The McElvoy File

by Brian Herbert and Marie Landis

Released from the Mother Ship, the Egg slipped silently through the void. Inside its oval body, four metal creatures with articulated arms checked the life support systems of the two-man crew and beamed data to the Mother Ship. As they worked, miniature cameras whirred in the background, taking in the universe with unfeeling eyes.

When the time was right, the metal creatures awakened the two humans, John Collings and Timothy McElvoy.

Collings hoisted his heavy frame and stretched his legs. “Good sleep?” he asked his companion, then removed a Speedwriter from his pocket. Smiling, he key-punched an entry into the small, ovoid-shaped electronic notebook.

McElvoy inhaled a deep breath and ran a hand through thinning red hair. What’s that Psych-Tech bastard writing? he wondered. Something about me, I’ll bet. As usual he’ll ask me questions I can’t answer and give me answers I can’t question, playing like it’s more than writer’s curiosity on his part. Psychobabble. I know he’s really a Psych-Tech. He’s spying on me, checking my mental stability so they can lay me off.

McElvoy hadn’t liked Collings when they’d gone through orientation together. Though they’d introduced him as an observer, a writer who’d be compiling notes for a new government scientific report, he’d seemed too self-assured, too friendly. McElvoy suspected he was really a trained psychoanalyst, concealing his true job description in order to lower the targeted person’s defenses.

McElvoy heard the computer-chatter of the Egg’s four robots as they worked inside the compartment with him. He hoped the landing they were designing was a smooth one.

Collings smiled and extended his hand. “Sorry we didn’t get better acquainted earlier. I look forward to helping you in any way I can during this expedition. I’m eager for the adventure.”

McElvoy frowned. “This isn’t an expedition, it’s a routine visit to a planet that’s already been scanned by drone spacecraft. We aren’t going there to explore or experience adventures. Nothing but chores lie ahead of us. So just relax, Collings, while the Egg takes us gently down the gravity wells, and we coast to the planet’s surface.”

“Like a ball bearing rolling around the inner sides of a bowl.”

“Something like that.”

“Fuzzy boundary trajectory, right?”

Without answering, McElvoy turned his attention away from Collings and gave the robots a verbal command, his approval to land.

Almost there. Just a few moments longer.…

Collings asked, “Do you ever think about the size of the Egg in relation to the huge galaxy we’re traveling through?”

“Not if I can help it.”

Doubts continued to blow like storm clouds in the restless environment of McElvoy’s mind. A tiny Egg in the vastness of space. He doesn’t fool me with that philosophical garbage. It was a test question, to see if I’m mentally fit.

McElvoy pretended to busy himself with scanning data on the screen of a handheld receiver. It confirmed what he’d learned previously: The planet was rocks and dirt and primitive vegetation with an insectoid reproductive system. He voice-activated the receiver to scroll forward. Favorable information appeared: No uncertain climate, no dangerous bacteria, no humanoid monsters. Oxygen level low, but that was no problem, if you wore a helmet. He and Collings would be the first and probably last intelligent life forms to visit this place.

“Perform the tests, take the samples and get out,” the bureaucrats had ordered. In and out. Easy to follow instructions for a piece of equipment made of tough, flexible metals. Not so easy for pulp and juice humans who were about to face an alien environment. Scanning data, no matter how favorable it appeared, never told the whole story. That’s why humans were needed on-site, making important decisions that machines couldn’t make. It was all a matter of dollars and cents. The bureaucrats running the agency had discovered that it was cheaper to send at least one human along on such missions.

A troublesome piece of information surfaced in his mind. Insectoid reproductive systems? What the hell did that mean?

Over the years he’d concentrated on rocks, not plants. One of the team members on the Mother Ship was a botanist, with nice legs and smooth brown skin. She’d be waking up right about now with the others, from the hibernation of the journey from Earth. When McElvoy returned to the Mother Ship he’d see if he could get to know her better.

“Exactly what are your responsibilities?” Collings asked.

McElvoy’s words stumbled forth. “I-I—” Dammit, he was stuttering. Hadn’t done so in years, but here he was stumbling over words the way he’d done as a child, whenever he’d been nervous or uncertain. He tried again. “I believe that question was addressed during orientation, but I’ll answer it again. I’m a Geologist, Grade Three. I examine and sort mineral samples.”

“Don’t robots do that sort of work?”

“Humans are still part of the process.” At least for the time being. McElvoy believed his experience and creativity were valuable assets, even in a galaxy rampant with robots. Nevertheless, he’d long suspected his usefulness as a geologist was as fragile as a Tamarian crystal, the most perishable gemstone known to man. Periodically, his superiors sent psych-techs to Mother Ships to check the human crews and remove those who no longer functioned properly. Lately, the number of people assigned to such missions had declined sharply. Was it his turn now? Had his executioner finally arrived in the form of Collings? And without his career what would he be?

Nothing! Deep space geology was all he knew, or wished to know.

“The universe is chaos,” said Collings. “Man likes to think there’s a plan out here, but is there?”

“Here we go,” said McElvoy, as the Egg began its descending spiral. He watched the gray-green world below rise to meet the Egg. The landing was quick and soft.

Collings resumed the conversation. “What’s next?” he asked.

“We stay put and let the robots gather samples.”

“That’s all?”

“For the time being. After analyzing the data I might go outside and I might not. It’s my call.”

“You don’t always set foot on planets? I thought that was part of the deal, one of the reasons humans are sent.”

McElvoy shook his head. “I’ve seen so many planets that I know when one is like another and when it’s unique. I only get out if it’s something special, or if the data needs further elaboration.”

“Is that right?” Collings was using his infernal Speedwriter again.

McElvoy didn’t tell Collings that he hadn’t left the Egg for almost five years, that a great fear of unknown places had taken possession of him, had fed on his self-confidence and chewed it into pulp. It had caused him to falsify reports to his superiors. Is that what this was all about? Someone had discovered that he never went outside anymore?

“It would be interesting to go out there,” Collings said, peering through the porthole. “Unusual colors on the planetary surface.”

“You don’t know what you’re looking at,” McElvoy said, not bothering to conceal his scorn.

Five years ago, protected by his spacesuit and scanning data the bureaucrats had furnished, McElvoy had stepped onto the boggy landscape of a newly discovered planet. Immediately, a man-sized, sluglike creature had risen from the soft soil and attached itself to his spacesuit, positioning its slimy head in front of the thick glass of his helmet. It had stared with intelligent, malevolent eyes, blinking and knowing. McElvoy was certain that the creature sensed everything about him and wanted him to know that it did.

Though McElvoy had tried to disentangle himself and had signaled for assistance, no one came. The creature had mouthed unintelligible words through an orifice filled with teeth and a razor-edged tongue that lapped at his faceplate with obscene pleasure. Finally McElvoy had torn himself loose and returned to his ship, shouting hysterically.

“Hmmm” said the bureaucrat to whom he’d complained. “That animal didn’t show up on our scanning data. Perhaps you hallucinated.”

McElvoy received no psychological counseling, and his discovery was never added to the official report. From that moment on, he had not trusted any government functionary.

Collings tapped rapidly, made constant entries in the small Speedwriter. He had a tendency to use the device at a distance, where McElvoy couldn’t see what he was writing.

He knows my case history, McElvoy thought. I’d like to get ahold of those notes.

McElvoy opened the door to the airlock chamber, released the four robots and closed the inside door quickly. A din of noise arose from the chamber as the robots moved to open the outside door themselves.

On the central monitor he watched their thin, silver skeletons dance across the planet’s alien rocks and under the gray-green vegetation.

So manlike, he thought.

The mechanical units were at least seven feet tall, but the vegetation was two or three times that height. It grew in large clumps that rose upward in ragged shapes that seemed to curl and crouch like clawed beasts.

No way would he go outside the Egg!

Collings flexed his muscular arms. “In a way those robots remind me of humans. Like us, only more durable. Does that ever bother you? Your mortality in contrast to a robot’s long years if potential service?”

“Nothing I worry about.” McElvoy said. He’s probing for my weaknesses. Through one of the three monitors on the Egg, McElvoy watched activities outside. Other than the short, abrupt motions of the robots, everything seemed placid. No winds ruffled the ugly vegetation.

Troublesome information resurfaced in his brain: Insectoid reproductive system?

He rechecked that portion of the scanning data. “Plant Life—Planet 4579Z; Quadrant 4, Sector II: Acute sensory ability. Complicated reproductive organs, insectoid in nature. Complex proteins required for reproduction. Seeds scattered in the manner of spores. Incubation of seeds …” He skimmed over a lengthy scientific explanation about stronger plants cannibalizing weaker ones by encasing them in chrysalis formations that rock-hardened in five to six hours. “… Eventually the young plants are ejected forcibly from the chrysalis.”

Watching over McElvoy’s shoulder, Collings read along with him, and commented, “Frightening way to have sex wouldn’t you say? Turning your neighbor into a mummy? So the chrysalis protects the seeds from the stronger plants and the weaker, encapsulated plants provide nutrition for the growth of new ones.”

“Nothing to do with my job,” answered McElvoy. Get away from me, Collings, you know-it-all psych-tech! He heard something outside the ship, as if a heavy object was being scraped across the ground. The robots returning? So soon?

“Let’s get our suits on,” Collings said. “I want some on-planet experience for the bulletin I’m writing. Need sensory details, visual and tactile.”

Bulletin, my ass, McElvoy thought. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Collings moving about, setting his infernal Speedwriter on a shelf and reaching for one of the bright yellow spacesuits that hung on the wall of the capsule.

McElvoy glanced at the port monitor. A murky gray cloud covered its screen. He looked across the cabin at the starboard monitor. It too, had turned a dismal gray. Fog? He’d seen some peculiar weather in his twenty-two years in the Planetary Service, from the black, sulfuric fog of Sturpes Nine to the invisible rain of Homoggey, the “weeping planet.” Even though the meteorological data about this place was reassuring and stated there would be no severe climactic changes, you could never be certain. He’d been fooled before.

“Don’t go outside,” McElvoy said. “Looks like some kind of fog out there. Don’t want to get into anything our suits can’t handle.”

“Like a mist that eats through spacesuits?” The words were followed by a weak chuckle.

McElvoy was silent.

The port and starboard monitors continued to darken. Collings watched them for a moment, then inserted his legs into his bulky spacesuit. “Don’t you think we should step outside and see what the problem is?”

“No, I don’t.” Collings was pushing him to the limit, testing, probing, trying to stick a knife between McElvoy’s ribs.…

The port monitor flickered red, then darkened. Nothing on-screen. Not even the fog. Impatiently, McElvoy tapped on the side of the equipment, a gesture that accomplished little but made him feel better. He stepped to the starboard monitor. Same situation. The crew of the Mother Ship should all be out of hibernation and functioning now, contributing to the mission, offering support for the Egg. They were supposed to emerge simultaneously with the inhabitants of the Egg.

McElvoy thought of Collings’ question, about feeling small in a vast cosmos. If something had gone wrong on the Mother Ship, if all of them were still asleep or had died through some equipment malfunction … He didn’t want to think about such a possibility. Still, he had heard of such disasters. The bureaucrats had tried to conceal those stories, but there were always leaks.

McElvoy checked the central monitor that connected him directly to the robots. No red flickering lights. That connection seemed to be in order. Maybe the communication problem had to do with the thick fog between the Egg and the Mother Ship.

A clatter of sound outside the Egg elicited a panicky response from Collings. “What was that?”

“I don’t know.” McElvoy felt his pulse quicken. The memory of the slug-thing had never completely disappeared, and his tenuous composure was slipping.

A hissing noise followed a loud thump that shook the Egg and threw the men off balance. The craft vibrated strongly for a few moments.

“I’m going out to see what’s going on,” said Collings. “Might be a quake!” He auto-sealed his spacesuit, which left his hands and head uncovered. He reached for his gloves and helmet. “You’d better come, too.”

Although every instinct told McElvoy to get into his suit and out of the Egg, he hesitated. I won’t go out there! I can’t!

Collings was at the door.

“I told you to wait.” McElvoy said. “First, I want to see where the robots are.” He wasn’t concerned about the robots but, if he opened the outer door for Collings, something might slither in.

Or reach in.

Or explode through the door.

McElvoy punched a button on the central monitor to see what Robot One was doing. The screen revealed a faintly purple sky, meaning the robot’s eyes were pointed upward.

“What the—” McElvoy said. The miserable piece of metal must be lying on its back.

He touched another key, switching his attention to Robot Two. On the screen a fuzzy image appeared, a horizon of rocks and plants turned sideways. It seemed a logical assumption that this robot was lying on its side.

He tried the other two. The screen revealed shadowy images of dirt and rocks. Those two robots were on their bellies. Why?

Once more he attempted to contact the Mother Ship.

“UNKNOWN MATERIAL INTERFERING WITH OPERATION,” came the answer on the port and starboard monitors.

The Egg shuddered. Something popped, snapped. Not good sounds.

McElvoy checked the onboard life support systems. Still functioning and normal according to the gauges.

“I think we ought to get out of here,” said Collings. He reached for his helmet.

Throwing aside all pretense and allowing fear to erupt from his mouth like vomit, McElvoy shrieked. “Shut up so I can think!”

Collings muttered something.

McElvoy crawled into his suit, let it self-seal and grabbed his gloves and helmet. He touched a button to open the airlock chamber door.

Its teleface gave warning: “UNKNOWN MATERIAL INTERFERING WITH OPERATION.”

“The door won’t open,” McElvoy mumbled.

“I think,” Collings said, in a curiously calm tone, “that we’re being encapsulated.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“The door won’t open, the monitors are going crazy. Something’s wrapped itself around the Egg.” Collings drew in a deep breath and released it like a hiss of steam. “One of those big plants out there has discovered a new source of food. Us. Probably seeded the top of the Egg, and now it’s spinning a web around us to protect its progeny.”

“You’re insane! Nothing encapsulated the robots.”

“They aren’t composed of protein. The scanning data says the plants in this world are protein eaters and chrysalis-makers. The chrysalis formations probably take five or six hours to harden. What do you say we start the propulsion chamber and try to shoot out of here?” His tone was irritatingly logical.

Sweat glistened on McElvoy’s brow. “I’m in charge here, not you. I’ve operated dozens of these Eggs. They carry limited fuel. We can’t hop out of here and then hop back again, just because you think the vegetation has fallen in love with the Egg.”

“What I said doesn’t make sense?”

“Damn you, will you shut up and let me think? You’re no scientific expert, so where do you come off making wild statements? It’s common fog outside, nothing but fog!”

Collings grunted. “And that’s what knocked the robots over? I don’t think so. Look at the port and starboard monitors. They may be temporarily disabled, but they’re showing negative images. The texture of your ‘fog’ is fibrous, like vegetation. A gummy mass of fiber.”

“I don’t need to look!” snapped McElvoy. “I’m the authority here! I make the decisions!” He simmered with rage. His life was this job. If he returned to the Mother Ship without samples, allowing this Psych-Babbler to divert him from his responsibilities, he was through as a geologist, and some unthinking, unfeeling robot would take his place. Collings was weaving a web, pretending this was an emergency in order to compromise him, so he could send in a false evaluation. A document that would lead the bureaucratic powers to believe that McElvoy was emotionally unstable and not fit to perform his job any longer.

“We need to break free before the stuff hardens,” Collings pleaded. “No time to waste!”

“Psych-Tech bastard.”

“What?”

“You’re a bureau psychologist, sent to analyze me and find a reason to dismiss me. After all the years I’ve put into the service, they’ve sent some inexperienced fool to destroy me.”

Collings shook his head. “That’s not it at all. I’m a writer with the Layman-In-Space program. My turn came up in the computer, and I was dispatched here. No one gave me an assignment, and I make my own decisions. My only charge is not to get in the way of professionals such as yourself. I’m trying to be helpful.”

“You’re a walking encyclopedia, aren’t you?”

Collings’ face reddened. His grip tightened on his helmet and gloves. “Writers like to theorize, and that’s all I’m doing. Coming up with a theory based on scanning data and personal observation.”

Even though Collings was an obvious liar, he was correct about blasting the Egg loose, in McElvoy’s estimation. McElvoy hit a button on the command console. The instrument lights for the propulsion chamber remained amber. They should have turned green, followed by a tiger-purring sound to reassure him that the Egg could take off any time it wanted to.

“UNKNOWN MATERIAL INTERFERING WITH OPERATION,” came the message.

“The equipment’s gone to hell!” McElvoy cried.

Collings lowered his voice to an almost whisper. “According to the handbook they gave me during orientation, a manually operated booster system can force the door open, no matter what’s gone wrong with the technology. So, what’s holding you up? Get the door open, and if the chrysalis has started to harden, we use a Ceta-gas cutting torch on it.”

“You think it’s that easy?” And McElvoy resolved, even more than before, not to go outside for any reason, no matter what this devious functionary said or did. Maybe their plan was to leave McElvoy on this planet and claim it was an accident.

“It’s worth a try,” Collings insisted. “Better than sitting here doing nothing.”

Their gazes locked. McElvoy blinked, looked away.

“Let’s talk about this,” Collings said. “I’m no Psych-Tech, but I am a good listener.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” McElvoy snapped. Hindered by his spacesuit, he shuffled across the cabin. He snatched the Speedwriter from the shelf where Collings had placed it. “What garbage have you written about me?”

Collings’ mouth opened in soundless surprise.

There’s guilt all over his face, McElvoy thought. Can’t let him go further with this ruse.

McElvoy’s fears and frustrations caught fire, and anger provided him with the adrenaline to rush the larger man. With great force, he swung the ovoid-shaped Speedwriter against the side of his adversary’s head. Collings staggered and swung a fist, but McElvoy, wiry-strong, continued to pummel him with the electronic unit.

The Speedwriter case broke on the end that was being used to batter Collings, leaving a jagged edge which quickly opened up cuts in Collings’ skin, from blows that did not cease.

“What’s the matter with you?” Collings shouted, as he tried to protect himself.

McElvoy rammed the Speedwriter into Collings’ throat, where a sharp edge penetrated deeply and remained. The large man slumped to the floor. His mouth opened and a deep, grating sound rumbled forth. With a flailing hand he knocked the Speedwriter free, causing it to make a wet, sucking sound. Blood spurted from the mortal wound in his throat. He twitched, then stopped moving.

For his size, he isn’t very strong, McElvoy thought. He felt for Collings’ pulse. None.

McElvoy’s hand hurt, and he saw that Collings’ teeth had grated the skin, peeling it back like the thin covering on an over-ripe Dixiefruit. No matter, it was worth the pain. This planted operative, this would-be murderer, was dead.

A great exultation swept over him, almost religious in nature.

There was one rather large problem, however. A dead man occupied the Egg with him. He’d have to dispose of the body and return to the Mother Ship with some excuse about Collings wandering off and getting killed, and the robots malfunctioning for some unknown reason, and McElvoy being lucky to escape with his life.

I’ll need to make it convincing.

Collings moaned.

Not dead? Stop worrying. Once he’s outside without a helmet, he will be.

McElvoy clicked his own helmet into place. His gloves were off but he wasn’t worried, since the suit had sealed securely around his wrists. Using manual controls he forced the airlock chamber door to slide open. He stepped through and repeated this performance on the outside door. It creaked open, revealing a viscous wall of trembling gelatin. Flecks of something black and shiny wiggled just beneath its surface.

His pulse quickened and he felt suddenly hot. As Collings had predicted, the chrysalis was forming!

He returned to the main cabin of the Egg and dragged Collings back to the outer door. “Sorry,” he said. “But it’s you or me.”

Collings didn’t answer. Blood covered his head and neck.

With great effort McElvoy hoisted the larger man up by the feet and pushed him headfirst into the wall of fiber and glue. The chrysalis vibrated and trembled, and something stung McElvoy’s hands.

The gelatinous wall was swelling outward.

Quickly McElvoy retreated to the main cabin. But before he could close the inner door, he saw Collings sliding rapidly toward him … feet first, as though he’d been given a violent push.

Stunned, it took McElvoy a moment to realize that Collings’ body now blocked the outer doorway, so that the airlock couldn’t be sealed. Angrily, he pulled the dead weight of his adversary into the cabin and hammered the button to slide the door shut.

Breathing heavily, he stared at Collings.

Collings no longer moaned. He was so still. Almost peaceful. No more worries in that flat, dead brain. He touched Collings’ face, saw that it was speckled with black spots and wondered if these were signs of death. He’d never observed a dead man before. A twinge of guilt entered his thoughts, but he suppressed it.

Got to get out of here! he thought. Can’t stay.

He pounded keys on the command console, but the propulsion chamber lights remained amber. He tried again, only to be advised once more: “UNKNOWN MATERIAL INTERFERING WITH OPERATION.” In mounting panic, he pushed himself away from the console.

And almost tripped over the bloody Speedwriter on the floor.

He picked it up, hit the start button. Despite the blood and the crack in the casing, the unit sputtered a short message and stopped. “Notes of John Collings, Technical Writer, LIS Program. Assigned to Planet 4579Z; Quadrant 4, Sector II.”

Technical writer?

McElvoy wailed, a lonely sound that ricocheted through the Egg. He slumped to the floor, hugging his knees, his head bent forward.

O O O

By the fifth day, the stench inside the Egg was overwhelming, but McElvoy was preoccupied with other matters. There had been no radio contact with the Mother Ship, and he had given up hope of ever getting the Egg to fly again. The black spots on Collings had turned to pale green, and small feathery sprouts grew from the decomposing flesh. He continued, as he had each day, to watch their growth with horrified fascination. Similar growths were appearing on his own body. No matter how often he brushed them away, the green sprouts returned.

And they were spreading.

No one is coming to rescue me, he thought, I’m going to sit here and rot with Collings. We’re plant food.

Yet he had a strange sense or euphoria. A strange ecstasy swept through him and he leaned over, stroked the dead body and curled up beside it. “Brothers,” he murmured.