They stared fixedly at one another. The Cophian felt the clammy cloak of hate creeping about him. The tone from the speaker suddenly stopped. A moment of dead silence. Roki leaned back in his chair.
“I’m not going to answer the first signal.”
The commander glanced through the doorway and jerked his head. A moment later, Talcwa Walkeka stepped proudly into the room, escorted by a burly guard. She gave him an icy glance and said nothing.
“Daleth—”
She made a noise like an angry cat and sat where the guard pushed her. They waited. The first signal suddenly screeched from the receiver: two series of short bleats of three different notes.
Involuntarily his hand leaped to the key. He bleated back the answering signal.
Daleth wore a puzzled frown. “Ilgen times ufneg is hork-segan,” she muttered in translation.
A slow grin spread across Hulgruv’s heavy face. He turned to look at the girl. “You’re trained in the Cophian number system?”
“Don’t answer that!” Roki bellowed.
“She has answered it, manthing. Are you aware of what your friend is doing, female?”
She shook her head. Hulgruv told her briefly. She frowned at Roki, shook her head, and stared impassively at the floor. Apparently she was either drugged or had learned nothing about the Solarians to convince her that they were enemies of the galaxy.
“Tell me, Daleth. Have they been feeding you well?”
She hissed at him again. “Are you crazy—”
Hulgruv chuckled. “He is trying to tell you that we are cannibals. Do you believe it?”
Fright appeared in her face for an instant, then disbelief. She stared at the commander, saw no guilt in his expression. She looked scorn at Roki.
“Listen, Daleth! That’s why they wouldn’t stop. Human livestock aboard. One look in their holds and we would have known, seen through their guise of mercy, recognized them as self-styled supermen, guessed their plans for galactic conquest. They breed their human cattle on their home planet and make a business of selling the parts. Their first weapon is infiltration into our confidence. They knew that if we gained an insight into their bloodthirsty culture, we would crush them.”
“You’re insane, Roki!” she snapped.
“No! Why else would they refuse to stop? Technical secrets? Baloney! Their technology is still inferior to ours. They carried a cargo of hate, our hate, riding with them unrecognized. They couldn’t afford to reveal it.”
Hulgruv laughed uproariously. The girl shook her head slowly at Roki, as if pitying him.
“It’s true, I tell you! I guessed, sure. But it was pretty obvious they were taking their surgibank supplies by murder. And they contend they’re not men. They guard their ships so closely, live around them while in port. And he admitted it to me.”
The second signal came. Roki answered it, then began ignoring the girl. She didn’t believe him. Hulgruv appeared amused. He hummed the signals over to himself—without mistake.
“You’re using polytonal code for challenge, monotonal for reply. That makes it harder to learn.”
The Cophian caught his breath. He glanced at the Solarian’s huge, bald braincase. “You hope to learn some three or four hundred sounds—and sound-combinations within the time I allow you?”
“We’ll see.”
Some note of contempt in Hulgruv’s voice gave Roki warning.
“I shorten my ultimatum to one hour! Decide by then. Surrender, or I stop answering. Learn it, if you can.”
“He can, Roki,” muttered Daleth. “They can memorize a whole page at a glance.”
Roki keyed another answer. “I’ll cut it off if he tries it.”
The commander was enduring the tension of the stalemate superbly. “Ask yourself, Cophian,” he grunted with a smile, “what would you gain by destroying the ship—and yourself? We are not important. If we’re destroyed, our planet loses another gnat in space, nothing more. Do you imagine we are incapable of self-sacrifice?”
Roki found no answer. He set his jaw in silence and answered the signals as they came. He hoped the bluff would win, but now he saw that Hulgruv would let him destroy the ship. And—if the situation were reversed, Roki knew that he would do the same. He had mistakenly refused to concede honor to an enemy. The commander seemed to sense his quiet dismay, and he leaned forward to speak softly.
“We are a new race, Roki—grown out of man. We have abilities of which you know nothing. It’s useless to fight us. Ultimately, your people will pass away. Or become stagnant. Already it has happened to man on Earth.”
“Then—there are two races on Earth.”
“Yes, of course. Did apes pass away when man appeared? The new does not replace the old. It adds to it, builds above it. The old species is the root of the new tree.”
“Feeding it,” the Cophian grunted bitterly.
He noticed that Talewa was becoming disturbed. Her eyes fluttered from one to the other of them.
“That was inevitable, manthing. There are no other animal foodstuffs on Earth. Man exhausted his planet, overpopulated it, drove lesser species into extinction. He spent the world’s resources getting your ancestors to the denser star-clusters. He saw his own approaching stagnation on Earth. And, since Sol is near the rim of the galaxy, with no close star-neighbors, he realized he could never achieve a mass-exodus into space. He didn’t have the C-drive in its present form. The best he could do was a field-cancellation drive.”
“But that’s the heart of the C-drive.”
“True. But he was too stupid to realize what he had. He penetrated the fifth component and failed to realize what he had done. His ships went up to five-hundred C’s or so, spent a few hours there by the ship’s clock, and came down to find several years had passed on Earth. They never got around that time-lag.”
“But that’s hardly more than a problem in five-space navigation!”
“True again. But they still thought of it in terms of field-cancellation. They didn’t realize they’d actually left the four-space continuum. They failed to see the blue-shift as anything more than a field-phenomenon. Even in high-C, you measure light’s velocity as the same constant—because your measuring instruments have changed proportionally. It’s different, relative to the home continuum, but you can’t know it except by pure reasoning. They never found out.
“Using what they had, they saw that they could send a few of their numbers to the denser star-clusters, if they wanted to wait twenty thousand years for them to arrive. Of course, only a few years would pass aboard ship. They knew they could do it, but they procrastinated. Society was egalitarian at the time. Who would go? And why should the planet’s industry exhaust itself to launch a handful of ships that no one would ever see again? Who wanted to make a twenty thousand year investment that would impoverish the world? Sol’s atomic resources were never plentiful.”
“How did it come about then?”
“Through a small group of men who didn’t care about the cost. They seized power during a ‘population rebellion’—when the sterilizers were fighting the euthanasiasts and the do-nothings. The small clique came into power by the fantastic promise of draining off the population-surplus into space. Enough of the stupid believed it to furnish them with a strong backing. They clamped censorship on the news agencies and imprisoned everyone who said it couldn’t be done. They put the planet to work building ships. Their fanatic personal philosophy was: ‘We are giving the galaxy to Man. What does it matter if he perishes on Earth?’ They put about twelve hundred ships into space before their slave-structure collapsed. Man never developed another technology on Sol III. He was sick of it.”
“And your people?”