Beauty Interrupted

                        By CHARLES L. FONTENAY

                        Illustrated by ED EMSH

           The Earthmen were selfish; they obviously wanted
            to hold the people of Orcti back. But no planet
           has a monopoly on science--or the ability to spy!

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
                         Infinity August 1958.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


Birkala looked through the iron fence and his eyes were yellow with
envy and a kind of hatred. The Earthman, Erik, was in the garden,
painting on a large canvas and chatting amiably with Spira, Birkala's
sister.

"The Earthmen have everything and they give us nothing," said Birkala
to his companion, Direka.

Direka nodded and grinned stupidly. Direka was simple in the head, and
he always agreed with everything Birkala said. Direka was hunchbacked,
also, and it pleased Birkala to compare his own straight, youthful
body to the crooked form of Direka. Altogether, Direka was a most
satisfactory companion.

"The Earthmen live for centuries, but our life-span is that of a
mayfly, and they do nothing about it," said Birkala bitterly. "The
Earthmen flash from world to world in an instant, but we must use
antiquated rockets and be confined to our own system of planets."

Direka nodded again.

"The Earthmen are greedy," he agreed sagely.

"I am going to talk with the Earthmen," said Birkala, and added
cruelly: "You must leave me, Direka. Your crooked body would hurt the
Earthmen's sensitive eyes."

"Yes, I shall go so you may talk with the Earthman," assented Direka
and moved away sadly down the street.

Birkala watched him go, and smiled ruefully. He did not really like to
hurt Direka, but if he made Direka think the Earthman was repelled at
the sight of him, perhaps Direka would engender his own hatred of Erik,
instead of merely echoing Birkala's emotions.

Birkala stepped to the open gate and entered the garden. It was a
more beautiful garden than even the greatest artists of the world
Orcti could arrange, for into Erik's planning had gone the aesthetic
tradition of many millennia. The green sun that swam in Orcti's violet
sky shone down on foliage and grasses of orange and brown and rust, and
so carefully were things placed that even the great silver-and-blue
lina flowers did not blare their supremacy over lesser plants, as
in most Orcti gardens. They blended with the statuary and foliage,
with the walks and the pools, tamely contributing their beauty to the
balanced picture of peace and quietude.

       *       *       *       *       *

Erik looked up from his easel as Birkala approached. He was a blond
man of noble face and bearing, looking to be Birkala's own age. Yet
this Earthman had lived and traveled the stars before Birkala's great
grandfather was conceived in the womb.

Spira sat nude on the edge of a fountain pool, one knee bent and one
hand dipped gracefully in the sparkling water. She sat patiently
and kept her wide golden eyes fixed on Erik's face, but recognized
Birkala's approach with a faint smile. The sunlight glinted from her
yellow-green hair and burnt orange skin.

Birkala stood at Erik's shoulder, his feet apart and his hands
clasped behind him, and studied the unfinished painting critically.
With a sure, light brush, Erik had captured the innocence of a young
woman seated by a fountain. The style was so simple as to be almost
calligraphic, yet a few lines and spots of paint portrayed to the eye
the long curve of Spira's thigh, the tilt of her breasts, the candor
and loveliness of her face.

Birkala's eyes dropped from the canvas to Erik's seated figure, and
his expression altered from unwilling admiration to defiant scorn. The
Earthman's short-sleeved smock was agape and exposed Erik's perfectly
muscled body to the warm sunshine.

"Why are Earthmen so obsessed with nudity?" demanded Birkala. Birkala
himself wore loose trousers, shiny boots with curled toes, a shirt
with flowing sleeves, a scarf about his throat. Beneath this was
under-clothing.

"We are not obsessed with nudity, Birkala," replied Erik gently. "The
human body is natural and it is beautiful. We see nothing shameful
about it, and we wear clothing only when needed for protection against
the elements."

"That is all right for you to say. It would be all right for me to
believe. But can you say a hunched body like Direka's is beautiful?"

"Not to unsympathetic eyes, perhaps. Poor Direka! But there will be a
day when on Orcti, as on Earth, no one is born with a deformed body."

Birkala sat down on a rock, crushing a bunch of purple minita flowers
beside it.

"Always in the future," he said bitterly. "Always promises, in the dim,
distant future. You Earthmen know many things and have many things
that you promise us, but why must these promises always be for our
grandchildren's grandchildren?"

"We found you in mud huts, and now you live in clean cities," reproved
Erik, beginning to wipe his brushes clean. "We found you driving oxen,
and now you ride spaceships to the other planets of your system."

"Your lives are centuries long, and ours are three-score and ten,"
countered Birkala. "It is true we have spaceships, but you step into a
beam transmitter and cross the galaxy in seconds."

"That is because you are not ready," replied Erik mildly.

Birkala sat silent, his anger building up in him. Spira, seeing that
Erik was finished with painting for the moment, arose in a graceful
flow of motion and came to them. She stood beside Erik, one hand on his
shoulder, and studied the canvas without speaking.

"You're the only Earthman on all Orcti," Birkala began again. "Since I
was a child I've heard of Erik, the Earthman who lives in the garden in
the heart of the city. Since I was a child I've heard that Erik, the
Earthman, watches over us like a noble god. Why do you really stay on
Orcti, Erik? To prevent us from progressing too swiftly and challenging
the position of Earth?"

"Why do you carp at Erik?" demanded Spira, and there was a note of
anger to her soft voice. "Erik has always been a friend to us,
Birkala."

"Ah, yes, and especially a friend to pretty little Spira," replied
Birkala with deep irony. "She is my sister, Erik. Should I be honored
that the great Earthman takes my sister as a mistress?"

Spira flushed, for the term "mistress" was not a respectable one on
Orcti.

"I love Spira, like a daughter and a wife at once," said Erik. "I think
you know that, Birkala. No one was happier than you when she came to
me. I do not marry her because I am forbidden to be bound by the laws
of Orcti, but I shall cherish her all of her life."

"Yes. I know the schedule. And then another young woman shall grace the
garden of the always-young Earthman. How nice for the Earthman!"

"Why are you so savage today, Birkala?" asked Spira, genuinely puzzled.
"I know that you have been restless for a long time, but we knew as
children that other women had been in my place long before I was born."

"Birkala is angry because he is a good scientist," explained Erik
with an understanding smile. "Birkala thought yesterday that he had
discovered the principle on which the beam transmitter is based, and
I showed him that his theory is wrong. He is angry with himself for
having been mistaken."

Birkala spat into the fountain.

"I am not so sure I was wrong," he retorted. "I think it could be that
you tried to direct me away from my theory because you don't want me to
find the truth."

He turned and strode from the garden, frowning, his face hot.

Turning right from the garden gate along the street, he passed in front
of Erik's house, which was flush with the sidewalk. As he did so, he
was surprised to see the door ajar and Direka sitting in it.

Direka evidently had been waiting for Birkala to appear. He rose
quickly, almost stumbling down the steps, and gestured eagerly at
Birkala.

"Come quickly, Birkala!" he chattered. "I have found a way into the
part of the Earthman's house which is forbidden!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Birkala hesitated, then followed the crooked little man into Erik's
house.

Erik kept his house open. It was never locked, and Birkala had never
heard that anyone had had the temerity to try to rob or harm the
mysterious Earthman. Anyone could walk in or out, but few did without
invitations, for the people of Orcti held Erik in awe.

But the rear portion of the house was without windows or doors. It was
not too apparent from the outside, but Birkala had been in Erik's
house many times and had discovered long ago that there was a large
section of it closed and inaccessible.

As fast as his short legs could move, Direka led Birkala through the
simply furnished house. Birkala followed easily, and smiled. Direka was
like a monkey; he was not bright, but he was clever and eager.

In Erik's bedroom, Direka stopped, panting, and pointed triumphantly
at the rear wall. There was a great crack in it, near Erik's bed. A
section of the wall was a secret door, and it had been left ajar.

"Good fortune!" breathed Birkala, his eyes sparkling. "I have wondered
for a long time what was behind that wall."

He pushed the door wider and went through the opening, Direka crowding
at his heels. It was very dark, the only light coming through the crack
from the bedroom. Birkala could see nothing.

He felt about the walls for a switch, without success.

"I wonder how one turns on the light in here?" he said to Direka.

At the word "light", light sprang into being all around them. It was a
soft, indirect illumination which appeared to have no source and cast
no shadow.

They were in a sort of corridor which paralleled the wall through
which they had just come. On the opposite wall of this hallway were
banks of dials and charts and switches, and in the center of this
opposite wall was an open doorway.

Cautiously, Birkala and Direka moved down the corridor and peered
through the open door. It gave entrance to a square room, which was
lighted with the same sort of illumination as the hall.

There was nothing in the room. There were just four walls, a ceiling
and a floor. There was no furniture. There were no windows and there
was no other door.

"A strange thing!" muttered Birkala. "Erik does not retire to this
place, for he is always around the house. I have walked into his
bedroom and found him asleep. What is the purpose of this room?"

"Perhaps a dungeon," darkly suggested Direka, who was a devotee of
adventure pictures at the theaters.

Birkala backed away from the door and studied the array of dials and
switches. As Erik had said, Birkala was a good scientist. Birkala
was thoroughly familiar with the nervous and intestinal workings of
spaceships. He had made several trips to other planets in Orcti's
system, and had made several contributions of his own to the science of
rocketry and astrogation.

He whistled softly between his teeth.

"We've found it, Direka!" he exclaimed to his companion. "This is the
beam transmitter that Erik has kept hidden so carefully. This is the
control panel, and the room undoubtedly is the transmitter itself."

Direka looked puzzled, then brightened.

"Now we can go to Earth? Yes, Birkala?" he chirped.

       *       *       *       *       *

Birkala inspected the control panel carefully. The charts were
star-charts, etched on metal under glass. Below each was a series of
dials, and Birkala deduced that these dials set the coordinates on the
charts, establishing the destination. He recognized the configurations
of the heavens from Orcti.

"Yes, Direka, I think we could," he said. "But then the Earthmen would
know we had been meddling. If we should go, we should go here, I think."

He stabbed a finger at one of the charts, at a star on the outer edge
of the inhabited portion of the galaxy.

"The inhabited planet in this system is no more advanced than Orcti,"
he said. "If I could go there, I could perhaps evade discovery by the
Earthman there. But we certainly shall not risk going anywhere until I
learn more about the operation of this machine."

Birkala was too good a scientist not to realize that grave danger was
involved in tinkering with an unfamiliar machine. But he was too ardent
a scientist and his obsession with the beam transmitter was too strong
for him not to risk danger to himself willingly.

"Direka, you go out into the house, and if you see either Erik or
Spira approaching, warn me quickly," he commanded. "I must study this
machine."

Direka slipped out through the opening, and Birkala turned back to the
control panel. As experienced as he was with machinery and technical
matters, he nevertheless expected to be baffled by this product of
Earth's advanced science.

But the controls were surprisingly simple. There were the destination
coordinates, and Birkala was able to read enough of the square, blocky
Earth writing to discern the designations for _off_ and _on_ beside
what was apparently the control lever. There were some power--or
volume--or perhaps distance--controls about which he was not sure; the
best thing to do about them was not to touch them.

There were no controls in the room itself, so Birkala deduced that one
set the coordinates for one's destination, switched on the machine
and then walked into the room. The room probably acted as both sender
and receiver, and after a time lapse the sending apparatus perhaps
switched off automatically so that the room could receive again.

He pushed aside the chill, disturbing speculation about the controls
of unknown purpose. He set the coordinates firmly for the star system
Denragi, and pushed the switch to the _on_ position.

At first Birkala thought the power source to the machine must be
disconnected. There was no throbbing, no hum, no indication that it had
been activated. Yes, there was one: a bright red spark showed square on
the destination he had set by the coordinates. Denragi shone of its own
light on the control panel.

Encouraged, he stepped to the door of the empty room.

Birkala recoiled, appalled.

He could not see into the room. The luminescence was gone. The room was
absolutely dark.

Yet the darkness was more than the absence of light. It was more, even,
than the utter jet-blackness of intergalactic space. It was an active
blackness, a _presence_ of blackness, and it filled the room to the
very edge of the door, untouched by the normal light from the hallway.

The most frightening thing about it was that he felt an impulse to move
into the room, a strong pull into the room, into the blackness. As he
instinctively resisted, the pull grew stronger.

And then Birkala was terrified. For the pull was so strong that he
could not step back away from the yawning door.

In a semi-daze, he fought with his mind, for the force was not a
physical one. He fought, and he felt his control slipping.

There came a commotion from the bedroom behind him, the sound of
upraised voices. There was Direka's agonized chatter, a shrill protest,
and the firm angry voice of a woman.

He was able to turn his head slightly to see Spira come through the
opening into the hallway.

Birkala could not speak. He tried to warn Spira back with his strained,
stinging eyes. But, unclothed as she had been at the fountain, she
walked purposefully to him.

"Birkala, you know Erik does not wish you tampering with these
forbidden things!" she chided, and laid a restraining hand on his
shoulder.

At her touch, the powerful attractive force drained from Birkala in a
rush. Released, he staggered back and fell against the opposite wall of
the corridor.

But Spira was yanked into the black room like a filing to a magnet, and
vanished utterly.

       *       *       *       *       *

When Spira left him to go into the house, Erik sat for a few moments,
studying his unfinished canvas critically. Now, an arc of pure orange
there, a trace of subdued green there....

A disturbing current intruded from the outer fringes of his mind,
that still undeveloped realm of precognition. There was something ...
something was to happen ... to Spira!

He rose in haste, and strode swiftly into the house.

He encountered the hunchback sneaking from the direction of the
bedroom. At sight of him, Direka broke into an awkward trot toward the
front door. There was something in his face that made Erik speed his
steps.

The hidden panel to the back of the house was open. Erik burst through
it.

The transmitter was on, and its electrical aura hovered ominously
around the door of the transmission room. In the hallway across from
that door, Birkala was struggling to his feet.

Erik seized Birkala in time to prevent him from hurling himself into
the blackness of the activated room.

"Spira!" gasped Birkala. "She was pulled in there!"

With the strength of a giant, Erik hurled Birkala the length of the
corridor.

"Get out!" he roared. "Quickly!"

Erik plunged into the holocaust of hostile blackness.

The room was endless, infinite. It was all space and all beyond space,
and there was no light there for human eyes to see.

There was an alien presence in this nothingness, a vampire presence
that clutched a pathetic, limp figure light-years away, and reached out
toward Erik with its hungry essence.

Erik stood straight in the midst of nothing, his head thrown back,
his yellow hair lifting on the wind that blows between the galaxies.
The questing essence touched him and explored him, blindly unaware of
humanity's challenge to its elemental insistence.

Erik let his mind expand beyond him in a flexing of sure strength. Erik
forced his mind from him in a blaze of anger. Erik attacked with his
mind, magnificent in its unchained and immeasurable power.

The alien force receded, it dwindled, it diminished. It melted before
the strength of Erik's mind, that was a burning, pulsating power like
light, and yet was not light. The vampire essence slowly, reluctantly,
relinquished its distant, doll-like victim and retired in pain beyond
the edges of the galaxies.

In a room that was a room once more, in a room that was yet dark but
lighted to him by the cold fire of his brain, Erik strode to a corner
and lifted the crumpled, unconscious figure of Spira in his arms.
Carrying her tenderly, he left the terrible room.

       *       *       *       *       *

The corridor was empty. Birkala was no longer there.

Erik pulled down the control switch, and the blackness that had sprung
up behind him in the transmission room faded into the harmless air of
Orcti.

Bearing Spira, Erik strode through the house and out into the garden.

Birkala was pacing back and forth near the easel, his face working in
his agitation. Erik approached him, and laid Spira gently on the soft
grass before him. She lay still, the rise and fall of her breasts the
only indication that she lived.

"Is she all right?" choked Birkala, kneeling at her side in an agony of
remorse.

"She is not harmed physically," said Erik, and Birkala gasped with
relief. Erik added: "But you must see the rest of your answer."

He leaned over her and called softly:

"Spira!"

As though awakening from a spell, Spira opened her golden eyes. They
fixed themselves on Erik's sorrowful face, and they widened. She smiled.

But, with growing horror, Birkala realized it was not the smile
of Spira, the sister of his childhood. It carried no message of
recognition nor of intelligence. It was the pitiful smile of
mindlessness.

She gurgled.

Erik helped her to sit up, and she stared about her wonderingly.

"You have looked on me as an alien, Birkala," he said sternly, "but we
are of the same humanity. The mother of your race, too, was Earth. But
while the far-flung children of Earth had to start as pioneers to build
the cultures of their varied worlds, the men of Earth forged ahead
through the millennia in their climb toward whatever estate may one day
be the goal of mankind.

"We of Earth who come to your worlds are watchers to help you avoid
some of the pitfalls we know may divert you from that same path we have
trod, and destroy you. When you think of me as a man, Birkala, you
think of me as one who knows the secret of long life and has a physical
science in advance of your own. But the difference is far more: there
are thresholds beyond the physical which you cannot comprehend, and
beyond these thresholds the man of Earth has gone and explored and
moves ever outward."

"I know this must be true," murmured Birkala brokenly, stroking his
sister's yellow-green hair. "I wronged you, Erik."

"No, you wronged yourself, Birkala, and your people. Because you stand
at the pinnacle of your own science, you thought you could step forward
into ours. Because the words 'beam transmitter' signify technology to
you, you would not understand that no physical means of transportation
could transcend the limiting speed of light. You could not understand
that this thing called, in your language, a beam transmitter, reaches
out into unguessed dimensions.

"Birkala, the reason Earth has not given you the beam transmitter is
not that it is beyond your technological capabilities. It is that you
have not developed in mind and heart to the point where you can cope
with the awful perils of those dimensions, dangers that even we do not
understand fully. As the people of Orcti are impelled to cover their
bodies with clothing, so are they incapable of facing such things with
their naked minds. You could have destroyed your entire world, instead
of just your sister."

There were tears in Birkala's eyes.

"And is she, then, destroyed?" he asked in a low voice.

"She must go home with you," said Erik. "I cannot help her. Slowly she
may recover some of her own personality, and years from now she may be
again part of the woman she was. But Spira is the price you have paid
for your temerity, and she will always be there to remind you of that."

Shaking his head, Birkala arose and urged the girl to her feet. Erik
helped him dress her in the clothing she had worn when she came to the
garden, the saucy skirt and shirt of the women of Orcti. Taking her by
the hand, Birkala started to lead her carefully away.

"Wait, Birkala," said Erik.

He took the canvas from his easel and handed it to Birkala.

"It is yours and you must keep it," he said sadly. "It is like Spira.
It is beauty interrupted before it could fulfill its promise."