Star Science Fiction 1 - [Anthology] Read online

  “Approaching the valve again. Having you heard anything that could be useful? Maybe some explorer or hunter might be able to tell you something about space-cows—”

  “Sorry, Doctor. Nobody knows anything about space-cows.”

  “That’s what you said before. All right, Captain, stand by for further news. I’ve got a shoal of these tadpole beasts in attendance. Let’s see what happens now.”

  “They’re not attacking, are they?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You feel all right otherwise?”

  “Fine. A little short of breath, though. That may be the result of tension. And a little hungry. I wonder how this beast would taste raw—my God!”

  The Captain asked anxiously, “What is it?”

  “That valve I paralyzed. It’s working normally once more!”

  “You mean it’s opening and closing?”

  “The same rhythm as before. And every time it closes, it squeezes those oxygen tubes. That’s why I sometimes feel short of breath. I have to get out of here!”

  “Do you have enough drug to paralyze the valve again?”

  “No, I don’t. Keep quiet, Captain, let me figure this out.”

  “That valve I paralyzed. It’s working normally once more!” place to take off from.

  He might have dived safely through the opening during the near-second when the muscles were far apart. But there was no place for a take-off. He had to approach up a slippery slope, hampered by uniform and lines. And if he misjudged the right moment to go through, he’d be caught when the valve closed again.

  He stood there motionless for a moment, sweat pouring down his forehead and into his eyes. Damn it, he thought, I can’t even wipe it away. I’ve got to tackle this thing half blind.

  Through one partially fogged eyeplate he noticed the tadpole creatures approaching more closely. Were they vicious after all? Were they coming closer because they sensed that he was in danger? Were they closing in for the kill?

  One of them plunged straight at him, and involuntarily he ducked. The thing turned barely aside at the last mo­ment, raced past him, slithered out of the blue liquid, and squirmed up the slope toward the valve.

  Unexpectedly, the valve opened to twice its previous width, and the creature plunged through without trouble. “Doctor Meltzer? Are you still all right?”

  “I’m alive, if that interests you. Listen, Captain, I’m going to try getting through that valve. One of the tadpole beasts just did it, and the valve opened a lot wider to let it through.”

  “Just how do you expect to manage?”

  “I’ll try grabbing one of the beasts and hitch-hike through. I just hope it isn’t vicious, and doesn’t turn on me.”

  But the tadpole creatures wouldn’t let themselves be grabbed. In this, their home territory, they moved a great deal faster than he did, and even though they didn’t seem to be using their eyes to see with, they evaded his grasp with great skill.

  At last he gave up the attempt and climbed out of the blue pool. The creatures followed him.

  One of the biggest of them suddenly dashed forward. Sensing what the thing was going to do, Dr. Meltzer hur­ried after it. It scurried up the slope, and plunged through the valve. The valve opened wide. Dr. Meltzer, racing desperately forward, threw himself into the opening. The valve paused, then snapped at him. He felt it hit his heel.

  The next moment he was gasping for breath. The oxy­gen lines had become tangled.

  He fought frenziedly to untwist them, and failed. Then he realized that he was trying to do too much. All he needed to do was loosen the knot and straighten out the kinks. By the time he finally succeeded, he was seeing black spots in front of his eyes.

  “Doctor Meltzer, Doctor Meltzer!”

  The sound had been in his ears for some time. “Still alive,” he gasped.

  “Thank God! We’re going to try to open the mouth now, Doctor. If you hurry forward, you’ll be in a position to be pulled out.”

  “I’m hurrying. By the way, those tadpoles are still with me. They trailing along as if they’d found a long-lost friend. I feel like a pie-eyed piper.”

  “I just hope they don’t attack.”

  “You’re not hoping any harder than I am.”

  He could catch his breath now, and with the oxygen lines free, the perspiration that had dimmed his sight slow­ly evaporated. He caught sight of one of the reddish tumors he had noticed on his forward passage.

  “May as well be hung for a sheep as a lamp,” he mur­mured. “It would take an axe really to chop that tumor out, but I may as well slice into it and see what I can learn.”

  From one of his pockets he took a sharp oversize scalpel, and began to cut around the edges.

  The tumor throbbed convulsively.

  “Well, well, I may have something here,” he said, with a surgeon’s pleasure. He dug deeper.

  The tumor erupted. Great gobs of reddish liquid spurted out, and with one of them came another of the tadpole creatures, a small one, half the average size of those he had first encountered.

  “Glory be,” he muttered. “So that’s the way they grow.”

  The creature sensed him and darted aside, in the di­rection of the valve. As it approached, the open valve froze in place, and let the small creature through, further into the host, without enlarging. Then the valve began to close again.

  They’re adapted to each other, he thought. Probably symbiosis, rather then a one-sided parasitism.

  He moved upwards, toward the greenish liquid. An earthquake struck.

  The flesh heaved up beneath his feet, tossing him head over heels into the pool. The first shock was followed by a second and third. A tidal wave hit him, and carried him to the side of the pool. He landed with a thud against the hard side and bounced back.

  The sides began to constrict, hemming him in.

  “Captain!” he yelled. “What’s going on out there? What are you doing to the beast?”

  “Trying to pry open its mouth. It doesn’t seem to like the idea. It’s threshing around against the walls of the ship.”

  “For God’s sake, cut it out! It’s giving me a beating in here.”

  They must have halted their efforts at once, for immedi­ately afterwards the beast’s movements became less convul­sive. But it was some time before the spasmodic quivering of the side walls came to an end.

  Dr. Meltzer climbed out of the pool of liquid, making an automatic and entirely useless gesture to wipe the new perspiration from his forehead.

  “Is it better in there, Doctor?”

  “It’s better. Don’t try that again,” he panted.

  “We have to get the mouth open some way.”

  “Try a bigger electric shock.”

  “If you want us to. But it may mean another beating for you, Doctor.”

  “Then wait a minute. Wait till I get near the upper part of the gullet.”

  “Whenever you say. Just tell us when you’re ready.”

  Better be ready soon, he thought. My light’s beginning to dim. When it goes out altogether, I’ll probably be in a real panic. I’ll be yelling for him to do anything, just to get me out of there.

  And what about the suit and the oxygen lines? I think the digestive fluid’s beginning to affect them. It’s hard to be sure, now that the light’s weakening, but they don’t have the clear transparent look they had at first. And when they finally go, I go with them.

  He tried to move forward faster, but the surface underfoot was slimy, and when he moved too hastily, he slipped. The lines were getting tangled too. Now that the creature’s mouth was closed, it was no use tugging at the cord around his waist. That wouldn’t get him up.

  “Doctor Meltzer!”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled out his lancet and cut the useless cords away. The oxygen lines too were a nuisance, in constant danger of kinking and tangling, now that they were no longer taut. But at least the gas was still flowing through them and would continue to flow—unti
l the digestive fluid ate through.

  The tadpole creatures seemed to have developed a positive affection for him. They were all around him, not close enough for him to grab them, but too close for com­fort. At any moment they might decide to take a nip out of his suit or an oxygen line. And with the plastic already weakened, even a slight tear might be fatal.

  He reached the sharp slope that signified the gullet. “Dr. Meltzer?”

  “What do you want?”

  “Why didn’t you answer?”

  “I was busy. I cut the cords away from around my waist. Now I’m going to try climbing up inside this thing’s throat.”

  “Shall we try that sharp electric shock?”

  “Go ahead.”

  He had a pair of small surgical clamps, and he took one in each hand. The flashlight he put in a holder at his waist. Then, getting down on all fours, he began to crawl up, digging each pair of clamps into the flesh in turn to give him a grip. A slow wave ran away in both directions every time he inserted one of the pairs of clamps into the flesh, but otherwise the beast didn’t seem to mind too much.

  He was about halfway up, when the earthquakes began again. The first one sent him tumbling head over heels down the slope. The others added some slight injury to the insult, knocking him painfully against the walls. They must have used a powerful electric jolt, for some of it was transmitted through the creature to him, making his skin tingle. He hadn’t lost his flashlight, but by now it was exceedingly dim, and shed only a feeble circle of light. Far ahead of him, where the mouth was to open, was blackness.

  “No luck, Captain?”

  “No luck, Doctor. We’ll try again.”

  “Don’t. You just make things worse.”

  “Larry, were you hurt? Larry—”

  “Don’t bother me now, Maida,” he said roughly. “I have to figure out a way to get out.”

  A faint hiss came from the oxygen line. A leak. Time was growing short.

  The tadpole creatures were swimming around faster now. They too must have been upset by the shock. One of them darted ahead of him, and wriggled ahead until it was lost in blackness.

  That seems to be trying to get out too, he told himself. Maybe we can work this together. There must be some way, something to get this creature to open its mouth. Maybe the Captain can’t do it from outside, but I’m in here, where the beast’s most sensitive. I can hit it, slash at it, tickle it—

  There’s a thought. Tickle it. It’s a monster, and it’ll take some monstrous tickling, but sooner or later, something should affect it.

  He stamped hard with his foot. No effect. He took his large lancet from his pocket and slashed viciously with it. A shudder ran through the flesh, but that was all.

  And then he had an idea. That green liquid undoubtedly contained hormones. Hormones, enzymes, co-enzymes, antibiotics, biological chemicals of all kinds. Stuff to which some tissues would be adapted and some would not. And those that weren’t would react violently.

  He turned back, filled his hypodermic syringe with the greenish liquid, and ran forward again. The light was almost gone by now, and the hissing from the oxygen line was growing ominously, but he climbed forward as far as he could before plunging the hypodermic in and injecting its contents.

  The creature heaved. He dropped hypodermic, light, and clamps, and let the huge shuddering take him where it would. First it lifted him high. Then it let him fall suddenly—not backwards, but in the same place. Two of the tadpole beasts were thrown against him. Then he was lifted way up again, and this time forward. A huge cavern opened before him. Light bathed the gray surface and he was vomited out.

  The light begun to flicker, and he had time for one last thought. Oxygen lack, he told himself. My suit’s ripped, the lines have finally torn.

  And then blackness.

  * * * *

  When he came to, Maida was at his side. He could see that she had been crying. The Captain stood a little fur­ther off, his face drawn, but relieved.

  “Larry, dear, are you all right? We thought you’d never get out.”

  “I’m fine.” He sat up and saw his two children, standing anxious and awestricken on the other side of the bed. Their silence showed how strongly they had been affected. “I hope you kids didn’t worry too much about me.”

  “Of course I didn’t worry,” said Jerry bravely. “I knew you were smart, Dad. I knew you’d think of a way to get out.”

  “While we’re on the subject,” interposed the Captain, “What was the way out?”

  “I’ll tell you later. How’s the patient?”

  “Doing fine. Seems to have recovered completely.”

  “How many of the tadpoles came out with me?”

  “About six. We’re keeping them in the same low-oxygen atmosphere as the creature itself. We’re going to study them. We figure that if they’re parasites—”

  “They’re not parasites. I finally came to a conclusion about them. They’re the young.”

  “What?”

  “The young. If you take good care of them, they’ll eventually grow to be as big as the mother-monster you’ve got in the ship.”

  “Good God, where will we keep them?”

  “That’s your worry. Maybe you’d better expand that zoo you’re preparing. What you’ll do for money to feed them, though, I don’t know.”

  “But what—”

  “The trouble with that monster—its `illness’—was merely that it was gravid.”

  “Gravid?”

  “That means pregnant,” exclaimed Jerry.

  “I know what it means.” The Captain flushed. “Look, do we have to have these kids in here while we discuss this?”

  “Why not? They’re a doctor’s children. They know what it’s all about. They’ve seen calves and other animals being born.”

  “Lots of times,” said Martia.

  “Confined as it was on the ship, your beast couldn’t get the exercise it needed. And the young couldn’t get themselves born.”

  “But that was the digestive tract you went down—”

  “What of it? Are all animals born the same way? Ask the average kid where a baby grows, and he’ll tell you that it’s in the stomach.”

  “Some kids are dopes,” said Jerry.

  “They wouldn’t be in this case. What better place to get a chance at the food the mother eats, in all stages from raw to completely digested? All that beast needed to give birth was a little exercise. You gave it some from the outside, but not enough. I finished the job by injecting some of its own digestive fluid into the flesh. That caused a pretty little reaction.”

  The Captain scratched his head. “Doctor, you did a good job. How would you like to take care of that beast permanently? I could recommend you—”

  “To go down inside that monster again? No, thanks. From now on, I treat nothing but small monsters. Sheep, cows—and human beings.”

  There was a pounding of feet in the hallway. Then the door swung in, violently. Flashbulbs that gave invisible light began to pop with inaudible bursts of high-frequency sound. Cameras pointed menacingly at him and sent his image winging to Earth and far-off planets. Reporters be­gan to fire their questions.

  “My God,” he muttered wearily, “who let these ani­mals in here? They’re worse than the ones I met inside the blue pool.”

  “Be nice to them, dear,” chided Maida gently. “They’re turning you into a great man.”

  Then Maida and Jerry and Martia grouped themselves around him, and the cameras caught them too. The proud look on their faces was something to see. And he realized that he was glad for their sake.

  Opportunity had knocked, and when he had opened the door to it, it had proved to be an exacting guest. Still, he hadn’t been a bad host—not a bad host at all, he thought. And slowly his features relaxed into a tired and immediately famous grin.

  <>

  * * * *

  C. M. KORNBLUTH

  At an age when most of us were cramming hi
gh-school grammar and practicing dance steps before a mirror, C. M. Kornbluth, under no fewer than 18 pseudonyms, was writing almost the entire contents of at least two science-fiction magazines. Still short of 30, his published works included several hundred magazine pieces, two novels of his own (one the memorable Takeoff, published by Doubleday) and two in collaboration (with Judith Merril, under the joint pen-name of Cyril Judd). At 34, C. M. Kornbluth’s brilliant career was cut short, leaving us with such clear-cut examples of his talent as . . .