Don Pendleton's Science Fiction Collection, 3 Books Box Set, (The Guns of Terra 10; The Godmakers; The Olympians)

by Don Pendleton

  “This is crazy!” Stel repeated.

  Blue had soberly nodded his head in response to Hedge’s query and turned to look at Tom Cole. Cole released a noisy sigh and said, “Let’s go.”

  Hedge’s hand moved to the little box at his knee. His thumb found the button and depressed it. A low, throbbing hum issued from somewhere behind the control panel. Hedge dropped both hands to his lap, eyes glued to the accelerometer. “And away we go,” he breathed. “Warp speed, coming up.”

  Stel’s face was pressed to the viewport. A blue-green ball, far below, was rapidly diminishing in size. “Goodbye, Earth,” she sighed.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  To Save a Ship

  Whaleman had intercepted the same emergency broadcast which had been heard in the Reevers craft. He agonized for long moments over a course of action, then reluctantly inspected the communications capability of his tiny ship. The communications were minimal. He punched in on the standard Defense channel and received a responding beeptone from Moonbase.

  “Gunner Whaleman,” he announced into the radio, “in Space-jeep Deimos 3. Request relay channel to Terra 10.”

  “Standby,” came the automated response. Whaleman waited several seconds, then the robot reported, “Open-intercept order from Board Island, Gunner. Standby for switchover.”

  Whaleman muttered, “Skronk,” strongly suspecting the motives of the open-intercept.

  Ian Johns-Fielding’s muted excitement came in then. “Gunner Whaleman, thank God! Are you spacebome?”

  “Affirm,” Whaleman replied. “And seeking Terra 10.”

  “Your gunship is in a runaway trajectory, Zach,” the Director reported, in rising excitement. “We’ve tried every recycle in the book and nothing works!”

  “Who is commanding?”

  “Mostly automated, Zach. Sub-Gunner Rosslin is aboard but can’t seem to understand the problem.”

  Zach grunted understanding. Rosslin was a mere fledgling, and not too promising a one at that. “Explain situation,” he snapped.

  “The ferry squadron boosted her into station velocity, then withdrew. When she achieved station, she just blew right on through. She’s been in runaway mode for, uh, sixteen minutes now and showing no signs of coming about. She’s in the, uh, Earth-Venus maxi-corridor and closing fast on Venus.”

  “Sub-system alert order?”

  “Yes, several times. No success. Zach—Squadroneer Bond-Durant is here with me. He says we have only minutes before impact on Venus!”

  “Switch me to Luna Control,” Whaleman demanded.

  “Right—but I’m staying on.”

  A tone-note sounded, and the Terra 10 control automat on the Moon announced, “Controller.”

  “State Terra 10 situation,” Whaleman enunciated.

  There were times, Whaleman was certain, when robots exhibited near-human personalities. He could feel the surge of energy through the logic banks as the automat responded to his voice. “Situation emergency,” it clipped. “Inertial runaway, negative response to control commands.”

  “Report subsystems status,” the Gunner commanded.

  The automat began feeding him digital values for each subsystem of the gunship’s control features. Whaleman made no attempt to retain those which appeared nominal. The status of the stabilization-propulsion interrogation system interested him, but he allowed the automat to run through all of the suspect systems without interruption, then he ordered, “Interrogate stab-prop velocity cell.”

  “Skronk,” responded the robot, “standby...reporting—stab-prop velocity responds negative, negative.”

  “Interrogate stab-prop grav-grab cell.”

  “Skronk,--standby. Reporting, reporting...grav-grab positive, positive. Glitch, repeat, glitch.”

  “Skronk,” the Gunner replied. “Initiate laser penetration. Another. Initiate course vector positive swing wobble...five degree and swinging. Hold and report.”

  “Skronk. Laser penetration initiated, stab-prop subsystem. Course wobble initiated, five degree and swinging. Standby.”

  Whaleman stood by, ticking off the seconds in his mind. At the count of ten, the robot returned to the air with, “Positive, positive, Course alteration, five degrees and swinging. Laser penetration reports negative, negative.”

  “Hold wobble swing to unobstructed course, then release,” Whaleman clipped back. “Continue laser penetration at 30 second intervals until positive response. Skronkback and secure.”

  Whaleman’s own voice began returning to him, repeating his closing instructions. The robot toned off. Johns-Fielding toned in. “Is that going to fix it, Zach?” he asked breathlessly.

  “Is fix impact on Venus,” Whaleman replied coldly. “Terra 10 is now swinging to passing course.”

  “Thank God!”

  “Is no time thank God. Terra 10 remains runaway mode. Laser ream-through could fix glitch, could also not. Request speak Bond-Durant.”

  The Squadroneer’s voice bounced back. “Superior, Zach, much superior. Estimate probability control gunship.”

  “Probability fifty-fifty,” Whaleman replied. “Contact Sub-Gunner Rosslin, update and instruct re glitch grav-grab. Synchronize manual initiation with laser penetration, interrogation circuit. Interrogation response is false, repeat false. Recycle manual to grav-grab negative, repeat negative, continuing until proper response noted.”

  “Skronk. Meanwhile, where is Gunner Whaleman?”

  “Gunner Whaleman is in Deimos 3, spacejeep, closing on Terra 10 in maxi-corridor with all speed.”

  “Skronk, Zach. And ... gratitude.”

  “Give also Zach’s gratitude to Chairman, for addition to brain.”

  “I did not know of this, Zach, until too late. Skronk this, Gunner, changes are in order.”

  “Skronk, Squadroneer, plus changes you do not yet know.”

  “Do nothing foolish, Zach. Command is with you solid. Repeating, changes are in order.”

  “Skronk,” Whaleman replied. “Tone off. I space blind, need full attention.”

  An override of excited voices tumbled in, then Johns-Fielding’s perturbed tones cried, “Zach, the aliens are reported beyond Andro Two in the Solan Corridor!”

  “What is this aliens?”

  “Oh, damn, I forgot you didn’t...”

  Bond-Durant’s machinelike voice recaptured the airwaves. “You can get briefed once you gain Terra 10, Zach.” His words bristled with constrained emotion. “But, listen, get that gunship, and get it under control. Your guns are needed. Solana is under invasion.”

  Whaleman snapped, “Skronk,” and turned off his communicator, then tensed at the console as the spacemonitor indicated an object overtaking him at warp speed. His deepspace companion flashed on by at near-collision proximity and quickly receded in the spacemonitor. The experience brought to Whaleman’s mind the words of an ancient poet, something about “ships passing in the night.” He did not wonder about the occupants of the “passing ship,” but only regretted that he was not aboard his own gravcar, which could travel that fast.

  He turned his mind to the “invasion” of Solana and wondered if it were really true. He had come to suspect everything issuing from Board Island. Invasion by “aliens?" Whaleman grinned. They had probably learned of the Reever revolt. Then he froze. The Terra 10 glitch! Was this a Reever glitch?

  He fumed at the slow speed of the spacejeep and tried to focus-in his navigator. Nothing yet, no tifusion planet in runaway mode lining into his attraction focii, no wobbling sphere with... He snapped to attention, listening to the whispering of an inner voice. Of course, of course, perhaps he could effectively increase his speed with a bit of space-vectoring. He reached for the communicator, received his tone, and clipped, “Lima Control, quickswitch to Terra 10 Controller ... Gunner Whaleman, Deimos 3, spacevector request, plot pursuit course to Terra 10 from these ...”

  He would regain Terra 10—if she were regainable. He wondered if Stel, and Tom and the others were aboard...and f
ervently hoped that they were not. They could be riding her right into the sun.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Home is the Gunner

  “Great rolling Mars!” Tom Cole exclaimed. “Isn’t that a planet dead ahead?”

  “That’s Venus, Tom,” Hedge said, his lips tight with tension.

  “We’re heading right into ’er!”

  “No, not now. We’re swinging gradually to the—See? We’re going to miss.”

  Blue loosed a sibilant sigh. “This’s the stuff nightmares are made of. I’m getting the idea we got no business out here.”

  Stel leaned forward and said, “Look at your speed thing, Hedge. We’re slowing.”

  Hedge muttered, “Yes, we’re down to—”

  “There she is!” Cole cried. “Dead ahead! Lookit that! Isn’t she a beauty?”

  Blue broke the silence. He glanced at the navigation screen and said, “She’s still moving, Hedge, and pretty fast. But we’re overtaking.”

  The pilot nodded his head in agreement. “Something’s going on in this stunt box under my seat. I think we’re getting ready to go in.”

  Stel whispered, “Something’s wrong with Terra 10. Can anyone else see it? It’s sort of... wobbling.”

  “Something’s wrong all right,” Tom Cole agreed in a strained voice. “You can see it now, clear as sunlight. It’s like she’s... pulling with all she’s got against Venus.”

  An amber light on the control panel began pulsing. Blue said,“Uh—oh, that’s it. We’ll be docking in about a minute.”

  “At this speed?” Hedge cried, aghast.

  “Gotta figure relative speed,” Blue grunted. “We’re not moving much faster than Terra 10.”

  “What happens if we wibble while she wobbles?" Stel wondered aloud.

  Blue chuckled nervously. “You gotta have faith in some things, Stel.”

  The gunship was filling the entire forward viewport now. Hedge reported, “Range, 100 miles and closing fast.”

  A man in back jerked upright, his head swivelled to the quarter viewport. “There’s a meteor or something, off to the right, coming right at us.”

  Blue bent forward to scrutinize the navscreen. “It’s a small ship,” he announced. ‘ “It’s, uh, yeah ... it’s heading for Terra 10, too.”

  Tom Cole was twisted about in his seat, glaring through the port at the approaching vehicle. “Looks like he’s trying to head us off,” he growled.

  “Nothing’s going to head us off now,” Hedge grunted.

  A large bay was opening in the side of Terra 10, and the gravcar was nosing into it.

  “Ten seconds,” Blue murmured.

  “Get ready for a fight,” Cole rumbled, still gazing to the rear. “That other ship’s coming right in on our tail.”

  They moved slowly into the yawning mouth of Terra 10, though their speed indicator was still registering something better than 16,000 miles per second.

  “It’s like catching a moonbeam,” Stel commented with a shivery sigh, and then they were settling gently into the locking mechanism of the upper dock.

  “We’re here,” Blue declared, as though totally surprised by their success.

  “We’re nowhere,” Stel corrected him, in subdued tones. “Babes in endless black space.”

  Whaleman had succeeded in switching-over the Terra 10 Communicator to a commchannel available to the spacejeep and had been in direct contact with the gunship for some minutes. He was homing-in via a makeshift radionavigation procedure and was within closing range when he noticed the other vehicle also closing on Terra 10. Now, quick to suspect villainy by Board Island, he lost no time in interrogating the gunship regarding the other craft.

  “Report identity of space vehicle now in docking lane,” he commanded.

  The robot communicator responded with, “Vehicle is on robot homing pilot, interrogator response positive, permission to come aboard positive, automated systems positive, identity code 101 checks positive, docking procedures initiated.”

  “Skronk,” Whaleman replied. “Maintain positive and hold for Deimos 3 like same.”

  “Skronk.”

  Whaleman did not know whether to laugh or to weep. The identity code was that of his own gravcar, which he had last seen in the possession of Tom Cole’s Reevers. In Whaleman’s mind, the chances of the Reevers’ ever locating Terra 10, even with the gunship in Earth-orbit, were marginal at best. That they could have succeeded in tracking the runaway gunship in an inter-planetary trek was almost inconceivable. In his thinking relating the Reevers to Terra 10, his greatest fear had been that they had managed to board the gunship while she was still hovering above Board Island. The luckiest possible, in Whaleman’s thinking, was that they had aborted the plan and returned to Terra.

  The presence of that gravcar, now, in the Terra 10 docking lane, was most disturbing to the Gunner. Was the car occupied by Reevers? This did not seem likely. If not, then only one explanation did seem likely. The Chairman’s special henchmen had captured Tom Cole and recovered the gravcar and were now boarding Terra 10 for the purpose of taking Zach Whaleman. The Gunner’s mind reeled with the implications. Had he been a total idiot, a typical Reever in the classical sense, gullible to the point of stupidity? Had he fallen for a “Solan emergency” ruse to play right into the treacherous hands of the Chairman?

  Precious little time remained to debate the question. He was piloting manual, and the time had arrived to line into the docking slot. He watched the other vehicle nose into the gunship’s bay and knew that his decision had already been made. Whatever else, Terra 10 was definitely in jeopardy. He had to go aboard.

  He moved his lips against the communicator panel and announced, “Deimos 3, now docking manual, alert receivers.”

  “Receivers positive,” came the automated response. “Upper dock, station two, is receiving. Station one is receiving one-oh-one craft.”

  “Skronk,” Whaleman said. “Control transfer on three. Initiate . . . one . . . two . . . three.”

  “Station two control is positive, positive. Welcome home, Gunner Whaleman.”

  Whaleman grinned mirthlessly. Those robots did have a personality. Indeed, he did feel that he had returned home, Earth and all her charms notwithstanding.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  'Whaleman’s World

  The reunion aboard Terra 10 was jubilant, boisterous, and wildly emotional. The egress lights were flashed for both craft simultaneously, the delay being governed by repressurization-time for the vehicle bay, and the Gunner of Terra 10 erupted onto the catwalk at the same instant as the Reever raiders stepped cautiously from their craft. With red-maned head cocked belligerently, and the tiny Z-gun raised and ready, Whaleman hurled his challenge a split-second before recognizing the other group.

  “Hold and identify!” he cried.

  “It’s Zach!” yelled a ludicrously squat man in a miniature Defense Command uniform.

  Tom Cole let out a whoop and launched himself along the catwalk just as a golden goddess in pleasingly distorted DefCom blue-and-black stepped out behind him. She cried, “Zach! Oh, God, Zack! and led the others in the pell mell reunification.

  Tears flowed unashamedly and bruises were traded ungrudgingly in the emotional jostling, grabbing, shoving and embracing that followed.

  Stel was forced to fend for herself, clinging grimly to Whaleman’s waist as others crushed her in wild group-embraces, and all were attempting to speak at once in the emotional release of the moment.

  When the energies were spent and the emotions subsided, Stel and Zach found their ways to each other’s lips, and the others stood by with self-conscious grins. And then they were trooping along in doubles along the corridor to the interior oftheir tifusion world, the lovers in the lead, arm-inarm, and Zach was telling her, “Confusions are gone, Stel. I know who I am and what is my destiny.” He grinned and corrected himself, “Our destiny.”

  “I’ve never been more frightened in my life,” she admitted. “My confusions have
only begun. All I know is that I’m with you, and it’s the only thing that really matters.”

  “Stel will be with Zach forever,” he assured her. “Yes, this is major matter.” He brushed her cheek with his lips and craned back to look at Tom Cole. “Terra 10 is in glitch, Tom. Runaway mode.”

  “You telling me,” Cole rumbled. He smiled. “We been chasing the devil all over the heavens.”

  “Yes, this was superior chase,” Whaleman replied. “Let none now say a Reever is idiot.”

  “I guess the machine did it all,” Cole admitted ruefully. “Gotta give credit where it’s due.”

  “Machine does not program itself,” the Gunner told him. “Is needed, human guidance. Also Terra 10 does not program herself. Board Island is discover this truth. Have you monitored this Solan emergency? This alien invasion?”

  Cole said, “I’ve heard nothing about any alien invasion. As for the Solan emergency, it seems we’ve been having two or three a week for as long as I can remember. Your boys sure love to cry wolf. I gave up worrying about it a long time ago.”

  The party had entered a lofted area below a number of gun emplacements. Blue, hurrying along at Tom Cole’s side, raised his head and whistled softly. “What’s all that up there, Zach?” he asked in an awed voice.

  “Up there is AGRAD Batteries 2, 4, 6, 8. Four guns, Blue.”

  “Just how good are those guns?” asked Hedge, peering at Whaleman between Cole and Blue.

  “Enough good,” Whaleman replied soberly. He twisted back to smile at Hedge. “Enough to boob Board Island into sea, Hedge.”

  “Damn, I’ll buy that, buddy,” Hedge said. “Four of those guns could do that?” Cole asked.

  “How many AGRADs you got, Zach?”

  “AGRADs total twenty eight. These are secondary batteries, Tom. Also twelve MAMEs, paired two to battery, effectively six guns. But one MAME, Tom Cole, has destructive power of all AGRADs combined.”

  “You could take on the solar system,” Blue commented.