Beyond the Event Horizon

by Albert Sartison

  “Just like that, so unceremoniously?”

  “Piracy is a serious crime. They know the risks.”

  “Couldn’t you just scare them off?”

  Kimble grimaced as if from a nagging toothache.

  “If we had not had the drones, we would only have had a few hours to live, Steve. In nine out of ten cases when a ship is seized, the crew does not survive. If we just scare them off, in another couple of weeks they’ll seize another ship.”

  “I realise that, but I’m still not happy about it. It seems kind of underhand.”

  “Have a chat with Toshi, he’ll tell you a lot of interesting things. He and his friend were the only survivors of an entire crew when they were kidnapped during loading. They spent eight weeks in a shuttle before a patrol chanced to pick them up. And another shuttle with his fellow crew members in it could not be intercepted, because it went too far into space and was lost.”

  Steve nodded to show that he understood the seriousness of the situation. After the incident on Mars, he himself knew what sort of people they were dealing with. For distraction, he immersed himself in reading the dossier on the anomaly. Shelby and his group were continuing to work on their research on Earth, and were keeping Steve and Clive in the picture if they succeeded in finding out anything new.

  “Drones will be in position in three minutes,” reported the ship’s computer in a matter-of-fact voice several long hours later. Kimble dimmed the light in the bridge.

  “Action begins!”

  Steve saw the image of the pirate ships taken through the drones’ telescopes. Over the past few hours, they had reached the pirates, turned, and were approaching them from behind. Now they were flying directly behind their targets, within the exhaust of their engines. The picture was partly covered by grey vapour. The drones were photographing from such a great distance that even the exhaust dissipated in space clouded them over somewhat.

  “How can they transmit images without the pirates noticing? They are directly between us!”

  “The drones sent out a communications satellite, which is flying a few thousand kilometres to one side. The image is relayed through it by laser.”

  The live image of the pirate ships was not very varied. Nothing could be seen apart from the light from their rear turbines. They twinkled slightly, and that was all the variety there was in the picture.

  “Drone 1 in position, awaiting Drone 2,” came a message from the first drone. Automatic devices provided information about the current combat situation in text form.

  “Drone 2 in position,” reported the second machine a little later, indicating its readiness. After that, the status reports from both drones began to come in almost synchronously.

  “Drone 1 locking on to target. Locked on to target.”

  “Drone 2 locking on to target. Locked on to target.”

  “The world will be a cleaner place without you guys,” muttered Kimble. Although the pirates deserved to be atomised, he was clearly deriving no pleasure from the process of killing them.

  “Drone 1 attacking.”

  “Drone 2 attacking.”

  Steve looked intently at the screen. His heart began to beat faster. Although the pictures from the monitors did not look any different from a computer game, they still made a very strong impression on him. He was so involved in the combat situation that he felt as if he were there, on board one of the pirate ships.

  He saw in his imagination the dim light of its bridge, where its captain was sitting with a bottle of whisky in his hand. The other members of the crew, unshaven, half drunk, their breath reeking of alcohol, were playing cards in the next compartment. They were discussing how they would spend the money they would get from seizing another ship, not realising that their plans were destined to fail. They only had a few seconds to live.

  Steve saw a fine white thread heading towards the pirates. The anti-matter charge fired from the drones’ weapons was annihilating the sparse molecules of the exhaust from the pirates’ turbines along the path of the shot. An instant later, quite silently and almost simultaneously, both pirate ships were transformed into a bright flare, shooting out orange fireworks in all directions.

  The drones, as if by command, decreased the magnification of the telescopes through which they were conducting visual observation of the targets. The spheres of the explosions were now fully in the picture. They rapidly increased in size, and, as they increased, they slowly became dimmer, changing from white to the colour of a dark Bordeaux wine. A few seconds later the light from the fragments went out and they were lost from view. Where the exhaust flames of the plasma exhausts had just been twinkling, nothing remained but the emptiness of space.

  “Drone 1, target destroyed. Returning to base.”

  “Drone 2, target destroyed. Returning to base.”

  Steve turned to look at the Captain, who was sitting there with a completely calm face.

  “Was that your first live relay of combat?” he asked.

  Steve nodded without saying anything. He had to digest what he had seen. Kimble got up from his seat, went over to Steve and clapped him on the shoulder.

  “Go and get some rest. By tomorrow evening, we shall reach the object of our expedition,” he said. His voice sounded unusually soft, and quieter than normal.

  Steve just nodded again and went to his cabin.

  6

  After dealing with the pirates and picking up the communication satellite, the drones drew apart from each other to take up the standard formation and set course to catch up with the expedition ship. By adopting this formation, they minimised the possibility of both of them being destroyed simultaneously in the event of a sudden attack.

  A few hours later, they were back in the cargo compartment of their base ship, and the maintenance robots checked their serviceability. Like any other weapon, the drones needed servicing after every use in combat. Once the serviceability of all their systems had been checked, they were again ready to defend their space base against uninvited guests, as the ship’s computer told the captain without delay.

  “I never thought it would be such child’s play for the drones to deal with two ships,” said Steve after hearing the report that the drones were ready again. During the time since the attack, he had managed to get some rest and get his thoughts together.

  “Well, if the pirates had known that pilotless spacecraft like those were hunting them, it wouldn’t have been so easy,” replied Kimble.

  “How could they have known? I thought it was impossible to spot them.”

  “Not everything is as simple as it seems from the outside. Our drones belong to the latest generation the army has. Older models would have been hard put to cope with two ships without loss.”

  “And here’s something I’ve never understood. If pirates are doing such damage to the economy, why doesn’t every ship have such things?” asked Steve, pointing to the display showing the two drones.

  The Captain laughed.

  “How do you think the pirates get their weapons?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose they buy them.”

  “OK. And where do their suppliers get them?”

  “I... I don’t know. All right, where do they get them?”

  “You can’t build sophisticated modern weapons in a garage. You need a whole chain of factories with high-technology equipment and special materials, and they cost a lot. The pirates mostly use captured weapons. Black market workshops sell a few, but the lion’s share consists of captured weapons.

  “If every commercial ship were equipped with toys like ours, in less than a year the pirates would have them too. And then the problems we have today would seem like child’s play.”

  “But how could they seize a ship if it were protected by things like these?”

  Kimble smiled condescendingly.

  “Because metal is just metal, even if it is as advanced as our drones. And man being what he is, he will always find a loophole, a weak point in any weapon, and th
at’s where he’ll strike. The people are the main thing, the weapons are secondary.”

  “Do you mean to say that when you were in the SSS, you could seize any weapons system?”

  “If we were given the task, yes, we could. It’s only a matter of the price I am willing to pay and the training of the personnel. The art of war is the art of deception; it’s not beating your head against a brick wall.”

  A trace of scepticism could be seen in Steve’s eyes. Kimble laughed.

  “You know, Steve, it is commonly believed that primeval man was a huge muscular monster, and that hordes of them used to attack mammoths and hit them on the head with clubs. But there are still tribes in Africa who hunt elephants with stone-age weapons. Do you know how they go about it?

  “Three short scrawny-looking aborigines creep up to the herd while it is asleep, select their victim, and cut the tendons in its legs. Next morning the herd gets up and moves on, but the wounded one soon begins to lag behind. The wound becomes inflamed, and the elephant finds it harder and harder to walk. After a few days, when the poor creature is totally exhausted, they cut one or two arteries. The unfortunate elephant, unable to resist, bleeds to death, passing calmly into the next world. Cunning, not brute force, is the key to victory.”

  “So they could seize us too?”

  “They could. But those two contraptions give us a considerable advantage. We can’t be taken easily. They would need a lot of ships and weapons and they would have to accept that half their people would not return from the mission. It’s too expensive to seize us, it wouldn’t pay. So we can consider ourselves safe.”

  The conversation was interrupted by the voice of the ship’s computer.

  “Regular scanning in gravity band completed. More precise information on location of source. One point three million kilometres to destination.”

  “Good. Commence deceleration. Complete stop at 100,000,” the captain ordered the computer, then he turned to Steve. “We’re almost there.”

  The ship gradually slowed down as it approached its target. EMC1906’s instruments and the whole scientific team were constantly scanning the sky in search of the source of the mysterious radiation.

  “Speed zero. Distance to anomaly 100,000 km,” reported the ship’s computer.

  So far, neither the detection systems on board nor Steve and Clive’s colleagues had been able to detect even a hint of any radiation device.

  “Hmm,” muttered Steve. “Perhaps there’s nothing there?”

  “How can there be nothing there? Are you saying the anomaly itself doesn’t exist?” snorted Clive. He had just returned from the cargo compartment and was in a bad mood.

  “No, but the generator, if there actually is one, could be non-material.”

  “So how does it generate waves? By waving a magic wand, do you think?”

  Kimble silently observed this dispute, looking from one to the other in turn.

  “How should I know what technologies they have?”

  Steve was gradually becoming irritated by Clive’s tone. As if it was his fault they couldn’t find the source!

  “I’ll say this,” said Kimble, butting into the conversation. “I don’t know what instruments you have there, but I know the ship’s systems very well. If they can’t find anything, it means that there is nothing there bigger than one cubic metre.”

  “Then maybe we should try approaching closer?” suggested Steve.

  Kimble glanced at Clive.

  “Do whatever you like.” Clive waved him away and turned back to his monitors.

  The captain looked inquiringly at Steve, as if to say, “What’s up with him?” Steve just rolled his eyes. Pay no attention to him...

  Kimble turned towards his console.

  “Continue approach to centre of anomaly. Stop at ten thousand,” he ordered.

  The ship rocked as the turbines were switched on again. Changing figures appeared on the screen, showing the distance to the target.

  Steve switched on the connection to his team.

  “We’re at 100,000, but still haven’t found anything. Closing to ten.”

  At 18,000, Mark, who was responsible for the gravity scanner and was working in the cargo compartment, came on line.

  “Steve, look at the data, I think I’ve dug something up.”

  After displaying the forwarded graphics on the main screen, Steve and Clive stared at them. To all appearances, the waves were emanating not from a point source, but from a surface of some kind with an area of several dozen square kilometres.

  “If the radiation surface is as big as that, why aren’t we seeing anything on the radar?” asked Steve thoughtfully.

  “Hmm, yes... Perhaps the radiating object is not solid, but consists of fine threads?” said Clive, suggesting a possibility.

  Steve smiled broadly and clapped Clive on the shoulder.

  “Clive, your beloved string theory has lain in the graveyard of science for more than 100 years now. You can never reconcile yourself...”

  “Leave off, Steve,” smiled Clive in reply. “No, I’m serious. In principle, even if the threads in themselves only had little weight, very high energies could be concentrated in them by means of super-high oscillations. This, by the way, would explain how the incomer generated gravity waves on board that ship without the aid of super-massive objects.”

  Steve, not finding an answer to that, thought for a while, but then shook his head sceptically.

  “A material string cannot oscillate at as high a frequency as you like. It would break from overload.”

  “We don’t know what materials they are using.”

  “Any material has a maximum tensile strength.”

  “Suppose they are using a magnetic field?”

  “How would they do that?”

  “By creating a tunnel from a field, which would compress the thread and not permit it to stretch even at super-high loads.”

  “But that’s pure fantasy!”

  “Why? It’s what we do in thermonuclear reactors. We use a magnetic field to restrain the plasma.”

  “There are no high-frequency oscillations there, and plasma jets are a lot thicker.”

  “The main thing is that such a thing is possible in principle. The rest is just a matter of technology, and theirs is very advanced. You won’t dispute that, will you?”

  “No, of course not. But all the same, it’s too complicated.”

  “Do you have a better explanation?”

  “No.”

  Clive maintained a significant silence, and sipped from his glass.

  “Just a minute,” intervened Kimble, who had been listening silently to the arguments. “These damned threads... If we hit them, what will happen?”

  “At the point of contact, material is probably converted into hard radiation...” surmised Clive in a melancholy tone.

  “What??? Why didn’t you warn me earlier?”

  Steve and Clive looked at each other.

  “Well, we’ve only just thought it out ourselves,” said Steve, embarrassed.

  “With what precision have you determined the location of these threads?”

  “Probably to within three to five thousand kilometres. Could be ten.”

  Kimble shot up from his seat.

  “Could be ten? What about 20?”

  “That’s possible.”

  “Oh, that’s great! We’re already closer than twenty thousand!” Kimble was beside himself with rage at these damned scientists. He gestured to the computer:

  “All engines stop. Reverse along same trajectory. Immediately!”

  The ship shook and began to decelerate sharply. Some things lying on the table began sliding in the direction of flight.

  “Sir, the field intensity gradients are falling in all directions. We are in the epicentre or very close to it,” the computer unexpectedly reported a few minutes later.

  “Yes, the error must be just on twenty thousand,” muttered Clive, earning an angry glare from Steve.<
br />
  “Oh, hell! This thing, is it like a mesh, or what?” Kimble was boiling with indignation.

  “I don’t think so. The aliens must have to fly through the gate somehow. More likely the threads simply encircle the radiating shape. That’s if they exist at all, these threads,” said Steve, trying to pacify Kimble, though he was feeling uneasy himself.

  A few hours later, when the ship had withdrawn to a respectable distance, the tension on the bridge had eased off.

  “Let’s not have anything like that again! Get your little grey cells working quicker!” said the captain sternly, after sitting in silence.

  Clive did not admit his guilt.

  “I was only proposing a theory, what’s wrong with that?”

  Kimble just gave him a discontented look, finished his drink and went out. He could be heard swearing as he went away along the corridor.

  Steve and Clive were left on their own, and Steve breathed a sigh of relief.

  “OK, we’d better report the latest results to Shelby,” he said.

  Clive signalled to the computer to record a message.

  “Message for Shelby. We have reached the point of maximum intensity of the signal. Judging from the scan results of the vicinity of the epicentre, the source is not a point, but takes the form of a cuboid, with a radiation area of 40 square kilometres.

  “Apart from that, the source is non-material. We did not succeed in detecting any rotating or oscillating mass. I have... We have a version according to which the waves may be created by the oscillations of fine baryonic threads restrained by a magnetic field. Please propose a descriptive mathematical model.

  “From a close distance, we can distinguish a whole harmonic range, consisting of the basic tone and numerous harmonic overtones. The latter are of lower intensity, close to or even below the sensitivity threshold of our apparatus.

  “The hypothesis of non-natural origin is being considered as a priority. I am sending the scanning data. We are continuing our research. Message ends.”

  7

  Shelby, the elderly dean of the astrophysics faculty, and also concurrently head of the expedition’s scientific group, had last been on the Space Force’s military base some days after the ‘Dawn’ project had been put on hold. Then, although mobilisation had been cancelled, the base had still been a hive of activity. The corridors were full of armed guards who were constantly checking personal data, creating long queues. To enter the building and reach the required sector, it was necessary to pass through several checkpoints, all irritatingly taking DNA scans.