Galactic Dreams

by Harry Harrison

  “With combat dogs? Jax asked.

  “Either that or donkeys. Or dugongs. But that is my worry, not yours. All that you guys have to do is get out there and crack Biru-2 wide open. I know you can do it.

  If the stern-faced Corpsmen had any doubts, they kept them to themselves, for that is the way of the Corps. They did what had to be done and next morning, at exactly 0304:00 hours, the mighty bulk of the Indefectible hurled itself into space. The roaring MacPherson engines poured quintillions of ergs of energy into the reactor drive until they were safely outside of the gravity field of Earth. Jax labored over the engines, shoveling the radioactive transvestite into the gaping maw of the hungry furnace, until Steel signaled from the bridge that it was changeover time. Then they changed over to the space eating Kelly drive. Steel jammed home the button that activated the drive and the great ship leaped starward at seven times the speed of light. Since the drive was fully automatic, Jax freshened up in the fresher, while his clothes were automatically washed in the washer, then proceeded to the bridge.

  (Note - When the inventor, Patsy Kelly, was asked how ships could move at seven times the speed of light when the limiting velocity of matter, according to Einstein, was the speed of light, he responded in his droll Goidelic way, with a shrug, “Well-sure and I guess Einstein was wrong. )

  “Really,” Steel said, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead. “I didn’t know you went in for polkadot jockstraps.

  “It was the only thing I had clean. The washer dissolved the rest of my clothes.

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s the larshniks of Biru-2 who have to worry! We hit atmosphere in exactly seventeen minutes and I have been thinking about what to do when that happens.

  “Well I certainly hope someone has! I haven’t had time to draw a deep breath, much less think!

  “Don’t worry, old pal, we are in this together. The way I figure it we have two choices. We can blast right in, guns roaring, or we can slip in by stealth.

  “Oh, you really have been thinking, haven’t you.

  “I’ll ignore that because you are tired. Strong as we are I think the land-based batteries are stronger. So I suggest that we slip in without being noticed.

  “Isn’t that a little hard when you are flying in a thirty-million-ton spacer?

  “Normally, yes. But do you see this button here marked invisibility? While you were loading the fuel they explained this to me. It is a new invention, never used in action before, that will render us invisible and impervious to detection by any of their detection instruments.

  “Now that’s more like it. Fifteen minutes to go, we should be getting mighty close. Turn on the old invisibility ray … .

  “Don’t!

  “Done. Now what’s your problem?

  “Nothing really. Except that the experimental invisibility device is not expected to last more than fifteen minutes before it burns out.

  Unhappily, this proved to be the case. One hundred miles above the barren, blasted surface of Biru-2 the good old Indefectible popped into existence.

  In the minutest fraction of a millisecond the mighty spacesonar and super-radar had locked grimly onto the invading ship while the sublights flickered their secret signals, waiting for a correct response that would reveal the invader as one of theirs.

  “I’ll send a signal, stall them. These larshniks aren’t too bright.

  Steel laughed. He thumbed on the microphone, switched to the intestellar emergency frequency, then bit out the rasping words in a sordid voice. “Agent X-9 to prime base.

  Had a firefight with the patrol, shot up my codebooks, but I got all the *** ***s, ha-ha! Am coming home with a load of 800,000 long tons of the hellish krmml weed.

  The larshnik response was instantaneous. From the gaping, pitted orifices of thousands of giant blaster cannon there vomited forth ravening rays of energy that strained the very fabric of space itself. These coruscating forces blasted into the impregnable screens of the old Indefectible which, sadly, was destined not to get much older, and instantly punched their way through and splashed coruscatingly from the very hull of the ship itself. Mere matter could not stand against such forces unlocked in the coruscating bowels of the planet itself so that the impregnable impervialite metal walls instantly vaporized into a thin gas which was, in turn, vaporized into the very electrons and protons (and neutrons too) of which it was made.

  Mere flesh and blood could not stand against such forces. But in the few seconds it took the coruscating energies to eat through the force screens, hull, vaporized gas, and protons, the reckless pair of valiant Corpsmen had hurled themselves headlong into their space armor. And just in time! The ruin of the once great ship hit the atmosphere and seconds later slammed into the poison soil of Biru-2.

  To the casual observer it looked like the end. The once mighty queen of the spaceways would fly no more for she now consisted of no more than two hundred pounds of smoking junk. Nor was there any sign of life from the tragic wreck to the surface crawlers who erupted from a nearby secret hatch concealed in the rock and crawled through the smoking remains with all their detectors detecting at maximum gain. Report! the radio signal wailed. No sign of life to fifteen decimal places! snapped back the cursing operator of the crawlers before he signaled them to return to base. Their metal cleats clanked viciously across the barren soil, and then they were gone. All that remained was the cooling metal wreck hissing with despair as the poison rain poured like tears upon it.

  Were these two good friends dead? I thought you would never ask. Unbeknownst to the larshnik technicians, just one millisecond before the wreck struck down two massive and almost indestructible suits of space armor had been ejected by coiled steelite springs, sent flying to the very horizon where they landed behind a concealing spine of rock, which, just by chance was the spine of rock into which the secret hatch had been built that concealed the crawlway from which the surface crawlers with their detectors emerged for their fruitless search, to which they returned under control of their cursing operator, who, stoned-again with hellish krmml weed, never noticed the quick flick of the detector needles as the crawlers reentered the tunnel, this time bearing on their return journey a cargo they had not exited with as the great door slammed shut behind them.

  “We’ve done it! We’re inside their defenses,” Steel rejoiced. “And no thanks to you, pushing that Mrddl-cursed invisibility button.

  “Well, how was I to know? Jax grated. “Anyways, we don’t have a ship anymore but we do have the element of surprise. They don’t know that we are here, but we know they are here!

  “Good thinking. Hssst! he hissed. “Stay low, we’re coming to something.

  The clanking crawlers rattled into the immense chamber cut into the living stone and now filled with deadly war machines of all description. The only human there, if he could be called human, was the larshnik operator whose soiled fingertips sprang to the gun controls the instant he spotted the intruders, but he never stood a chance. Precisely aimed rays from two blasters zeroed in on him and in a millisecond he was no more than a charred fragment of smoking flesh in the chair. Corps justice was striking at last to the larshnik lair.

  Justice it was, impersonal and final, impartial and murderous, for there were no “innocents” in this lair of evil. Ravening forces of civilized vengeance struck down all that crossed their path as the two chums rode a death-dealing combat gun through the corridors of infamy. “This is the big one.

  Steel grimaced as they came to an immense door of gold plated impervialite before which a suicide squad committed suicide under the relentless scourge of fire. There was more feeble resistance, smokily, coruscatingly, and noisily exterminated, before this last barrier went down and they strode in triumph into the central control, now manned by a single figure at the main panel. Superlash himself, secret head of the empire of interstellar crime.

  “You have met your destiny,” Steel intoned grimly, his weapon fixed unmovingly upon the black-robed figure in the opaque space he
lmet. “Take off that helmet or you die upon the instant.

  His only reply was a slobbered growl of inchoate rage, and for a long instant the black-gloved hands trembled over the gun controls. Then, ever so slowly, these same hands raised themselves to clutch at the helmet, to turn it, to lift it slowly off ….

  “By the sacred name of the Prophet Mrddl! the two Corpsmen gasped in unison, struck speechless by what they saw.

  “Yes, so now you know,” grated Superlarsh through angry teeth. “But, ha-ha, I’ll bet you never suspected.

  “You!! Steel insufflated, breaking the frozen silence. “You! You!! YOU!!!

  “Yes, me, I, Colonel von Thorax, Commandant of the CCC. You never suspected me and, ohh, how I laughed at you all of the time.

  “But … Jax stammered. “Why?

  “Why? The answer is obvious to any but democratic interstellar swine like you. The only thing the larshniks of the galaxy had to fear was something like the CCC, a powerful force impervious to outside bribery or sedition, noble in the cause of righteousness. You could have caused us trouble. Therefore we founded the CCC, and I have long been head of both organizations. Our recruiters bring in the best that the civilized planets can offer, and I see to it that most of them are brutalized, their morale destroyed, bodies wasted, and spirits crushed so they are no longer a danger. Of course, a few always make it through the course no matter how disgusting I make it - every generation has its share of super-masochists, but I see that these are taken care of pretty quickly.

  “Like being sent on suicide missions? Steel asked ironically.

  “That’s a good way.

  “Like the one we were sent on - but it didn’t work! Say your prayers, you filthy larshnik, for you are about to meet your maker!

  “Maker? Prayers? Are you out of your skull? All larshniks are atheists to the end … .

  And then it was the end, in a coruscating puff of vapor, dead with those vile words upon his lips, no less than he deserved.

  “Now what? Steel asked.

  “This,” Jax responded, shooting the gun from his hand and imprisoning him instantly with an unbreakable paralysis ray. “No more second best for me - stuck in the engine room with you on the bridge. This is my ball game from here on in.

  “Are you mad! Steel fluttered through paralyzed lips.

  “Sane for the first time in my life. The superlarsh is dead, long live the new superlarsh. It’s mine, the whole galaxy, mine.

  “And what about me?

  “I should kill you, but that would be too easy. And you did share your chocolate bars with me. You will be blamed for this entire debacle. For the death of Colonel von Thorax and for the disaster here at larshnik prime base. Every man’s hand will be against you, and you will be an outcast and will flee for your life to the farflung outposts of the galaxy where you will live in terror.

  “Remember the chocolate bars!

  “I do. All I ever got were the stale ones. Now … GO!

  You want to know my name? Old Sarge is good enough. My story? Too much for your tender ears, boyo. Just top up the glasses, that’s the way, and join me in a toast. At least that much for a poor old man who has seen much in this long lifetime. A toast of bad luck, bad cess I say, may Great Kramddl curse forever the man some know as Gentleman Jax. What, hungry? Not me, no, NO! Not a chocolate bar!!!!!

  3:

  DOWN TO EARTH

  “Gino … Gino … help me! For God’s sake, do something!

  The tiny voice scratched in Gino Lombardi’s earphone, weak against the background roar of solar interference. Gino lay flat in the lunar dust, half-buried by the pumice-fine stuff, arm extended and reaching far down into the cleft in the rock. Through the thick fabric of his suit he felt the edge crumbling and pulled hastily back. The dust and pieces of rock fell instantly, pulled down by the light lunar gravity, unimpeded by any trace of air. A fine mist of dust settled on Glazer’s helmet below, partially obscuring his tortured face.

  “Help me, Gino, get me out of here,” he implored, stretching his arm up over his head.

  “It’s no good,” Gino answered, putting as much of his weight onto the crumbling lip of rock as he dared, reaching far down. His hand was still a good yard short of the other’s groping glove. “I can’t reach you - and I’ve got nothing here I can let down for you to grab. I’m going back to the Bug.

  “Don’t leave … Glazer called, but his voice was cut off as Gino slid back from the crevice and scrambled to his feet. Their tiny helmet radios did not have enough power to send a signal through the rock, were good only for line-of-sight communication.

  Gino ran as fast as he could, long gliding jumps one after the other back towards the Bug. It did look more like a bug here, a red beetle squatting on the lunar landscape, its four spidery support legs sunk into the dust. He cursed under his breath as he ran: what a hell of an ending for the first Moon flight! A good blast-off and a perfect orbit, the first two stages had dropped on time, the lunar orbit was right, the landing had been perfect. And ten minutes after they had walked out of the Bug, Glazer had to fall into this crevice hidden under the powdery dust. To come all this way, through all the multiple hazards of space, then to fall into a hole … There was just no justice.

  At the base of the ship Gino flexed his legs and bounded high up towards the top section of the Bug, grabbing onto the bottom of the still open door of the cabin. He had planned his moves while he ran, the magnetometer would be his best bet. Pulling it from the rack he yanked at its long cable until it came free in his hand, then turned back without wasting a second. It was a long leap back to the surface - in Earth gravitational terms - but he ignored the apparent danger and jumped, sinking knee deep in the dust when he landed. The row of, scuffled tracks stretched out towards the slash of the lunar crevice: he ran all the way, chest heaving in spite of the pure oxygen he was breathing. Throwing himself flat he skidded and wriggled like a snake, back to the crumbling lip.

  “Get ready, Glazer,” he shouted, his head ringing inside the helmet with the captive sound of his own voice. “Grab the cable … .

  The crevice was empty. More of the soft rock had crumbled away and Glazer had fallen from sight.

  For a long time Major Gino Lombardi lay there, flashing his light into the seemingly bottomless slash in the satellite’s surface, calling on his radio with the power turned full on. His only answer was static, and gradually he became aware of the cold from the eternally chilled rocks that was seeping through the insulation of his suit. Glazer was gone, that was all there was to it.

  After this Gino did everything that he was supposed to do in a methodical, disinterested way. He took rock samples, dust samples, meter readings, placed the recording instruments exactly as he had been shown, then fired the test shot in the precisely drilled hole. When this was done he gathered all the records from the instruments and went back to the Bug. When the next orbit of the Apollo spacecraft brought it overhead he turned on the cabin transmitter and sent up a call.

  “Come in, Dan … Colonel Danton Coye, can you .hear me…

  “Loud and clear,” the speaker crackled. “Tell me you guys, how does it feel to be walking on the Moon?

  “Glazer is dead. I’m alone. I have all the data and photographs required. Permission requested to cut this stay shorter than planned. I don’t think there is any need to stay down here any longer.

  For long seconds there was just the crackling silence; then Dan’s voice came in, the same controlled, Texas drawl.

  “Roger, Gino, stand by for computer signal. I think we can meet in the next orbit.

  The moon takeoff went as smoothly as the rehearsal had gone in the mock-up back on earth; and Gino was too busy doing double duty to have time to think about what had happened. He was strapped in when the computer radio signal fired the engines that burned down into the lower portion of the Bug and lifted the upper half free, blasting it upwards the rendezvous in space with the orbiting mother ship. The joined sections of the Apollo came
into sight and Gino realized he would pass in front of it, going too fast: he made the course corrections with a sensation of deepest depression. The computer had not allowed for the reduced mass of the lunar rocket with only one passenger aboard. After this, matching orbits was not too difficult and minutes later he crawled through the entrance of the command module and sealed it behind him. Dan Coye stayed at the controls, not saying anything until the cabin pressure had stabilized and they could remove their helmets.

  “What happened down there, Gino?

  “An accident, a crack in the lunar surface, covered lightly, sealed over by dust. Glazer just … fell into the thing. That’s all. I tried to get him out, I couldn’t reach him. I went to the Bug for some wire, but when I came back he had fallen deeper … it was…

  Gino had his face buried in his hands, and even he didn’t know if he was sobbing or just shaking with fatigue and strain.

  “I’ll tell you a secret, I’m not superstitious at all,” Dan said, reaching deep into a zippered pocket of his pressure suit. “Everybody thinks I am, which just goes to show you how wrong everybody can be. Now I got this mascot, because all pilots are supposed to have mascots, and it makes good copy for the reporters when things are dull.

  He pulled the little black rubber doll from his pocket, made famous on millions of TV screens, and waved it at Gino.

  “Everybody knows I always tote my little good-luck mascot with me, but nobody knows just what kind of good luck it has. Now you will find out, Major Gino Lombardi, and be privileged to share my luck. In the first place this bitty doll is not rubber, which might have a deleterious effect on the contents, but is constructed of a neutral plastic.

  In spite of himself, Gino looked up as Dan grabbed the doll’s head and screwed it off.

  “Notice the wrist motion as I decapitate my friend, within whose bosom rests the best luck in the world, the kind that can only be brought to you by sour-mash one-hundred-and-fifty proof bourbon. Have a slug.

  He reached across and handed the doll to Gino.