“Exactly. Makes you wonder if life isn't a disease after all – a kind of corruption which attacks dying planets, growing more and more vicious in the higher forms. And as for intelligence —”
“Intelligence,” said Dagul, “is a complete snare and delusion. I came to that conclusion long ago. Without it you are wiped out –with it you wipe out one another, eventually yourself.”
Goin grinned. Dagul's hobby-horses were much-ridden steeds.
“The instinct of self-protection—” he began.
“—is another delusion as far as the race is concerned,” Dagul finished for him. “Individuals may protect themselves but it is characteristic of an intelligent race to try continually by bigger and better methods to wipe itself out. Speaking dispassionately I should say that it's a very good thing, too. Of all the wasteful, destructive, pointless...”
Goin let him have his say. Experience told him that it was useless to attempt to stem the flood. At length came a pause and he thrust forward his packet of tablets.
“Here's the story. I'm afraid it will encourage your pessimism. The man, Grate, is a self-confessed murderer for one thing.”
“Why should he confess?”
“It's all there. Says he wants to warn us against Earth.”
Dagul smiled slightly. “Then you've not told him?”
“No, not yet.”
Dagul reached for the topmost tablet and began to read.
THE EARTHMAN'S STORY
I, Morgan Grate of the planet Earth, am writing this as a warning to the inhabitants of Venus. Have nothing to do with Earth if you can help it – but if you must, be careful. Above all I warn you to have no dealings with the two greatest companies of Earth.
If you do, you will come to hate Earth and her people as I do – you will come to think of her, as I do, as the plague spot of the universe. Sooner or later, emissaries will come – representatives of either Metallic Industries of International Chemicals will attempt to open negotiations. Do not listen to them.
However honeyed their words or smooth their phrases distrust them, for they will be liars and the servants of liars. If you do trust them you will live to regret it and your children will regret it and curse you. Read this and see how they treated me, Morgan Gratz.
My story is best started from the moment when I was shown into the Directors' Room in the huge building which houses the executive of Metallic Industries. The secretary closed the tall double doors behind me and announced my name.
“Gratz, sir.”
Nine men seated about a glass-topped table turned their eyes upon me simultaneously but I kept my gaze on the chairman who topped the long table.
“Good morning, Mr. Drakin,” I said.
“Morning, Gratz. You have not met our other directors, I believe.”
I looked along the row of faces. Several I recognized from photographs in the illustrated papers. Others I was able to identify, for I had heard them described and knew that they would be present. There is no mystery about the directors of Metallic Industries Incorporated.
Among them are several of the world's richest men and to be mounted upon such pinnacles of wealth means continual exposure to the floodlights of publicity. Not only was I familiar with their appearances but in common with most I was fairly conversant with their histories. I made no comment, so the chairman continued.
“I have received your reports, Gratz, and I am pleased to say that they are model documents – clear and concise – a little too clear, I must own, for my peace of mind. In fact, I confess to apprehension and, in my opinion, the time has come for decisive measures. However, before I suggest the steps to be taken I would like you to repeat the gist of your reports for the benefit of my fellow-directors.”
I had come prepared for this request and was able to reply without hesitation.
“When it first became known to Mr. Drakin that International Chemicals proposed to build a ship for the navigation of space, he approached me and put forward certain propositions. I, as an employee of International Chemicals, being concerned in the work in question, was to keep him posted and to hand on as much information, technical and otherwise, as I could collect without arousing suspicion.”
“Moreover, I was to find out the purpose for which International Chemicals intended to use her. I have carried out the first part of my orders to the chairman's satisfaction but it is only in the last week that I have been able to discover her destination.”
I paused. There was a stir among the listeners. Several leaned forward with increased interest.
“Well,” demanded a thin, predatory-faced man on the chairman's right, “what is it?”
“The intention of the company,” I said, “is to send their ship, which they call the Nuntia, to Venus.”
They stared at me. Save for Drakin, to whom this was not news, they appeared dumbfounded. The cadaverous-looking man was the first to find his voice.
“Nonsense!” he cried. “Preposterous! Never heard of such a thing. What proof have you of this ridiculous statement?”
I looked at him coldly.
“I have no proof. A spy rarely has. You must take my word for it.”
“Absurd. Fantastic nonsense. You stand there and seriously expect us to believe on your own, unsupported statement, that I.C. intends to send this machine to Venus? The moon would be unlikely enough. Either they have been fooling you or you must be raving mad. I never heard such rubbish. Venus, indeed!”
I regarded the man. I liked neither his face nor his manners.
“If Mr. Ball sees fit to challenge my report,” I said. “This, I gentlemen, will scarcely surprise you, for you must know as well as I that Mr. Ball has been completely impervious to all new ideas for the past forty years.”
The emaciated Mr. Ball goggled while several of the others hid smiles. It was rarely that his millions did not extract sycophancy but I was in a strong position.
“Insolence,” he spluttered at last. “Damned insolence, Mr. Chairman. I demand that this man—“
“Mr. Ball,” interrupted the other coldly, “you will please to control yourself. The fact that Gratz is here at all is a sign not only that I believe him but what I consider his news seriously to concern us all.”
“Nonsense. If you are going to believe every fairy story that a paid spy —”
“Mr. Ball, I must ask you to leave the conduct of this matter to me. You knew, as we all did, that I.C. was building this ship and you knew that it was intended for space-travel. Why should you disbelieve the report of its destination? I must insist that you control yourself.”
Mr. Ball subsided, muttering indefinite threats. The chairman turned back to me. “And the purpose of this expedition?”
I was only able to suggest that it was to establish claims over territories as sources of supplies. He nodded and turned to address the rest.
“You see, gentlemen, what this will mean? It is scarcely necessary to remind you that I.C. are our greatest rivals, our only considerable rivals. The overlapping of interests is inevitable. Metals and chemicals obviously cannot be expected to keep apart. They are interdependent. It cannot be anything but a fight for survival between the two companies.”
“At present we are evenly balanced in the matter of raw materials – and probably shall be for years to come. But – and this is the important point – if their ship makes this trip successfully what will be the results?”