The Whispering Spheres | Page 5

car, where Norden already was coming out of his daze.
"Keep quiet!" Taylor ordered. "They'll discover us."
"They'll find us anyway!" Orkins said, frantic with fear. He groaned loudly.
"Okay. He asked for it," Masters said.
There was a splatting sound as Masters' fist landed. Masters made a face over a distasteful duty done and turned to Pember:
"Put them both in the car." He indicated Norden. "Here's handcuffs. Lock them together."
Taylor and Masters watched the circling spheres. Suddenly one darted down. From its pulsating body shot a flash of flame. A human scream rent the air.
"It's the darnedest thing I ever saw," Masters said with a shudder. "Those fireballs squirt heat-electricity out at a guy and roast him!"
"Yes," Taylor said with a nod, "and that isn't all. Those spheres act as though they were alive. When that one went out above the opening of the tunnel, I thought I saw a pair of eyes."
Masters studied the assertion, then spoke:
"Captain, I may look dumb, but I've been in the secret service long enough to be found out if I really am. I've a hunch you killed that sphere."
"I've thought of that, but how could I? I didn't touch him."
"Maybe you don't have to touch 'em to kill 'em. We don't know what they are, except they're different--"
"We don't know the real natures of anything, as far as that goes. Man's a mixture of chemicals, but that doesn't explain him. The spheres are a mixture of energies--we can observe that much, but it still doesn't explain them. Where are they from? Why did they come here? What are their primary objectives?"
"Primary objectives? That's a military term, ain't it?"
"Partly military, and partly scientific. We know the secondary objective of the spheres. It's the same as man's or any other living creature. The spheres are alive and their objective is to keep on living, but that isn't their primary motif. The primary objective is the difference between a good man and a bad one. Whatever is more important to a man than life itself is his primary objective."
"Life's pretty important," Masters said, solemnly.
"Yes, but life isn't everything. Any man, no matter how yellow or mean he is, has some ideal he's willing to die for--or at least he's willing to risk dying to attain. Look at Norden. He's hard, cold-blooded and he doesn't think twice about putting a bomb in a plant to wipe out scores of lives. He dared me to kill him, rather than help us. His code as a spy is his primary objective. Look at Pember. He must have been frightened by the spheres, but we had to force him to leave his post. We've shown him that his duty now is with us--he realizes that the spheres are the immediate enemy of his country and he'll do his best fighting them. And you and I have ideals--we know each other too well to list them."
"I getcha so far, but what about Orkins?"
"The man's not afraid of death, but afraid of the unknown. Men like him commit suicide rather than face reality. He wants security. He's afraid of uncertainty. He lives in an unreal, imaginary world and when uncertainty, which is reality, intrudes, he is completely lost."
"You make me feel sorry for the poor devil."
"That's because you understand why he's funky. Primary objectives make men do what they do--but understanding Orkins doesn't solve our problem."
"No. What are the spheres? Are they alive? If so, they must want something. What do they want?"
"A conquest of the human race?" Taylor pondered. "Maybe. But it isn't likely. They can't gain much by conquering us. It wouldn't do man any good to stage a conquest of earthworms and swordfish, since neither could pay taxes. The spheres are as different from man as man from an angle-worm. Are we a menace to the spheres? Apparently the only time we really menace them is when we crawl into a hole like a rabbit--maybe there's something in that that will help us, but I don't think that's why they kill us. Are we a nuisance? If so, why? Are we a food? There is energy in sunlight and chemicals in the human body. A creature of energy would feed on something like sunlight, not chemicals. His menu would be electric wires, storage batteries--"
"Great Scott, Captain!" Masters interrupted. "Let's get away from this car. There's a battery in it--food for the spheres!"
Masters looked nervously up at the circling globes. Taylor, deep in thought, did not stir. Instead, he continued his speculation:
"Maybe they kill us for sport."
He was thinking of small boys torturing frogs; of Roman emperors at the circus; of sportsmen exterminating game; of the mob watching the guillotine on the streets of Paris. It was Zarathustra who said that when gazing at tragedies, bull fights and crucifixions, man has felt his