“What sort of tail?”
“Would you like to see the image?”
“Sure.”
Zach stared at the image from the telescope, which was changing the spectra in turn. In each of them, the tail changed its external appearance. Its northern part was best seen in the infrared spectrum, but it faded considerably in the visible and ultraviolet. The southern part, on the contrary, increased its intensity as the wavelength decreased.
“Analysis of the dispersed light indicates that the tail is not uniform. On one side, fine particles appear to predominate, with their size increasing towards the opposite edge. The objects there are most likely up to the size of a small rock,” explained the AI, after giving Zach time to look at the photographs.
In the visible spectrum, the milky color of the atmosphere and the color of the tail were similar. The planet seemed to be pulling its gaseous envelope after it as a barely noticeable veil, gradually losing it in space.
“Any other peculiarities?”
“Not at the present time, sir.”
“Uh-huh...”
Zach sank back disappointedly into the captain’s seat. It would be naïve to expect the AI to give him any ideas. How would it know? As before, he would have to rely on his own little grey cells. He once again became absorbed in thought.
Let’s approach the problem differently. Let’s try the opposite. He was chosen not because he knew something, but because others were not suitable. If only he knew which candidates they had considered for this mission...
The first to come to mind, of course, was James. You could call him an exact copy. A twin brother. James did everything just as cautiously as he himself did. He knew for sure that James had stolen a few jobs from under his nose, but he didn’t take offence. James was just a competitor, and one of those who aroused more positive emotions. He had met him once or twice and on one occasion they had almost gotten into a deal together.
The other was Lee. A youngster, about 20 years younger than Zach. A different generation, you might say. He dealt with things decisively, even cruelly. It was said that if it came to a choice between the booty or the lives of third parties, he would not take long to choose. Zach was not like that. His choice would be clear and the direct opposite of Lee’s, but that was the only difference. In everything else, the guy was much like himself. Only more unprincipled, if you could put it like that.
And if he was remembering them all, then Sen would have to be included. Little was known about him, although the name was familiar. The opinion even existed that it was not one man, but a group. Very efficient, very secretive, mainly taking it easy with simple jobs, yet every now and again taking on something that would never have occurred to anyone else. Obtaining weapons, trying their strength against the very best – the SSS, the king of the animals in the space jungle. They were not the first to be so bold, but the only ones to have survived for so long.
And if you put all these together and add Zach to the mixture, then for some reason, he was the one who was chosen. Not the bold Sen, nor the young and nimble Lee, not even James, who could be described as his twin brother. But him, Zach, in particular.
Zach’s lips parted in a smile. Of course! Why hadn’t he thought of it before?
“
Computer, hear my command. We shall descend to 581-c. Calculate the maneuver to avoid excessive acceleration. Do a half-orbit and come out at an acute angle to the planet’s axis of rotation. When we come out, I want to have the same speed as...”
8
“Crusader, this is Hawk. Object given permission to take off at 23:31.”
The coordinator lifted his eyes from the screen of his tablet, on which he was reading a book. The time was shown in figures in the corner, divided by a winking colon.
“Hawk, this is Crusader. Roger. Object launch at 23:31.”
He threw his book into the pocket of his seat and slapped the pilot dozing next to him on the shoulder.
“We launch in three minutes.”
The pilot opened his eyes, gave a deep sigh and nodded in reply.
“Eagle One, this is Crusader. Readiness three minutes,” commanded the coordinator.
“Eagle One, ready.”
The pilot sat upright in his seat and strapped himself in. His fingers ran over the console. From above came a warning sound. A partly-open window, through which the fresh breath of the wind was penetrating, slammed shut and it became stuffy and muted inside. The next moment, the air conditioner started up. A swift wind blew through inside, forcing in air even colder than that from outside. The through-draught fans in the compartment slowed down steadily and became inaudible.
The pilot threw a swift look at the chair the coordinator was sitting in.
“Strap in, sir,” he said. “I start on your command.”
Obediently clicking the straps in place, the coordinator froze, staring at the image from the external cameras monitoring their target and periodically looking at the clock above the console.
It was dark where the object of their attention was located. Against the dark blue, not yet fully darkened sky rose the silhouette of a huge ship. It stood alone like a rock, apparently abandoned by people.
Searchlights suddenly flared up, illuminating its massive body. The ship’s hull was shiny with fresh paint. The emblem of some commercial firm, spread flamboyantly across the side, glistened in the beams of artificial light. The paint still retained an incredible gloss. The hull to which it was applied had only entered the atmosphere at cosmic speed a few times, and friction against the air had not yet left any noticeable traces. The rich colors seemed to glow with fire, as if they were not lit up by the searchlights but were alight themselves. The ship oozed newness and elegant power.
The searchlights seemed to wake the ship up and steam issued from the jets of the engines. It began to slide along the concrete covering of the launching ramp. Alarmed by the loud hissing, a flock of birds took off into the evening sky, flying off in panic in different directions.
“Readiness Two. Object venting engines,” the coordinator reported calmly into his microphone.
“Eagle One, received.”
“He’ll have to get a move on,” remarked the pilot. “Time’s already pressing, but he’s still venting his engines...”
“How long is the window?” asked the coordinator.
“For a commercial transport, thirty seconds. After that they have to request permission again.”
“Are we ready?”
“Five and a half seconds, sir. I can launch five and a half seconds after the order.”
The coordinator nodded in satisfaction. The steam was suddenly lit up from inside by bright lightning. Issuing from the exhaust nozzles slowly at first, it then poured out in puffs, rising up. The silhouette of the ship was almost entirely lost in white clouds.
The pilot laughed.
“He switched on the ignition before completion of venting. They seem to have realized they’re missing their window. That’s all, they’re launching now.”
“Eagle One, I observe ignition flares. Readiness One!”
“Eagle One, received.”
The smoke was gushing out as if a high pressure heating pipe had burst inside the ship. It was now lit from inside by the switched-on engines. A few more moments and the exhaust was clear of opaque steam and had become transparent. Sharp tongues of flame appeared. The nozzles narrowed, focusing the jet.
The coordinator’s and pilot’s seats shuddered. The roar of the launching ship could not be heard inside the compartment, but the huge plasma engines shook the launch pad for hundreds of meters around. Something started rattling in the console.
The ship waited a few seconds, then, as if jumping, shot rapidly upwards. In spite of its sluggish appearance, it gained altitude very rapidly. It appeared to be launching at enhanced thrust.
“Eagle One, object has launched.”
“Eagle One, received. Observing heat signature of cruising engines. Clear radar sha
dow. Altitude 12. Distance 48. Speed 240.”
The rattling steadily died away and, instead of the silhouette of the shining ship, only the fire of its engines shone in the sky. It was already above the clouds, only the flame from its nozzles illuminating them. The clouds, in a thin cotton-wool layer, covered the sky here and there. The coordinator turned to the pilot.
“Go-ahead for launch.”
The pilot made a sign connecting him to the tower.
“Tower, this is Enchanter 94. Carrying out emergency launch on alarm.”
“Enchanter 94, this is Tower. Launch permitted along Corridor Three. Be careful at levels two and five, Corridors Four and Six are busy with launches.”
The pilot snapped his fingers and the ship started roaring as if by magic. Something powerful inside began revving up. The sound went up and up in pitch, then began to pass into the supersonic band. The pilot calmly laid his hands on the steering column.
The eyes of the coordinator, who was not used to overloads, grew dark. The Rapid Reaction Squadron fighter lost no time in pumping out, as the commercial carrier that had just launched had done. It was as if it had been fired from its launch pad. In the air, it gave still more thrust to its engines.
The pilot was launching in manual regime. On the panoramic screen, clouds were coming towards them. In fine lines, the computer sketched the boundaries of Corridor Three, opened to them by the Tower for emergency launch. Experienced hands kept the fighter in the middle, right on the axis of the air corridor.
On the western side, where their Corridor Three ended, Corridor Four, in which their target had launched, began. The target ship had launched earlier and had already gained considerable altitude before the fighter jumped after her. She was still ahead of them, but the distance was rapidly shortening. The point of light into which her engines had merged again broke into four plasma fire sources scintillating way above them.
“Twenty seconds to maneuver,” reported the pilot. His face expressed concentration and his eyes stared intently at the screen. His hands rested calmly on the steering column, not gripping till his fingertips were white, but only holding it lightly.
“Eagle One, how do you see the object?” asked the coordinator.
“I see the object clearly. Ready for mission.”
Their target’s hull plating was already shining a bright orange color. The cargo ship had risen so high that she was out of the Earth’s shadow and bathed in the rays of the setting Sun. After a few seconds, the Sun entered the fighter’s cabin too and night suddenly became evening. The pilot paid no attention to this, but held his previous course. The target ship they were catching up to was now so near that it was easy to make out the projecting elements of its structure.
“And... now!” said the pilot, lightly inclining the steering column towards the cargo vessel.
The pilot’s compartment was immediately filled with a revolting loud beeping. Numerous lights winked on the console. At the top of the screen appeared a broad red strip with white letters reading:
DANGER OF COLLISION!
The computer-calculated course on the screen in front of them curved in a red path towards Corridor Four. They were climbing in an arc to intersect the cargo ship’s route. At the estimated point of interception was a sign warning of the danger and counting down the seconds to impact.
The screen filled with numerous green lines. The computer was doing all it could to prevent a collision and offered possible ways out of the dangerous situation, showing the optimum maneuver for avoiding collision. The pilot continued to guide the ship on a ramming course. Only seconds remained to impact.
A spark as if from welding showed at the front end of their target. The cargo ship’s computer had become aware of the fighter threatening to ram it and had decided to take action by activating its steering engines. The long thin streams of plasma from the nozzles under the ship suddenly faded. She was losing speed and moving away to the side to avoid collision.
From the fighter’s pilot compartment, it looked as if the cargo ship had stepped on the brakes. As if having used up an imaginary ball of string tying her to the launch pad, she flew past below them. The fighter overtook her and, in an instant, had left her behind.
“Eagle One, confirm data obtained,” said the coordinator.
“Eagle One, I confirm data obtained.”
“
Eagle One, mission accomplished. Have a nice day!”
9
Through his sleep, Steve realized that it was too quiet around him. He opened his eyes. The conference hall was empty and the table was in disarray. The tablets brought by the scientists were lying as if their owners had left their places in a hurry and Clive’s chair next to him was empty. The unfastened bright orange straps lay where they had been carelessly thrown on the seat.
Steve listened. The customary silence reigned on the ship. The air in the air conditioners was hissing, but barely audible. He reached for the metal handle recessed into the wall and, after touching it, stopped still, listening to the vibrations.
The ear has an amazing ability to get used to sounds. When working at medium revs, the reactor drones quite clearly, shaking the ship with a slight shudder. When you first come on board, this sound is the first thing you hear. But after a few days, you no longer notice it. The brain filters it out completely. Sometimes it even seems there is absolute silence. The only way of checking if the sound is there is to touch something rigidly fixed to the structure of the ship. Like a handle. It vibrates in the hand, barely perceptibly, but you sense it at once.
The handle was clearly vibrating as normal. It was an even shudder, rather like the breathing of someone asleep. That meant the reactor was again working in optimum regime. Everything seemed to be in order. It seemed Steve had fallen asleep without noticing and, when the alarm had been cancelled, the others had chosen not to wake him up.
On expeditions, he usually slept little and worked a lot. This one was no exception. The conference scientists met twice a day to discuss received data about the star system, the star itself, the planets and the meteorite belts. There was so much here that was not known and very little time. Now, before they succeeded in entering into contact with the aliens, they had time for research. They should make use of it.
Steve considered telling the computer to connect him to the bridge, but changed his mind and decided to visit it himself. Moving sleepily, he got up from his seat.
The door out of the hall opened noiselessly as he reached it. There was disorder in the corridors. Some things not properly secured on the shelves or in the numerous recesses in the walls had fallen and lay scattered on the floor. He picked up a few of them and put them back in place, but then waved dismissively and simply continued on his way, trying not to tread on them.
The corridor was the main tunnel passing through all the living quarters. Others branched off it, leading to the crew’s cabins, the galley and a small store. A long puddle of water extended into the main corridor from a side passage, from which came the high-pitched hum of a vacuum cleaner. The sound became ever louder and then came the tinkle of broken glass being sucked up. From around the bend appeared a pot-bellied robot, the size of a large vacuum cleaner.
He had seen it many times. It was responsible for the cleanliness on board and kept appearing in the most unexpected places. The broad mouth of the vacuum cleaner tube could be seen at the bottom of it, as could rubber tires. It sucked up the water spilled on the floor, along with the glass splinters of some sort of vessel. Spilled liquid was always a hazard on a ship flying in space should the rotation motors suddenly fail and weightlessness ensue. And he’d like to know who had taken it into his head to bring brittle glass on board. Sharp splinters flying through the air were a danger not so much to the ship as to the crew.
The puddle quickly vanished inside the robot. When only a damp patch on the floor remained, the robot, as if apologizing for the inconvenience, switched off the vacuum cleaner, turned around and went back in
to the corridor from which it had appeared.
The main tunnel ended in the door to the pilot’s compartment.
“What was that?” asked Steve as soon as he entered the doorway.
“You’re the astrophysicists, I thought you’d tell me,” replied the captain imperturbably. “We flew into a cloud of material of some sort.”
Steve went closer and stood next to the captain behind the pilots’ seats.
It was surprising that such a situation could arise at all. On the basis of the orbital characteristics of the planetary system, the presence of several meteorite belts had been assumed. But according to the theory of the origin of planetary systems, they should be much closer to the center. The formation’s flight trajectory bypassed them at a distance leaving plenty to spare. The chance of hitting them was hardly better than the chance of winning the lottery.
Here though, the density was so great that impacts were taking place dozens of times a minute. Even allowing for the high speed at which they were moving towards Gliese, this was too frequent for an asteroid belt. Such a thing was possible in planetary rings like those around Saturn, but certainly not in a normal asteroid belt circling around the distant center of mass of the system.
Asteroids, of course, play tricks occasionally. Some seem set to carry on endlessly circling around a star, then decide to introduce some variety into their monotonous lives. They hit a neighbor and fly off in different directions.
Some move towards the center, where they either fall onto one of the planets or into the central star. Others manage to find a stable orbit and continue circling the star, but now on their own unique trajectory. A third possibility is that they leave the system and fly off into interstellar space. These, after thousands or millions of years, may come up against some star and burn up far from the mother system. But more likely they will carry on flying in dark emptiness till the Universe collapses, or their material disintegrates into elementary particles.
“It doesn’t look like a meteorite belt,” said Steve after a pause. His brain was still waking up and he was unable to produce a sensible explanation.
Fundamental Force Episode Two Page 5
