Golden Age of Science Fiction Vol IX
Page 186
The two bombs exploded almost simultaneously. The ground shook, and all over the cavern masses of stone came crashing to the floor. Bits of rock hummed and shrieked over our heads. And--yes! There was a draft of cooler, purer air on our faces. The bombs had done their work.
"One more effort and we're outside, men," I called. "The passage is open, and there are only a few of the enemy before us. Ready?"
"Ready!" went up the hoarse shout.
"Then, forward!"
It was easy to give the command, but hard to execute it. We were pressed so hard that only the men on the outside of the group could use their weapons. And our captors were making a terrible, desperate effort to hold us.
Two more of our men were literally torn to pieces before my eyes, but I had the satisfaction of ripping holes in the heads of the creatures whose tentacles had done the beastly work. And in the meantime we were working our way slowly but surely to the entrance.
* * * * *
I glanced up as I dodged out into the open. That soft humming sound was familiar, and properly so. There, at an elevation of less than fifty feet, was the Ertak, with Hendricks standing in the exit, leaning forward at a perilous angle.
"Ahoy the Ertak!" I hailed. "Descend at once!"
"Right, sir!" Hendricks turned to relay the order, and, as the rest of the men burst forth from the cavern, the ship struck the ground before us.
"All hands board ship!" I ordered. "Lively, now." As many years as I have commanded men, I have never seen an order obeyed with more alacrity.
I was the last man to enter, and as I did so, I turned for a last glance at the enemy.
They could not come through the small opening my bombs had driven in the rock, although they were working desperately to enlarge it. Leaping back and forth between me and the entrance I could see the vague, shadowy figures of the outside slaves, eagerly seeping up the life-giving fumes that escaped from the cavern.
"Your orders, sir?" asked Hendricks anxiously; he was a very young officer, and he had been through a very trying experience.
"Ascend five hundred feet, Mr. Hendricks," I said thoughtfully. "Directly over this spot. Then I'll take over.
"It isn't often," I added, "that the Service concerns itself with economic conditions. This, however, is one of the exceptions."
"Yes, sir," said Hendricks, for the very good reason, I suppose, that that was about all a third officer could say to his commander, under the circumstances.
* * * * *
"Five hundred feet, sir," said Hendricks.
"Very well," I nodded, and pressed the attention signal of the non-commissioned officer in charge of the big forward ray projector.
"Ott? Commander Hanson speaking. I have special orders for you."
"Yes, sir!"
"Direct your ray, narrowed to normal beam and at full intensity, on the spot directly below. Keep the ray motionless, and carry on until further orders. Is that clear?"
"Perfectly, sir." The disintegrator ray generators deepened their purr as I turned away.
"I trust, sir, that I did the right thing in following you with the Ertak?" asked Hendricks. "I was absolutely without precedent, and the circumstances were so mysterious--"
"You handled the situation very well indeed," I told him. "Had you not been waiting when we fought our way into the open, the nearly invisible things on the outside might have--but you don't know about them yet."
Picking up the microphone again, I ordered a pair of searchlights to follow the disintegrator ray, and made my way forward, where I could observe activities through a port.
The ray was boring straight down into a shoulder of a rocky hill, and the bright beams of the searchlights glowed redly with the dust of disintegration. Here and there I could see the shadowy, transparent forms of the creatures that the self-constituted rulers of this world had doomed to a demi-existence, and I smiled grimly to myself. The tables would soon be turned.
* * * * *
For perhaps an hour the ray melted its way into the solid rock, while I stood beside Ott and his crew, watching. Then, down below us, things began to happen.
Little fragments of rock flew up from the shaft the ray had drilled. Jets of black mud leaped into the air. There was a sudden blast from below that rocked the Ertak, and the shaft became a miniature volcano, throwing rocky fragments and mud high into the air.
"Very good, Ott," I said triumphantly. "Cease action." As I spoke, the first light of the dawn, unnoticed until now, spread itself over the scene, and we witnessed then one of the strangest scenes that the Universe has ever beheld.
Up to the very edge of that life-giving blast of mineral-laden gas the tenuous creatures came crowding. There were hundreds of them, thousands of them. And they were still coming, crowding closer and closer and closer, a mass of crawling, yellowish shadows against the sombre earth.
Slowly, they began to fill out and darken, as they drew in the fumes that were more than bread and meat and water to us. Where there had been formless shadows, rotund creatures such as we had met in the cavern stood and lashed their tentacles about in a sort of frenzied gladness, and fell back to make room for their brothers.
* * * * *
"It's a sight to make a man doubt his own eyes, sir," said Correy, who had come to stand beside me. "Look at them! Thousands of them pouring from every direction. How did it happen?"
"It didn't happen. I used our disintegrator ray as a drill; we simply sunk a huge shaft down into the bowels of the earth until we struck the source of the vapor which the self-appointed 'ruling class' has bottled up. We have emancipated a whole people, Mr. Correy."
"I hate to think of what will happen to those in the cavern," replied Correy, smiling grimly. "Or rather, since you've told me of the pleasant little death they had arranged for us. I'm mighty glad of it. They'll receive rough treatment, I'm afraid!"
"They deserve it. It has been a great sight to watch, but I believe we've seen enough. It has been a good night's work, but it's daylight, now, and it will take hours to repair the damage to the Ertak's hull. Take over in the navigating room, if you will, and pick a likely spot where we will not be disturbed. We should be on our course by to-night, Mr. Correy."
"Right, sir," said Correy, with a last wondering look at the strange miracle we had brought to pass on the earth below us. "It will seem good to be off in space again, away from the troubles of these little worlds."
"There are troubles in space, too," I said dryly, thinking of the swarm of meteorites that had come so close to wiping the Ertak off the records of the Service. "You can't escape trouble even in space."
"No, sir," said Correy from the doorway. "But you can get your sleep regularly!"
And sleep is, when one comes to think of it, a very precious thing.
Particularly for an old man, whose eyelids are heavy with years.
* * *
Contents
NO MOVING PARTS
By Murray F. Yaco
Hansen was sitting at the control board in the single building on Communications Relay Station 43.4SC, when the emergency light flashed on for the first time in two hundred years.
With textbook-recommended swiftness, he located the position of the ship sending the call, identified the ship and the name of its captain, and made contact.
"This is Hansen on 43.4SC. Put me through to Captain Fromer."
"Fromer here," said an incredible deep voice, "what the devil do you want?"
"What do I want?" asked the astonished Hansen. "It was you, sir, who sent the emergency call."
"I did no such thing," said Fromer with great certainty.
"But the light flashed--"
"How long have you been out of school?" Fromer asked.
"Almost a year, sir, but that doesn't change the fact that--"
"That you're imagining things and that you've been sitting on that asteroid hoping that something would happen to break the monotony. Now leave me the hell alone or I'll put you on report."
"I don't allow emergencies on the Euclid Queen," said Fromer with growing anger. "Now, if you don't--"
Hansen spared himself the indignity of being cut off. He broke contact himself. He sighed, reached for a book entitled Emergency Procedure Rules, and settled back in his chair.
Fifteen minutes later the emergency light flashed on for the second time in two hundred years. With its red glow illuminating his freckled excited face, Hansen triumphantly placed another call to the Euclid Queen.
"This is Hansen on 43.4SC. Let me speak to Captain Fromer, please."
"Er--the Captain has asked me to contact you. I'm the navigator. I was just about to call you. We have a small problem that--"
"I'll speak to the Captain," Hansen repeated grimly.
"Now see here. I'm perfectly capable of handling this situation. Actually, it's hardly even an emergency. You were, it seems, signaled automatically when--"
"If you'll check your emergency procedures," Hansen said, holding his thumb in the Rule Book, "you'll note that the Relay Station Attendant contacts the Captain personally during all emergencies. Of course, if you want to violate--"
"Look, old man," said the navigator, now sounding on the verge of tears, "try to realize the spot I'm in. Fromer has ordered me to handle this thing without his assistance. He seems to feel that you have a grudge of some kind--"
"If you don't put me in touch with Captain Fromer in five minutes, I'll put through a call to Sector Headquarters." Hansen signaled off contact. If he knew nothing else about the situation, he knew that he had the upper hand.
* * * * *
Five minutes later Captain Fromer called him back. "I am calling in accordance with emergency procedures," Fromer said between clinched teeth. "The situation is this: We are reporting an emergency--"
"What class emergency?" Hansen interrupted.
"Class?" asked Fromer, obviously caught off guard.
"Yes, Captain. There are three classes of emergencies. Major class, which would include death and injury. Mechanical class, including malfunction of Hegler units and such. And General class--"
"Yes, yes, of course, General class by all means," Fromer said hurriedly. "You see, it's hardly even an emergency. We--"
"Just what is the nature of the trouble, Captain?"
"Why, uh, well it seems that we were doing a preliminary landing procedure check, and ..."
"Yes, go on."
"Why, er, it seems that we can't get the door open."
It was Hansen's turn to be taken aback. "You're pulling my leg, sir."
"I most certainly am not," Captain Fromer said emphatically.
"You really mean that you can't open the door?"
"I'm afraid so. Something's wrong with the mechanism. Our technical staff has never encountered a problem like this, and they advise me that any attempt at repair might possibly result in the opposite situation."
"You mean not being able to get the door closed?"
"Precisely. In other words, we can't land."
"I see. Then I'm afraid there's nothing I can do except advise Sector Headquarters to send an emergency repair crew."
Captain Fromer sighed. "I'm afraid so, too. How long will it take for a message to get there with your transmitting equipment?"
"Two days, Captain. At a guess, there'll be a ship alongside within the week. You'll be maintaining your present position, I assume?"
"Oh, we'll be here, all right," Fromer said bitterly. Then he cut contact.
* * * * *
As the single occupant of a large asteroid with nothing but time and boredom on his hands, Hansen was enjoying the whole situation immensely. He allowed himself the luxury of several dozen fantasies in which his name was mentioned prominently in galaxy-wide reports of the episode. He imagined that Captain Fromer was also creating vivid accounts--of quite another sort--that would soon be amusing several hundred billion news-hungry citizens of the Federation.
When the repair ship arrived, it came, to Hansen's astonishment, to the asteroid, and not alongside Fromer's ship. He soon found out that there was someone else who shared the Captain's embarrassment.
"I'm Bullard," said a tall, thin, mournful man. "Mind if I sit?"
"Help yourself," Hansen waved a hand toward the meager accommodations. He had no idea why a Senior Engineer was being so deferential, but he enjoyed the feeling of power.
"You're probably wondering about a lot of things," Bullard began sadly. "Frankly, we don't have any ideas about how we can fix Captain Fromer's door." He waited to let that sink in. Then he continued: "It took us three days back at the base to find out that when these ships were built, almost five hundred years ago, nobody bothered to include detail drawings of the door mechanism."
"But why? You certainly know how to build--"
"We know how to build Star Class ships, sure. We've built a few in the past century or two. There's never been need for replacement, really. These ships are designed to last forever. The original fleet was conceived to fill the System's needs for a full thousand years."
"But the doors on the few ships that have been built. How--"
"The ship's we've built were exact duplicates of Captain Fromer's ship--except for the door." Bullard's long face radiated despair. "No one ever questioned why the door mechanism wasn't included in the original plans. We simply designed another type--a different type--of door."
"Well, you certainly can find out how this particular door works, can't you?"
"I hope so," Bullard said, wringing his hands. "But we have a couple of other problems. Number one, Captain Fromer has an extremely important passenger aboard. None other than His Exalted Excellency, R'thagna Bar. He is--or was--on his way home after concluding a treaty of friendship with the President of the Federation."
Hansen managed a whistle.
"Furthermore," Bullard continued, "His Excellency has to be home soon to get there in time for the mating season. This occurs once in a lifetime, I'm told, and this is his only chance to continue the ancestral rule--"
"Wait a minute," Hansen said. "Are you trying to say that you can't solve a simple problem like getting him home and getting him out of the ship? You can always cut it in two, can't you?"
"These ships were made to last forever," Bullard explained. "The hull is, of course, pseudo-met, but, not the kind of pseudo-met used for other applications. In short, about the only way you'll get in that ship is to vaporize it."
"But can't you simply disassemble the door mechanism? My God, how complicated can it be?"
"We're going to try to do just that," Bullard said without a trace of confidence. "As far as the complication goes, let me say just this: it's full of moving parts."
"What are you getting at?" Hansen asked.
"Just this. These ships are perfect mechanisms. There is hardly anything in them that could be called a moving part. Now a door has to open and close. Sure, we devised a simple, safe way to do it a few hundred years after the original fleet was built. The men who designed the original door mechanism felt, perhaps, that it was incongruous to include it in the first place. Maybe that is why they threw away the plans. God knows, it is incongruous. Look! Here's a photo we took of one in a ship back at base."
Hansen scanned the photograph. It was a meaningless jumble. He handed it back. "Well, make yourself at home. I'm afraid that the only thing I can help with will be radio communication to Captain Fromer's ship."
"Good enough," Bullard said. "I'm expecting someone else tomorrow. After you bring him down, feel free to drop over and see me anytime."
* * * * *
Bullard went back to his ship, and Hansen went to bed. He dreamed of His Exalted Excellency R'thagna Bar, growing angrier day by day as the time of mating came closer. In his dream he suddenly came upon a magnificent solution to t
he problem, a solution involving a telepathic system of fertilization. He woke up before he had completely worked out the details.
Bullard's friend arrived the same morning. He was a small, dark active little man whom Hansen immediately disliked.
"Meet Dr. Quemos," Bullard said when Hansen dropped in on them. "Dr. Quemos is a specialist in the history of technology. He thinks he knows how our cute little door mechanism is made."
"Can't say for sure," Quemos said, "but I'd guess that those components are made of metal--real metal."
"I thought that metal was used only in jewelry," Hansen said.
Dr. Quemos grinned slyly. "That's what most people think. Actually, refined metal of various types was used in large masses, formed masses, for thousands of years. Historically speaking, the pseudo-mets are relatively new."
"It's difficult to imagine metal functioning as machinery," Hansen mused.
"And you say that this door mechanism has moving parts, lots of them?"
"Moving parts are nothing to be afraid of," Quemos said. "Here, look at this." He put something small on the table, much in the manner of a young boy dropping a garter snake in the midst of school girls. Bullard and Hansen crowded around. "Now, take turns," said Quemos sharply, "and don't drop it. It's priceless, I assure you." The ancient wrist watch with its transparent back was passed from hand to hand.
"Frightening little monster, isn't it," Bullard said.
"Those small round wheels are called gears," elucidated Quemos, "one gear turns another, which turns another, and so on. I rather imagine that your door is operated on some similar principle."
"I seem to be the one who asks all the schoolboy questions," Hansen began, "would somebody tell me why Captain Fromer doesn't take His Excellency to his home planet, land the ship, and then let his technical staff tear off the door mechanism?"
"We've gone through that," Bullard said wearily. "Unfortunately we need special tools. And there's no way to get them into the ship."
"Can I speak to Captain Fromer?" Quemos asked.
"Right away," Hansen said. He pressed his hand in various patterns on his belt. "This is Hansen. Let us talk to Captain Fromer, please."