“If there is a seventh module, Aesop—’ Al Gillespie in Three spoke quickly “—another survey ship must have been here before us. Perhaps an emergency landing.”
“No,” Aesop replied. “The local radiation levels rule that possibility right out. Besides, this is the only scheduled team within three hundred light-years.”
Surgenor pressed his talk button. “I know this is just an offshoot of Al’s suggestion, but have you checked for some kind of underground installation?”
“The world map is not yet complete, but I have run a thorough check on all the geonostic data. Result negative.”
Gillespie in Three spoke again. “I take it that this new so-called module hasn’t tried to communicate with the Sarafand or with any of the field crews. Why is that?”
“I can only surmise it is deliberately mingling with the others in order to get near the ship. At this stage I can’t say why, but I don’t like it.”
“What are we going to do?” The question was asked simultaneously and in varied forms by a number of men.
There was a lengthy silence before Aesop spoke. “I ordered all modules to halt because I do not want to risk losing the ship, but my updated reading of the situation is that a certain amount of risk must be taken. I can only see three modules, and because the search pattern was broken over the last five hundred kilometres I cannot identify any of you by compass bearing alone. At least, not with a sufficiently high probability of being correct.
“I will therefore permit all modules—all seven of you—to approach the ship for visual inspection. The minimum separation that I will tolerate between the ship and any module is one thousand metres. Any module attempting to come closer—even by a single metre—will be destroyed. No warnings will be issued, so remember—one thousand metres. “Commence your approach now.”
CHAPTER TWO
“Close enough?” Voysey said. “Or do you think we should edge up a bit further?”
Surgenor made a dampening movement with his hands. “This is fine—it’s best to allow for a margin of error in our ranging equipment and Aesop’s.”
He scanned the forward screens and found that the only indication of other vehicles in the area was one distantly wavering light on the plain behind the big ship. Watching its glimmering progress, Surgenor speculated on whether the spark of light could be—he hesitated, then applied the label—the enemy.
“I wonder is that it,” Voysey said, echoing his own thoughts.
“Who knows?” Surgenor replied. “Why don’t you ask it?”
Voysey sat motionless for several seconds. “All right. I will.” He pressed his talk button. “This is Module Five, Voysey speaking. We are already at the ship. Who is the second module now approaching?”
“This is Module One, Lamereux speaking,” came a hearteningly familiar voice. “Hello there, Victor, Dave. Good to see you—that’s if it is you.”
“Of course it’s us. Who else could it be?”
Lamereux’s laugh sounded slightly unnatural. “At a time like this I wouldn’t even like to guess.”
Voysey released his talk button and turned to Surgenor. “At least Aesop ought to be sure of us two now. I hope he spots a difference in the extra module and blows it away without any more talk. Before it makes a move.”
“What if it doesn’t make a move?” Surgenor unwrapped a flavoured protein block and bit into it. He had planned that his next meal would be a triumphal banquet on board the mother ship, but now it looked as though dinner might be a little late.
“What do you mean about not making a move?”
“Well, even on Earth there are birds that imitate men’s voices, monkeys that mimic their actions—and they haven’t any special reason for doing it. That’s just the way they are. This thing might be a super-mimic. A compulsive copier. Maybe it just turns into the same shape as any new thing it sees without even wanting to.”
“An animal that can mimic something the size of a survey module?” Voysey considered the idea for a moment, obviously not impressed. “But why would it want to mingle with us?”
Behavioural mimicry. It saw us all converging on the Sarafand and was impelled to join us.
“I think you’re gassing me again, Dave. I swallowed what you told us about those other freaks—Drambons, was it—but this is too much.”
Surgenor shrugged and ate more protein cake. He had seen the Drambons on his 124th planetary survey, wheel-shaped creatures on a high-gravity world who were the opposite of humans and indeed most other beings in that their blood remained stationary at the bottom of the wheel while their bodies circulated. He always had trouble convincing new survey men that Drambons really existed—Drambons and a hundred other equally bizarre species. That was the trouble with beta-space transportation, the popularly named Instant Distant drive—it was the first form of travel which did not broaden the mind. Voysey was five thousand light-years from Earth, but because he had not done it the hard way, hopping from star to lonely star, he was mentally still inside the orbit of Mars.
Other lights began to flicker on Module Five’s viewscreens as the remaining vehicles made their appearances from behind hills or over folds in the terrain. They drew closer until there were seven ranged in a circle around the dimly etched black pinnacle of the Sarafand. Surgenor watched their progress with interest, hoping with part of his mind that the intruder would make the mistake of venturing across the invisible thousand-metre line.
Captain Aesop remained silent during the approach manoeuvres, but comment from the various crews crashed continuously from the radio grille. Some of the men, finding themselves still alive and unharmed as minute after minute went by, began to relax and make jokes about the situation. The banter died away as Aesop finally spoke from the lofty security of the ship’s operations level, sixty metres above the surface of the plain.
“Before we listen to individual reports and such suggestions as may be available,” he said in an even voice, “I wish to remind all crews of my instruction not to come nearer the ship than one thousand metres. Any module doing so will be destroyed without further warning.
“You may now,” Aesop concluded imperturbably, “proceed with the discussion.”
Voysey snorted with resentment. “Tea and cucumber sandwiches will be served presently! When I get back on board I’m going to take an axle wrench to Aesop and smash his…You’d think to hear him this is just some kind of kid’s puzzle.”
“That’s the way Aesop looks at everything.” Surgenor said. “In this case, it’s not a bad thing.”
The confident, reedy voice of Pollen in Module Four was the first to break the radio silence which had followed the announcement from the ship. This was Pollen’s eighth survey and he was writing a book about his experiences, but had never allowed Surgenor to hear any of his recorded notes or see the written portion of the manuscript. Surgenor suspected it was because he, Surgenor, was portrayed in it as a risible Oldest Member figure.