"Telepath 7" by carlyle miller-/99
"Telepath 7" by carlyle miller-/99
part I of the CONGLOMERATES AND MAN SERIES: THE CONGLOMERATE FROWNED UPON POOR RESEARCH. Ursus peered across the long, jet-black, wooden table at the Human. What a sweaty, torpid son-of-a bitch he was. He only possessed four appendages-two for ambulation, and two for tool-making. He only had one head and, presumably, one brain. It showed! It revealed the ignorance within the bony skull. How dare this upstart tell me, the Head Host of Conglomerates, what good research entailed? Ursus leaned back on his double tail for better balance and planted his third foot more firmly on the floor. He flailed three of his six arms in anger. The gesture escaped the Human. "I'll tell you, Head of Conglomerates, that..." "You mean Head Host of Conglomerates," Ursus corrected impatiently. He scratched his third head in frustration. Would these Humans ever learn? "I stand corrected," the Human said with equal impatience. "But, you see, it can be done! Our theories prove it! Our laboratory tests have been successful on the first run. It's not impossible, and we both could profit!" The Human assumed a posture that Ursus interpreted as one of pleading-maybe frustration? Ursus shook his two left heads. "You don't seem to understand, Human, what the Hosts of Conglomerates are saying. We've tried that and it's impossible. Our Most High Scientists have or had, I should say, researched this entire question for the last 2,800 years. It doesn't work. You bar..." He corrected himself, but meant to say barbarians. "You Humans," he continued, "have toyed with the question for a mere three years and we're to be made to believe that you've found an answer? Nonsense!" His two right heads snorted in unison and one of his six arms scratched his second left head in derision. The fat Human squirmed uneasily. He placed his hands, palms down, on the table and sighed noisily. "Look, with your theoretical physics and our practical applications we can make it work! You know our computers are a few steps ahead of yours and our engineering in materials are far in advance of those you possess. Let's team up and give it a try. The only outcome is failure, but at least we'll know. If it works we could change the strategic balance." The Human clasped his hands together as if in prayer. Ursus would pray a prayer of thanksgiving when this conference came to an end. These Humans were more stupid than they looked. He rubbed three of his six arms together. He stood on all four squat legs and stared at the being across the table that was crafted from juad trees. One of his arms reached the table's center, formed fingers, and delicately picked up a roll of imported black tobacco from Vesa IV-a planet in the Human sphere of influence on the outer rim of the star system. Vesa IV grew the best black tobacco in the galaxy. Ursus lit the roll skillfully and set it between the yellow teeth of his first left mouth. He inhaled deeply, savoring the aromatic stimulant. He thought of his addiction to the substance for a while, then turned his attention to the question at hand. "A few points," Ursus said pointedly. "One," he held up the first arm on the left, "our computers are just as, or more, sophisticated than yours. Two," the second left arm was held high, "your engineering in materials are probably slightly more advanced, but that's because your anatomy, and rather inferior physiology makes it necessary. Three," the third left arm went into motion, "what strategic balance do you wish to change and why? And, lastly, WE FROWN UPON POOR RESEARCH!" He inhaled the tobacco with obvious satisfaction. He would bring this fat bastard to his knees. He rested four limbs on the surface of jet-black juad wood. Dr. Crowley grimaced and shifted his position in his seat. He wondered why these Conglomerates were so damned patriotic. His fat face was beaded with sweat and his skin was reddened with embarrassed anger. He refused to be put down by this four-headed beast. He forced a weak smile. Why did aliens have to be so difficult and different, he thought. It was simple at first. Man had braved the voids of space in fragile ships which took years to reach their destinations. Then Faster-Than- Light (FTL) travel came and the galaxy was thought to be wide open. It was an unspoken disappointment that Man found himself surrounded by creatures of equal, and some of superior, intelligence. Their histories were just as noble, sciences just as sound and hopes just as real. Aliens! The one across the conference table was certainly a weird creation of Nature. About ten Earth years ago a scout ship was thrown off course in a cosmic storm. It was flung some two light-years from its destination and crash-landed on Ursus' world called Actuse (a planet that rotated around the star known as NCX-1). The Conglomerates found Man and immediately accepted them as intelligent life-forms. Man was given free run on the planet while their ship underwent repairs. The crew of the ship (60) were grateful, but suspicious. Why were the Conglomerates so open? Why so accepting and just plain nice? Eventually these questions faded into the background, for the Conglomerates were found to have an amazingly civilized way of living. They were sociable and peaceful. Their history showed that war had ended about three thousand Earth years ago. They lived in habitats called Toles. Each Tole housed about ten creatures-none related by birth. There was no marriage, for the Conglomerates reproduced asexually-they budded. They were almost genetic equals-almost clones. Only slight variations were found in their gene products. Their society was stable and inter- dependent-like bacterial colonies in a petri dish. They possessed the gift of mild to moderate precognition and, at times, telepathy. Teleportation was a rumor that Man had never observed and the Conglomerates never admitted to. Physically they were the most interesting race Man had stumbled upon. They stood an average of seven feet. They had four squat legs which supported an almost round body. From the body sprouted six arms-blunt at the end, but capable of growing (or protruding) up to six digits. Two were usually thumbs. They had four heads-two left and two right. All had brains-large brains. The outer right head was for muscular and body control. The outer left was for sensation-sight, sound, taste, smell, etc. The inner right was for cognitive function and the inner left for art. Inner right and left heads were joined by a structure similar to the corpus callosum of the Human brain. Their memory was astounding, artistic expression universal and language skills (fortunate for Man) flawless. They could imitate any Human voice. Their sound bodies could tolerate at least 6-8 g's acceleration with no problem. They were somewhat interested in space travel, but did not possess the fanaticism that Man had for galactic conquest. Their history was bland. They never warred against themselves, though there were reports that some Toles became renegade and had to be suppressed. They were killed in the most brutal manner and "absorbed" by the conquering Conglomerates. The word "absorbed" was never explained to Man, but scientists thought that it implied ingestion similar to the way cells ingested bacteria or viruses. No one really knew. It was only when other beings attacked Actuse that the Conglomerates took to war and used their awesome science for salvation. With their telepathy, intelligence and tribal nature they decimated their enemies. Their scientific achievements were incredible. To Man they appeared unbeatable. But that was three thousand years ago. Now their Toles dotted the planet like so many prairie dog mounds, and they dallied in peace and civilized stability. Their sense of humor was strong and evident to Dr. Crowley at this moment. "I must say, Dr. Crowley," Ursus spoke in an old British accent he had learned from the Human holographic tri-v's, "that you Humans are certainly single-minded!" The play of words did not escape Crowley, who smiled and relaxed in the chair which was molded for him. After a while he chuckled, then began to laugh boisterously. His fat belly shook like jelly. Ursus joined in with his right outer head. He inhaled more smoke from the tobacco roll-benign in its addiction. Crowley wiped tears from his eyes. "Ursus, I mean Head Host of Conglomerates, I..." "O.K., Crowley. Let's be more informal. You call me Ursus and I'll call you Nickolas. Is that acceptable?" "No, my friend", Crowley said. "You see, my portliness is rare to my species, though, at one time it was acceptable. Nickolas brings to mind an ancient fable created for children on my world. He, the character in the fable, is called St. Nickolas or Nick, but is commonly known as Santa Claus. St. Nick is fat and I am...ah...well, you know!" Dr. Crowley blushed. "Understood, my dear friend," Ursus responded in a jocular tone. "I'll call you Crowley. O.K.?" "O.K. Ursus," Crowley said-relieved. "How's the cigar?," he added pleasantly. "You Humans have good taste. Very good taste. Tell me, where is Vesa IV located?" More procrastination, Crowley thought. "Ah...mmm...it's about 57 light-years from here. It's a warm, almost primordial planet. We reap the crop all year round. We also use the planet as a resort," Crowley added. "Resort?," Ursus asked. "Yeah-resort. You know-rest place, vacation-land, place to relax. You guys don't relax?," Crowley asked. "Oh sure we do, Crowley. Sure. But...Can you imagine being on a planet surrounded by black tobacco?," Ursus ventured. "No I cannot! I hate the stuff!," the Dr. exclaimed. "Am I offending you with the smoke?," Ursus asked. "Not really." "You're not being exact," Ursus pressed. "Well, I have habits of my own you know," Crowley admitted. "What are they, my friend?," Ursus implored curiously. Crowley hesitated. Why was this pleasant beast asking him all these questions? There must be something behind it. Perhaps he should humor Ursus and find out. What was behind, or inside those heads anyway? "Food," Crowley said finally. "Food? You mean nourishment? Sustenance?" Ursus intimated perplexity, for sure the Human wouldn't understand why all of his heads suddenly looked to the left in sequence. "Yeah, food. What's the deal, Ursus?" "Deal?," Ursus asked more perplexed. "Forget it! Look, you like black tobacco-I like food. Is that strange to you?," Crowley ventured. "Ah...no. Not exactly, that is. You see, all living things require sustenance, therefore, in a way, all food is an addiction. The only true necessary addiction," Ursus said as an after thought. "Well, what about the gases we breathe? We both need that as well, don't we?" "Yes, in a way we do, but all creatures don't. On Linge the Mat grass does not respire. It merely collects all energy and converts it into matter. The energy comes from the sun. There is no by-product of respiration or waste. Everything is converted to matter," Ursus responded. "But there must be some by-product of energy conversion. Something! How do you know all of this anyway?," Crowley asked with clandestine unconcern. "Investigation, my friend. Research," Ursus said mysteriously. "You've done research on Linge!? When?," Dr. Crowley inquired curiously. "Well, not me exactly. But the former Head Host did. He/It/She- whatever is easiest for your perception, was sent there to answer this very question. He was scholarly, but not very imaginative. That was his downfall. But with his downfall he left The Paradox of the Mat grass of Linge. The grass seems to take in only sunlight and ignores other nutrients. It grows over the entire surface of the planet, but no biochemical decay or by-product can be detected. The rate of growth is astounding! So astounding, in fact, that the planet is forbidden to us Conglomerates. Forbidden! But the mystery remains. The Mat grass of Linge is living matter that grows but does not decay. It takes in energy and gives off nothing in return. No plant or creature has ever been observed like it before." Ursus leaned on his third foot-an idiosyncrasy of his. He peered at the Human, waiting for a reaction to what he had just said. Crowley stared back, his mind racing at light-speed. Was this a joke that Ursus was handing him, or, maybe...? His thoughts were interrupted by an exclamation from Ursus. "What is it they used to say in your twentieth century? `Square business'? Well, I'm handing you a perfect square!" "Oh shit, Ursus! You scare the hell out of me with that telepathic mind of yours!" Crowley was becoming uncomfortable. "Sorry, but your thoughts were strong. I'm telling you the truth," the alien said. "Can you explain why the former Head Host failed?," Ursus asked. "I doubt it, and I don't give a damn! Just one more paradox in the Universe. There are many more. Why is this so important to you anyway?" Crowley whined. Ursus took a long pull on the roll of black tobacco-now more a stub. "The Conglomerate," he said slowly, "frowns upon poor research." "But science cannot find answers to everything! No one, not even you Conglomerates or Tholians or even the Een knew everything!" Crowley tried to control his voice, but he blurted this out in a high-squealed pitch. Ursus said slowly, "If the forces of Nature exist and their relationships understood, then I believe all questions and paradoxes may eventually be solved. God may hold all of the cards, but He doesn't mind if we peek at, or even snatch a few cards from His hand. The former Head Host believed this, but failed in his pursuit of knowledge. The design of his research was flawed, or maybe he should have asked a different question. At any rate, I'm Head Host of Conglomerates now, and it is my duty to answer this question. I must take up where Prudus left. I must seek these answers on Linge and, in so seeking, consolidate my hold on the Hosts. If I fail-we all fail!" He paused and stared at Crowley and said, "And you fail too, Human. Everybody fails!" "That's the craziest thing I've ever heard! How do you interpret his failure as your responsibility?," Crowley implored. "It is my responsibility, my friend. Mine and mine alone. Once a question has been left unanswered, it is the Head Host of Conglomerate's duty to seek the answer. If I fail someone must take my place, and on and on," Ursus said vacantly. "What happened to Prudus?," Crowley inquired. "He was absorbed. Totally absorbed," Ursus said. "What do you mean by `absorbed', Ursus?," Crowley asked-now feeling shivers run down his spine. "Oh, my friend," Ursus responded, "don't you know? Don't you know?" COMMANDER DEREK DRUSIN III OF QUANSOR TAPPED OUT HIS REQUEST ON THE computer. Instantaneously the laser link displayed the information on a tri-dimensional screen. Commander Drusin was not pleased with what he read. The room was oval-shaped and the walls consisted of swirled smoked glass. The view of the city below was almost total. A yellow sun was setting, and two moons could be seen chasing each other from east to west. One was full and five times as large as Earth's moon. The other was a semi-circle of pock-marked craters. The city below was alive and bustling with humanity. Men always were in a rush, even when there was no need- even when they were fifteen minutes early. Dr. Crowley was early, but rushed through the levator door out of breath. His fat face was a sheen of sweat, and his thick neck was red from constant rubbing. "When the hell are they gonna' regulate the air conditioners in here?," he asked-almost to himself. Commander Drusin, who was standing, looked up from the blue-gray console. He had a pointed chin with thin lips. His nose was pointed as well. He was thin. Very thin. His eyes were sunk in skeletal sockets. His thin fingers played with the computer keys. He stood about six feet tall, but his slightly curved back gave him a shorter appearance. He was dressed in the ubiquitous blue of Military. He liked giving orders, and loved to see underlings squirm like fat earthworms-particularly when they didn't know what the hell was going on. "Well?," he said expectantly. His tone carried or telegraphed many questions that read: How did the meeting go? Will they let us? What are their conditions? Why are you sweating? What the hell is going on? Crowley gestured to a chair in the middle of the room. "Yeah, sit Dr. Crowley and tell me all about it," he said psychiatrically. Crowley sat and rubbed his thick neck until it was splotched from the friction. He looked at Commander Drusin sideways. "Well? Aren't you going to have a seat? Jesus, Drusin, it's stifling in here! What's wrong with the air conditioners?" Crowley rubbed his face with a handkerchief magically produced from his jumpsuit. "I like it this way, Dr. It separates the conditioned from the un- conditioned. I'm not sweating. Then, again, I don't have anything to sweat about. That is, unless there's bad news from the Conglomerate. Is there bad news Dr.?" "You mean Head Host of Conglomerates, Commander," Crowley corrected. "Ah, yeah. Head Haunchos! Right! Now answer me! Are they going to cooperate or not?" Drusin was growing impatient. "Well...," Crowley paused. "I don't think so," he finally answered. "What do you mean you don't think so? You were sent to specifically get their approval. Did you bring me back anything? Anything at all?" Drusin was filling with anger like a balloon-a difficult task for a skeleton. "Look, Commander, the Conglomerates are hard nuts to crack. Sometimes I think they speak in riddles just to confuse us. I think they smile at Humans like errant pets. Ursus is an enigma. I left not knowing what he wanted. But, for some reason, I think we should pursue this venture on our own. We can, you know." Crowley waited for some response. Drusin merely twiddled with the dials on his portacompu-belt. He did this for more than five minutes without making a sound. "Dr. Nickolas Crowley," he said as if reading from a medical chart, "you know that FTL travel is a deception and a potential weakness in our quest for Empire. We can travel FTL, but only by very little. For Man, space travel is still time-consuming and some voyages are one way tickets. Luckily we have enterprising and daring pioneers willing to take risks and make these long journeys. Our reach in this galaxy remains meager. Ultra-FTL can consolidate this fragile hold. If we can beat out the competition we could colonize at will. Militarily I needn't point out the strategic advantages. We need their theoretical knowledge to help us. They help us-we help them. If we succeed, our sheer aggressiveness will overwhelm theirs in setting up colonies and military outposts. Do you see the importance of this, Dr.? Do you!?" He glared at the scientist. The blue-green light from the computer view-screen made him appear even more frightening than the awesome political-military power that he possessed. Crowley crossed a fat leg and waited for Commander Drusin to continue. Drusin was silent and concentrated on the dials of his portacompu-belt. Both men waited in silence. Commander Derek Drusin III of Quansor was probably the most powerful Human in the galaxy. Democracy ruled the affairs of men, but Drusin ruled the men. President Juan Carlos de Gomez was just a figurehead. He signed bills passed by the Senate he presided over on Earth, and all the other myriad colonies scattered throughout the galaxy. He gave a few speeches, but was otherwise left to research the mysterious and beautiful literature of the Squell. Potential war with, or conquest of, aliens was quite another thing, for war between men was abandoned. Man still possessed the spirit of manifest destiny-not of continents, but of worlds, star systems and other galactic spheres. There were dreams of Galactic Empire and if Commander Drusin had his way those dreams would become reality. In the last 357 years Man had fought three galactic wars. He was the victor in all three. The Squell, an odd and broody race of methane breathers, were the first to fall in battle. The war was short-lived and decisive. Man had merely bombed the Squell capitol, on Nev-A, with neutron bombs. Two days later the Squell surrendered and thus became Man's first protectorate by war. The Squell were completely assimilated into the Empire. The Daboo fell next-110 years later. The Daboo were monkey-like creatures. They were very shrewd, smart and aggressive. Victory was immensely more difficult and 33 million Humans and nearly 100 million Daboo lost their lives in that protracted guerilla debacle. After 14 years of fierce, deep space and planetary battles the Daboo surrendered. The prize was worth it to Man. The Daboo possessed 23 planets which fell into Man's sphere of influence. Vesa IV, of black tobacco fame, was one of them. The Daboo became active participants in the Empire. Eventually they gained respectable political and economic clout, but were inculcated, nicely, into the Empire and accepted equally as nicely by Humans. About ten years before the Conglomerates were discovered, the last war was fought. The opposition-the Tirrellians-were basically peaceful humanoids. They were highly artistic and philosophical, and they looked upon their women as gods. The Tirrellians rejected the Empire Man had quickly glued together. They would endeavor to trade with men, but did not want the restrictions the Empire demanded that would stagnate their civilization. They demonstrated their displeasure by kidnapping 1.2 million Humans scattered on four colonies. Retaliation from Man was swift. They freed the hostages and subsequently captured an equal number of Tirrellian females. The Tirrellians sued for peace and gave up all of their colonies. In ten years Man and Tirrellian became fast friends. Marriage among Humans and Tirrellian was not uncommon on some worlds and research on cross-breeding the two alien species was ten percent successful. The offspring were startling beautiful and had superior intelligence. Thus the research went rapidly forward. In only ten years the Empire had almost quadrupled its population and possessions The conquered were now citizens with full rights and political voice. Man's Empire would be firm, but fair. Commander Drusin pondered these facts and concluded that the Conglomerate would be the next challenge to Man. They were a tough nut to crack! Drusin knew this and behind the thin skull, fear and desperation slithered. He eyed Crowley again. "Well, do you?," he asked again in a lower pitched voice. "Do I what?," Crowley asked after being startled from his own thoughts. He was also getting very hungry. "Haven't you been listening to me, Dr.?," Drusin asked irritated. "Ah...yeah. I hear you Commander, but what do you want me to do? I can't force then to participate in this proposed, joint research venture. Their life span is over 500 years and FTL travel suits them fine. Why should they participate? I mean, they're just not very interested!," Crowley blurted out, rubbing his fat stomach. He then asked slowly: "Do you, ah...do you have anything to nibble on, Drusin?" "I am Commander Drusin to you, scientist! I'm not a chef or nursemaid! But if food can stimulate some facsimile of participation from you, I'll gladly feed you till you burst!" Drusin was trembling now. "Don't get excited Dru...Commander Drusin. I haven't eaten for five hours," Crowley said in his defense. "Gluttony will be your downfall, Dr.," Drusin said slowly. He pushed a red button on the intercom and ordered Crowley a light dinner. Crowley flashed a thankful and anticipatory smile. "Look, I have an idea Drusin-I mean Commander Drusin. When I spoke with Ursus this morning, he mentioned something about research on Linge. You know, the planet over-grown with Mat grass? Perhaps an exchange can be had." "An exchange!? Ultra-FTL research in exchange for some biochemical musing? You must be out of your obese mind! Do you take the Conglomerates for idiots?" Drusin was withholding his anger, but the veins on his pointed forehead could almost be imagined to pulsate. He turned another shade of red. "Well, you see, it's like this..." Crowley briefed Drusin on the conversation he had with Ursus. "So," he finished, "perhaps if I offer my help with his `quest' he will acquiesce to our request." Drusin stared at the computer screen and was interrupted by the food conveyor. The tray was stacked with an assortment of tasty, multi-alien delicacies. He licked his lips with delight as he inhaled the steamy, spiced aroma. He returned to his chair-moving a little closer to the table. "Care to join me, Commander?," he asked warily-hoping Drusin would say no. "Don't mind if I do, Dr." Drusin sauntered to the opposite side of the long table and sat, a bag of bones, next to Crowley. "These things are delicious, you know." Crowley frowned. "There was a rumor that you never ate, Commander. I'm disappointed." "You would be," Drusin joined and smiled for the first time since Crowley had waddled into the interview. Secretly he admired and liked Nickolas (as he thought of him), but only showed affection rarely. He ate off the Dr's plate. "Do you think your proposition could work?," the Commander asked through a mouthful of food. "Dunno, Drusin. I'll give it a try in the morning. Do you have anything to drink?" Drusin smiled, then mocked a frown. "Took you long enough to ask," he said amicably. Both men laughed. THE NEXT MORNING CROWLEY RETURNED TO THE SPACIOUS OFFICES OF THE Head Host of Conglomerates. His reception was slightly above the level of toleration. Ursus was fidgeting with one of his massive legs. "You know," he said, "in a way Humans are very fortunate. I've too many limbs to keep track of. Imagine four heads, six arms, four legs and all the other anatomical equipment that accompanies it. It's a real heavy burden to carry. And now, Crowley, what can I do for you?" One of his heads protruded towards the Dr. and blinked one of its large obsidian eyes. Crowley thought how cute it looked. "Well," Crowley began, "I was thinking that maybe we could help each other. You informed me yesterday morning about the research you had, or felt you had, to do on Linge. Maybe I can be of some help." Crowley held his breath. "In what way, Human?," Ursus asked as if not interested. "I'm a pretty good biochemist. Perhaps you can use my research skills to help you solve your ah...`paradox'. In exchange I would expect the Conglomerate scientists to help us in our little UFTL problem." He phrased his statement in such a way that it was more of a question. "I thought you might propose that, Dr. I gave it a lot of thought before you came here. You know, Dr. Crowley, in a way I like you very much. You may not believe that, but I do. You have but one brain, but a multi-tracked mind. I think I'll take you up on that proposition. We must, however, go to Linge alone. Why don't you bring your research transcripts on UFTL and I'll take along the documents that Prudus left behind. I'm sure you'll find them most interesting." Ursus toyed with one of his heads and smiled. "You mean you'll do it?," Crowley exclaimed! "Yeah. We'll give it our best shot," said Ursus in a twentieth century American accent. "That's unbelievable! I mean great! I can't believe it!" Crowley was jubilant. "Hey, scientist," Ursus said in Commander Drusin's voice, "would I lie to you?" Crowley stared at the alien, sitting opposite him, with an open mouth. That voice was familiar, but he was too caught up in a moment of ecstasy and did not realize the implication of Ursus' imitation. The juad tree table appeared to be blacker than ever. Black and shiny like a polished chunk of coal. The eight eyes of the alien were black as coal. The four heads of the alien wore four identical smiles, but no chuckle(s) could be heard from the alien throat(s). OVER THE NEXT FEW DAYS DIPLOMATIC HAGGLING WAS AS FIERCE AS ANY space battle. The Conglomerates wanted a computer approximation as to the success of the project. Humans wanted the research to be carried out on the voyage to Linge. Both sides questioned Crowley's rather questionable background in biochemistry, for Crowley was a theoretical physicist but had toyed with biochemistry over the years. Men haggled with men, Con- glomerates with Conglomerates. Both with each other. Ursus met the eleven Host of Conglomerates in his private Tole. They spoke in their own language, but the gist of the conversation ran thus: "All Heads to attention!," said the Keeper. "All Heads are attentive," the Twelve Hosts chanted. "The Keeper is excused," said Ursus. The Keeper left. "Now, further Head Hosts," said Ursus slyly, "what do you think?" "It's a reasonable exchange," said Ablus. "Most reasonable," joined Blaktus. "Should be a success," added Claptus. "Are there any differences of opinion?", questioned Ursus. "None here," said Daplus. None anywhere was the final count. "Then," said Ursus, "we shall have our solution to the Paradox and Humans their ultra-FTL travel. May we both benefit. I shall go alone with the scientist. When I return, I expect to remain your Head Host. If I fail then Vestus will take my place. I'm afraid, Vestus, you're in for a long wait." The Conglomerates smiled-all 48 faces of them. DR. NICKOLAS CROWLEY WAS DRESSED IN A SILVER AND YELLOW JUMPSUIT. He deserved the uniform of a highly celebrated scientist. He had been born on Earth, but spent most of his years between Mars colony and a major physics research station beyond Pluto's orbit. He had been a child prodigy in math and was particularly talented as a theoretical physicist. He was an inventor as well, and had won the coveted Prize for the conception, design and building of the matter transmitter. He disregarded all the accolades bestowed upon him. He was 19, 20 and 24 when he had devised the theory, demonstrated the working model and headed the construction of the matter transmitter. He was 25 when the Prize was awarded to him. It was around that time that he began to eat voraciously and gained an enormous amount of weight. Now, at the age of 32, he was 110 kilos and 5'10" tall. In short, Dr. Nickolas Crowley was fat. Needless to say he stood out among Humans, for exercise and proportionate body weight was the necessary norm of the day in a space- faring race. Liquids and pellets of proteins, carbohydrates, fiber and vitamins satisfied the gastric urge for gluttony. He frowned upon exercise and despised synthetic foods. The more famous he became, the fatter he grew. The fatter he grew, the less he exercised. The less he exercised, the more difficult space travel became. He was not looking forward to this trip-which was why he waddled and paced back and forth at the Conglomerate spaceport. Commander Drusin was over 45 minutes late, Ursus was stalling, and the metal, interface android was paging both late life-forms excitedly. Fortunately, he mused, he and Ursus would be confined for only several months. What sort of bedfellows would they make? Drusin finally arrived. Three scientists accompanied him. Crowley knew them all. Peter Travers was a brilliant biochemist. He distinguished himself, among Humans, by the spectacles he wore-even though he had perfect vision. He was coarse in manner and very opinionated. He, too, thought highly of himself, but delivered the goods Humans needed to survive the cruelties of space travel and its weird propensity to distort Human physiology. He had a "way" with women. He took pleasure in torturing them before he made tender and (reportedly) exquisite love. He was frequently stoned on anquax-a powerful, but physiologically benign stimulant that grew on Shibas-a planet formerly in the Tirrellian sphere of influence. Bridgette Schmidt (what a ghastly name!) was also among the entourage. She, too, was a biochemist of some notoriety, and was one of the leading neurobiochemists in the galaxy. She was of Jewish descent and prided herself on her people's history and magnificent achievements. She was attractive in an odd sort of way, but was a truly kind, sympathetic and caring person whose modesty was almost an embarrassment. Xavier Jordan was another brilliant one. He was a superb research physiologist, but was also a noted (and published) author and historian. He could trace his roots as far back as slavery in 1800's America, and from there to West Africa. He constantly reminded his colleagues that science was a part of the African heritage, and he clung to ancient legends and myths from the long, dark past of Africa-womb of Mankind. He was dark skinned, which was unusual for Humans at this point. Inter- racial marriage was hundreds of years old and the offspring of these unions were more of a brown hue. His family, full of pride, had decided to maintain their past identity and only married those that had similar feelings. Thus he stood out among Humans at the crowded Conglomerate spaceport. Drusin shook Crowley's hand and said: "You know these three, don't you? They will help to enlighten you on your voyage to Linge. They have offered their pertinent microtapes for your leisurely perusal, so that you may be successful in this `quest'. I want you to study these tapes diligently, and I don't want Ursus to know that you possess them. Is that clear?" Crowley eyed Drusin warily. "Ah, yeah boss. But why all the secrecy in this joint venture? All the info I can give to Ursus will help him and thus, in turn, help us." "You never understand me, do you scientist?," Drusin said in a rather dry, condescending tone. "I want you to solve their Paradox. I want you to come up with all the answers. I want you to show up those Head Haunchos that `frown upon poor research.' I want Humans to get the credit inspite of their helping us with UFTL travel!" Drusin finished his monologue and began to toy with his portacompu-belt. "Why?," Crowley asked. "Because," Drusin said slowly, "if we are to rule the galaxy everyone must know that we are the real heads. You get the gist of my meaning?" "Ah, yeah boss. But what does that prove? What's this Paradox worth to us? Why is this small, unexplained matter so important to the Conglomerates?" Crowley looked at the other scientists for approval. There was none. Instead, the three scientists looked at him with incredible disapproval! Jordan spoke up. "Come on, fatty, don't you know? Don't you know?" "Why don't you tell me, black boy, if you're so smart! What's going on here?," Crowley asked disgustedly. Jordan smiled. "I like your retort, Dr. `Black boy' has a certain ancient ring and historical meaning vis-a-vis my people. But I won't go into history at present. I'll just say one word that may penetrate your overfed brain. War!" "War," Schmidt echoed. "War," Travers joined. "Yeah, war," muttered Drusin in a hollow voice. "Perhaps the most important war that Man may ever have to fight." Crowley was astounded! "But the Conglomerates are a peaceful race! Why should we be at war with them? What have they done to threaten us?" "You ask the wrong questions," Jordan responded. "You should ask what they have not done to threaten us." "I'm confused," the fat, brilliant scientist conceded. "Don't be," Drusin ordered. "Just remember to look at Ursus as the enemy. Do not trust him. Do not give him too much info. Do not let him study those microtapes. This is of utmost importance. Do you hear me, scientist?" Drusin stared, with pleading eyes, at Crowley. "Look, I want some answers, and I want them now!" Crowley was becoming pissed off, and his ruddy skin became more so. He was now confused, scared, sweating and hungry. "There's no time now," Drusin said in a whisper. "Ursus has arrived. Remember-he is our enemy. They all are. Let me just leave you with this 'paradox'. If someone says: `Hey, let's get together sometime. I'll have you for dinner.' What do you think that really means?" Crowley stared at the group of Humans as if they were aliens. What kind of shitty joke was this? What was he really up against? Why was everyone so solemn? At this moment Ursus trundled up with the eleven other Hosts. They all wagged their heads in greeting, and extended all six arms to be shook by each Human. Crowley found himself calculating. Now, let's see: 12x6=72 and 72x5=360. Damn! Three hundred and sixty handshakes. At least ten more minutes of waiting. The android had fallen silent-his constant beeping having achieved its purpose. The two sets of aliens stared at each other. To an onlooker, the gathering appeared friendly enough, but to the five Humans (maybe four) and the twelve Conglomerates, the stares were friendly exchanges before the first shots of combat. BOTH URSUS AND CROWLEY WERE BRIEFED ON THE WORKINGS OF THE STARSHIP. The android, Human in design (the Conglomerates had no need for androids), would pilot the ship and take care of all the needs of the living occupants. Both voyagers were thus free from any duty and could concentrate on months of study and research design. There was plenty of black tobacco and plenty of food. Both travelers were satisfied. Final well-wishes were uttered (in both tongues) and, by protocol, both aliens entered the ship simultaneously. The android entered last- closing and sealing the bay doors. The android patched itself (via remote control) to all the ship's functions. It plotted the course, checked each intricate mechanism and achieved a perfect takeoff to Linge. When they were reasonably far from NCX-1 the FTL motors were switched on and the trip commenced. The android immediately began to prepare two separate meals for the passengers. It was only the third hour of an eight month voyage. It had been agreed, by both species, that no contact after blastoff would be made. It was also calculated that the round trip should take two Earth years, which gave the scientists six months to research the Paradox of the Mat grass of Linge. The ship was spacious and provided for the separate needs of each traveler. There were two libraries, two computer banks, two gymnasiums, two bathrooms-in short, two of everything imaginable for deep space flight. There was only one conference room where Ursus and Crowley would converse sometimes or take their meals together. It was here where they discussed their approach to the problems they faced and exchanged (niggardly) the information they brought along. There were innumerable arguments between them, yet many constructive exchanges of ideas. There were days that passed when both creatures were so stimulated on their separate mind-altering drugs that nothing was accomplished. This, too, was a planned and necessary way to relieve the boredom and confinement of space travel. One day, when Ursus was stoned and Crowley straight, a conversation ensued. It was the fifth month of their journey. Ursus asked Crowley: "Tell me, Human, what is the purpose of your species? What are its goals and desires; its philosophies and fears? What is its perceived destination in the galactic scheme?" "Damn, Ursus," Crowley said, "that's a mouthful! I could speak for days on those questions." "We have many days," Ursus responded in an Oriental sing-song voice. "Don't do that! It scares the shit out of me when you imitate one of our languages!" "Don't fear," Ursus replied. "Just tell me what the purpose of your species is." He inhaled more black tobacco and drank deeply from an over- sized cup that held tranya-a stimulant that gave the user keen insight and vivid imagination. "Well," Crowley began, "in order to answer some of those questions we must first discuss why a species-any species or individual creature-came to be in the first place. That involves evolution, which most Humans believe to be a chance event, but an event that is ubiquitous enough to have brought forth both of our races. We are alien to one another, but the molecules and atoms that we possess are the same. Our structures, in turn, are different-vastly different, yet we possess the same degree of intelligence. It is true that you have four brains and I one, but your brains do not make me inferior to you in intellect. You need those four brains to control your massive body and I need just one to control my...ah rather modest habitus." Ursus smiled. Crowley continued. "Yet still our philosophies are similar and sciences equal-with minor variations here and there, but equal all the same. If you think about it Ursus, it must be this way, for the universe is made, everywhere, of the same cloth. The laws of physics are no different on my Earth than on your own planet Actuse. Therefore, in a philosophical sense, any conscious species that Nature has evolved has done so for the same purpose. Now that purpose is debatable, philosophically, but in the end it is probably merely to understand what Nature, herself, is. In other words, every species purpose or creation (if you will) is to seek to understand itself in relationship to its own creation. The purpose of all conscious creatures is to give Nature the consciousness that she lacks. "Creatures, be they Man or Conglomerate, must strive to ultimately control their creation until perfection is achieved-and thus its existence becomes as immortal as any matter. I guess what I'm saying is that the purpose of my species and yours, my friend, is to solve every question that Nature has whimsically asked. But not only to solve these questions, but control the dice that Nature holds as enigmas in her palms. "Ultimately, Ursus, Men will be gods and Conglomerates as well. I suppose, by then, Time itself will have run out and all living things will once again become nothing. The purpose of my species, and yours, is to become the nothing of everything-forever." Crowley finished his discourse and was elated at his perceived logic and philosophical musings. Ursus stared at him with all eight obsidian eyes. He barely managed to pour another rather large portion of tranya into his rather large cup from the rather huge flask that sat on the rather large table. He said: "Have some tranya and you may see how right or wrong you are. I believe the Human interpretation of existence is based on selfishness, hunger for power and greed. The Conglomerates philosophy is different and more perfect." He swallowed a large portion of the liquid and glared an eight- eyed challenge at Crowley. Crowley merely said: "You're stoned, Ursus, and should probably stop that insidious ingestion of the stimulant you seem to crave more and more each day." "Why? Just because my perception of what my species purpose is is different from yours?" "No, because your perception of what I believe my species purpose is is drugged with the belief that we are selfish and power hungry. My philosophy involves all living things. What does yours involve?" Crowley peered (a mere two eyes) at the large alien seated across the table. "I'll tell you, Human, what I believe the purpose of my species is. It is the union of all living things-the ingestion of all consciousness into one conscious whole-the becoming to the same from myriads of differences. The ultimate conclusion of creation is to become one consciousness. It is the purpose of Nature that all the billions of different creatures become God. One God-not many recognizing the same conclusion of their existence. You Humans always want to maintain your identity, yet Nature is the same throughout the universe." He drew on the thick roll of black tobacco which enhanced the tranya that floated him to peace. "Aren't we saying the same thing? I mean, ultimately recognition of the same conclusions-all answers to all questions, whether they be as one universal creature or many, is the same recognition!" Crowley was pissed that his ideas were rejected. "Nice riddle, Crowley! Very nice! Very nice especially because I'm stoned out of my minds. But no! Your philosophy excludes ultimate ingestion which is Nature's ultimate solution to the union of becoming one." The massive alien drank again. "What the hell do you mean by ingestion?," Crowley asked. "I should say absorption," Ursus answered. Crowley stared across the table at the alien and wondered where he had heard that phrase before. A cold chill ran down his spine, but his stomach growled at the same time. He summoned a meal from the computer. The starship raced on. URSUS AND CROWLEY WERE READING THE JOURNALS PRUDUS HAD COMPILED ON his voyage to Linge. They were detailed and complete. Prudus had performed every sensible biochemical test known to Man or Conglomerate. It was simple. The Mat grass of Linge only absorbed the energy from the sun. This energy was transformed, in some unknown way, to matter, but no by-product of the transformation could be detected. Crowley thought about this. Something here was so simple that it escaped him. It was so basic that he and Ursus were blinded by the reality of the true answer. Ursus was perplexed. He read the last page of the multi-volumed journal and informed Crowley that they would have to repeat some of the experiments and devise new ones in order to solve the Paradox. And a solution would be found, Ursus mused. The Conglomerates frowned upon poor research. He was the Head Host and intended to remain so until his final budding. The portly Human would be his salvation. After reading the microtapes of the three biochemists, in private, Crowley became bored and relegated them to uselessness. The problem with UFTL travel was a different matter. Crowley and Ursus decided UFTL had more to do with Time ripples than sheer FTL velocities. Ursus shared all the knowledge that his race's long dead scientists had researched. Crowley already knew the stuff down to the smallest minutiae. He finally began to scan through the (what he described as bullshit) past research that Humans had delved in, and one night (ship time) serendipitously came upon the solution. Future history would delete the fact that Crowley was stoned when he discovered the UFTL solution. He had ingested tranqualene-a chemical that had the dual propensity to relax the body and speed up the mind. It was a substitute for sleep and very popular among university students throughout the Empire. He was speed-reading a transcript on time research which was written by a nineteen year old kid from the Institute of Basic Sciences (IBS) on Pluto about thirteen years ago. The student had done detailed mathematical studies of the relationships of time, energy and matter-all the ingredients of Einstein's infamous equation. At any rate, he postulated that matter in the universe (which made the existence of gravity possible) was also inter-related to the velocity of stars, planets and even galaxies. If one looked at the problem differently, space was merely a multitude of ripples and each ripple in space-time was a function of velocity. You could travel FTL-but only slightly. If you exceeded a critical velocity, you jumped to the next ripple which was calculated to be 2.360 times the speed of light. The next ripple was 3.813 times light speed, and so on. Thus, if a star system was 50 light years away, one could make several jumps and get there in just a few days. Some jumps took only a few seconds once speeds had been achieved which exceeded light speed. The concept was similar to the orbits of electrons around the atom. All that was needed was an instrument to sense the ripples or time orbits and a machine with the power to jump from one wave to another. One could over or under shoot and would merely have to travel FTL the rest of the way. That was quite acceptable. If a star system was one thousand light years away it took Man, or would take Man about 990 years to reach it by conventional FTL travel. With UFTL several jumps could get him about one light year away, and the trip would merely take one year and a few days. That was quite acceptable. It was a magnificent idea that the Government had rejected. Crowley didn't. He sobered up, real fast, and sat at the Human computer. He ignored Ursus and food (well, he ate a little) for three days. He perfected the theory, designed the means and a possible test machine. He stored all the info on computer tape and encoded it so that the Conglomerates couldn't decipher the equations. In three days the fat scientist had theoretically solved his paradox and didn't give a damn about the Mat grass of Linge. He would just bide his time and hope that the bullshit he planned to feed Ursus was acceptable. Their destination was only nine days away. URSUS WAS DILIGENTLY STUDYING THE TRANSCRIPTS OF PRUDUS. THERE WAS something in them that seemed to escape him. It was something simple, but was like a piece to a puzzle that didn't fit. He made prodigious use of his computer, but the answers were always the same. There was no by pro- duct that the Mat grass of Linge excreted. He wondered if Crowley had any thoughts and went to the Human chambers to question him. Crowley was sitting on the toilet viewing an ancient science fiction movie about a lost alien botanist who was befriended by a little boy. Ursus entered the compartment and called out to Crowley. Crowley grunted and informed Ursus that he was eliminating by-products of energy that his body had absorbed, and could not, or would not store. Ursus thought again. Yes! Every living species seemed to eliminate unnecessary matter. Matter, he thought, could not be created nor destroyed-only changed from one form to another. This was universal. So why was the Mat grass any different? Crowley sauntered out of the bathroom and stared at the alien. "Well, Ursus, what's up?," he said in a bored voice. "Do you have any additional ideas on the Paradox, Human?," Ursus implored. "Nope." "You mean no, don't you Crowley?," Ursus questioned. "Yup." "You mean yes, don't you Crowley?," Ursus asked. "Nope and yup," said Crowley. "What are your ideas, Human?," the alien asked. "It's simple, Ursus! Very simple! I've been thinking about Prudus' transcripts for a long time, but I'll have to see the planet before I venture any answers." "You mean you think you know?," Ursus asked anxiously, his two left heads staring at each other. "Yeah, I think I know Head Host of Conglomerates. It's simple! Very simple!" "You mean there is a by-product that the Mat grass of Linge excretes? You've found the answer?," Ursus implored again. "Almost for sure Head Host, but I'm not telling you until we get to Linge. Remember, if I solve the problem you must acknowledge it. You've given me little help in solving the UFTL problem, so why should I help you at this point? As far as I'm concerned we can turn back right now." Crowley picked at his fingernails as if he wasn't interested. He was really very attentive as to what the alien would say. "You've solved the UFTL problem, haven't you Crowley?," Ursus asked. "Did I say that?," Crowley retorted. "No, but you implied it!" Ursus responded. "Put it this way," Crowley said. "The problem of UFTL was just a problem. The solution is probably so obvious that it was over-looked. The same ignorance of the obvious is probably the solution to your Paradox. But I must see the planet in order to confirm my theory." Crowley was staring at the alien enjoying the obvious anticipation of the alien's next question. The alien glared, eight eyes, back. "Dr. Crowley," Ursus said, "do you remember what I told you when we had our first conference? Do you remember what I said about the importance of Linge to both Human and Conglomerate?" "Yeah, I remember. So what?" Crowley was growing interested. "Well, I must tell you something I've never told you before. Indeed, no Human knows what is really the purpose we Conglomerates have assigned ourselves. You Humans don't know what we're capable of doing." Ursus was now enjoying the puzzled look on Crowley's face. "What do you mean?," Crowley questioned. "Absorption," Ursus responded. "Ursus," Crowley asked, "will you level with me? What the hell does `absorption' mean? What happens when one of your species is absorbed?" "Absorption," Ursus responded slowly, "is merely what the universe is doing in its own slow and meticulous way. It is winding down. It is the becoming of one. When we absorb we become one." "I don't get the drift Head Host," Crowley said. "That's only because you Humans want your evolution to take prece- dence over everything else. That's why I called your philosophy selfish and power-hungry. And that is why this little `quest' that we conjured up is more like war. Indeed, it is war! We Conglomerates are fighting the same battle against you that you are fighting against us. You do know that we're at war don't you scientist?" The last question was an imitation of Drusin's voice. Crowley was getting shivers. There was something going on here that was escaping him. Something really, really important and horrible. But he couldn't see through the mist and thus kept the course of his inquiries straight-forward. "We're not at war, Ursus, and you know it! Why are you handing me this bullshit about war?" "Because you Humans view UFTL travel as a means of conquest. We've known this for a long time. We've known this ever since you came to our world and discovered the hundreds of years of research our scientists put into this problem-only to fail. I know because you were informed prior to take-off. And I know that if UFTL travel is solved, you Humans will use it to conquer and multiply, like viruses, in the heavens." "And what about your fucking Mat grass, Ursus? Huh? What evil purpose are your people plotting with the solution of the Paradox? Absorption? Bullshit! Your entire scheme is complete bullshit and you know it!" Crowley was furious and turned beet-red. "Don't get upset, you sweaty fat bastard!" Ursus ridiculed in Jordan's voice. Crowley was becoming frightened. What was going on here? Ursus continued. "You Humans come like viruses. You infect the galaxy with greed and seek only profits. We know of your wars-your hatred for one another-your barbarian instinct to conquer and destroy. If I may say, Crowley, you Humans are real shits! You Humans are little balls of excrement that the universe blew out, mistakenly, while farting! And, like farts, you Humans will be dissipated like the gas of a smelly memory. And we Conglomerates will inhale your stench, then exhale you all into oblivion. We are at war! From this moment on you are my enemy. You hear me? You are my enemy, you fat asshole!" Crowley's heart was racing. He was really scared. Drusin was right, he thought. We are at war. A subtle and evil war was being waged by two alien forms that raced, together, in a starship for final battle. Ursus trundled from the Human quarters. Linge was only three days away. THE ANDROID WAS SILENT. IT CONTROLLED THE SHIP PERFECTLY. IT SATIS- fied all the needs of the life-forms on board. It was programmed to do this, and it performed its tasks perfectly. But now something tickled its circuitry. An additional program was being inserted into its executive banks. The program ordered it to build an odd device and link this device to the FTL drive of the ship. The android followed the orders. It had no choice. THE SHIP WAS DECELERATING, AND SOON WOULD ASSUME AN INSERTIONAL ORBIT about the planet Linge. Ursus and Crowley were at their separate seats gazing at the view screen. The planet would soon be in sight and the imaginary battle would soon become reality. One of Ursus' heads turned to Crowley and said: "Hey, Human, I'm sorry I cursed you like I did, but you really pissed me off!" The voice was that of Travers-the biochemist. "Goddammit, Ursus! I told you not to do that! You scare the shit out of me! I don't care about apologies. We have work to do. I want this Paradox to be solved so that I can get the hell out of here and return to civilization. You're a boring son-of-a-bitch, you know." "Yeah, I know Crowley. Listen," Ursus added, "why don't we get together and I'll have you for dinner." Crowley stared at the alien and remembered Commander Drusin's riddle. What the hell was going on? "Ah, I think I'll pass on that Ursus," Crowley said nervously. "There's too much work to be done. Maybe in another six months or so. O.K.?" "Fine Human," Ursus said in Schmidt's voice. "Oh shit!" Crowley screamed. "What are you screaming about, Human?" Ursus asked in his own voice. "Look at the view screen, Ursus! Look at it!" Crowley sounded almost hysterical. Ursus' four heads turned like mechanical soldiers. His eight eyes took in the sight at once. All alien eyes were fixated on Linge. Linge! Linge was a whorl of beauty. More beautiful than any jewel that hung in space. Its surface seemed alive with green, blue, purple and red Mat grass. The entire surface of the planet-even the poles-were alive with the stuff. The aliens felt as if they could touch the texture and feel the wind against their faces. There were no clouds in the sky-not a one. The sun was aft and port to the ship. The planet was bathed in sunlight. The ship orbited Linge. Through infra-red scanners and a multitude of other devices, it was determined that the planet was totally covered with Mat grass. The surface of the beautiful world had seven feet of soil and the rest was solid rock. There were no oceans, mountains or continents. Ursus and Crowley were mesmerized. "Prudus didn't say it would be like this," Ursus finally said. "It's beautiful!," Crowley exclaimed. "Indeed," Ursus added. "Let's land," Crowley whispered-lest he break the spell. "O.K.," Ursus added in his own alien whisper. "Land the ship," Crowley ordered the computer in a small voice. "SHIP LANDING," the computer responded in a loud, mechanical voice that broke the spell. Both aliens jumped on hearing the android. The ship landed smoothly and silently on the planet's day side. The atmosphere was intolerable to both aliens and thus each wore his own AAPS (all purpose atmospheric suit). The silence was ear-shattering. The ship's bay doors were opened by the android's remote control and, by convention, both aliens stepped onto the planet's surface simultaneously. Both had multi-purpose scanners. Crowley checked the temperature and found that it was a constant 66 degrees Fahrenheit exactly-on both day and night sides of the strange world. Crowley was relieved. He had solved the Paradox. He would let Ursus sweat it out a bit longer. Both aliens walked through the Mat grass that grew exactly 100cm tall everywhere. The only break in the monotony was the change of color that seemed to have no pattern. The ground was hard. Ursus was eager to start the experiments he had planned. Crowley watched him clumsily chop off pieces of the grass and run them through computerized biochemical tests. No new information was found. Hours passed and Crowley's stomach called forth with hunger. "Hey Ursus," he said in the suit's transmitter, "I'm hungry. Let's call it a day." "Do you have any ideas, Human?," Ursus inquired. "Not only do I have ideas, alien," Crowley said in a poor imitation Ursus' voice, "I have the solution to your Paradox." Crowley studied Ursus with a smile. Ursus glared at Crowley though his multi-headed suit. "Then let's talk about it over dinner, Human," Ursus said eagerly. "Dinner then," Crowley responded. "THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT I'M SAYING," CROWLEY EXCLAIMED THROUGH A MOUTH- full of food. "Heat is the by product-only heat!" "And do you mean that this is the solution to the Paradox?" "Yup," Crowley said. "You mean yes?", Ursus joined. "Yes, if you desire," Crowley retorted. "But it's so damned simple it's frightening!" Ursus stammered. "My sentiments exactly," Crowley agreed. "Damn! What an asshole Prudus was. Maybe he knew all along but couldn't or wouldn't accept the facts. Do you think that's possible Crowley?" "Yes I do Ursus. He was so intent on a magical and complicated answer that he missed the obvious. Just like I almost missed the obvious of U...," Crowley stopped abruptly. "...FTL," Ursus finished. "I didn't say that," Crowley pointed out-losing his appetite com- pletely for the first time in memory. "I read your mind this time alien," Ursus said. "What's the solution to UFTL?" "The same as yours, Ursus. Matter cannot be created nor destroyed, only changed from one form to another. The Mat grass takes in all of the sunlight and converts it to matter, but it does have a by product-heat! Furthermore, the Mat grass is one organism and heat is thus transferred throughout the planet which keeps the temperature constant-even on the nightside. Any slight variation may destroy the grass or slow down the conversion process. How the light is converted into matter is beyond me. We're used to light as energy or, in some forms of plant physiology, as the trigger of a chemical process. The Mat grass goes a step further. It converts the light energy into matter. The how is your problem and probably your new Paradox." Crowley finished and stuffed his mouth with a forkful of wild rice. "And what of the secret of UFTL, Man-form?," Ursus asked. "Man-form! What kind of shit is that? Man-form! You've never said that before Ursus." "I know," Ursus admitted. "You see," he said, "`Human' to us Con- glomerates is a derogatory term. Man-form is the word we give your species when we have respect." Ursus looked admiringly at the Dr. Crowley almost blushed. "The secret of UFTL is the time-gravity-matter-velocity relationship. I can build the machine, but I can't, as yet, explain why it works. We Men-forms have our new Paradox as well," Crowley said, smiling at the alien. "Then you Men will hop all over the galaxy like fleas, and we Con- glomerates will seek the knowledge of how the Mat grass performs its miracle. Your aim of conquest is assured and our aim of total absorption takes us a step further down the road of realization. The war is over, my friend." "Yes," said Crowley. "At least for now," he added. "We'll return as friends or, I should say, allies. Man has won this battle, but the war to be fought is a future one. Conglomerates and Men may not be the only troops on the battlefield. The universe is endless and galaxies are forever." "Yes," said Crowley. "At least for now," he added. "I suspect, Man-form," Ursus said returning to his usual state, "that you have a demonstration for me?" "Indeed," Crowley beamed. "Computer, take us back to our starting point," he ordered. The order was processed through the android. The new device, grafted to the ship, made a whining noise, then was silent. The spaceport of Ursus' world was in sight. "That fast?," Ursus asked. "The further, the faster," Crowley answered. "I wonder how you Men-forms will taste on absorption day," Ursus said jokingly. "You won't know, my alien friend, till we meet on the other side of the universe. Till then, let's savor our separate tastes and praise Nature for our individual tongues." Crowley smiled warmly at his friend. Both aliens shook hands (six times) and simultaneously departed from the ship that had jumped into another history. The universe patiently waited to receive them.a science fiction short story by carlyle miller 1984
COPYRIGHT 1988-(184889) carlyle miller 1984 Click here for part 2: Dr. Crowley's Question
Click here for part 3: Absorbtion Day
