by Jerry
Both the Americans and the Russians seemed to enjoy that claim. Hassad, however, appeared to grow impatient with the delay and goaded me on. “Come on, Perkins,” he grunted, “we don’t have all day.”
“As you say, chief,” I told him, and within a wink I had hit a series of buttons on the console. Two-tenths of a second later a white-haired, wrinkled old man clad in ancient garments appeared on the video screen. My audience hovered around me as I engaged the linguistic translator program and began to speak:
“Yet will I bring one more plague upon Pharaoh and upon Egypt. Afterwards he will let you go hence, and when he shall let you go he shall surely thrust you out altogether. For I will pass through the land of Egypt this night, and will smite all the first-born in the land of Egypt, both man and beast; and against all the gods of Egypt I will execute judgment. But unto you Moses, and unto the Children of Israel, who by my commandment shall mark their households with the blood of a first-year lamb upon their doorposts, I will pass over you, and the plague shall not be upon you to destroy you when I smite the land of Egypt.”
No sooner had I spoken those words than one of the Americans screamed, “Stop the demonstration! We have seen enough!” Moments later several burly guards rushed into the S-4 annex and snapped handcuffs on both Jamal Hassad and me. The two of us had been very neatly set up as patsies by our own supervisors at Transarmco. The heat had been getting too great lately, and they must have figured that it would cool things down if they allowed a couple of their boys to go to the drop for war crimes.
But it was too late. The Soviet-American team tried frantically to shut down the telechronological console, but I had rigged it so it would be absolutely tamperproof. And once deployed, the IPAT system could not be stopped. That night, every first-born Egyptian of the Pharaoh’s empire was struck dead by Transarmco’s weaponry. The rest of story is history—and also religion.
Jamal Hassad mumbled and cursed and snarled as they led the two of us away. Only I smiled. But who could blame him? After all, Israel had just defeated Egypt for the nineteenth time—or should I say the first time?
1980
ALPHA CENTAURI A NINE
L.A.P. Moore
Cadet Alan Stitch fell in love for the first time when he was a Junior at the Space Academy. Unfortunately, he fell in love with one of the Seniors, which was very much against regulations. For all of its heat and passion, the romance went undetected. This was due in part to the lovers’ superior skill and cunning, but mainly to the great god Chance. The year passed all too swiftly for them; Alan went to graduation ceremonies, they had their last weekend together, and Suzanne was gone. Her last message from Lunabase said, “Assigned to Alph Centauri A Nine. I loved you, I love you, I will always love you.” Alpha Centauri, Sol’s closest neighbor at 4.40 light-years, consisted of three stars: A and B were a binary system, and C orbited them. Of the three, A was most like Earth’s sun, and of A’s fourteen planets, the ninth was most like Earth. After the settlements on Mars and Titan, the next step had been Alpha Centauri A Nine. Man had yet to develop a faster-than-light ship, so it still took nearly six years to make the trip.
EACH NEW ship went a bit faster, but none quite reached that magic mark. They were close—very close—and as soon as a successful FTL drive was developed, Alan planned to transfer to Alpha Centauri A Nine. He had two reasons. Once they had an FTL, Nine would become the frontier for deeper exploration of the galaxy; and, Suzanne was there. They had kept in touch over the years by tachyon transmitter, but the “tackyphone” was no substitute for being there. It had been nearly ten years, and they had each been through a lot of changes. Along with Alan’s fervent desire to get to Nine, there was a bit of fear that they would be different people; that they had been apart too long. Alan was in a brown study, thinking about Suzanne and about ships’ drives, when there was a knock on the study door.
“Come on in.”
A hand, holding a urine-specimen bottle full of golden liquid, preceded its owner into the room.
“Some friend you are,” Alan said, “bringing second-hand booze.”
“Don’t let the fancy flask fool you, friend. This is the purest of Irish whiskeys, after a drop of which I’ll tell you the news.
A sniff, a taste, a healthy swallow, and then, “The new ship is ready for testing, Alan.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“Professional ethics forbid me to reveal my source, but the head of Research came in today with a dose of Venerian disease. What’s so special about this new drive?”
“It’s simplicity itself, in theory. As a ship accelerates, its mass increases. The more mass you have, the more energy it takes to move it faster. So, as you approach the speed of light, you need an infinite amount of energy to go that last step, because you’ve built up an infinite amount of mass.
“Now. This new drive, in theory, uses the problem as the solution. Remember good old e = mc2? That gives the relationship between mass and energy. What they’re trying to do, is convert the ship’s mass-due- to-acceleration into energy. Not only would that provide an incredible amount of energy near light speed, but it would decrease the ship’s mass—which is the main problem in trying to crack the barrier.”
They talked long into their sleep period about physics and future and philosophy. Alan-spent the next day curing a hangover, packing his gear, and roughing-out a request for transfer to Alpha Centauri A Nine.
NINE’S YEAR was very close to Earth’s. Its axis was tilted a few degrees less, though, making for less seasonal variation. The planet was Earth-like, but it was not Earth. The atmosphere was too low in oxygen to keep a human body going for extended periods, and the annual variation in temperature ran from cool to cold. With abundant energy from a stationary power satellite, though, life inside the domes was downright comfortable. The domes of Town housed people and machinery, while acres of pliofilm were supported by air pressure above the fields of greenery which contributed both food and oxygen.
Suzanne sighed with contentment as she looked out over Town from an observation dome. The longest day of the year—which they called Summer Solstice, because Summer Alpha Centauri Astice just wouldn’t do—had just passed. The sun was high and warm, and she was just drifting off into a pleasant daydream when an alarm klaxon shattered the mood. She looked quickly over Town, saw nothing unusual, then took off for her post.
“What’s wrong?” she asked as she burst into Communications.
“Power satellite. Not transmitting. Don’t know yet. Get on a comm board and answer some of those calls. Tell them we’re working on it. Everybody’s okay, and there’s no immediate danger. And tell them to turn off everything they can, especially heaters.”
“Does Earth know?”
“Got a quick message off to them, but there’s nothing they can do. They’re six years from us. Get on that comm unit before all of Town comes over here for information.”
WORD OF the power failure on Nine spread through Lunabase like an airborne virus. Alan was somewhere between the orbits of Neptune and Pluto when he heard.
“What happened?”
“All we know is, the power satellite is out. Soon as we hear anything else, well let you know.”
“How long can they last without the satellite?”
“Nine isn’t all that bad a planet. They should be okay for a while.” Alan went back to testing the new ship, but part of his mind was light- years away. He called in several hours later, when that part of his mind had come up with some interesting possibilities.
“Lunabase, this is Commander Stitch. Give me Project Engineering.”
“Project Engineering, here. Whatcha need, Alan?”.
“Definitely some information, and probably a miracle.”
“Miracles we keep in stock, but information is hard to come by. You having problems with the ship?”
“Not a one, and I’ve finished the full sequence. Any reason I can’t skip ahead to acceleration testing?”
�
��Several. This is a shakedown flight, and that’s all. You try to jump schedule, and they’ll assign you to Earth-orbit shuttles for the rest of your life.”
“Any technical reason?”
“Yes, again. The team here now can advise you on engineering, but you need an entirely different bunch for the new drive. Theoretical physicists, astronomers, and probably a philosopher.”
“No witch doctor?”
THE GOVERNOR of Nine sat in front of the main screen in Communications. His face looked heavy, drawn, and defeated. His features changed as he reached for the switch, and by the time he appeared on Town’s viewers he was a calm, confident, kindly symbol.
“Friends, we have a problem. Our power satellite, as you know, was struck by a small piece of space debris. The odds against such a thing happening were incalculably small, but it did happen. Had the satellite been merely damaged, we could probably have repaired it. Unfortunately, it was knocked out of orbit, and burned up in our atmosphere.
“Less than an hour ago, we launched our reserve satellite. There was a malfunction in the firing of the second stage booster, and the satellite was destroyed. We do not have another, but an around-the-clock program to build a new one has already been started. We need very little energy to survive here, although some adjustments will have to be made. A message has just been sent to Earth explaining our problem. The tackyphone takes a great deal of power, so that will be our last transmission until we have a new power source.
“More than half of our energy has gone to heating the domes. At least temporarily, we are all going to have to live together in the larger domes such as Town Hall. Energy will be shut off to private residence domes, and to all other nonessential areas. Once this is done, our ground- based energy supplies will be adequate. I don’t want to minimize the difficulties we will have to face, but I believe that when this crisis is over, we will be better people for having lived through it.”
The Governor turned the transmitter off, and slumped in his seat. Suzanne, sitting next to him, asked the first question. There were many more.
“What about the crops?”
“We’ll maintain them through the summer, because we have to. In the meantime, we’ll start large tanks of algae in the major domes. That will help with the oxygen, and with the food if necessary. I don’t think food is going to be our major problem.”
“How long will our power last?”
“I don’t know yet. Shutting down ninety percent of Town will help. First estimates say about a year.”
“How about ground-based sun collectors?”
“We don’t have the energy to manufacture them. The same goes for most other technological solutions. We’re like a submarine running on batteries.”
“COMMANDER STITCH, this is Lunabase. We’ve received another transmission. They say it’s the last, because the tackyphone takes so much power. They can still receive, but no more sending. I’ll play the message for you.”
Alan listened to the tape with fading hope. When it ended, he sat in silence for several seconds, then came to a decision.
“Lunabase, patch me into Ground Control.”
“Ground Control, here. You are requested to return to Lunabase immediately.”
“Do you have the team assembled for acceleration test?”
“Commander Stitch, you are ordered to return to Lunabase immediately.”
“Will I have telemetry, or am I going solo?”
“Very well, Commander Stitch. We can’t force you back, but as of now you are technically in violation of orders. You have telemetry. Preflight check now coming through. Hold!”
“What’s the problem?”
“Your onboard computer has Alpha Centauri A Nine as target.”
“That is correct.”
“That’s not an acceleration test, that’s a six-year flight.”
“That may be correct. If it is that long a hike, I’d better get started.”
“Be reasonable, Commander. Even if you make it to Nine, what good will it do? At our most optimistic estimate, the colony will be dead in just over a year. Without resupply, you wouldn’t be able to make it back. You’d be throwing your life away for nothing.”
“I wish I could believe that you’re half as worried about losing me as you are about losing this ship. Now, take that hold off and I’ll be on my way.”
“Negative. You’ll never make it without data from here, and you will not get that data. Return to Lunabase.”
“Look at it this way, Ground Control. With the information from this flight, you’ll learn more about the new drive them you would from years of planet-hopping. Everything you’ve got is in this ship, and this ship is going to Nine. If you don’t tie me into your systems, I’ll shut down transmission, and you’ll never know what happened to your ship, if anything happens to your ship. Not one byte of information. Your move, Ground Control.”
There was a long pause, then the same voice.
“The hold is off, Commander. Too many Credits and too many people’s lives have gone into that ship to let you throw it away. But, if you ever get back here Stitch, 111 personally see to it that . . .”
“This is Flight Control, Commander. Disregard previous transmission and prepare for acceleration. Onboard systems are green. Transmitting coordinates and flight data now.”
The ship turned slowly as it oriented itself to the new coordinates. There was a pause, then the ion drive pushed gently against the tail of the ship. Pressure increased to one Earth gravity, and continued to climb. When the ion drive had boosted him to two gravities, pressing him down into his couch, he was ready.
“Flight Control, I am engaging the mass drive.”
“Good luck, Commander. Lock this channel open, and keep us with you all the way.”
Alan had the computer bring the mass drive on line, but with zero energy-feed to the propulsion system. Although he could sense no change, the board said it was engaged. He instructed the computer to increase acceleration slowly. The new drive drew mass from the ship, as it would with any matter with which it was in contact, and converted it into energy. Alan was no longer pressed down into his couch. Having been calibrated at a mass of one Earth gravity, the new drive would not function below that level, but that was no problem. As the ship’s acceleration edged upward, so did its mass, which was immediately converted into energy for more acceleration.
The stars ahead edged toward the blue end of the spectrum, while the ones behind slipped toward the red. Fascinated, Alan watched the process gain momentum until he saw only a cone of blue-shifted stars ahead of him, and a red-shifted cone behind. Slowly, these too began to disappear, as they shifted beyond the visible spectrum. Following its last instruction faithfully, the computer continued acceleration long after Alan had lost consciousness.’
To the tackyphone operator at Lunabase, it seemed as if the ship had simply blinked out of existence. Only hours before, Earth had sent a message to Nine that Commander Alan Stitch was on his way. There was no hope of his reaching them in time, so the message didn’t include the fact that he had no replacement satellite aboard. Hope was still high on Nine. They, too, knew that he wouldn’t reach them for nearly six years, but they took him to their hearts as a modern-day Don Quixote—their Don Quixote. That’s why the new message from Earth hit them so hard. “Commander Stitch’s ship, while testing a new, experimental drive, suddenly stopped transmitting. While it is possible that his tachyon transmitter failed, it is more probable that the drive malfunctioned, and Commander Stitch has been lost in the line of duty.”
MOST OF Town was shut down and sealed off, crowding the entire population into a few domes. Efforts to build a new power satellite had failed, as much from lack of energy as from lack of specialized parts. Basic crops had been substituted for everything else in the fields, and the harvest had been good. There was no winter garden because they couldn’t afford the energy drain, but whatever else might happen to them, they would not starve.
Suzanne
stared out at a dark, cold Town, thinking of Alan. A keening wind blew ice crystals through the evening air, as dim lights came on behind her in the crowded dome. Like cattle in a barn, the people themselves provided much of the necessary heat, but the ventilation systems were straining to keep the air breathable.
They had food, water, and heat. Unless something unexpected happened, they would survive the winter. They would not survive the spring. Cutting everything down to an absolute minimum, they would be completely out of energy before midsummer day.
ALAN CAME to with a jolt. He was weak, confused, and sick. The first thing he did was to check the time. He’d been out several hours. The next thing he did was to check his location. Then he checked it again, and stared blankly at the board for long minutes. During those minutes, the computer located the ninth of Alpha Centauri A’s fourteen planets, and calculated an orbit. The mass drive was disengaged, and so was Alan’s mind.
Before the ship had established orbit above Nine, Alan cancelled the automatic program and flew in new coordinates. As he passed over Town the first time, he knew that he was too late. No matter what the ship’s clock said, time had passed. Town was a ghost town. No lights, no vehicles, no people. Not even the emergency beacon at the spaceport was transmitting, so he had to come in on his own.
Stepping out of the ship, he stared at the nearby city. Spring was in the air, making the tragedy that much sharper. With the look of a man going to make sure that his dog is dead, Alan trudged heavily toward Town.
“Alan!”
His head jerked up so fast that his eyes bobbed. Someone was running toward him from Town. At first his mind wouldn’t believe what his eyes and ears were telling him, but it was true.
“Suzanne!”
They hugged, and held, and held. By the time the flood of words came, a flood of people were pouring toward them from Town.
