Forbidden Planet (9 page)

I had plenty to think about. And I mean plenty! On the trip back from that damn house in the rock, I tried to straighten it out in my head.

It all came down to figuring Morbius right. And that was easier said than done. I wished it wasn’t my job. I wished I could change places—and responsibilities—with Jerry Farman. Or Doc. All Jerry was thinking about right then, all he had to think about, could be covered by one very short word. And Doc was just as lucky, maybe luckier. Doc was probably worrying about who wrote some old book, or how Earth-type animals came to be on Altair-4.

But me, I had Morbius! The man who’d warned us to stay away from the planet if we knew what was healthy for us. The man who didn’t tell us till he had to that he was the only survivor of his expedition. The man who’d given a pretty wild explanation about how the others died and what had happened to their ship.

An off-beam fish. With plenty about him I didn’t like. Particularly the feeling he gave out that he thought he was worth two of anybody else. And that’s to say nothing of his daughter. There was another headache. Pity the poor Skipper—with a piece of brig-bait like that around, and twenty sex-deprived Space-dogs with their tongues hanging out . . .

But I had to forget about her. I had to concentrate on the Hundred Credit Question: How come this Philologist had turned himself into a practical scientist? And a Tech genius way ahead of all the Techs on Earth and anywhere else we knew of? So his Robot did most of the work. So he made the Robot, the most incredible job of the lot, first of all!

Leaving the little matter of knowledge aside, how had he gotten the tools? And the materials?

And why had he said there was ‘only one essential tool—the mind’? Did he think it made sense? Did he believe it made sense?

And did it?

I knew what I thought was the answer. On the trip back I was just checking with myself. But the check made no difference. I felt the same way only more so.

I told Doc and Jerry and Lonnie Quinn after dinner. We stayed at the table and I sent the Mess orderly away and made sure there wasn’t anyone in earshot. Quinn wanted to go right back to work, but I wouldn’t let him. I wanted an all-Officer conference.

First, I briefed him on the set-up. I asked Doc and Jerry to check if I left anything out or gave any wrong impressions. But I must have done all right, because neither of them said anything when I’d finished.

Quinn stared at me through his big glasses. The first thing he said was, “This girl—what’s she like?”

Quinn. Alonzo Quinn. He said that. It was proof, if I’d needed it, of what a year in deep Space would do, even to a woman-shirker like my Chief Devisor . . .

I said, “Oh, just a girl. Somewhere in her teens. She’s never known anybody except her father. Seems a trifle arrested maybe.” I didn’t look at Jerry or Doc while I said it.

I went right on. “Morbius is the problem,” and gave them a precis of what I thought about him. I said, “It makes no sense he could turn himself into a Tech genius overnight and produce a job like that Robot.” I looked at Quinn and he shook his head.

“It’s impossible,” he said. “Even from what I saw of the thing. Impossible!”

That brought me right down to the point. “So,” I said, “he was lying when he said there was no intelligent life on this planet. There has to be—”

Doc cut in on me. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “Somehow the man didn’t strike me as a liar.”

I said, “He’s got to be, Goddamn it!” Doc surprised me. Usually, I thought a lot of his judgment, but he was way off this time. “Can’t you get it? Someone, something, has got to be supplying him tools and material.”

“And knowledge,” Quinn said. “And knowledge.”

“That’s right,” said Jerry Farman. He was trying to look interested, but not making a very good job of it. There was that other subject filling his head.

I said, “Of course it’s right,” and looked at Doc.

“Ye-es,” he said slowly. “It’s logical, I suppose . . .”

“It’s inevitable too.” I pushed on. “So there is intelligent life here. And Morbius is in touch with it. Close touch.”

I had ‘em all hooked now, even Jerry. I said, “Either he’s friends with it, or it’s bossing him. Either he doesn’t want to tell us about it, or it won’t let him.”

Jerry Farman said, “My guess is he’s friendly. I’d bet a year’s pay he was on the level when he said he didn’t want to be taken away.”

Doc said, “Skipper, why did you push him so hard at first, and then ease up all of a sudden?” He looked worried.

“Technique,” I said. “Scare ‘em, but not too much. Might bring things to a head.”

Lonnie said, “We ought to get in touch with this—this Intelligence. Obviously, we could learn a great deal.”

Doc lifted one eyebrow that way he has. “Don’t forget what happened to the rest of the
Bellerophon
people.”

Lonnie said, “How did Morbius react, Skipper, when you told him we were going to try and get through to Base?”

I looked at the other two. Jerry shrugged, and Doc said, “He didn’t show anything, one way or the other.”

I said, “So it’s an odd situation. I have to try and get orders to deal with it. But if we do get through to Base, I can guess what the orders’ll be. ‘Find out more if you can. Bring him home whether you can or not.’ ”

Jerry whistled. “If he’s not kidding about that ‘Force’ that killed all his pals, we might be in for bad trouble when we try and take him away.”

Lonnie said, “We may be in trouble anyway, I should imagine. If you can guess those orders. Skipper, so can Morbius.” He blinked at me through his big glasses. “It occurs to me that somebody—maybe I should say something—may not like us rigging up the transmitter.” He blinked again. “It also occurs to me to ask why you had to let Morbius know what you were going to do.”

That was Alonzo Quinn all over. Right to the point before anyone else. I grinned at him. “Technique again. Might flush something into the open.”

Lonnie just nodded. But Doc said, “Asking for trouble, aren’t you?”

I said, “It’s the only way I can figure to find out what activates around here. And when I know that I might want to talk to Base anyway. And this way we’ll at least be ready for anything that happens. Which reminds me—” I looked around at the three of them. “As from now, we’re on Occupation Alert—and don’t forget it . . .”

And that wound it up for the day. I had sentries out already, and all I had to do was send for the Bosun and tell him the O.A, was on. Lonnie Quinn went back to work with his hand-picked helpers—and Jerry said as he was on the third watch he was going to his hutch and grab some rest.

Doc looked after him and shook his head. He said, “To sleep, perchance to dream,” in the way that makes you know he’s quoting from something a thousand years old.

I said, “You mean about that girl?” and he said, “What else?” and then he said, “You sound as if she worried you, Skipper,” and I said, “You’re damn right she worries me. This whole set-up’s off-beam enough, without throwing in a piece of brig-bait to make it all more difficult.” I wished he’d talk about something else.

But he said, “I suppose you’re hoping the crew won’t ever find out she’s here.” He was fiddling with a cigarette, not looking at me.

“They won’t if I know anything about it,” I said. “Lonnie won’t talk. I tipped him not to. And Jerry won’t open his trap. Not while there’s a chance he could make his time with her.”

Doc pulled the ignitor cap off the cigarette and started to smoke. He said, “Are you going to let him?”

“Christ, no!” I said. “That’s not the sort of trouble I’m asking for.” I was getting too loud and cut it down. “Besides, think of General Orders. Section IV, para. 22.” I managed a grin.

Doc said, “Good!” and went on smoking and didn’t say anything else.

We had a drink. When we’d finished it was time I went the round of the sentries. I asked Doc whether he’d like a walk and he said okay.

I’d set five posts, and each one had nothing to report. The men were all on their toes, A good bunch.

Instead of going right back to the ship, Doc and I struck out a bit into the desert. I didn’t feel like bed and he didn’t either. We didn’t go far—just to a bunch of the sharp rocks that pushed up out of the sand. Doc said they looked like stalagmites. We found a ledge at the bottom of one and sat on it and had a cigarette. There were two green moons in the sky and the light from them made the red sand look almost black. All around. As far as a man could see. Black sand and sick-blue rocks. Green moons. And the ship on her ass there like a toadstool that didn’t belong.

I took in a deep breath and Doc said, “Yes. Wonderful air, isn’t it?”

I said, “The air’s okay. But you can have the view.”

He shifted around to look at me. “I was just thinking I could easily like this world—perhaps want to live in it, like Morbius.”

I said, “Maybe I’ve got too much on my mind—”

“They give you boys a lot of responsibility.” He was talking slowly, the way he does sometimes. “Too much, I should say.” He went on looking at me. “They seem to ignore—well, some of the most important human factors . . .”

I wasn’t sure I knew what he was talking about. But I let it ride. You never know with Doc, but he always means something.

I dropped my cigarette on the sand and watched the glow die away. There was something I wanted to ask Doc, but I wasn’t going to. It didn’t matter any more than a matchstick in Space.

So it came out after all. I said, “What was that crack about a Unicorn?”

He didn’t say anything right away, but I could feel him look at me again. I thought he didn’t remember. I said, “When Jerry said that about the tiger. About the control she had over it—”

“I know,” Doc said. “I can quote myself. I said, ‘The old Unicorn routine’. And I wished I hadn’t.”

“What the hell did you mean?”

He said, “The Unicorn, as you may or may not know, was a beast of fable—”

“Like a horse?” I said. “A white horse—with a horn coming out of its forehead?”

He nodded. “The legend was that only one sort of human could ever catch or tame one. That was a woman—and not just any woman. She had to be young—and a virgin . . . She would go to a place—in a forest it always was—where the Unicorn might be. She would sit down, and wait. That was all she had to do. And presently, through the trees, the Unicorn would come treading delicately, full of fear but irresistibly drawn. The girl mustn’t move, just sit and wait . . . The Unicorn—ears pricked, nostrils flaring—would advance, slower and slower . . . And the girl would still sit motionless . . . And the forest would be silent, no bird singing, no woods creature stirring. There would be no sound except the rustle of the Unicorn’s hoofs in the carpet of leaves as it drew so close that its shadow came between the girl and the sun rays which filtered through the branches . . . So close that when it knelt before her, its whole lovely gleaming body a-tremble, it could lay its beautiful horned head upon her lap . . .”

Doc’s voice sort of died away. He went on looking down at the sand. Something about the goddamn fairy tale got me. Or maybe it was the way he’d told it. Or his tone or something. Anyway, I had a lump in my throat as big as a gyro-gear. It made me mad. I said, “So you were going all around the galaxy to say she was virgo, huh? She’s got to be, hasn’t she? Unless—ah, the hell with it!”

“Of course she’s a virgin, John.” It was the first time Doc ever called me anything but Skipper. He said, “It was just something that popped into my head. I said it without thinking. I didn’t mean anything. And it wasn’t a very good analogy either . . .”

“Why did you wish you hadn’t said it?”

“Because I thought maybe Morbius would get the reference. He—well, he mightn’t have liked it.”

That made sense. I said it did, and pulled out cigarettes. We both lighted up and sat there. Smoking and not saying anything. Until Doc said, out of the blue, “The way you were looking at the girl, she must have thought you hated the sight of her.” He said it as if he was just talking.

I said, “Well, she looked like trouble. Especially with Jerry Farman around.”

Doc said, “Maybe she thought you were trouble too. She seemed as if she did. They way those grey eyes of hers shot sparks at you—”

I said, “They’re blue—” and tried to cut the words off as they were coming out.

But it didn’t work. Doc started to laugh . . .

II

Nothing happened all the next day. I mean nothing outside what we were doing ourselves. Nothing to show that anyone or anything cared what we were at. Before he started work on the transmitter, Lonnie set up a rough radar screen and left one of the Cadets to run it. And he showed Jerry how to work his radio searcher, so we could try and locate Morbius’ station.

And nothing happened. Or even looked like happening. I wandered in and out of the ship, making sure everyone was on the job. I felt like hell. I hate waiting. Especially when you don’t know what you’re waiting for.

Radar showed nothing. Jerry couldn’t get anything on his radio search. There was just the ship. And us. And the red desert and the rocks. We might have been alone on the goddamn planet.

Lonnie and his boys got the auxiliary core free at last. A nasty job, but none of ‘em got burned. We all had to lend a hand to get the thing safely out to the temporary rig he’d set up.

That was in the middle of the afternoon. When the job was done and all hands were back at their posts I had to start waiting again. I wandered over to the tractor. It was still where Lonnie and the boys had left it yesterday when they unshipped it. I checked it over. Everything was all right, but I had the notion I’d take it for a test run. Something to do.

I was climbing aboard it when I saw Doc. For the first time since breakfast. The rest of the day, he’d been in his surgery. Checking those med supplies, I suppose. I wasn’t too happy to see him. I figured he might start on the topic we’d been on last night, and I was having enough trouble trying to keep my mind off it.

But when he wanted to come for a ride I couldn’t tell him no. I did call him, though, for not wearing his D-R gun when we were on O.A. In no uncertain terms. I made him go back and get it.