We bounced off the flagstones of the square back onto the road and raced down between the large buildings there.
“The theatre!” Alexei pointed to our left.
The colonnaded front of the theatre was illuminated and stood tall in its own space. At another time, I might have paused to be impressed by it. Instead, I took the car off-road for the last time, bumping up over the kerb with enough speed and force to clear the calf-high marble boundary wall of the flower bed there.
“Oh, the gardener is not going to like this,” Alexei moaned.
“We have bigger problems,” I reminded him, one of them quite clearly visible in the wing mirror.
“You think so?” the Russian responded. “You have not seen what he can do with a trowel when he is angry.
“Fair enough,” I allowed, swerving around the trio of ornate fountains and bouncing us up and over the steps that surrounded them. “Is that seatbelt properly on?”
“Why? What…? Oh!”
The space between the columns was wide enough for the car to pass between them, but the wooden entrance doors beyond were not. The brakes were burning as the car skidded through under the roof and turned sideways as a result of my efforts to bring it to a stop before we hit the wall. One of the entrance doors opened and an usher looked out to see what the unusual noise was. From the fear on her face, I guessed that we weren’t going to stop in time, but the car rocked to a halt close enough for me to be able to read her name badge.
“Natascha, I need you to unlock all the doors except this one,” I told her, opening the car door into the space left by the open theatre door and stepping out into the lobby. “When all the people start running out of the auditorium screaming, make sure that they get out.” I showed her my gun just to give her the right motivation.
“This is a very old building,” Alexei approved. “I see why you chose it. Strong walls to keep the spiders out.”
“No, no,” I corrected him, taking off down the restored tunnels that led to the auditorium and then, through the doors marked ‘staff only’, to the backstage area. “Strong walls to keep the spiders in here with us.”
“In here?” Alexei baulked at the idea, understandably. “Are you mad?”
“You’re not the first person to accuse me of that,” I admitted, “but this time I am an agent of U.N.D.E.A.D. with a plan.”
“Which is?”
“To hear a little opera,” I told him. “Come on.”
“How do you know your way around?” Alexei asked as we penetrated deeper into the less well-presented areas of the theatre.
“It’s not my first time in an opera house,” I told him.
We managed to run right back into the stage area before we were finally challenged by one of the stage hands. I hit him once in the stomach and let him fold to the floor. I didn’t have time to do this the nice way. There was also so much music going on that it was hard to hear myself think, let alone communicate anything to anyone else. Picking up the worker’s clipboard, I scribbled a message on it and showed Alexei. I didn’t need to be able to hear him to know what he was saying about the plan. I pointed my gun at him and he got the message, scurrying off.
Now it was time for my performance. I walked out into the centre of the stage, ignoring the concerned looks from the colourfully-dressed cast, who were currently lamenting about something in a very Germanic way. The leading lady wore full chainmail and a horned helmet. The spear she was brandishing could have done something very nasty had it not been a painted prop. I raised my gun and put a bullet in the conductor’s podium.
Even a full orchestra and opera cast in full swing can’t challenge the sound of an unsilenced nine millimetre automatic, especially in a place with such great acoustics. The conductor dropped his baton in fright and the orchestra tailed off, uncertain what to do next. The bassoonist seemed the most determined to continue.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” I tried to announce, but the huge cavernous space just swallowed my words. I fired another shot over my head and hoped that there was nobody working up above the stage. When no bodies crashed down onto the ground, I felt reassured.
I looked to the wings, which were now filled with confused and angry-looking technicians. I signalled for a microphone, but they just looked even more angry and confused. I could barely see the audience through the lights, but those that I glimpsed were also looking confused. One or two of them were probably already composing their letters of complaint to the management about these modern interpretations of the classics.
I pointed my gun into the wings and only then did someone sidle out with a microphone in their hand. The stage hand gave it to me carefully, like he was handling lit dynamite.
“Ladies and gentle…” feedback echoed around the auditorium, making many people wince painfully, myself included. I tried again. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you will please make your way quickly and quietly to the exits. There is very good reason to panic, but it is still best not to.”
Nobody moved. Either they still thought this was part of the opera or they were just too damned stubborn. They had paid good money to see a show and they were not going to move until they had seen that show.
The sets at the back of the stage were suddenly ripped apart by the legs and mandibles of the Diamond Giant, sending fake trees flying in all directions. Alexei had done his part, opening the huge stage doors at the back of the theatre and attracting the attention of the spiders. He was hopefully closing those same doors behind them, locking them in. The Blue Widow vaulted over the big spider and landed in the centre of the stage, blinded by the lights and blinding everyone else as every facet reflected the illumination.
The audience finally decided that this was not part of the show and ran, screaming, for the exits. The arrival of a very large, very crystalline and very blue spider in their midst sent the cast stumbling and screaming for the backstage exits, but I caught hold of the diva in the chainmail.
“Not you, love. Not yet.” I told her. “High C, if you please.”
She looked at the advancing spiders, terrified. I placed myself in her line of sight and smiled in what I hoped was a reassuring manner. “Give me a high C if you want to live. Now.”
The diva took a breath so deep that it seemed to suck the air out of my own lungs and then sang a single, pure note. I turned to the look at the spiders, but they were unaffected. I held the microphone up and the note was amplified through the public address system, suddenly seeming to come from everywhere.
With a loud snapping sound, one of the Blue Widow’s legs developed a long crack. The Diamond Giant was also struggling, its legs vibrating beneath it. Other cracks were visible there. Three legs shattered under the smaller spider, tipping it onto its side. The fall broke another two and it was rendered immobile. The Diamanti Magna seemed to realise what was happening. It tried to retreat, but there was no escape from that implacable note. Legs exploded suddenly like trees snapping under pressure and the great spider joined its fellow on the stage, helpless.
“You can stop now,” I told the diva, who seemed content to go on holding the note forever, something she seemed eminently capable of doing. When she did not react, I jabbed her lightly in the solar plexus with my gun and she got the point, rushing headlong from the stage now that the danger from the spiders, and me, was over.
Alexei headed across to join me.
“Stupid spiders,” he said and kicked out at the prone form of the Blue Widow.
Its head swung around and its mandibles tried to return the favour by biting the legs out from under him. He danced his way out of the danger area in fright.
“They’re crippled, not dead,” I pointed out to him.
“How do we kill them?” he wondered, looking at the helpless creatures.
“We don’t. The parazoological team can fix them up with some prosthetic legs and then we’ll set them free on one of the reserves.”
“And what about me?” Alexei demanded. “When it is learned that no
t only did I work with an U.N.D.E.A.D. agent, but I also helped him kill Pitrov, I will be a marked man in this town.”
I placed a companionable arm around him. “Alexei, I know how U.N.D.E.A.D. rewards the people who help us, so instead of a couple of book tokens and a wiped memory, why don’t you take this?”
I hefted a large section of one of the Diamanti Magna’s broken leg segments from the stage and handed it to him.
“There ought to be enough there to get you a flight out of here and a pretty good new life somewhere else.”
“Really?” his eyes bulged as he tried to calculate the amount such a huge piece of diamond would bring on the black market.
“Really. I couldn’t have done it without you. Now get out of here before the police show up with exactly the same opinion.”
He needed no further prompting.
I looked at the damage that the spiders had wrought on the production’s backdrop and considered the data drive in my pocket, wondering if the information it now held had been worth all of the destruction and death. I hoped so, because I didn’t have a lot of leads left.
Then a thought struck me
“Well, what do you know; it really wasn’t over till the fat lady sang.”
The End (for now at least)
The Wheel
The return to consciousness was an unpleasant business, full of nausea and even more nausea with the added desire to vomit. It seemed to go on forever, though it probably only lasted a few minutes in reality.
Finally, the gauzy blur was lifted from his vision and he was finally able to focus on the pink mass that filled it, a pink mass that now revealed itself to be a face.
The Controller’s face.
“Now that was a foolish thing to do, Mr Potter,” the Controller said, his expression a mixed one of concern and confusion. “True, you almost succeeded, but did I not tell you that we can repair all but the most serious of damage? Foolish and futile.”
Arnold J Potter raised his head slightly, setting off another wave of nausea in the process, and found himself in the same room where he had last spoken to this man of the future.
Of course, Arnold J Potter was now a man of the future as well. The only sick one.
“I must thank you, though,” the Controller said, standing up from his position on the couch alongside Potter. “Your foolish and futile act has given our psychologists much new data to consider. They have decided that we had not considered the amount of distress that your situation would cause to such an undeveloped individual as yourself.”
Potter looked along his supine body and was amazed to find that it looked just as it had before. The impact with the ground so far below should have shattered it completely and exploded his internal organs.
“Distress that you could take away,” he reminded his host.
He tried to stand and found that he could do so quite easily, perhaps even more so than before. They had not just repaired the damage; they had repaired it to peak efficiency.
“You will find the room much as it was,” the Controller continued, ignoring Potter’s statement.
Potter eyed the window.
“Except that the window no longer opens and is manufactured from unbreakable glass,” the Controller commented. “We have also taken the liberty of removing all sharp objects or rope-like materials.”
“You’ve thought of everything then?”
“We think so,” the Controller agreed, adding when Potter took a threatening step toward him, “including a sedative gas system that will incapacitate anyone in the room before they can do anything foolish.”
Potter subsided.
“Surely it must be a matter of great pride to you to be able to benefit mankind in this fashion?” the Controller queried, not understanding the man’s reactions, even after hours of debriefing by research psychologists.
Potter told him exactly what he felt about humanity just then.
The Controller shook his head sadly. “It must be a hard thing to be like you, to think that way. Still, you will have much time to consider it before the end. To consider yourself.”
The Controller did not add that he thought this might be a crueller punishment for the man than his actual dying.
The World May Not Be Flat, But...
“This is NASA central communications coming to you live from the Kennedy Space Centre here at Cape Canaveral in sunny Florida. We are welcoming today the largest audience ever recorded for an event anywhere, the launch of Apollo 8. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, today’s launch is being broadcast live to television and radio audiences around the world.”
“The sun is up and the forecast promises a fine, cloudless day for this historic launch. Today, the crew of three will fly further from the Earth than anyone has ever gone before, embarking on a mission to circumnavigate the moon. This is a crucial stage on the journey to fulfilling President Kennedy’s promise to putting men on the moon before this decade is out.”
“From the command centre, we can see the three stage Saturn V rocket standing on the launch pad. The early morning sun is shining off it and it really is a most impressive sight. Towards the base of the rocket, you can see steam venting from the fuelling pipes. This is quite normal for this stage in the launch procedures.”
“Our cameras will follow the rocket high up into the atmosphere for as long as they can. From there, telescopes all around the Earth will follow the crew’s progress toward, and around, the moon, our nearest neighbour in space...”
Excerpt of official launch broadcast
Recording courtesy of NASA
About an hour before launch there is a window where there is not enough to do. The preparations are complete; the boards are green. You’re just waiting and you start to think of the damnedest things, and they’re never the things that can go right.
There are always concerns, fears even. Hell, it’s not as if the space program hasn’t lost its share of people along the way and there’s always that fear that it could happen again on your watch. It doesn’t matter how meticulous you are as a scientist. It doesn’t matter how scrupulous you are as an engineer. It doesn’t matter how experienced you are as a leader. When there are that many things that can go wrong and you have precious little direct control over any of them, you have to worry. All you can do is work everything through a dozen times and take out every error you can find, reduce every opportunity for things to go wrong, minimise the risk as best as you possibly can.
We had a visit the night before the launch from Charles Lindbergh, you know the man who flew across the Atlantic in the Spirit of St Louis back in 1927. He told us that he’d calculated how much fuel he would need by using a piece of string on a globe to measure the distance. Can you imagine that? Well, our preparations were a lot more rigorous than that, for sure, but if you’re not nervous at a time like that then you’re not human.
I remember snapping at someone because they were listening to the official broadcaster talking some nonsense about what a lovely day it was. It was a lovely day; all blue skies and barely a cloud to spoil the view for all the folks that had turned out from before dawn to watch the launch. I remember thinking that Lindbergh was out there somewhere, waiting for the fireworks and probably glad not to have anything more to do with it than being an onlooker. I almost envied him for that.
It wasn’t just the less than perfect history of the American space program that was bothering me, though. Back then, the US and Russia were locked into a race for the moon that was defining a generation. It meant as much to those folks in the Kremlin that they got there first as it did to our leaders in the White House. It was a matter of national prestige, of pride, that we were the most technologically advanced country on the planet. Except that at that time we weren’t, in space anyway.
Sputnik rocked US space science to its very core. The Russians had put something into orbit before us. Then Gagarin made sure that the Reds had the first man in space record forever. We were a long way behind, which explains some o
f the mistakes that were made, some of the losses we suffered. They’d put a dog up there before us and a woman, too. The woman they’d even managed to bring back, though the dog wasn’t that lucky. We were behind in this race, had been since the start, but things hadn’t gone well for the Russians when it came to the moon.
In March of that year, they launched the Zond 4 mission. This was the first genuine attempt to send a spacecraft around the moon. It was just an empty capsule, but they planned to follow it up in September with Zond 5, containing plants and worms and other creatures, to study the effects of the flight on living things. The fact was that the Russians were going to fly around the moon twice before we even got to do it once. At least we were the ones who were going to get there first with men in the capsule. This was the final step on the way to landing and that was the holy grail that NASA had been sent out questing for.
Then the Russians lost Zond 4. There was always, and still is in many ways, a wall of silence and secrecy around the failures of any Russian space mission, but we usually found out, one way or another, what the cause was. I suspect that the CIA might have been responsible for a good few of the technical updates that we received at NASA. With Zond 4, though, there was nothing. It was like the Russians had no idea what had happened to it. Zond 5 was postponed and we were suddenly in the lead for once. I can’t say that I was unhappy about the Russian failure, they were our only rivals, after all, but it still left a lot of unanswered questions and nobody in space research likes unanswered questions, especially when you’re about to try what someone else has just failed to do.
Launch Controller’s evidence
Congressional Archive, Washington DC
The engines of the giant Saturn V rocket ignited exactly as they were supposed to, ejecting their inferno into the bunker beneath the launch pad that had been designed to channel it and redirect it away from the ridiculously explosive fuel supply standing above it. One stray jet of superheated gases and the resulting explosion would be felt much further than the steady roar that was shaking the command centre until the metal shutters rattled.
Taking the Tube to the Outer Limits Page 20
