by John Rankine
On the big screen, the tornado was rolling in and the noise of its passage had notched up to a demonic shriek. Its outer wall had gathered a frenzied mixture of surface trash and small rocks. It was immense, rearing into the star map like a grey cooling tower.
Eagle Six turned across the storm’s front and dropped out of sight behind a long lava dyke. Sandra flipped to on-board scanners for a closer picture.
Two bulky figures moved down the landing ramp carrying red drum containers and their slow, deliberate motion was at odds with the nightmare rush of the frantic column. It was the classic dream sequence of impeded flight with the victim shackled and crawling away from a pursuing beast.
Living it, blow by blow, Sandra Benes was leaning tensely over her console. She jerked out, ‘Faster! Move faster!’
Paul Morrow left his desk and moved uncertainly, ending up behind her chair. They were all projecting their will for the slow moving figures to finish and get back aboard the Eagle. Hands on Sandra’s shoulders, Morrow said, ‘It has to be slow. “More haste, less speed” was never more true than out there.’
The outriders of the freak storm were already sending whirls and eddies of moondust into the long depression. Bergman’s voice came up on the Eagle command net. ‘Eagle Six calling Main Mission.’
Tanya had moved over to cover Alan Carter’s vacant desk and answered for Control. ‘Main Mission. Go ahead.’
‘We have two charges set. Time’s against us. There won’t be any more. But, as I calculate, the storm centre will pass over this point. Detonation from Main Mission on 30.050 megacycles. Pinpoint this reference and set up an automatic detonation sequence. Any questions?’
Tanya looked across at Morrow. It was bad, but it was clear. For his money there was every chance that Eagle Six would still be in the area when the charges fired. He used his own commlock to break into the Eagle net.
‘Understood, Victor. But for God’s sake move it along and get out.’
There was work to put his mind on Red Alert. ‘Kano, get Computer to set up a ring diagram with the charges at centre. Key the storm to a probe and bring it up as a moving blip. Let’s see it up there on the screen.’
Koenig and Carter were jogging deliberately up the ramp when the screen blanked and Kano’s animated diagram filled the scanner. He had done better than a travelling blob. He had a broad red finger probing slowly down from top dead centre towards the trench which lay across the diameter line of his circle. At the midpoint, there was a green asterisk for the site of the bomb. Green stood for hope in his book.
It was neat and impersonal. Morrow linked for instant transmission of the detonating signal when the red hit the green.
When it was set up, there was a hand’s-breadth to go and only minutes on the clock.
Helena Russell, fresh from the final evacuation of her Medicentre, rushed in for the end game and said breathlessly, ‘Where are they, Paul?’
Koenig’s voice answered her.
‘Eagle Six to Main Mission.’
‘Come in Eagle Six.’
‘Are you set?’
Kano took the reply. ‘All set, Commander.’
‘Automated?’
‘Automated, Commander.’
‘Everybody below then.’
‘We have to bring you through the screens.’
‘No time. Get below. That’s an order. We’ll veer off and come back. Out.’
Morrow looked round the circle of faces. The vibrations in Main Mission were shifting small gear from the desks. The red finger had three centimetres to go. Nobody wanted out. But the man had said it and the habits of discipline died hard. He said curtly, ‘All functions to fail-safe. Get below.’
There was an orderly rush. Last out with Morrow, Helena Russell saw the gap closed to a centimetre and the hatch of Main Mission slammed definitively at her back.
On board the hurrying Eagle, trying to get the curve of the moon’s ragged surface between himself and the epicentre of the explosion, Koenig watched the payoff on the miniature scanner. He saw the immense foot of the towering column lip into the dyke and straddle over to rush on. For a split second he believed that it had been all in vain and some technical carve-up in Main Mission had wrecked the sequence. Then the moving tower was opening like a flower in time lapse, growing, spreading and filling the star map with a surging grey cloud.
There was time for Alan Carter to grin widely through his visor and give a thumbs-up signal, then the Eagle was booted up its tail as though by a cosmic foot and the pilot was fighting for sea room to stay in flight and miss the jagged outcrops of moon-rock that were lifting to tear at the underbelly of his reeling craft.
Eagle Six would have given sober satisfaction to its distant makers on Earth planet. Prototypes had been engineered for disaster and tested to destruction. This time it was for real. With landing gear ripped away and half the superstructure gone, the bulkheads to the command module held fast and Carter limped on in lopsided flight with a rash of red telltales flickering on his damage-report panel.
Koenig called through to the passenger module, where Bergman was wearily jacking himself off the deck in a welter of broken gear. ‘Victor? Are you all right?’
The answer came back heavily laced with static, ‘That has to be a relative term. Pressurisation’s gone to hell. If Alan doesn’t get down, he’ll lose his tail section. But, as against being wholly dead, I’m fine.’
Carter said, ‘I heard that. I’m flying blind, but I’ll set her down as soon as I can.’
Even as he spoke, the grey dust cloud was thinning out. It was a timely break. Dead ahead, a long cliff of moonrock showed a livid streak where, in time past, the great eccentric machine of Gwent had blown itself into eternity. Balancing his failing craft on two remaining retros. Carter proved for one more time that his place in the top slot of Eagle Command was not up for grabs. Airspeed nudging zero, Eagle Six dropped on the jagged remnants of her undercarriage and the overstretched console flipped to Non Op.
Main-Mission staff, crowded round the emergency command post in the underground bunker, felt the ground at their feet lurch. Regular lighting went out for the seconds it took for relays to trip and bring in minimum replacement on the storage system.
Sandra Benes, face a pale ivory oval in the gloom, looked her question at Morrow. He was already working at the link with the main computer. That patient sentinel, alone in Main Mission, was rattled, but still batting. After a couple of exploratory whirrs it cleared its channels and pumped out a half metre of tape at the distant outfall.
Kano, anxious for his partner, read it off. There was some information about the craft Voyager One shaken out of a memory bank and then a series of false starts before the circuits got themselves sorted. Then the message was clear.
FIVEFOLD INCREASE IN RADIATION LEVELS. PERIMETER SCREENS HOLDING. METEORITE DAMAGE IN DORMITORY AREA K. STORM CENTRE DISPERSED.
At the same time, robot trouble-shooters in the power section picked up the loss in the bunker area and switched to an alternative channel. Lights dimmed briefly and went up to full strength.
Meeting Helena’s eye, Paul Morrow took a direct line to the Eagle command net and put out a call, ‘Main Mission calling Eagle Six. Come in Eagle Six.’
Up aloft, relays tripped and the signal went out from the empty control centre. There was no answer. Grey clouds of moondust swirled over the complex. Inside and out, it was a dead world.
Helena said, ‘They saved the base. But for how long? If the Pelorusians can raise one storm, they can raise another. How often can we use atomic charges without passing the danger level for radiation? And where is Eagle Six?’
Sandra said gently, ‘Try not to worry, Dr. Russell. Alan is the best pilot in the service. He would try to run before the blast. With all the radiation out there, it is not surprising that we cannot receive a signal. When we return to Main Mission, there will be a grid search. Hectare by hectare. We will find them.’
‘And the sooner we get b
ack up top, the better.’ Paul Morrow shoved down studs for a full set of communications points in the bunker system. His voice spoke into every gallery and Alphans sitting on long rows of facing seats, as if in a travel tube bound for nowhere, listened to the handout.
‘Attention all sections. Eagle Six has been successful. The storm centre has been dispersed. Return to operational sections. Radiation levels must be monitored at all times. Damage-control crew to dormitory area K to check report of meteorite penetration. Move it along and stay alert. We’ve had two hits from Pelorus—if it is Pelorus acting up; we need to be ready for the third. Out.’
Orderly lines of Alphans filed along the corridors. Ragged breaks in the dust cloud could be seen from direct-vision ports. The moonscape was settling back into its age-old pattern of silver-grey sterility. Everything was as it had been, except that three leading hands were on the missing list.
Koenig would have been surprised at the feeling that was being generated in the base. He knew he was generally respected as being an able administrator and one who knew a great deal about space operations, but he knew also that his aloof manner and hard-case stance on the maintenance of good order and a disciplined programme could be misunderstood. But he believed it was part of the command package. He knew of no other way to keep Alpha running as a viable enterprise.
Back in their sections, all personnel waited and listened at communications posts for some news of Eagle Six. They heard Sandra Benes calling repeatedly, ‘Main Mission to Eagle Six. Do you read me? Come in Eagle Six.’ It was a tribute to the missing executives that the ongoing threat from Pelorus was forgotten.
Paul Morrow felt the responsibility of decision and had a problem. Eagle Six could be anywhere on a vast quadrant of the moon’s surface. Once down in a drift of moondust she would be so camouflaged, that only a lucky strike would pick her out. He could use every available man and machine on a fruitless search and leave Alpha wide open. Something, he had to do. The best could only be a compromise. He put Tanya on the Eagle command desk and gave her a brief. ‘Get three reconnaissance Eagles out. R.V. over the West Beacon. Understood?’
‘Check, Controller.’
‘Kano, have Computer work out a search pattern for three craft.’
Main Mission slipped into action like a well-oiled machine. He listened to the pilots making procedural checks and turned to Sandra. ‘I want Pelorus on the screen. Five seconds flat. Beam everything we have down there for data collection. Then out and we’ll study what we have.’
She could have said, ‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’—but there was something in his tone that stopped her. With a quiet, ‘Check, Controller,’ she went to work, sensitive fingers running over the communications console as if with independent life. The big screen blanked, glowed with silver rain and cleared to show Pelorus in a blow-up that filled the space from edge to edge. There was no change except that the picture was bigger than they had seen before. The overall yellow-orange color was intense, relieved by bands of fleecy white. Whatever had been using the Alpha probes to feed in its own disorientating beam had jacked it in. The planet was as warmly inviting as a ripe fruit.
Precisely on the count, Sandra killed the picture and the screen blanked. Kano said slowly, ‘They tried twice. Each time, we had an answer. They’re not to know how near they came to success. Maybe they’re waiting for a move from us?’
It could be so. Morrow considered it, trying to put himself in Koenig’s place. There was no substitute for going down to take a look, but there could be some very sophisticated opposition down at ground level. But there was time. He could use an hour for a concentrated search for Eagle Six. He said, ‘Swing the main probes. Back up the search craft. Be ready to exit the signal if there’s any infiltration from the planet.’
Sandra filled the screen with a moonshot to the horizon on every side and brought in the three Eagles as an inset. It was a silent world with the angular craft drifting like ghosts. On the second sweep, she had it plain. Unexpected, but satisfactory and complete. Koenig’s hawk face behind the glinting curve of his visor was superimposed on the moonscape. He was patiently talking to his commlock, knowing that only blind chance would get his signal through the radiation and Alpha’s screens. ‘Eagle Six calling Main Mission. Come in Main Mission.’
Helena Russell met him at the hatch of the decontamination chamber as the outrider of a ticker-tape welcome. There was no need for words. Her expressive eyes said it all. Flanked by Carter and Bergman, he walked into Main Mission to a standing ovation.
Sandra, pushing her luck with Helena, moved impulsively from her desk and put her arms round his neck. ‘You did it, Commander. No casualties. They’ve stopped trying.’
Almost roughly, Koenig disengaged himself. He said, ‘Alan’s the one you should thank. He drove the Cannonball. Now for God’s sake let’s get on. Where are we up to, Paul?’
‘Back to square one. We tried a five-second probe. No incoming signal. No further data. The planet looks good.’
‘Put it up again.’
Making up for her off-beat display, Sandra went by the book. ‘Check, Commander.’
Rock steady, Pelorus was centred on the big screen. At this distance, it was a prime piece of real estate waiting for occupation. The question had to be whether the price was right.
Koenig said, ‘Magnification.’
The apricot circle expanded, filled the screen and continued to peel away. Detail was less clear and Sandra stopped to make a refined tuning ploy. Then it was in motion again, stretching out every which way until she hit the limit. ‘Extreme magnification, Commander.’
They had what was plainly a long mountain range and some dark, irregular patches which could be vegetation. Helena Russell, who had been doing some checking on her own account, said, ‘Still no life signs, John.’
Koenig said, ‘Hold it there, Sandra, and be ready to cut. What do you make of it, Victor?’
‘What are we expecting? Even with that magnification, human artifacts would not show up. Think of Earth planet from Moonbase Alpha. But we know there’s intelligent life there. Two deliberate attacks on Alpha spell more than coincidence.’
‘Intelligent life, but not necessarily human life.’
‘The life-sign probes are programmed to identify life patterns like our own. How could it be otherwise? Nobody can anticipate what must be, by definition, unknowable.’
‘But the Voyager-One data tell us that conditions equate roughly with those on Earth. Similar life forms would evolve.’
‘Not necessarily. Think of the possible permutations over a million years with two choices at every evolutionary step. And it isn’t a case of two choices, as Helena will bear out.’
Helena left her monitors and joined the group. ‘That’s right, John. The possibilities are truly infinite. There could be life which we are not equipped to recognise as life.’
It was nice to have specialists about, but Koenig reckoned that there was still room for a practical man. He had been stunned by an electronic signal that had to have a source and his base had been near to destruction in the path of an artificially whipped-up hurricane. Somebody was down there engineering it and it was somebody who thought near enough like himself to have a will and a purpose. Communication must be possible. It came down to a question of whether they should try or whether it was too hard.
He considered the long stint they had done and the many disappointments that had come their way. There was no guarantee that they would ever see a better chance. It had to be checked out.
He said, ‘I see no reason to change the programme. Get that armed Eagle on the pad, Alan. We’ll leave as soon as we have the range. Meanwhile, I suggest we all get some rest. Close down the probes and brief your stand-in team for maximum caution.’
When he had them aboard the Eagle and Carter was methodically going through his sequence of preliftoff checks, Koenig had a moment of self-doubt. He was hazarding six of the most experienced personnel of his base
. If the mission ran into the ground and they failed to return from Pelorus, it would knock a hole in the command structure. But he told himself that nobody was indispensable. Kano’s face on the small scanner reassured him. It would take a lot to throw that same one. He had shifted over to take Paul Morrow’s control desk and given his own computer slot to Tanya. Scott Randle, a senior pilot, was in at the Eagle command desk. There was no real problem; it was just his ego out for a prowl.
Randle said, ‘Eagle Nine clear for blastoff.’
Carter’s even growl answered, ‘Eagle Nine to Main Mission. Counting down.’
Kano opened a section of the perimeter screen and Eagle Nine lifted in a minor storm of dust and small trash. She hovered, turning to pick up a course and then accelerated away leaving a trail of drifting debris.
In the passenger module, Victor Bergman and Sandra Benes worked at a littered table on a set of six skeletal helmets, fashioned from hoops of stainless-steel conduit. Each was powered by a small cell to rest at the nape of the neck and had a selector dial like a decorative plaque at the forehead. A foam-rubber grummet set in the rim made for a comfortable fit.
As he finished one, Bergman held it up for inspection. Ever tactful, Helena said, ‘Very nice, Victor. If that doesn’t impress the natives, nothing will.’
‘Try it.’
She hinged away her visor and gingerly pulled the contraption over her head. It. was a snug fit, lightweight, easy to wear. It gave her a regal, Egyptian look. ‘How does it work?’
‘The selector’s at zero. You have nine stops from low to maximum. It’s a degaussing effect. Raise the power to counter any disruptive signal beamed your way.’
‘Suppose it’s just an audio signal.’
‘Earplugs.’
Morrow said, ‘If these Pelorusians have any sense of humour, they’ll die laughing.’
Sandra said, severely, ‘If you have a fault, Paul, it’s ingratitude. We’ve worked very hard to save your thick head. I don’t know why we bothered.’
