Cragg looked reflectively at Dane. “Fifty-five will do it.”
“Twenty-five per cent,” the speaker interrupted. The voice was excited.
Cragg shot Dane a triumphant look. “It looks like you hit it! That’s the best we’ve reached yet.” His voice took edge. “Push it up to fifty-five. Then give her sixty.”
Dane wondered at the absence of drive noise, before he remembered that the command post was soundproof.
The deck lurched. Dane fell hard against the bulkhead. The floor was dancing, and he was falling and sliding against the other wall. No take-off, he thought dimly, shielding himself against the clattering cascade of things.
The chamber’s box swung once drunkenly and righted itself. A voice said, “Are you all right, sir?”
McDonald was bending over the colonel. Dane saw the frost pinching Cragg’s lips.
“I’d better call Captain King,” McDonald urged.
Cragg caught his breath. “No!” he grunted. He waved the lieutenant back. “Check on the damage. I want to know what happened.” His eyes sought Sergeant Peeney. “Get Major Beloit on the hand phone.”
Dane righted the wheel chair. He got his hands under Cragg’s armpits.
“I can make it,” Cragg protested. He put his palms down against the floor and pushed himself up on his knees. “Maybe,” he gasped.
“Here,” Dane said. He steadied Cragg’s arm and shoulder and got him back in the chair, seeing his lips go white again.
“Major Beloit, sir,” Peeney said.
Cragg took the phone. “What happened?” he demanded.
He listened without interrupting. Finally he said, “Check it over.” He put down the phone. “That was a close one. The drive generators were entering runaway fission when Beloit and Vining managed to stop them. Basic field ratio shot up all at once. Emergency control had no effect on it. It looks like they blew at least two rocket-tube heads. Well?” he acknowledged McDonald.
“Sir, there isn’t any indicated damage to the hull or principal structural members. Only one casualty. One of the civilians thinks his arm is broken.”
Cragg brightened. “We came out of that one pretty lucky. We almost went over on our side.” He shook his head. That would have been it. Anyway, it sure looks like we’re on the right track. We nearly made it that time. We were up to thirty-seven per cent when we went out of control. For a guess I’d say we damn near had your Martians.”
Dane said, “You mean they almost got us. Maybe we shocked them a little, but they were still able to come out of it and upset the balances on the drive.”
“Maybe next time they won’t.” Cragg pointed at the wall charts of the two hemispheres of Mars. “There are millions of square miles in the green areas. That could mean a good many thousands of your colony intelligences. Nations of them maybe, with common interests and objectives. Such as destroying us. Maybe they don’t even know we are trying to leave. They could easily think our take-off radiation is an attack on their life. You don’t know what they think.”
Dane wondered briefly at what had become of Tong Asia.
“Maybe we don’t have the power to jam enough of them,” Cragg went on. “But we’re going to try it again if the drive will still operate. This time we’ll heat ‘em up for an hour before we try our take-off.”
McDonald was holding one of the phones to his ear. He slapped it back on its contact and said, “Sir, Dr. Spivak reports external radiation has gone up rapidly since the explosion. It’s now at twenty-eight per cent penetrations and still climbing. Dr. Spivak says it’s nearing double our estimated critical point. Hull temperature is rising.”
A particularly unattractive death, Dane thought. For all their timageel shell, almost impregnable to a diamond drill, for all their careful insulations, the infinitesimal bullets were tearing through their bodies, smashing their soft organs, enfeebling their brain cells. In a few minutes, perhaps no more than an hour, they would be inseminated with the seed of death. By another day the Far Venture would be tenanted by the walking dead.
Cragg said, “Get me Major Beloit. We’ll attempt another take-off in fifteen minutes. Have Yudin turn full power into the antennas immediately.”
Dane broke in. “Colonel, I’ve been thinking.”
Cragg said, “Later.”
Dane kept on talking. “The messages we have received have always talked about the Martians as ‘one.’ In the singular. Always. Maybe it’s just their idiom, but then again it might mean that there is only one Martian. What would you think,” he pressed on, “if all the lichens of Mars formed one big single plant colony? One enormous unit of intelligence? So that the entire growth of lichens on the surface of Mars is like the cortex of one tremendous brain? That could explain the one business. Maybe the whole planet is one single mind. The local lichens around us would be just a small part of it. Even those in this hemisphere would amount to only about half. Maybe we only jammed a small part of the whole thing!”
“A vital spot!” Cragg exclaimed. “You mean that if there is only one big intelligence, all we have to do is find a vital spot? So how do we find it?”
“Not a vital spot. I wasn’t thinking of a vital spot. It’s a possibility, but I don’t see how we’re going to broadcast enough force to jam a mental activity that spreads over a whole planet.”
Cragg banged down his fist. “We’ll not rot here for lack of trying!”
A buzzer sounded. Dane saw the red light wink on the communications panel. McDonald flicked the key and spoke into his mouthpiece. When he had finished, he turned a serious face to Cragg. “Sir, the foreign radiation has passed three times the critical point. Spivak says maybe we have underestimated the critical point but not so much that we can take a triple dose. He says the hull temperature is already over four degrees higher. After correction.”
Cragg pushed himself to his feet. With effort plain he made the few steps to the wall charts. He took up a grease pencil and made X-marks over the green continents. When he put the pencil down, his black crosses stood at roughly even intervals over all the lichen forests of Mars.
He said, “McDonald, take the co-ordinates of those points. Approximate them. Tell fire control that I want major primary nuclear missiles laid simultaneously on every target point I marked. Tell Major Noel that I will expect him to be ready to fire number one inside of five minutes.”
He nodded at Sergeant Peeney. “Get me Major Beloit on the horn. Then alert all stations for another take-off.”
He grinned crookedly at Dane. “I’ll give you enough radiation to shock hell out of something. We’ll see how your Martian brain can take a fission headache.”
Dane counted the marks on the charts. Twenty-eight. Two dozen and a quarter of atom missiles. It was a grand slam or nothing!
Cragg got back into his chair without the help he disdained. He took the hand phone and said, “Beloit, I want another trial on take-off immediately....That’s what I said,” he repeated. “Immediately. In fifteen minutes, that is...I don’t give a damn about the tubes. She’ll have to climb out of here on what we’ve got left.”
He listened some more. “Vining, I don’t give a damn about the runaway fission either....No, you’re mistaken. You don’t have any responsibility for you to refuse to take. I have the responsibility.”
He handed the instrument back to Sergeant Peeney. “He’s a little nervous, Vining is.”
Dane said, “He’s got company.”
Cragg laughed, “Why not? This isn’t what I’d call a Sunday afternoon drive, myself.” He shrugged. “So she blows, she blows. One thing for certain, we don’t sit here on our rears for your Martian to roast us without trying something.”
30
AT 1131 the buzzer sounded and Noel’s voice came through. “All missiles laid for firing.” It was six minutes after Cragg had given him the word.
Cragg pointed at the hand phone. He lifted it from Peeney’s reach with expressionless care. “Buzz drive,” he said. When he had his conne
ction, he said, “Beloit, you ready for take-off?”
Dane heard Beloit husking the diaphragm.
“Good,” Cragg replied. “Stand by.” He swung to McDonald. “What does fire control calculate the lag from firing time to detonation on targets?”
McDonald sent the question over the wire. “Minutes 14, seconds 19,” he relayed the answer to Cragg.
“We won’t take it that long,” Cragg snapped. “Step it up to maximum lag of minutes 5.”
McDonald hesitated. “Sir, they’re over escape velocity now. Major Noel is already afraid the missiles won’t control.”
Cragg swore. “So they don’t! Just make sure they strike somewhere in the target regions. Hurry it up, man!”
McDonald grabbed at the microphone, missed, and grabbed again, but he repeated the order steadily.
A speaker crackled. Noel’s voice came on the emergency circuit. Noel to Colonel Cragg. Colonel, it won’t work. I am preparing to fire on original calculations.”
“Shut that damn thing off,” Cragg roared. “Give me that pad, Sergeant.” He scribbled rapidly. “McDonald, deliver this order to Major Noel. He is relieved from duty. You take over down there. Hurry it up. Take it over and let’s go.”
McDonald sprang smoothly alive. With one motion he snatched the paper and thrust past Dane. Peeney jumped to the door and worked the seal-off handles.
Cragg said, “I didn’t think he’d ever crack. The man’s like a machine.” He swiveled the wheel chair around and urged it to the control desk. Jabbing out a hand, he scooped up the microphone and manipulated the switch keys. “Put Major Noel on. This is Colonel Cragg.”
Dane heard a choked oath. He whirled around at the door. Peeney had it open now. Wide. Major Noel stood framed in the opening. He pushed a snub-nosed Air Force revolver rigidly forward, his lips twisted in a tight grin.
“At your service, Colonel,” he said. “Temporarily.” He swung the muzzle at McDonald. “If you and the sergeant will be good enough to get back out of my way.”
“What in the very hell are you trying to do?” Cragg shouted. “You’re under arrest!”
Noel chuckled. “A slight correction, sir. You are under arrest. I have taken over the command.” He stepped inside. “Here are my orders.” He waved the pistol.
“I wouldn’t try it,” he cracked sharply at McDonald.
McDonald’s hand relaxed.
Cragg’s voice shook with anger. “Noel, you will put that weapon here on the table and go to your quarters. We’re under severe radiation. It’s your life as well as ours, if we don’t get off the ground immediately.”
Noel nudged the heavy door shut with his foot. He put his other hand behind him and pushed down the dogging that sealed it. “Now that we’re alone I’ll attend to the take-off. First there are a few preliminaries.” He looked at Dane. “I’m sorry you had to be in here. I owe you a debt. Anyway, you think too much. Worst of all, you talk too much.”
Cragg said earnestly, quietly, “Noel, if you don’t put that weapon down immediately, I’ll give the order to shoot you.”
Noel’s eyebrows twitched. “No,” he said conversationally. “I’m going to kill you. All of you.”
With small movement he diverted the barrel and fired. McDonald cried out. He drove hard back against the bench and slumped to the floor.
The muzzle came squarely around. “That’s one,” Noel remarked. “Peeney, you’re as good a first sergeant as there is in the Air Force, but you’re here and armed too, so I’m afraid you’re next.”
Peeney shouted loud. “Not so damned sure...”
Dane saw Noel’s eyes move away. He dived quickly at him and felt his shoulder hit hard. They went down in a thrashing heap.
The small body was wiry. Stringy strong. Dane swarmed all over it violently, expecting the blast and the tearing slug. When Noel’s shoulder jerked powerfully, he knew where the weapon was. He flung his hand along the escaping arm and got it by the wrist. He felt the arm wrench and heard someone say, “Okay, I’ve got his pistol.”
Noel’s quick upthrusting hands found his throat and the thumbs bit gagging in. Dane fumbled for a finger to snap, felt the body go limp.
“That’ll fix him!” he heard Peeney shout.
Dane got up on his knees over Noel’s crooked sprawl.
Peeney said, “I socked him with his own pistol.”
Dane saw Cragg busy on the microphone. Who’s like a machine? he thought.
Cragg cut on the bank of speakers. “Missiles three, four, and five away,” a voice announced. Then again, “Missiles six and seven away.”
Cragg twisted around. “They’re averaging out the co-ordinates. Is the lieutenant dead?”
They looked at Peeney bending over McDonald.
He nodded. “God damn him!” he said slowly. “I didn’t hit him hard enough!”
Cragg said, “He’s coming out of it. Watch him and have him taken out of here.”
The metallic voice droned on, announcing the flight of the missiles.
“McDonald was a fine young officer,” Cragg said.
Peeney said, “Yes, sir, he was at that.”
“One more now we’ll have to leave here,” Cragg went on. “Even if we get off, we’ll have to commit him to the air over Mars. He suddenly flared at Dane. “So he died at the post of duty. That won’t make much of a story for your newspapers. Maybe you can find room for it, if you ever get there yourself, to say that it’s not a bad end to meet. Even for a very young man.”
“I’m sorry about the lieutenant, sir,” Dane said.
Cragg looked up again. “Yes,” he said, “of course. I don’t always mean to be taking things out on you. You undoubtedly saved our lives. At least for a while.”
“It was quick work,” Peeney said. “I’d never have gotten in a shot. He had me covered.”
Dane said, “Forget it.”
Cragg was no longer listening. Eye on the sweep hand of the big clock, he stretched out his hand for the microphone. “Beloit? Thirty seconds...fifteen seconds...five seconds...”
A bank of red buttons winked simultaneously on the board before him. The missiles had exploded.
“Now!” he cried into the microphone.
All over Mars, Dane thought, the mushrooms were evilly erupting, piling up into the alien-thin air.
Cragg steadily poured on power. When he gave the order to push past twenty-five per cent, Dane took a long breath.
“Take it on to fifty. Easy,” Cragg said into the mouthpiece.
Noel was mumbling now, a drool of words breaking up his harsh breathing. Possible skull fracture, Dane thought. Peeney would hit hard.
“Fifty-five,” Cragg ordered.
Dane felt the deck move. Ever so slightly, yet a move! But his eyes on the radar altimeter still read zero.
“Sixty!” Cragg ordered.
The altimeter needle trembled. Then it shook itself free from the zero peg. Steadily it moved around to five hundred feet.
“Seventy-five!” Cragg demanded.
This I will never forget, not one small detail of this. Dane knew that. Not Peeney hunched and staring at the dials that were scoring their life or their death. Not the little lump of muscle that knotted along Cragg’s scarred jaw. Not McDonald on the floor, dead two minutes too soon for the hope of life. Not the harsh blue coming back from the timageel walls and ceiling. Most of all, not the way one man was willing them off the ground of Mars.
Now he could feel the weight of his body against his leg vessels. The accelerometer trembled aslant from its null.
“Hold it right there,” Cragg ordered Beloit. “Steady on seventy-five.”
The words were scarcely said when the Far Venture lurched. Cragg’s chair rolled hard against the wall. She bucked again and seemed about to lay herself over.
A speaker flared. “Yudin to Colonel Cragg. A message is appearing on the table!”
The Far Venture staggered like a skiff in a heavy tide rip. Dane was unable to stand free
or lose his hold on the hand-rail. He thought of the altimeter. The needle was moving counterclockwise. They were losing altitude.
A monitor speaker sputtered again. “Colonel Cragg! Beloit to Colonel Cragg. We’re not gimbaling right. We’re losing the balance. Suggest we attempt a landing.”
The Far Venture was falling in a list of thirty-five degrees. It was impossible to move against it on the canted deck or even to get out of the gutter that had received them, men and bodies, between crazy floor and tilted bulkhead.
“The microphone!” Cragg shouted.
Dane didn’t dare look at the altimeter. He inched hand over hand along the rail toward the dangling instrument.
“Beloit to Command! Beloit to Command! Unless you instruct, I will attempt a landing.”
Dane got his hand on the microphone. Grateful for the long cord on the spring reel, he slid back and gave it over to Cragg.
Cragg snatched it to his lips. For one flashing moment Dane saw his brow furrow and his eyes turn to the instrument panel askew overhead. Then he saw the decision form, the marred face relax, turn impassive.
He spoke impersonally at his mouthpiece. “Beloit. I want full power. Blast us to the hell off of here.”
With some kind of a loud crash the bulkhead came up and smote Dane. Then another crash and they were rolling over floors and walls, pelted and battered by the odds and ends of furniture and each other’s bodies.
Dane heard Beloit come in again on the speaker. “Beloit to Colonel Cragg. She’s leaving us. Index is 117 per cent. She’ll rip herself apart!”
Cragg was sprawled in the stools and topped by his own wheel chair. Triumphantly he held to his phone. “Cut it back till it reads one hundred. Peeney,” he shouted around the mouthpiece, “get to the switches and put me on to fire control.”
Except the danger in the drive room, their flight was smoother. After all, Dane thought, runaway fission is nothing but a chain reaction out of control. Just like a bomb. If it gets away, we’ll never know it. Never know what hits us. Ergo, never feel it. “Christ, I must be radiation nuts!” he said out loud.
“Fire all remaining missiles,” Cragg ordered.
Not in Solitude [Revised Edition] Page 23
