The Shores of Death

  “Yes.”

  Narvo Velusi pursed his lips. “Let’s go in.” The old man led the way through the airlock into a short passage.

  The first body was there. It was a woman’s body. It was naked, contorted and it stank. The grey flesh was filthy, the hair matted, the upturned face was twisted, the eyes wide, lips snarling back from the teeth, the cheeks hollow. The flesh showed signs of laceration and the woman’s fingernails seemed imbedded in her right breast.

  Fastina turned away. “I didn’t realise— ” She went quickly back. “I’ll be outside.”

  Clovis sighed. “Jara Feraz, I think, Narvo. Twelve years conditioning, training...” He shuddered as he drifted over the body. “Less than six months out— and this.”

  The ship was silent. In the main control cabin they found two others. A man’s body lay over a woman’s and she seemed to be embracing him, the rictus of her mouth giving her the appearance of revelling in some obscene joy, though Clovis guessed she had been trying to ward the man off. The remains of the other three were also there—bones. Some of the bones had been gnawed, some split. Face grim, Narvo operated the door to the galley. He glanced inside.

  “Enough supplies for at least another eighteen months,” he said. “We made the controls of everything simple enough, in case this should happen. All they had to do was break the seals on the packs.”

  “But they didn’t. You’d think they’d retain some survival instincts, however primitive.”

  “Isn’t that a definition of madness, Clovis—something which makes you act against your natural instincts? Look—that’s how we lost contact.” He pointed at the smashed cameras above. Their protective cases had been torn open. Everything breakable had been broken. Machinery was twisted, papers torn, streamers of microtape programmes were scattered everywhere.

  Clovis picked up a length and waved it. “The party’s over,” he said. “I don’t think they enjoyed it.”

  Narvo shook his head. “All those tests, all those years of training them, conditioning them, all the precautions we took. They were intelligent people, Clovis— they knew what to expect and how to fight it. They had courage, initiative, common sense and fantastic self-control—yet in six months they become insane, bestial— travesties—grotesque animals, more debased than we can guess—” He glanced at the wall in which the galley door was set. He pointed at the pictures drawn on it in what could have been human blood. “That sort of thing comes early. We can’t get out of the galaxy, Clovis. We should have realised it before we began the project. None of this crew was born on Earth—but their grandparents were. How many generations would it take?”

  “There’s only another to go,” Clovis said.

  Narvo rubbed his face. “Shall we revive one? We could do it for about ten minutes if they’re not too far gone.”

  “No.” The word was long drawn out, hollow. “No— this is enough. If they haven’t got at the recorders, they should tell us what happened.”

  “We don’t really need to check. Do we?”

  Clovis nodded slowly.

  They left the ship.

  The bead in Clovis’s ear said: “Any instructions?”

  “Destruct,” said Clovis.

  As they got into their car on the edge of the field, they saw the golden ship crumple, saw the flash, heard the sharp smacking sound as it was vapourized.

  Fastina was pale. “You should have told Barre Calax to have taken tomorrow’s ship back to Ganymede instead of today’s,” she said. “If he’d seen that body, he’d have changed his mind.”

  “Perhaps,” said Clovis. He felt chilled. He shivered, trying hard to stop himself.

  It was no good, he thought. It was no good, he couldn’t take that. The cold flesh, the stink of decay, the uselessness of it all. Somewhere he’d find what he wanted. He could be close. There had been hints. Oh, yes, it was every man for himself now.

  Narvo was saying: “I promised to publish my idea today.”

  “Your idea?”

  “Yes—the project to replace this one. You know— the message.”

  Clovis nodded absently.

  “Where did you cut out?” Narvo smiled. “I’m sorry, Clovis. I suppose I’m babbling.”

  The warm sun had risen. They passed over green hills and valleys, heard the sound of birds, were narrowly missed by a veering air carriage from which a young man yelled a happy Good Morning.

  Clovis stretched back on the couch, his stomach feeling contracted, his mind confused, unsuccessfully trying to get rid of, the impressions of the last hour. Twisted faces, contorted bodies, filth, wreckage, bones.

  Bones. Memento mori that Earth could do without at this time; that he could do without in particular. Most of them didn’t realise what death was, didn’t realise how important it was, how terrible. Finish. No more thinking, no more feeling—just an eternal falling away and then nothing at all. No! Yet he himself, in his farewell speech when the government resigned, and later at the Great Glade, had comforted them, told them to be philosophical, to get as much from life as they could, since they would be the last to have the opportunity. We must resign ourselves to the inevitable ... A stupid cliche and he had not even meant it. You must resign yourselves.

  As for him, the awareness of nearing extinction had brought him a goal. He could have no sons and daughters now. He needed something else. And he would find it. He would find it, though he could do nothing with it when he had it. His ambition was senseless, pointless, ridiculous, it made him ridiculous, a clown. The world which admired him would laugh at him if it knew what he sought. He was not sufficiently detached to laugh at himself. He had to follow his obsession—it was his master. He would follow it, in spite of everything. Madness, as dark as any that had come to the crew of the ship, nibbled on the edges of his brain. It was clouded, it was marred. You are a fool, Marca—what you seek is not worth the finding! Did Take know? If Take knew what he sought, how could Take judge whether it was worth finding or not?

  Take? It wasn’t a natural name. It sounded wrong. Who was he? How could he have guessed? Marca’s questions had been guarded. No-one could have realised what he was after. A casual inquiry here, an odd remark there—and he had been sure the rumour was true— there was a man somewhere who could help him. A recluse, a scientist, perhaps on one of the Bleak Worlds ... Did Take have that information? Even if Take was a good telepath, Marca would have been aware that his mind was being intruded upon. Though, of course, if Take was looking for the same thing, he may easily have reached the right conclusion. But then Take would not have said that it wasn’t worth it—not unless he had failed in his own ambition—the same as Marca’s— and then decided. Well he would not fail...

  Ah, it was stupid. He’d have Take investigated, find out where he was from, have his movements traced, have him found on Earth and then have it out with him. Then he’d know. It would be simple.

  The carriage was dropping towards the roof of Narvo’s house.

  He must improve his manners. He’d forgotten all about Narvo’s scheme. Yet the scheme seemed so divorced from anything Marca felt. He was becoming selfish.

  As they landed, he said: “When do you intend to publish your idea, Narvo?”

  “Later today, as I said.” Narvo gave him a sympathetic look, probably thinking that he was finding it hard to recover from the experience of seeing the interior of the ship. Well, in a sense he was right. “As soon as enough people have assembled in the Great Glade.”

  “I’ll come along. Tell me, is Yoluf still in touch with the Information Centre?”

  “He still goes there. He can’t get used to being out of a job. He can’t bear not knowing everything that goes on everywhere. The information still comes in—though many of the out-system planets are becoming rather lax about sending theirs. What is it you want?”

  Marca hadn’t told Narvo about Take’s intrusion. He said: “That man I asked you about at the party. I want to know where he’s staying.”

  “The on
e you think followed you? Well, I expect Yoluf will be able to help. Shall I ask him over?”

  “No, it’s all right—if he’s still at the Information Centre, I’ll go there. It will be easier. I’ll call him.” Fastina said: “Would it be rude if I went to bed? I’m tired and...”

  Clovis shook his head and Narvo said: “Of course not. If you need the tranquo...”

  She laughed. “I may do. I’ll tell you.”

  They dropped into the gravishute. Clovis stopped himself at his room and helped her into the room. It was dark. Clovis touched the control on the wall and it became transparent.

  He still didn’t know why Take had come here, what he had wanted, why the lights should have been disconnected. Unless, of course, Take had needed a power source for some reason. That could mean ...

  As Fastina sat on the edge of the bed, tugging at her clothes in a detached way, he went to his tapecase. It was a small, flat case containing his private records. The sonic lock had been sliced off. Take had used a powered tool to do the cutting, probably a laser scalpel which required more power than could be condensed into a normal portable pack. Which was why he’d had to disconnect the lights.

  Clovis immediately saw what Take had been looking at. One capsule of microtape was unravelled. Slipping it into the viewer on his wrist, he saw that it was the capsule containing his star charts—his probable courses plotted on them. So now Take knew the next stage of his journey —and could be there ahead of him if he chose. It was uncertain why Take had troubled to find his charts—and copy them probably. Take’s actions pointed to one kind of answer, his words to another.

  Fastina was still very pale. He remembered the night and felt guilty. He went over to the bed and helped her undress.

  “What’s the matter? Just tiredness and shock, or ... ”

  “Probably,” she smiled. “Don’t worry—a bit of sleep will do me good. You’ve worn me out.”

  “I can't worry, he thought, I can’t, my dear. I warned you. Yet admittedly he was impressed by both her personality and her love-making.

  There was no point to it any more, though! However it deviated, it was still basically the urge to breed, to pass on the seed—an urge to continue life through your children. Now there was no point to it. He’d have to tell her politely, when he was calmer and she was better.

  But the body did not know. The unthinking body could not realise that there was to be no future, no seed to be passed on, no kind of immortality. The cycle—which the body still accepted as eternal—was going to be broken at last. As in ancient Pompeii, even when the mind received the full realisation of death, the body ignored it and continued to pump out its believe in the future. To the body, the idea that there could be no future was impossible. You could convey other ideas to the body and it would put them into practice—but how could it express the final shutting-off, the close-down?

  Death? Oh, no, merely a transformation from one state to another.

  Clovis shivered and Fastina looked surprised.

  He got up. “I must contact Yoluf.”

  “How will you stop Take if he decides to leave?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll try force if I have to.” What other way was there of restraining his enemy in a world without police, military or even weapons?

  four We Are Here!

  Yoluf was a tall, slim man in middle age. He had very fair hair and a pale, anaemic face, pale blue eyes and, in contrast to the rest, very full red lips that looked painted.

  Yoluf sat at his complex control board surrounded by monitor screens. He was wearing a high-collared orange shirt and black tights. He sat back in his chair and spread his long hands in apology.

  “No trace yet, Clovis.” His voice was extraordinarily high-pitched.

  “You’ve mentioned that his reflexes are abnormally quick?”

  “Didn’t you hear me? I gave them all the information you gave me. We need a passport system like the old days—banning them was one of your laws wasn’t it Clovis? I’ve always been against that ban. To hell with the freedom of the individual—how am I supposed to run an information centre without a decent system?”

  Clovis smiled a little. “You’re a frustrated bureaucrat.”

  “We wouldn’t be where we are today without them, Clovis,” Yoluf wagged a finger. “It was your civil servants who helped turn over the State from its old restrictive form into its present one... But this friend of yours hasn’t been noticed in any of my sectors. There are no strange ships in orbit. He could be hiding out on the Moon perhaps—I haven’t had all reports from there yet.”

  Clovis sighed. “If others hadn’t seen him I’d begin to think I was imagining him. But I’m sure he’s on Earth. Have you checked all ships on the fields?”

  “It’s hard—they come and go. Mainly shuttles, of course, but since the big news came out a lot more people have been arriving from the outer planets to spend as much time on Earth as possible.”

  “I see. You can’t blame them. Have all passenger ships been checked—was his name on any list?”

  “Tace was the nearest we could find, and he turned out to be an ex-inspector of Mines coming home out of a job. That decision of yours to wind up the government and almost all its departments didn’t meet with everyone’s approval you know—not in my branch of the service in particular.”

  “We said people could continue with their work if they wanted to.”

  “It’s not the same, Clovis. Not the same. Where’s yesterday’s smooth-running machine? Bits—bits without links or a motor.” He sighed. “Now if the machine were running again, it wouldn’t take us more than a few minutes to find friend Take.”

  He turned as a light blinked above a monitor and a face appeared on the screen. The colours were in bad register and the man’s face was a dirty green.

  “This will be from the Moon,” Yoluf said pointing at the screen. “See that colour—we can’t get a mechanic to fix it. I’m telling you, Clovis, your decision will result in chaos—anarchy—within the next couple of years. There won’t be anyone alive by the time that galaxy— ” The signal buzzed and Yoluf flicked a switch on his panel. “Yes?”

  The man on the screen was already talking. “—no information regarding the man Take. No one of his description or name has landed here, though we haven’t checked below surface yet. Some of the old mine pits , are deep enough to hide a ship.”

  Yoluf said belligerently, “Then keep trying,” and he broke contact well before the message could get to I the Moon. He shook his head at Clovis. “I’m glad ; you’re so desperate to find this man, Clovis—I’m glad because it shows you now how the system’s breaking down. Now you’re suffering...”

  Clovis said reasonably: “Yes, it’s a good demonstration, but it’s really very important that I locate him. Please keep trying.”

  “We never stop trying. There was a man five or six years ago—Jonis was his name—came into an inheritance—a V-type house, almost brand new—took up thirteen months to locate him. Know where he was? He was four miles underground in a refrigerated suit with enough supplies for two years, charting an old volcano course. We found him—^didn’t stop trying.” Clovis thought of something else, his conversation of the previous night. “What about Alodios—the novelist—where’s he?”

  “I know the man you mean—the artist, Alodios. And I know who’d know—unless you’re trying to pull a fast one on me, Clovis, trying to get me to trace impossible ...” He had pressed a button and an old man appeared on another screen. “Klernit—you’re a great fan of Alodios aren’t you? What happened to him? Clovis Marca wants to know.”

  The old man shook his head. “I know where he is— it came in on the register only a few days ago—but if you want to know why or how...”

  “Just where, Klernit.”

  “Well, he went out to the Bleak Worlds—Antares— just suddenly went there. Yes,” Klernit mused, “yes, he produced some magnificent pieces, you know—remarkable pieces—”

&nb
sp; “Thanks,” said Yoluf switching Klernit hastily off. “He tends to ramble. That help you, Clovis?”

  “Another mystery? Why should a man like that travel out to the Bleak Worlds? He was closest to Earth than any other man of his time—he was the spirit of this planet, tapped its heart...”

  “Born here was he?”

  “Never left here as far as I know. It’s a puzzle... ”

  “I don’t try to understand artists, Clovis. It’s hard enough trying to run this crumbling organisation.” A big yellow light began to flash on the largest and central screen. Yoluf looked up in surprise. “Emergency!” he squeaked in delight. “About time we had something.

  Good thing you’re here.” He flipped a switch, adding gloomily, “Not that we’ve got the set-up to deal with anything. Listen in on this, Clovis—it may be of interest.”

  The screen was slashed by bright colours which slowly formed a picture. Yoluf frowned. It seemed to be a picture of empty space. “Looks like it’s being taken from Neptune by the position of those stars,” he said, impatiently, waiting for the sound.

  The sound came in, slightly distorted.

  “A large unidentified spacecraft is on course for Earth. The design is unfamiliar. It is not an Earth ship. Repeat: It is not an Earth ship ...”

  “Not an Earth ship—then what is it... ?” Yoluf turned to look at Clovis.

  Clovis said: “An extraterrestrial ship—a foreign ship. Where’s it from—our galaxy, or the invading one?” He was so startled by the news that he sat for a moment without thinking at all. Then he realised he felt angry, resenting the intrusion of the ship. It was visible on the screen now—a tiny luminous blue speck in the black, glistening silence of space.

  “It’s travelling very rapidly,” said Yoluf loudly as the voice from the screen continued to give its data. Neither of the men were listening to it.

  For a ship travelling in interplanetary space, its rate was exceptionally fast. It was growing larger on the screen. Clovis was beginning to make out details. It was hard to judge the size, but it gave him the impression of being very big. Its shining blue bulk flickered through space. Now that it was closer, its hull had a lattice effect —a pale blue and slightly darker blue. The pale blue areas could be thousands of portholes, or outsides camera lenses. It was almost a perfect square with rounded corners and—unlike the heavily ornate Earth craft— seemed devoid of any non-functional design, unless the different shades of blue formed some sort of pattern.