; she had been set for a career and spinsterhood. And now, at thirty-five, she was still a little amazed to find herself a bride of less than a year.
Occasionally, it embarrassed her, too, since she sometimes found that she had not the slightest idea of how to handle her husband. What did one do when the man of the family became mulish? That was not included in any of her courses. As a woman of independent mind and career, she couldn't bring herself to cajolery.
So she looked at him steadily and said simply, 'It means very much to me.'
