Between the Strokes of Night

by Charles Sheffield

It would be all right. Everything was relative. If Jinx could adapt to his new life, comfortable with a body temperature down near freezing, surely Wolfgang could become at ease with the much smaller changes produced by the move to Salter Station. Better forget self-pity, and get back to work.

  Ignoring the twinges from his long-suffering stomach, Wolfgang forced himself to look out again as the station swept toward the Atlantic and the majestic curve of the day-night terminator.

  Three more days, then the Institute staff would be on their way here. And if the news reports were correct, it would be just in time. In their fury and endless feuding, the governments of earth seemed all set to block the road to space itself.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The End of the World

  Hans Gibbs had sent his cousin the briefest, uninformative message from the main control room. “Get your ass over here. On the double, or you’ll miss something you’ll never see again.”

  Wolfgang and Charlene were in the middle of first inventory when that message came over the intercom. He looked at her and signed off the terminal at once. “Come on.”

  “What, right now?” Charlene shook her head protestingly. “We’re just getting started. I promised Cameron we’d have this place organized and ready to go to work when they got here. We only have a few more hours.”

  “I know. But I know Hans, too. He always understates. It must be something special. Let’s go, we’ll finish this later.”

  He took her hand and began to pull her along, showing off his hard-won experience with low gee. Charlene had been on Salter Station less than twenty-four hours, the second person to make full transfer from the Institute. It seemed grossly unfair to Wolfgang that she hadn’t suffered even one moment of freefall sickness. But at least she didn’t have his facility yet for easy movement. He tugged her and spun her, adjusting linear and angular momentum. After a few moments Charlene realized that she should move as little as possible, and let him drag her along as a fixed-geometry dead weight. They glided rapidly along the helical corridor that led to the central control area. Hans was waiting for them when they arrived, his attention on a display screen showing Earth at screen center. The image was being provided from a geostationary observing satellite, 22,000 miles up, so the whole globe showed as a ball that filled most of the screen.

  “You won’t see anything ship-sized from this distance,” Hans said. “So we have to fake it. If we want to see spacecraft, the computer generates the graphics for them and merges it all into the display. Watch, now. I’m taking us into that mode. The action will start in a couple of minutes.”

  Charlene and Wolfgang stood behind him as Hans casually keyed in a short command sequence, then leaned back in his chair. The display screen remained quiet, showing Europe, Asia and Africa as a half-lit disk under medium cloud cover. The seconds stretched on, for what seemed like forever.

  “Well?” said Wolfgang at last. “We’re here. Where’s the action?”

  He leaned forward. As he did so, the display changed. Suddenly, from different points on the hemisphere, tiny sparks of red light appeared. First it was half a dozen of them, easy to track. But within a few minutes there were more, rising like fireflies out of the hazy globe beneath. Each one began the slow tilt to the east that showed they were heading for orbit. Soon they were almost too numerous to count.

  “See the one on the left?” said Hans. “That’s from Aussieport. Most of your staff will be on that; Judith, and de Vries, and Cannon. They’ll be here in an hour and a half.”

  “Holy hell.” Charlene was frowning, shaking her head. “Those can’t be ships. There aren’t that many in the whole world.”

  She was too absorbed by the scene in front of her to catch Hans Gibbs’ familiar reference to the Institute director, but Wolfgang had given his cousin a quick and knowing look.

  “Charlene’s right,” Hans said. He looked satisfied at her startled reaction. “If you only consider the Shuttles and other reuseables, there aren’t that many ships. But I ran out of time. Salter Wherry told me to get everything up here, people and supplies, and to hell with the cost. He’s the boss, and it was his money. The way things have been going, if I’d waited any longer we’d never have been allowed to bring up what we need. What you’re seeing now is the biggest outflow of people and equipment you’ll ever see. I took launch options on every expendable launch vehicle I could find, anywhere in the world. Watch now. There’s more to come.”

  A second wave had begun, this time showing as fiery orange. At the same time, other flashing red points were creeping round the Earth’s dark rim. Launches made from the invisible hemisphere were coming into view.

  Hans touched another key, and a set of flashing green points appeared on the display, these in higher orbit.

  “Those are our stations, everything in the Wherry Empire except the arcologies — they’re too far out to show at this scale. In another half-hour you’ll see how most of the launches begin to converge on the stations. We’ll be faced with multiple rendezvous and docking up here, continuously for the next thirty-six hours.”

  “But how do you know where the ships are?” Charlene was wide-eyed, hypnotized by the swirl of bright sparks. “Is it all calculated from lift-off data?” “Better than that.” Hans jerked a thumb at another of the screens, off to the side. “Our reconnaissance satellites track everything that’s launched, all the time. Thermal infrared signals for the launch phase, synthetic aperture radar after that. Software converts range and range-rate data to position, and plots it on the display. Wherry put the observation and tracking system in a few years ago, when he was afraid some madman down on earth might try a sneak attack on one of his stations. But it’s ideal for this use.”

  A third wave was beginning. All around the equator, a new necklace of dazzling blue specks was expanding away from the Earth’s surface. The planet was girdled by a multicolored confusion of spiralling points of light.

  “For God’s sake.” Wolfgang dropped any pretence of nonchalance. “Just how many of these are there? I’ve counted over forty, and I’ve not even been trying to track the ones launched in the American hemisphere.”

  “Two hundred and six spacecraft, all shapes and sizes, and most of them not designed for the sort of docking ports we have available here. The count for launches shows on that readout over there.” Hans waved a hand at a display, but his attention was all on the screen.

  “It’s going to be a nightmare,” he said cheerfully. “We have to match them all up when they get here. Matter of fact, we won’t even try to bring all of them all the way. Lots of ‘em will stay in low orbit, and we’ll send the tugs down to transfer cargo. I didn’t have time to worry about extra thrust to bring them up here. We had enough trouble getting some of that junk into orbit at all.” A fourth wave had begun. But now the screen was too confusing to follow. The points of light were converging, and the limited resolution of the display screen made many appear close to collision, even though miles of space separated them. The two men seemed hypnotized, staring at the bright carousel of orbiting ships. Charlene went to the viewport and looked directly down toward Earth. There was nothing to be seen. The ships were far too small to show against the giant crescent of the planet. She shook her head, and turned to face the launch count readout. The total was ticking higher, skipping ahead in little bursts as orbital velocity was confirmed for the ships in a new group.

  Hans had moved back from the control console, and the three stood side by side, motionless. The room remained totally silent for several minutes except for the soft beep of the counters.

  “Nearly there,” said Charlene at last. She was still watching the ship count. “Two hundred and three. Four. Five. One more to go. There. Two hundred and six. Should we be applauding?”

  She smiled at Wolfgang, who absentmindedly squeezed her hand. Then she turned back to the counter. She stared at it for a few seconds, not sure what she was seeing.

  “Hey! Hans, I thought you said the total was two hund
red and six? The readout shows two hundred and fourteen and it’s still going.”

  “What!” Hans swivelled his head to look, the rest of his body turning the other way to give low-gee compensation for the movement. “It can’t be. I scrounged every ship that would fly. There’s no way…”

  His voice faded. On the screen, a fountain of bright points of light was spouting upward. It centered on an area of southeast Asia. As they watched, a speaker by the console stuttered and burst to life.

  “Hans! Full alert.” The voice was harsh and strained, but Wolfgang recognized the note of authority. It was Salter Wherry. “Bring up our defense systems. Monitors show launch of missiles from west China. No trajectory information yet. Could be headed for America or western Russia or South America, some could be coming our way. Too soon to tell. I’ve thrown the switch here. You confirm action stations. I’ll be in central control in one minute.”

  In spite of its tone of agonized strain, the voice had made its staccato statements so fast that the sentences ran into one stream of orders. Hans Gibbs did not even attempt a reply. He was off his seat and over to another console instantly. A plastic seal was removed and the lever behind it pulled out before Wolfgang or Charlene could move.

  “What’s happening?” cried Charlene.

  “Don’t know.” Hans sounded as though he were choking. “But look at the screen — and the count. Those have to be missile launches. We can’t afford to take a chance on where they’re heading.”

  The readout was going insane, digits flickering too fast to read. The launch count was up over four hundred. As it escalated higher, Salter Wherry came stumbling into the control room.

  It was his arrival, in person, that made Charlene aware of the real seriousness of the situation. Here was a man who rarely met with anyone, who prized his privacy above any wealth, who hated exposure to strangers. And he was there in the control room, oblivious to the presence of Charlene and Wolfgang. She stared at him curiously. Was this the living legend, the master architect of Solar System development? She knew he was very old. But he looked more than old. His face was white and haggard, like a stretched-out death mask, and his thin hands were trembling.

  “The fools,” he said softly. His voice was a croaking whisper. “Oh, the fools, the damned, damned, damned fools. I’ve been afraid of this, but I didn’t really believe it would ever happen in my lifetime. Do you have our defenses up?” “In position,” said Hans harshly. “We’re protected. But what about the ships that are on their way here? They’ll be blown apart if they’re on a rendezvous trajectory with us.”

  Charlene stared at him mindlessly for a second. Then she understood. “The ships! My God, the whole Institute staff is on its way up here. You can’t use your missile defense on them — you can’t do it!”

  Wherry glared at her, seeming to notice the strangers in the control room for the first time. “Even the fastest of our ships won’t be here for an hour,” he said.

  He sank to a chair, his breath wheezing in his throat. He coughed and leaned back. His skin looked dry and white, like crumbling dough. “By then it will all be over, one way or another. The attack missiles have high accelerations. If they’re aimed at us, they’ll be here in twenty minutes. If they’re not, it will be over anyway. Hans, flag our position on the display.”

  Under Hans Gibbs’ keyboard control, the position of Salter Station appeared on the screen as a glowing white circle. Hans studied the whole display for a few moments, head cocked to one side. “I don’t think they’re coming this way. For a guess, they’re heading for western Russia and the United States. What’s happening?”

  Wherry was sitting, head down. “Don’t know. See what you can catch on radio communications.” He cleared his throat, the breath wheezing in his larynx. “We’ve always been worried that somebody would try a sneak first strike, wipe out the others’ retaliatory power. That’s what we’re seeing. Some madman took advantage of the high level of our launch activity — so much going on, it would take anyone a while to realize an attack was being made.” Hans had cut in a radio frequency scan. “Radio silence from China. Look at the screen. Those will be United States’ missiles. The counterattack. We knew a preemptive first strike wouldn’t work. It didn’t.”

  A dense cluster of points of fire was sweeping up over the north pole. At the same time, a new starburst was rising from eastern Siberia. The launch readout had gone insane, emitting a series of high-pitched squeaks as individual launches became too frequent to be marked by a separate beep from the counter. Over two thousand missile launches had been recorded in less than three minutes. “Couldn’t work. Couldn’t ever work,” said Salter Wherry softly. “First strike never would — always leaves something to hit back.”

  His head slumped down. For the first time, Charlene had the thought that she might be seeing something more than old age and worry. “Wolfgang! Give me some help here.”

  She moved to Wherry’s side and placed her hand under his chin, lifting his head. His eyes were bleary, as though some translucent film covered them. At her touch he feebly raised his right hand to grip hers. It was icy cold, and his other hand clutched at his chest.

  “Couldn’t work. Couldn’t.” The voice was a rough whisper. “It’s the end. End of the world, end of everything.”

  “He’s having a heart attack.” Charlene leaned over to lift him, but Wolfgang was there before her.

  “Hans. You could do this better than we can, but you’d better stay here — we have to know what’s going on. Alert the medical facility, tell them we think it’s a heart attack. Ask them if we should move him, or if they want to treat him here — and if they want him at the facility, tell me how to get him there.” Charlene helped to lift Wherry from the seat. She did it as gently as she could, while some part of her brain stood back astonished and watched Wolfgang and Hans. There had been a strange and sudden change in their relationship in the past few minutes. Hans was still older, more senior, and more experienced. But as events became more confused and depressing, he seemed to dwindle, while Wolfgang just became more forceful and determined. At the moment there was no question as to who was in control. Hans was following Wolfgang’s orders without hesitation. He was at the console, ear mike on, and his fingers were flying across the array of keys.

  “Leave Wherry here,” he said after a few seconds. “Med Center says Olivia Ferranti will be right over. Make sure he can’t fall over, then don’t move him. Don’t try any treatment unless he stops breathing. They’ll bring portable resuscitation equipment with them.”

  “Right.” Wolfgang gestured to Charlene, and between them they carefully lowered Salter Wherry to the floor, supporting his head on Wolfgang’s jacket. He lay quiet for a moment, then made an effort to lift himself.

  “Don’t move,” said Charlene.

  There was a tiny sideways movement of his head. “Displays.” Wherry’s voice was a rustling whisper. “Have to see the displays. Reconnaissance. Cities.” Hans had turned to watch them. He nodded. “I’ve already asked for that. Major cities. What else?”

  “Can you reach the ship with the Institute senior staff on board?” asked Wolfgang. “We have to talk to JN. They’re well clear of the atmosphere, but I don’t know if they’re line-of-sight from here.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Hans turned back to the console. “We can go through relays. I’ll try to reach them. We’ll have to use another channel for that. I’ll feed them in to the screen behind you.”

  He set to work at the keyboard. He was the only one with enough to occupy him completely. Charlene and Wolfgang stood by feeling helpless. Salter Wherry, after his effort to raise his head, lay motionless. He looked drained of all blood, with livid face and hands bent into withered claws. His breath gargled deep in his throat, the only sound that broke the urgent beep of new launches. The sparks were no longer concentrated in a band around the Earth’s equator. Now they covered the globe like a bright net, drawn tighter in the northern hemisphere and over the
pole.

  Olivia Ferranti arrived just as the reconnaissance satellite images appeared on the screen. The doctor took one startled look at the blue-white blossoming explosion that had been Moscow, then ignored it and knelt beside her patient. Her assistant rapidly connected electrodes from the portable unit to Salter Wherry’s bared chest, and took an ominous-looking saw and scalpel from a sterilized carrying case.

  “Transmissions from the ship coming in,” said Hans. “Who do you want?” “JN,” said Wolfgang. “Charlene, you’d better talk to her. Tell them not to move away from a rendezvous trajectory until our missile defense goes off here. They’ll be safe anywhere — “

  His words were lost in a huge burst of noise from the communications unit. “Damnation.” Hans Gibbs rapidly reduced the volume to a tolerable level. “I was afraid of that. Some of the thermonuclear explosions are at the edge of the atmosphere. We’re getting electromagnetic pulse effects, and that’s wiping out the signals. We’re safe enough, all the Wherry systems were hardened long ago. I’m not sure about that ship. I’m going to try a laser channel, hope they’re hardened against EMP, and hope we’re line-of-sight at the moment.” The reconnaissance screens told a chilling story. Every few seconds the detailed display shifted to show a new explosion. There was no time to identify each city before it vanished forever in the glow of hydrogen fusion. Only the day or night conditions of the image told the watchers in which hemisphere the missiles were arriving. It was impossible to estimate the damage or the loss of life before a new scene was crowding onto the screens. Salter Wherry was right, the hope of a preemptive first strike had proved an empty one.

  Wolfgang and Charlene stood together in front of the biggest screen. It still showed the view from geostationary orbit. Again the display was sparking with bright flickers of light, but this time they were not the result of computer simulation. They were explosions, multiple warhead, multimegaton. The whole hemisphere was riddled with dark pocks of cloud, as buildings, bridges, roads, houses, plants, animals, and human beings were vaporized and carried high into the stratosphere.