One day this odd fleet landed among the space cradles, killed and imprisoned the Terran and Martian guards, and proclaimed that Ganymede and the cradles were their property. If the Senate wanted to use the cradles they paid, and paid plenty. Twenty per cent of all freighted goods turned over to the Gany Emperor, left on the moon. And full Senate representation.
If the Senate fleet tried to take back the cradles by force the cradles would be destroyed. The Ganymedeans had already mined them with H-bombs. The Gany fleet surrounded the moon, a little ring of hard steel. If the Senate fleet tried to break through, seize the moon, it would be the end of the cradles. What could the System do?
And at Proxima, the colonies were starving.
"You're certain we can't launch ships into deep-space from regular fields," a Martian Senator asked.
"Only Class-One ships have any chance to reach the colonies," Commander James Carmichel said wearily. "A Class-One ship is ten times the size of a regular intra-system ship. A Class-One ship needs a cradle miles deep. Miles wide. You can't launch a ship that size from a meadow."
There was silence. The great Senate chambers were full, crowded to capacity with representatives from all the nine planets.
"The Proxima colonies won't last another twenty days," Doctor Basset testified. "That means we must get a ship on the way sometime next week. Otherwise, when we do get there we won't find anyone alive."
"When will the new Luna cradles be ready?"
"A month," Carmichel answered.
"No sooner?"
"No."
"Then apparently we'll have to accept Ganymede's terms." The Senate Leader snorted with disgust. "Nine planets and one wretched little moon! How dare they want equal voice with the System members!"
"We could break their ring," Carmichel said, "but they'll destroy the cradles without hesitation if we do."
"If only we could get supplies to the colonies without using space cradles," a Plutonian Senator said.
"That would mean without using Class-One ships."
"And nothing else will reach Proxima?"
"Nothing that we know of."
A Saturnian Senator arose. "Commander, what kind of ships does Ganymede use? They're different from your own?"
"Yes. But no one knows anything about them."
"How are they launched?"
Carmichel shrugged. "The usual way. From fields."
"Do you think—"
"I don't think they're deep-space ships. We're beginning to grasp at straws. There simply is no ship large enough to cross deep-space that doesn't require a space cradle. That's the fact we must accept."
The Senate Leader stirred. "A motion is already before the Senate that we accept the proposal of the Ganymedeans and conclude the war. Shall we take the vote, or are there any more questions?"
No one blinked his light.
"Then we'll begin. Mercury. What is the vote of the First Planet?"
"Mercury votes to accept the enemy's terms."
"Venus. What does Venus vote?"
"Venus votes—"
"Wait!" Commander Carmichel stood up suddenly. The Senate Leader raised his hand.
"What is it? The Senate is voting."
Carmichel gazed down intently at a foil strip that had been shot to him across the chamber, from the chart wing. "I don't know how important this is, but I think perhaps the Senate should know about it before it votes."
"What is it?"
"I have a message from the first line. A Martian raider has surprised and captured a Gany Research Station, on an asteroid between Mars and Jupiter. A large quantity of Gany equipment has been taken intact." Carmichel looked around the hall. "Including a Gany ship, a new ship, undergoing tests at the Station. The Gany staff was destroyed, but the prize ship is undamaged. The raider is bringing it here so it can be examined by our experts."
A murmur broke through the chamber.
"I put forth a motion that we withhold our decision until the Ganymedean ship has been examined," a Uranian Senator shouted. "Something might come of this!"
"The Ganymedeans have put a lot of energy into designing ships," Carmichel murmured to the Senate Leader. "Their ships are strange. Quite different from ours. Maybe…"
"What is the vote on this motion?" the Senate Leader asked. "Shall we wait until this ship can be examined?"
"Let's wait!" voices cried. "Wait! Let's see."
Carmichel rubbed his paw thoughtfully. "It's worth a try. But if nothing comes of this we'll have to go ahead and capitulate." He folded up the foil strip. "Anyhow, it's worth looking into. A Gany ship. I wonder…"
Doctor Earl Basset's face was red with excitement.
"Let me by." He pushed through the row of uniformed officers. "Please let me by." Two shiny Lieutenants stepped out of his way and he saw, for the first time, the great globe of steel and rexenoid that was the captured Ganymedean ship.
"Look at it," Major Siller whispered. "Nothing at all like our own ships. What makes it run?"
"No drive jets," Commander Carmichel said. "Only landing jets to set her down. What makes her go?"
The Ganymedean globe rested quietly in the center of the Terran Experimental laboratory, rising up from the circle of men like a great bubble. It was a beautiful ship, glimmering with an even metallic fire, shimmering and radiating a cold light.
"It gives you a strange feeling," General Groves said. Suddenly he caught his breath. "You don't suppose this—this could be a gravity drive ship? The Ganys were supposed to be experimenting with gravity."
"What's that?" Basset said.
"A gravity drive ship would reach its destination without time lapse. The velocity of gravity is infinite. Can't be measured. If this globe is—"
"Nonsense," Carmichel said. "Einstein showed gravity isn't a force but a warpage, a space warpage."
"But couldn't a ship be built using—"
"Gentlemen!" The Senate Leader came quickly into the laboratory, surrounded by his guards. "Is this the ship? This globe?" The officers pulled back and the Senate Leader went gingerly up to the great gleaming side. He touched it.
"It's undamaged," Siller said. "They're translating the control markings so we can use it."
"So this is the Ganymedean ship. Will it help us?"
"We don't know yet," Carmichel said.
"Here come the think-men," Groves said. The hatch of the globe had opened, and two men in white lab uniforms were stepping carefully down, carrying a semantibox.
"What are the results?" the Senate Leader asked.
"We've made the translations. A Terran crew could operate the ship now. All the controls are marked."
"We should make a study of the engines before we try the ship out," Doctor Basset said. "What do we know about it? We don't know what makes it run, or what fuel it uses."
"How long will such a study take?" the Leader asked.
"Several days, at least," Carmichel said.
"That long?"
"There's no telling what we'll run into. We may find a radically new type of drive and fuel. It might even take several weeks to finish the analysis."
The Senate Leader pondered.
"Sir," Carmichel said, "I think we should go ahead and have a test run. We can easily raise a volunteer crew."
"A trial run could begin at once," Groves said. "But we might have to wait weeks for the drive analysis."
"You believe a complete crew would volunteer?"
Carmichel rubbed his hands together. "Don't worry about that. Four men would do it. Three, outside of me."
"Two," General Groves said. "Count me in."
"How about me, sir?" Major Siller asked hopefully.
Doctor Basset pushed up nervously. "Is it all right for a civilian to volunteer? I'm curious as hell about this."
The Senate Leader smiled. "Why not? If you can be of use, go along. So the crew is already here."
The four men grinned at each other.
"Well?" Groves said. "What are we waiting f
or? Let's get her started!"
The linguist traced a meter reading with his finger. "You can see the Gany markings. Next to each we've put the Terran equivalent. There's one hitch, though. We know the Gany word for, say, five. Zahf. So where we find zahf we mark a five for you. See this dial? Where the arrow's at nesi? At zero. See how it's marked?"
100
liw
50
ka
5
zahf
0
nesi
5
zahf
50
ka
100
liw
Carmichel nodded. "So?"
"This is the problem. We don't know what the units refer to. Five, but five what? Fifty, but fifty what? Presumably velocity. Or is it distance? Since no study has been made of the workings of this ship—"
"You can't interpret?"
"How?" The linguist tapped a switch. "Obviously, this throws the drive on. Mel— start. You close the switch and it indicates io— stop. But how you guide the ship is a different matter. We can't tell you what the meter is for."
Groves touched a wheel. "Doesn't this guide her?"
"It governs the brake rockets, the landing jets. As for the central drive we don't know what it is or how you control it, once you're started. Semantics won't help you. Only experience. We can translate numbers only into numbers."
Groves and Carmichel looked at each other.
"Well?" Groves said. "We may find ourselves lost in space. Or falling into the sun. I saw a ship spiral into the sun, once. Faster and faster, down and down—"
"We're a long way from the sun. And we'll point her out, toward Pluto. We'll get control eventually. You don't want to unvolunteer, do you?"
"Of course not."
"How about the rest of you?" Carmichel said, to Basset and Siller. "You're still coming along?"
"Certainly." Basset was stepping cautiously into his spacesuit. "We're coming."
"Make sure you seal your helmet completely." Carmichel helped him fasten his leggings. "Your shoes, next."
"Commander," Groves said, "they're finishing on the vidscreen. I wanted it installed so we could establish contact. We might need some help getting back."
"Good idea." Carmichel went over, examining the leads from the screen. "Self-contained power unit?"
"For safety's sake. Independent from the ship."
Carmichel sat down before the vidscreen, clicking it on. The local monitor appeared. "Get me the Garrison Station on Mars. Commander Vecchi."
The call locked through. Carmichel began to lace his boots and leggings while he waited. He was lowering his helmet into place when the screen I glowed into life. Vecchi's dark features formed, lean-jawed above his scarlet uniform.
"Greetings, Commander Carmichel," he murmured. He glanced curiously at Carmichel's suit. "You are going on a trip, Commander?"
"We may visit you. We're about to take the captured Gany ship up. If everything goes right I hope to set her down at your field, sometime later today."
"We'll have the field cleared and ready for you."
"Better have emergency equipment on hand. We're still unsure of the controls."
"I wish you luck." Vecchi's eyes flickered. "I can see the interior of your ship. What drive is it?"
"We don't know yet. That's the problem."
"I hope you will be able to land, Commander."
"Thanks. So do we." Carmichel broke the connection. Groves and Siller were already dressed. They were helping Basset tighten the screw locks of his earphones.
"We're ready," Groves said. He looked through the port. Outside a circle of officers watched silently.
"Say good-bye," Siller said to Basset. "This may be our last minute on Terra."
"Is there really much danger?"
Groves sat down beside Carmichel at the control board. "Ready?" His voice came to Carmichel through his phones.
"Ready." Carmichel reached out his gloved hand, toward the switch marked mel. "Here we go. Hold on tight!"
He grasped the switch firmly and pulled.
They were falling through space.
"Help!" Doctor Basset shouted. He slid across the up-ended floor, crashing against a table. Carmichel and Groves hung on grimly, trying to keep their places at the board.
The globe was spinning and dropping, settling lower and lower through a heavy sheet of rain. Below them, visible through the port, was a vast rolling ocean, an endless expanse of blue water, as far as the eye could see. Siller stared down at it, on his hands and knees, sliding with the globe.
"Commander, where—where should we be?"
"Someplace off Mars. But this can't be Mars!"
Groves flipped the brake rocket switches, one after another. The globe shuddered as the rockets came on, bursting into life around them.
"Easy does it," Carmichel said, craning his neck to see through the port. "Ocean? What the hell—"
The globe leveled off, shooting rapidly above the water, parallel to the surface. Siller got slowly to his feet, hanging onto the railing. He helped Basset up. "Okay, Doc?"
"Thanks." Basset wobbled. His glasses had come off inside his helmet. "Where are we? On Mars already?'
"We're there," Groves said, "but it isn't Mars."
"But I thought we were going to Mars."
"So did the rest of us." Groves decreased the speed of the globe cautiously. "You can see this isn't Mars."
"Then what is it?"
"I don't know. We'll find out, though. Commander, watch the starboard jet. It's overbalancing. Your switch."
Carmichel adjusted. "Where do you think we are? I don't understand it. Are we still on Terra? Or Venus?"
Groves flicked the vidscreen on. "I'll soon find out if we're on Terra." He raised the all-wave control. The screen remained blank. Nothing formed.
"We're not on Terra."
"We're not anywhere in the System." Groves spun the dial. "No response."
"Try the frequency of the big Mars Sender."
Groves adjusted the dial. At the spot where the Mars Sender should have come in there was—nothing. The four men gaped foolishly at the screen. All their lives they had received the familiar sanguine faces of Martian announcers on that wave. Twenty-four hours a day. The most powerful sender in the System. Mars Sender reached all the nine planets, and even out into deep-space. And it was always on the air.
"Lord," Basset said. "We're out of the System."
"We're not in the System," Groves said. "Notice the horizontal curve—This is a small planet we're on. Maybe a moon. But it's no planet or moon I've ever seen before. Not in the System, and not the Proxima area either."
Carmichel stood up. "The units must be big multiples, all right. We're out of the System, perhaps all the way around the galaxy." He peered out the port at the rolling water.
"I don't see any stars," Basset said.
"Later on we can get a star reading. When we're on the other side, away from the sun."
"Ocean," Siller murmured. "Miles of it. And a good temperature." He removed his helmet cautiously. "Maybe we won't need these after all."
"Better leave them on until we can make an atmosphere check," Groves said. "Isn't there a check tube on this bubble?"
"I don't see any," Carmichel said.
"Well, it doesn't matter. If we—"
"Sir!" Siller exclaimed. "Land."
They ran to the port. Land was rising into view, on the horizon of the planet. A long low strip of land, a coastline. They could see green; the land was fertile.
"I'll turn her a little right," Groves said, sitting down at the board. He adjusted the controls. "How's that?"
"Heading right toward it," Carmichel sat down beside him. "Well, at least we won't drown. I wonder where we are. How will we know? What if the star map can't be equated? We can take a spectroscopic analysis, try to find a known star—"
"We're almost there," Basset said nervously. "You better slow us down, General. We'
ll crash."
"I'm doing the best I can. Any mountains or peaks?"
"No. It seems quite flat. Like a plain."
The globe dropped lower and lower, slowing down. Green scenery whipped past below them. Far off a row of meager hills came finally into view. The globe was barely skimming, now, as the two pilots fought to bring it to a stop.
"Easy, easy," Groves murmured. "Too fast."
All the brakes were firing. The globe was a bedlam of noise, knocked back and forth as the jets fired. Gradually it lost velocity, until it was almost hanging in the sky. Then it sank, like a toy balloon, settling slowly down to the green plain below.
"Cut the rockets!"
The pilots snapped their switches. Abruptly all sound ceased. They looked at each other.
"Any moment…" Carmichel murmured.
Plop!
"We're down," Basset said. "We're down."
They unscrewed the hatch cautiously, their helmets tightly in place. Siller held a Boris gun ready, as Groves and Carmichel swung the heavy rexenoid disc back. A blast of warm air rolled into the globe, swelling around them.
"See anything?" Basset said.
"Nothing. Level fields. Some kind of planet." The General stepped down onto the ground. "Tiny plants! Thousands of them. I don't know what kind."
The other men stepped out, their boots sinking into the moist soil. They looked around them.
"Which way?" Siller said. "Toward those hills?"
"Might as well. What a flat planet!" Carmichel strode off, leaving deep tracks behind him. The others followed.
"Harmless looking place," Basset said. He picked a handful of the little plants. "What are they? Some kind of weed." He stuffed them into the pocket of his spacesuit.
"Stop" Siller froze, rigid, his gun raised.
"What is it?"
"Something moved. Through that patch of shrubbery over there."
They waited. Everything was quiet around them. A faint breeze eddied through the surface of green. The sky overhead was a clear, warm blue, with a few faint clouds.
"What did it look like?" Basset said.
The Collected Stories of Philip K. Dick 4: The Minority Report Page 48
