The Seed of Evil

As he turned to go back the way he had come, he heard footsteps.

Freezing, he listened. They weren’t as near as he had thought at first—but they were quite near. He darted forward, back round the bend, then listened again. They became louder.

About twenty yards down the corridor, a figure appeared from an intersecting tunnel, crossed the corridor, then disappeared on the other side. Slowly, the footsteps faded away.

He hadn’t been seen, but it did show that the starship’s outer layers were not altogether deserted. He needed to be careful.

Quickly, he regained the populated parts of the ship and made his way to his own cabin. There, in a state of nervous exhaustion, he went to bed and immediately fell straight to sleep.

Brian met Mercer again in the main lounge the next day. When Mercer walked in, he was already waiting there, sitting quietly and watching the people around him.

Superficially, he seemed more cheerful, but talked less. It did not take Mercer long to realise that the apparent good humour was more nerves than anything else. Underneath, Brian was just as subdued, but something had been added. Usually, he gave the impression of purposelessness; today, he had tapped his inner resources and seemed to be going about something.

Mercer found the phenomenon vaguely sinister.

He followed Brian’s line of talk cautiously, almost unwillingly. It seemed inconsequential at first, but its very oddness told Mercer that his friend was clumsily trying to lead up to some subject he was reluctant to approach directly.

Mercer could not help smiling to himself. He had no idea what the matter was, but if he knew Brian it was bound to be something that could not possibly be approached indirectly. When the subject was finally broached, it would jar even more on the casual talk than if it had been offered as an opening gambit.

Eventually it came. Brian coughed.

“There’s something very interesting about these starships,” he said in a tone different from before.

“Yes?” Mercer said, glad to take the bait. “What’s that?”

Brian leaned forward, and seemed to be searching for words.

“Have you ever wondered,” he said in a low voice, “why interstellar ships are always officered by Scientocrats?”

Mercer considered the unexpected, though perfectly reasonable, question.

At that moment three technical crew officers happened to pass by, and he watched them speculatively. Tall, austere, aloof, they swept by without seeming to notice anything of their surroundings. On the fronts of their white shirts and the backs of their yellow cloaks was emblazoned the prime scientific diagram: three vectors interlocked with three others, portraying the structure of space and matter.

Slowly, he said, “No.”

“I have. Why should they be? Spaceships aren’t so difficult to handle. Much more complicated jobs are left to common technicians like yourself. Why are the precious Scientocrats forced into such a menial business?”

“I don’t know.”

Still speaking low, Brian continued: “I know something not many people do. These Scientocrats have to visit the Innermost Chamber before they are given command of their first ship and receive some kind of information.”

Mercer looked at him in mild astonishment. “What is it?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.”

“You make it sound very mysterious.”

“I don’t think so. But it must be something real. To keep it from public knowledge, it must be something. …” He sought for a word.

“Deep?” Mercer suggested.

“If you like. At any rate, it must be highly unusual. I think it’s something to do with why these ships have no direct outside view.”

“Why?”

“Doesn’t it strike you as strange that tens of thousands of people take journeys on these marvellous, safe ships, without ever getting a glimpse of space?”

“You mean out there is something … different—”

“Different.” Brian joined him on the last word.

“Not what we thought. Hmm.” Mercer sat back, his face puckered pensively. Brian could see in that face the sixteen-year-old boy suddenly confronted by a new scientific puzzle.

“It might be something political,” Mercer surmised. “Perhaps another space-travelling race is hostile. The government could well decide to keep quiet about that, and leave passengers in the dark if they should hove to or attack. For that matter there might be a space battle going on right now and we wouldn’t know about it.”

“Unless we were hit. Even then, there are the television screens.”

“Television screens can be switched off. I agree, though, I’m just bantering. Don’t the screens invalidate your argument, though? You can look outside on those at any time.”

“It’s not the same. It’s only a picture, not the real thing. Like looking at a photograph. That’s what gave me an idea of what it is.”

“Something psychological?” Mercer asked, quick to pick up Brian’s train of thought. “Yes, that could be it. Perhaps it makes people neurotic to have a window on the universe.”