 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This recording is by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina. Graylorn by Keith Laumer. This is Section 6. I floated a long time in a strange state between coma and consciousness. The stuff Kramer had given me was potent. It kept my mind fairly clear even when my senses were out of action. I thought about the situation aboard my ship. I wondered what Kramer and his men were planning now. How they felt about having me slip through their fingers. The only thing they could try now was blasting their way into the bridge. They'd never make it. The designers of these ships were not unaware of the hazards of space life. The bridge was an unassailable fortress. They couldn't possibly get to it. I guess that Kramer was having a pretty rough time of it now. He had convinced the men that we were rushing headlong to sure destruction at the hands of the all-powerful Mancci, and that their captain was a fool. Now he was trapped with them in the panic he had helped to create. I thought that in all probability they had torn him apart. I wavered in and out of consciousness. It was just as well. I needed the rest. Then I heard Thomas calling me. We're closing now, Captain. He said. Wake up, Captain. Only twenty-three miles now. OK. I said. My body had been preparing itself for this. Now it was ready again. I felt the needle in my arm. That helped, too. Hand me the intercom, Thomas. I said. He placed the mic in my hand. I keyed for a general announcement. This is the Captain. I said. I tried to keep my voice as steady as possible. We are now at a distance of twenty-one miles from the enemy. Stand by for missile-launching and possible evasive action. Control cruise on the alert. I paused for breath. Now we're going to take out the Manche ship, then. I said. All two miles of it. I dropped the mic and groped for the firing-key. Thomas handed it to me. Captain, he said, bending over me. I noticed you got the selector set for your chemical warheads. You wouldn't want me to set up Pluto heads for you, would you, Captain? No thanks, Thomas. I said. Chemical is what I want. Stand by to observe. I pressed the firing-key. Thomas was at the radar-scope. Missiles away, Captain. Tracking OK. Looks like they'll take out the left half of that dumb bell. I found the mic again. Missiles homing on target, I said. Strike in thirty-five seconds. You'll be interested to know we're employing chemical warheads. So far there is no sign of offence or defence from the enemy. I figured the news would shock a few mutineers. David wasn't even using his slingshot on Goliath. He was going after him bare-handed. I wanted to scare some kind of response out of them. I needed a few clues as to what was going on below. I got it. Joyce's voice came from the wall annunciator. Captain, this is Lieutenant Joyce reporting. He sounded scared all the way through and desperate. Sir, the mutiny has been successfully suppressed by the loyal members of the crew. Major Kramer is under arrest. We're prepared to go on with a search for the Omega Colony. But, sir, he paused gulping. We ask you to change course now before launching any effective attack. We'll still have a chance. Maybe they won't bother with us when those firecrackers go off. I watched the direct vision screen. Zero second closed in. And on the screen the face of the left-hand disc of the Mangchi ship was lit momentarily by a brilliant spark of yellow than another. A discolouration showed dimly against the dark metallic surface. It spread, and a faint vapor formed over it. Now tiny specks could be seen moving away from the ship. The disc elongated with infinite leisure, widening. What's happening? Cabin? Thomas asked. He was staring at the scope in fascination. They launched in scouts or what? Take a look here, Thomas, I said. The ship is breaking up. The disc was an impossibly long ellipse now, surrounded by a vast array of smaller bodies, fragments and contents of the ship. Now the stricking globe moved completely free of its companion. It rotated, presenting a crescent toward us, then wheeled farther as it receded from its twin, showing its elongation. The sphere had split wide open. Now the shattered half itself separated into two halves, and these in turn crumbled, strewing debris in a widening spiral. My God, Captain! Thomas said in awe. That's the greatest display I've ever seen. And all it took to set her off was two hundred kilos at PBL. Now that's something. I keyed the mic again. This is the Captain, I said. I want ten four-man patrols ready to go out in fifteen minutes. The enemy ship has been put out of action and is now in a derelict condition. I want only one thing from her. One live prisoner. All section chiefs report to me on the bridge on the triple. Thomas, I said. Go down in the lift and open up for the chiefs. Here's the release key for the combination. You know how to operate it? Sure, Captain. But are you sure you want to let them boys in here after the way they jumped you in all? I opened my mouth to answer, but he beat me to it. Forget I asked you that, Captain. Please, sir, you ain't been wrong yet. It's OK, Thomas, I said. There won't be any more trouble. Hippologue On the eve of the twentieth anniversary of reunion day, a throng of well-heeled celebrants filled the dining-room and overflowed onto the terraces of the Star Tower dining-room, from whose fifty-seven hundred foot height above the beaches, the Florida Keys, a hundred miles to the south, were visible on clear days. The ERA reporter stood beside the vast glass entry-way, surveying the crowd, searching for celebrities from whom he might elicit bits of color to spice the day's transmission. At the far side of the room, surrounded by chattering of buyers, stood the ambassador from the new Terran Federation, a portly, graying, jolly ex-naval officer. A minor actress passed at close range, looking the other way. A cabinet member stood at the bar talking earnestly to a ball-player, ignoring a group of hopeful reporters and fans. The ERA stringer, an experienced hand, passed over the hard-pressed VIPs near the center of the room, and started a face-by-face check of the less gregarious diners seated at obscure tables along the sides of the room. He was in luck. The straight-backed, gray-haired figure in the dark civilian suit, sitting alone at a tiny table in an alcove, caught his eye. He moved closer, straining for a clear glimpse through the crowd. Then he was sure. He had the biggest possible catch of the day in his sights. Admiral of Fleets, Frederick Graylorn. The reporter hesitated. He was well aware of the admiral's reputation for near-absolute silence on the subject of his already legendary cruise, the fabulous voyage of the Galahad. He couldn't just barge in on the admiral and demand answers, as was usual with publicity-hungry politicians and show-people. He could score the biggest story of the century today, but he had to hit him right. You couldn't hope to snow a man like the admiral. He wasn't somebody you could push around. You could sense the solid iron of him from here. Nobody else had noticed the solitary diner. The era-man drifted closer, moving unhurriedly, thinking furiously. It was no good trying some tricky approach. His best bet was the straight from the shoulder bit. No point in hesitating. He stopped beside the table. The admiral was looking out across the gulf. He turned and glanced up at the reporter. The newsman looked him squarely in the eye. I am a reporter, admiral, he said. Will you talk to me?" The admiral nodded to the seat across from him. Sit down, he said. He glanced around the room. The reporter caught the look. I'll keep it light, sir, he said. I don't want company, either. That was being frank. You want the answers to some questions, don't you? The admiral said. Why, yes, sir," the reporter said. He started to inconspicuously key his pocket recorder, but caught himself. May I record your remarks, admiral? He said. Frankness all the way. Go ahead, said the admiral. Now, admiral, the reporter began. The Tarran public has, of course, never mind the patter, son, the admiral said mildly. Know what the questions are. I've read all the memoirs of the crew. They've been coming out at the rate of about two a year for some time now. I have my own reasons for not wanting to add anything to my official statement. The admiral poured wine into his glass. Excuse me, he said. Will you join me? He signaled the waiter. Another wine-glass, please, he said. He looked at the golden wine in the glass. Held it up to the light. You know, the Florida wines are as good as any in the world, he said. But that's not to say the California and Ohio wines aren't good. But this flora pinealis is a genuine original, not an imitation rind, and it compares favorably with the best of the old vintages, particularly the 87. The glass arrived, and the waiter poured. The reporter had the wit to remain silent. The first question is usually, how did I know I could tank the Mangchi ship? After all, it was big, vast. It loomed over us like a mountain. The Mangchi themselves weighed almost two tons each. They liked 6G gravity. They blasted our communications off the air just for practice. They talked big, too. We were invaders in their territory. They were amused by us. So where did I get the notion that our attack would be anything more than a joke to them? That's the big question. The Admiral shook his head. The answer is quite simple. In the first place, they were pulling 6Gs by a primitive dumbbell configuration. The only reason for that type of layout, as students of early space vessel design can tell you, is to simplify setting up a G field effect using centrifugal force, so they obviously had no gravity field generators. Then their transmission was crude. All they had was simple old-fashioned shortwave radio, and even that was noisy and erratic. And their reception was as bad. We had to use a kilowatt before they could pick it up at 200 miles. We didn't know then it was all organically generated that they had no equipment. The Admiral sipped his wine frowning at the recollection. I was pretty sure they were bluffing when I changed course and started after them. I had to hold our acceleration down to two and a half Gs because I had to be able to move around the ship. And at that acceleration we gained on them. They couldn't beat us. It wasn't because they couldn't take high Gs. They liked 6 for comfort, you remember. No, they just didn't have the power. The Admiral looked out the window. Had to that the fact that they apparently couldn't generate ordinary electric current. I admit that none of this was conclusive, but after all, if I was wrong we were sunk anyway. When Thomas told me the nature of the damage to our radar and communication systems, that was another hint. Their big display of mancgy power was just a blast of radiation right across the communication spectrum. It burned tubes and blew fuses, nothing else. We were back in operation an hour after our attack. The evidence was there to see, but there's something about giant size that gets people rattled. Size alone doesn't mean a thing. It's rather like the bluff the Soviets ran on the rest of the world for a couple of decades back in the war era. Just because they sprawled over half the globe. They were a giant, though it was mostly frozen desert. When the showdown came they didn't have it. They were a pushover. All right, the next question is why did I choose HE instead of going in with everything I had? That's easy too. What I wanted was information, not revenge. I still had the heavy stuff in reserve and ready to go if I needed it, but first I had to try to take them alive. Vaporizing them wouldn't have helped our position. And I was lucky. It worked. The, uh, confusion below evaporated as soon as the section chiefs got a look at the screens and realized that we had actually knocked out the mancgy. We matched speeds with the wreckage and the patrols went out to look for a piece of ship with a survivor in it. If we'd had no luck we would have tackled the other half of the ship which was still intact and moving off fast. But we got quite a shock when we found the nature of the wreckage. The admiral grinned. Of course today everybody knows all about the mancgy hive intelligence and their evolutionary history. But we were pretty startled to find that the only wreckage consisted of the mancgy themselves each two-ton slug in his own hard, kite and shell. Of course a lot of the cells were ruptured by the explosions but most of them had simply disassociated from the hive mass as it broke up. So there was no ship, just a cluster of cells like a giant bee hive and mixed up among the slugs the damnedest collection of loot you can imagine. The odds and ends they'd stolen and tucked away in the hive during a couple hundred years of camp following. The patrols brought a couple of cells alongside and Manium went out to try to establish contact. Sure enough he got a very faint transmission on the same bands as before. The cells were talking to each other in their own language. They ignored Manium even though his transmission must have blanketed everything within several hundred miles. We eventually brought one of them into the cargo-lock and started trying different wavelengths on it. Then Kramer had the idea of planting a couple of electrodes and shooting a little juice to it. Of course it loved the DC but as soon as we tried AC it gave up. So we had a long talk with it and found out everything we needed to know. It was a four-week run to the nearest outpost planet of the New Terran Federation and they took me on to New Terrah aboard one of their fast liaison vessels. The rest you know. We, the home planet, were as lost to the New Terrans as they were to us. They greeted us as though we were their own ancestors come back to visit them. Most of my crew, for personal reasons, were released from duty there and settled down to stay. The cleanup job here on earth was a minor operation to their navy. As I recall the trip back was made in a little over five months and the red tide was killed within four weeks of the day the task force arrived. I don't think they wasted a motion. One explosive charge per cell of just sufficient size to disrupt the nucleus. When the critical number of cells had been killed the rest died overnight. It was quite a different earth that emerged from under the plague though. You know it had taken over all the land area except North America and a strip of Western Europe and all of the sea it wanted. It was particularly concentrated over what had been the jungle areas of South America, Africa and Asia. You must realize that in the days before the tide those areas were almost completely uninhabitable. You have no idea what the term jungle really implied. When the tide died it disintegrated into its component molecules and the result was that all of those vast fertile jungle lands were now beautifully leveled and completely cleared area covered with up to twenty feet of the richest topsoil imaginable. That was what made it possible for old Tara to become what she is today, the Federation's truck farm and the sole source of those genuine original Terran foods that all the rest of the worlds pay such fabulous prices for. Strange how quickly we forget. Few people today remember how we loathed and feared the tide when we were fighting it. Now it's dismissed as a blessing in disguise. The Admiral paused. Well, he said, I think that answers the questions and gives you a bit of homespun philosophy to go with it. Admiral, said the reporter, You'd given the public some facts it's wanted a long time to hear. Coming from you, sir, this is the greatest story that could have come out of this reunion-day celebration, but there is one question more, if I may ask it. Can you tell me, Admiral, just how it was that you rejected what seemed to be prima facie proof of the story that Macchi told, that they were the lords of creation out there and that humanity was nothing but a tame food animal to them? The Admiral sighed. I guess it's a good question, he said. But there was nothing supernatural about my figuring that one. I didn't suspect the full truth, of course. It never occurred to me that we were the victims of the now well-known, but still inexplicable sense of humor of the Macchi, or that they were nothing but scavengers around the edges of the Federation. The original Omega ship had met them and seen right through them. Well, when this hive spotted us coming in they knew enough about New Terra to realize at once that we were strangers, coming from outside the area. It appealed to their sense of humor to have the gall to strut right out in front of us and try to pull over a swindle. What a laugh for the Oyster Kingdom if they could sell Terrans on the idea that they were the master race. It never occurred to them that we might be anything but Terrans, Terrans who didn't know the Macchi, and they were canny enough to use an old form of interlingua, somewhere they'd met men before. Then we needed food. They knew what we ate, and that was where they went too far. They had, among the flotsam in their hive, a few human bodies they had picked up from some wreck they'd come across in their travels. They had them stashed away like everything else they could lay a pseudopod on. So they stacked them the way they'd seen Terran frozen foods shipped in the past and sent them over, another of their little jokes. I suppose if you're already overwrought and eager to quit, and you've been badly scared by the size of an alien ship, it's pretty understandable that the sight of human bodies, along with the story that they're just a convenient food supply, might seem pretty convincing. But I was already pretty dubious about the genuineness of our pals, and when I saw those bodies it was pretty plain that we were hot on the trail of Omega Colony. There was no other place humans could have come from out there. We had to find out the location from the Macchi. But Admiral, said the reporter, true enough they were humans and presumably had some connection with the Colony, but they were naked corpses stacked like cordwood. The Macchi had stated that these were slaves, or rather domesticated animals. They wouldn't have done you any good. Well, you see, I didn't believe that, the Admiral said. Because it was an obvious lie. I tried to show some of the officers, but I'm afraid they weren't being too rational just then. I went into the locker and examined those bodies. If Kramer had looked closely, he would have seen what I did. These were no tame animals. They were civilized men. How can you be so sure, Admiral? They had no clothing, no identifying marks, nothing. Why didn't you believe they were cattle? Because, said the Admiral, all the men had nice, neat haircuts. The end.