by John Rankine
It was a lot to digest. Koenig broke the silence, ‘Can you hear me?’
‘And understand your thoughts.’
‘Then you must know we came in peace?’
‘We believe your intentions were good but we have been watching the progress of your world since its beginning. Your human nature is such that we could not afford to take the risk.’
It had made its definitive answer. The light dimmed out and the satellite moved again with ever increasing acceleration to dwindle away towards the distant planet.
Koenig said, ‘Kill the lights, Paul.’
Main Mission was plunged in darkness. A faint red glow came from the direct vision ports and all hands looked out over the barren moonscape, as their temporary sun slipped away over the horizon.
John Koenig, standing with Helena said, ‘At least let’s enjoy the last sunset.’
CHAPTER FIVE
Somebody once said that work was a great therapy and John Koenig could agree with it. Looking round Main Mission with all systems go and a professional job to be done, he reckoned that his crew were coming out of the numbing disappointment they had felt and were happier than at any time over the last months.
The Main Scanner was sewn with brilliants as it tracked over the star map. Moving across the endless panorama, two Eagles staked out the human claim.
Alan Carter’s voice crossed the wasteland and Sandra brought up an inset picture of the command module of Eagle One. He was reading it from his instrument spread, ‘Object’s course and trajectory holding steady. Sensor readings growing stronger.’
Kano affirmed from his computer console, ‘Positive analysis, Commander. Object approaching us is artificially powered.’
Bergman looked hard at Koenig. ‘A ship?’
There was no reply. Koenig was not ready to commit himself. It would not be long before they had more data and Sandra Benes, as though chiming in on his thinking, said, ‘Nine seconds to visual.’
Koenig said, ‘Eagles One and Two maintain your approach.’
Carter’s laconic ‘Check, Commander,’ was followed by a quick interjection from Steve Abrams in the pilot slot of Eagle Two, ‘The scanners have it now, Commander.’
Koenig leaned both hands on the back of Sandra’s chair and stared at the big screen, waiting for the pictures to show and Sandra counted down, ‘Two seconds . . .’
Out of the billions of light specks, there was one separating out, a tiny hurrying fragment moving towards them from the vast reaches of space. Electronic gear locked on, enlarged it to a recognisable, size and shape and landed it for them like a silver fish. There was no longer any doubt. They had a visitor. It was a hurrying spacer.
John Koenig’s reaction was immediate and positive, ‘Eagles One and Two, activate onboard defensive systems.’
Carter’s reaction time showed his complete concentration. He was an extension of his machine, while the harmonics were still vibrating, he was flipping switches in a row and calling again. ‘We’re picking up a signal, Commander.’
‘Relay it.’
A low pulsing droned out from the repeaters in Main Mission and Koenig said sharply, ‘Kano?’
The computer operator swivelled to face him, ‘It’s some kind of call sign, Commander.’
‘Acknowledge.’
Kano went to work and the atmosphere in Main Mission was electric. The signal cut out, leaving a sudden silence. Helena Russell, running a continuous medical monitoring scan on the Eagles’ personnel, involuntarily put a hand to her mouth as though she was expecting an announcement of mind shattering importance.
When it came, it was like calling a lover and getting an answering service. A distorted metallic voice punched out a prepared statement, ‘THIS IS THE VOICE OF VOYAGER ONE.’
Sandra had a close shot of the ship to back it. There was no doubt the voice had gotten it right. On the nose cone, stylised outlines of a human male and his female consort symbolised the point of origin in Earth planet.
The voice went on, ‘OUR SHIP IS UNMANNED AND UNARMED. WE COME ON A MISSION OF PEACE AND GOODWILL.’
The text was friendly enough but Bergman’s reaction was near to panic. Grabbing Koenig’s arm, he could only say, ‘A Voyager ship!’
Koenig was ahead of him, calling urgently, ‘Carter!’ Abrams! Pull away!’
Maybe he was already too late. Seen on the scanner, both Eagles were in trouble. Yawing and vibrating, they were running out of control.
Helena Russell called, ‘Both pilots under severe stress.’
Koenig tried again, ‘Do you read me, Eagles One and Two?’
A heavy rumbling was building from the repeaters. Carter, sweating with effort was fighting to pull his Eagle in a turn. He jerked out, ‘We’re under attack . . . Alpha . . .’
Abrams cut in, ‘Eagle Two out of control.’
They, could see it. The vibration was shaking Eagle Two into scrap. Abrams rocking violently in his command chair was getting no joy from any control. They heard him again, forcing the words from clenced teeth, ‘Eagle . . . Two . . . not . . . responding.’
Eagle Two was spiralling, breaking up, still moving towards Voyager, superstructure pulsing like a beating heart. But Carter was making out, he was turning and the noise from the vibrating hull was less.
Abrams’s voice was notched up to a scream, as though to compete with the pandemonium in his command cabin. ‘Can’t turn . . . The ship . . . Falling apart.’
They saw Eagle Two buck violently, slamming Abrams back and forward against his straps. No structure made by man could take the punishment. A fracture line opened up, spread like a torn paper and Eagle Two became molecular trash among the interstellar dust.
Helena Russell’s monitor screens confirmed it for the human cargo. Negative. Negative. Where human life had been, there was the long silence. There was silence to match it in Main Mission as the personnel came to terms with sudden death. Voyager One’s computer voice, becoming clearer, said evenly, ‘THIS IS THE VOICE OF VOYAGER ONE. GREETINGS FROM THE PEOPLE OF PLANET EARTH.’
Paul Morrow said tersely, ‘We’ve lost ship to base communication.’
Looking at the inside of Carter’s labouring Eagle, Koenig doubted whether it would matter. Alan Carter had a thin line of blood trickling down his nose and seemed to make no effort to stop himself being shaken about by the random moves of his craft. Except to say that it was still holding together, there was nothing good in the picture.
Helena’s monitors had gone dead. She said, ‘No life signs. I hope it’s the onboard instruments.’
Watching closely, Koenig saw a flicker from Carter’s face, a grimace of pain. He said urgently, ‘Paul. Keep communications open.’
Carter was hauling himself erect in his chair. They saw him move, painfully, slowly, to get a grip on the manual controls. It was a lonely straggle with nothing anybody could do to ease the burden.
Morrow said incredulously, ‘My God. He’ll do it. Eagle One’s flight pattern’s stabilising.’ His surprise was shared by Carter himself, who was looking round his cabin as though he was seeing it fresh after resurrection. The rumbling noise faded. Eagle One was in level flight.
Sandra, smiling after the tension said triumphantly ‘Eagle One, Commander,’ and Koenig hit a switch.
‘Alan?’
The voice was weak, but all systems go, ‘How am I doing?’
‘Automatic’s shot to hell. Can you work on manual?’
‘I think so, Commander. Did Abrams make it?’
‘No.’
‘What hit us?’
‘The Queller Drive.’
It would make sense to Carter, but others were not so far ahead. Koenig answered the unspoken questions, ‘Voyager One is powered by two types of engine; normal rocket motors and the Queller Drive—an automatic engine that delivers incredible speed from a stream of fast neutrons.’
Paul Morrow remembered the programme and was suddenly angry, ‘Yes. Fast neutrons spewed out into space, annihilati
ng everything in their path. You could as well stand in the middle of an atomic strike. If it comes too close, we’ll be burned up. If it passes at a distance we’ll be polluted by neutron fall out. It’s death either way. We’ve got to blast it out of the sky, Commander.’
Koenig was listening and believing. The same analysis had run through his head and it looked like plain logic. They both turned to Victor Bergman, who had been at the computer console and was reading a print-out as he hurried over to them, ‘John. Listen to this. It’s all here. Voyager One. Launched 1985. Mission: to probe the Galaxy for signs of intelligent life; to document habitable solar systems; to advertise man’s presence in the Galaxy.’
He looked at them both, clearly impressed by the scientific angles, ‘And now, would you believe it, we see it on its return trip? Fifteen years later! It’s an epic. What an achievement.’
His enthusiasm was not catching. Helena Russell said flatly, ‘It’s a threat to all life on this base.’
He conceded that, ‘There is danger from the Queller Drive.’
Morrow was indignant, ‘Danger? If we all climbed into lead caskets under twelve feet of concrete, we’d still burn like fried onions!’
‘Think of the scientific information in that ship.’
Helena said, ‘My concern is about our lives.’
There was no doubt left for Morrow. ‘We must destroy it.’
Bergman looked from one face to another. He was in a minority of one, but still batting. ‘No. It’s unthinkable.’
Koenig played for time and called in Kano, ‘How long do we have?’
‘Limit of safety, eleven hours, Commander.’
‘Eleven hours. All right. That gives us a breathing space.’
Helena Russell, thinking he was agreeing with Bergman said urgently, ‘For what? We have no protection. We must stop it.’
Carter’s voice broke in. Working now with his old flair, he was holding Eagle One on a course, ‘Eagle One on approach. We should make it. But keep your heads down.’
It eased the tension. Koenig answered, ‘We’ll be waiting. Good luck, Alan.’ He turned to Morrow, ‘Crash crews on standby.’
As he went up the steps to his command office, Morrow was already setting it up. ‘Emergency crew to launch pad four. Stand by crash unit one.’
Moonbase Alpha clicked smoothly into gear. A crash tender Eagle rose to the pad and a boarding tube snaked out to give access. Koenig watched the sequence as he listened to Bergman still pushing his theory and Helena Russell making a bid for practical common sense.
‘So what are you suggesting, Victor?’
‘Simply this. We must try to get hold of the information that Voyager contains. We can’t just blow it up out of hand.’
‘What do you say to that Helena?’
‘We can’t take any chance at all with the Queller Drive. We know what it does.’
Bergman was impatient, ‘Listen. For fifteen years Voyager has been photographing other planets, analysing their atmosphere, detailing all forms of life, recording temperatures, gravities. It would take us a hundred years to learn what Voyager already knows.’
Helena conceded that much, ‘I can accept that. The information on Voyager is probably our best chance of survival. But you can’t get round the Queller Drive.’
Koenig said slowly, ‘Victor. Voyager has two engines, right?’
‘Correct.’
‘Chemical, conventional rockets for launching and landing. The Queller Drive takes over to cover the vast distances of interstellar space. It made star travel possible. But Voyager One is unmanned. How does it switch from rocket engines to the Queller Drive and back again?’
‘Computer control.’
‘So?’
‘I think I see what you’re getting at . . .’
‘Look. Can we alter the programme on Voyager’s computer? Can we modify its instructions so that it shuts down the Queller Drive?’
Helena Russell was positive and looked as though she would like to thump sense into Koenig’s head.
‘We cannot risk it.’
But Bergman looked pleased, ‘Can we afford not to risk it?’
Once again Carter provided a safety valve. He was down on the pad and Morrow reported it. ‘Eagle One is in.’
Koenig had been looking at Helena, conscious that this time they were on opposite sides of a fence and not liking it. He said, ‘Carter?’
‘In one piece.’
‘Good.’
Helena intervened, ‘Have him report to the medicentre.’ On her way out, she gave Koenig a straight look and put it on the line, ‘You want to save Voyager—even at the risk of all our lives.’
‘We have to try.’
‘In that case, we’d better find out all we can about fast neutrons.’
‘We’re not in any danger . . . yet.’
‘No. Not yet.’
Turning abruptly, her blonde hair swinging, she went out. If she could have slammed the hatch, she would have.
In the medicentre, she switched in a repeater to get any information that was coming into Main Mission. She heard Bergman make a request for computer service and heard its plummy tones. ‘Your request on fast neutron effects. Detailed information not banked. Records suggest we have a resident specialist. Contact Doctor Ernst Linden, Experimental Physics Laboratory.’
She thought that would please Bergman at least. Linden was one of his own team. Not that anybody saw much of him and she had difficulty putting a face to the name. He was a quiet, self-effacing type, who hardly ever left the confines of his lab. Out of curiosity, she turned up his medical record and looked at his identity block. The photograph showed him to be an elderly, distinguished looking man. It was strange that she had not made any contact. That would have to be remedied.
The maestro himself was absorbed in a problem. He had turned his own corner of Alpha into an exotic retreat for experimental science. Remnants of a long succession of experiments on propulsion and automatic handling devices hung about like surrealist decorations. Currently, he was making delicate adjustments to a piece of apparatus, watched by Jim Haines his young assistant.
Justifying himself, Haines said, ‘See what I mean? It should work but it doesn’t.’
Linden gave him a good humoured look, ‘Of course, it couldn’t be the energy cell duct?’
‘Not a chance . . . Well . . .’ Haines slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand, ‘All right. You know damn well it is.’
‘Just a suggestion.’
‘I know your suggestions. I’ll go get one.’
On the way out, he passed Helena Russell coming in. She was making up for lost time. Linden went on working and she had to speak to get attention, which given her spectacular figure was unusual.
‘Doctor Linden.’
He looked up, nodded and went back to work, putting in a deft adjustment, before he straightened up and proved that he knew who it was even if he would have traded her any day for a transistor. ‘Doctor Russell.’
‘I need your help. Computer referred me to you. It seems you’re the local expert on fast neutrons.’
‘I have some small knowledge of the subject. What is the problem?’
‘An emergency situation. A fast neutron source is approaching us from space.’ There was no doubt that she was getting more attention, but there was no verbal response. She went on, ‘An early probe ship, sent from Earth. A Voyager class vessel. Voyager One to be exact.’
Linden was gripping the edge of his work top to stay on his feet. Voice in a harsh whisper, he repeated the information for his data acquisition networks which were clearly finding it difficult to take, ‘Voyager One?’
If he had been in Main Mission, he would have had ocular proof. Voyager One was featured on the main scanner ploughing its solitary furrow over the star map. Victor Bergman, watching it, said to Kano, ‘The problem is to get access to the Voyager command circuits. Then we can give the computer new instructions. I want a link up through our com
puter programmer to Voyager One. See what you can do, Kano.’
‘Check, Professor.’
When his visitor had gone, Linden sat heavily at his desk and made no move when Haines came back. Haines began to unpack components, slamming them one by one on his bench. Finally he had to break the silence. ‘You’ve heard the big news? There’s a Voyager ship out there.’
Linden was away in private speculation and Haines said again, ‘Did you hear me, Doctor?’
‘Yes . . .’
‘They’re playing games with the Queller Drive. It’ll be like Voyager Two all over again. They’ve forgotten everything and remembered nothing. Know what they aim to do? They want to stop it . . . shut down its drive!’
This time he had a reaction. Linden hauled himself to his feet and spoke more to himself than to his assistant. ‘They can’t do that!’
Before Haines could speak again, he was out through the hatch walking with quick nervous strides. He moved to Main Mission where the action was and stood unobtrusively at the back of the crowd listening to Bergman who was trying to talk to Voyager One’s computer.
‘Voyager One. This is the voice of Earth Space Authority. Do you acknowledge?’
‘ACKNOWLEDGED.’
‘Stand by to allow access to your command file.’
‘REQUEST REFUSED.’
Bergman tried again. ‘This is the voice of Earth Space Control.’
‘ACKNOWLEDGED.’
‘Voyager One. Delete Command file and stand by for fresh instructions.’
‘REQUEST REFUSED.’
‘On what grounds?’
‘UNAUTHORISED INSTRUCTIONS.’
‘You are ordered to delete your command instructions.’
‘REQUEST REFUSED. PRIME DIRECTIVES CANNOT BE ALTERED UNLESS PRECEDED BY DELETE CODE.’
The signal note from Voyager One changed key and Kano tracked on his console to keep steady on the frequency. Voyager One came in loud and clear, ‘THIS IS THE VOICE OF VOYAGER ONE. GREETINGS FROM THE PEOPLE OF EARTH PLANET.’
