The Sword
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THE SWORD
By Frank Quattrocchi
Illustrated by Tom Beecham
[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from IF Worlds of ScienceFiction March 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence thatthe U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
[Sidenote: _There were but three days in which to decipher the mostcryptic message ever delivered to earth._]
George Harrison noticed the flashing red light on the instrument panelas he turned onto the bridge to Balboa Island. Just over the bridge, hepulled the car to the curb and flipped the switch with violence."Harrison," he muttered.
"How's the water, fella?" asked the voice of Bob Mills, his assistant.
There was a beautiful moon over the island. The surf lapped at the tiersof the picturesque bridge. Soft music was playing somewhere. There was atinkle of young laughter on the light sea breeze.
Harrison was vacationing and he viewed the emergency contact fromIntersolar Spaceport with annoyance.
"What do you want, Bob?"
"Sorry, George," Bob Mills said more seriously. "I guess you got to comeback."
"Listen--" protested Harrison.
"Orders, George--orders from upstairs."
Harrison took a long look at the pleasant island street stretching outbefore him. Sea-corroded street lamps lit the short, islandthoroughfare. People in light blue jeans, bronzed youths in skippercaps, deep-tanned girls in terry-cloth.
"What the hell is it?"
"Don't know, but it's big. Better hurry." He clicked off.
Harrison skidded the car into a squealing turn. Angrily, he raced overthe bridge and onto the roaring highway. Thirty minutes later IntersolarSpaceport, Los Angeles, blazed ahead of him.
The main gate guards waved him in immediately and two cycle guards raninterference for him through the scores of video newsmen who lined thespaceport street.
Bob Mills met him at the entrance to the Administration building.
"Sorry, George, but--"
"Yeah. Oh, sure. Now what the hell is it all about?"
Mills handed him a sheaf of tele-transmittals. They bore heavy secretstamps. Harrison looked up quizzically.
"You saw the video boys," Mills said. "The wheels think there might besome hysteria."
"Any reason for it?"
"Not that we know of--not that _I_ know of anyway. The thing is comingin awfully fast--speed of light times a factor of at least two, maybefour."
Harrison whistled softly and scanned the reports frowning.
"They contacted us--"
"What?"
"_--in perfect Intersolar Convention code._ Said they were coming in.That's all. The port boys have done all they could to find out what toexpect and prepare for it. Somebody thought Engineering might beneeded--that's why they sent for you."
"Used Intersolar Convention code, eh," mused Harrison.
"Yes," said Mills. "But there's nothing like this thing known in thesolar system, nothing even close to this fast. Besides that, there was asighting several days ago that's being studied.
"One of the radio observatories claims to have received a new signalfrom one of the star clusters...."
* * * * *
The huge metal vessel settled to a perfect contact with its assignedstrip. It hovered over the geometric center of the long runway andtouched without raising a speck of dust.
Not a sound, not a puff of smoke issued from any part of it. Immediatelyit rose a few feet above the concrete and began to move toward theparking strip. It moved with the weightless ease of an ancient dirigibleon a still day. It was easily the largest, strangest object ever seenbefore at the spaceport.
A team of searchlight men swivelled the large spot atop the tower andbathed the ship in orange light.
"What's that mean?" asked Mills paging his way through a book.
"'Halt propulsion equipment,' I think," said Harrison.
"It's a good thing the code makers were vague about that," smiled Mills."It's a good thing they didn't say jets or rockets--'cause this thinghasn't got any."
"_Attention!_"
That single word suddenly issued from the alien ship.
"_The Races of Wan greet you._"
It might have been the voice of a frog. It was low, gutteral, entirelyalien, entirely without either enthusiasm or trace of human emotion.
"Jesus!" muttered Mills.
Scores of video teams focused equipment on the gleaming alien.
"_The Races of Wan desire contact with you._"
"In English yet!" amazed Mills.
"The basis of this contact together with its nature are dependent upon_you_!"
The voice had become ugly. There was nothing human about it save onlythe words, which were in flawless English.
"Your system has long been under surveillance by the Races of Wan.Your--progress has been noted."
There was almost a note of contempt, thought Harrison, in the lastsentence.
"Your system is about to reach others. It therefore becomes a matter ofurgency that the Races of Wan make contact.
"Your cultural grasp is as yet quite small. You reach four of your ownsystem's planets. You have attempted--with little success--colonization.You anticipate further penetrations.
"You master the physical conditions of your system with difficulty. Youare a victim of many of the natural laws--natural laws which you dimlyperceive.
"But you master yourselves with greatest difficulty, and you areinfinitely more a victim of forces within your very nature--_forceswhich you know almost not at all_."
"What the hell--" began Mills.
"Because of this disparity your maturity as a race is much in doubt.There are many among the cultures of the stars who would consider yourrace deviant and deadly. There are a very few who would welcome you tothe reaches of space.
"But most desire more information. Thus our visit. We have come togather data that will determine your--disposition--
"Your race accepts the principle of extermination. You relentlessly seekand kill for commercial or political advantage. You live in mistrust andenvy and threat. Yet, as earthlings, you have power. It is not great,but it contains a threat. We wish now to know the extent of that threat.
"Here is the test."
Suddenly an image resolved itself on the gleaming metal of the shipitself.
_It was a blueprint._
A hundred cameras focused on it.
"_Construct this. It is defective. Correct that which renders it notuseful. We shall return in three days for your solution._"
"Good God!" exclaimed Harrison. "It's a--_sword_!"
"A what?" asked Mills.
"A sword--people used to chop each other's heads off with them."
Almost at once the metal giant was seen to move. Quickly it retraced itspath across the apron, remained poised on the center of the runway, thendisappeared almost instantaneously.
* * * * *
The Intersolar Council weathered the storm. The representative of thecolony on Venus was recalled, his political life temporarily ended. Avigilante committee did for a time picket the spaceport. But thetremendous emotional outbursts of the first day gradually gave way to asemblance of order.
Video speakers, some of them with huge followings, still denounced theISC for permitting the alien to land in the first place. Others clamoredfor a fleet to pursue the arrogant visitor. And there were many foolswho chose to ignore the implications of the strange speech and itsimplied threat. Some even thought it was a gigantic hoax.
But most
men soon came to restore their trust in the scientists of theIntersolar Council.
Harrison cast down the long sheet of morning news that had rolled out ofthe machine.
"The fools! They'll play politics right up to the last, won't they?"
"What else?" asked Mills. "Playing politics is as good a way as any ofavoiding what you can't figure out or solve."
"And yet, what the hell are _we_ doing here?" Harrison mused. "Listen tothis."
He picked up a stapled sheaf of papers from his desk.
"'_Analysis of word usage indicates a complete knowledge of the Englishlanguage_'--that's brilliant, isn't it? '_The ideational content andgeneral semantic tone of the alien speech indicates a relatively highintelligence._
"'_Usage is current,