Andromeda (A Space-Age Tale) вк-1

by Ivan Yefremov

  Mven Mass established radio communication with Satellite 57, using the lunar waveband. The reflectors and directors set up on the station were fixed on Epsilon Tucanae for the few minutes of the satellite’s revolution from 33° north latitude to the South Pole during which the star was visible.

  Mven Mass took his place at the control desk in the underground room, a place very similar to that at the Mediterranean Observatory.

  For the thousandth time he looked through the sheets of data on the planet of the star Epsilon Tucanae, again systematically checked up the orbit of the planet and again got in touch with Satellite 57 and gave instructions that at the moment when the field was switched they must very slowly change direction along an arc four times greater than the parallax of the star.

  The time passed slowly. Mven Mass could not rid himself of thoughts of Beth Lohn, the criminal mathematician. Renn Bose appeared on the TVP screen seated at the control desk of his installation. His stiff hair was sticking up more than usual.

  The dispatchers at the power stations had been warned and reported their readiness. Mven Mass’ hand moved towards the switches on his desk but a motion from Renn Bose in the screen stopped him.

  “We must warn the reserve Q station on the Antarctic. We have not got sufficient power.”

  “I’ve done that, they’re ready.”

  The physicist pondered for a few more seconds.

  “On the Chukotka Peninsula and on Labrador there are F-energy stations. If you were to talk to them and ask them to switch in at the moment of the field inversion… I’m afraid the apparatus is imperfect….”

  “I’ve done that.”

  Renn Bose beamed and waved his hand.

  The colossal column of energy reached Satellite 57. The excited young faces of the observers appeared in the hemispherical screen at the observatory.

  Mven Mass greeted the courageous young people, checked up on the direction of the column to make sure that it would reach and follow the satellite. Then he switched all the energy over to Renn Bose. The physicist’s head disappeared from the screen.

  The indicators on the energy collector turned their needles to the right showing a constant growth in the condensation of power. The signals burned brighter and with a whiter light. As Renn Bose switched in one field radiator after another the intensity indicators fell in jerks towards zero. The sound of a muffled gong from the experimental station made the African start, but he knew what to do: with a movement of a lever he switched in the Q station and its power surged into the dying eyes of the indicators, bringing life to their falling needles. Scarcely had Renn Bose switched on the common inverter, however, than the needles again dropped to zero. Almost instinctively Mven Mass switched in both F stations.

  It seemed to him that the measuring instruments had been extinguished — a peculiar pale light filled the room. Sounds ceased. Another second and the shadow of death crossed the consciousness of the Director of the Outer Stations, dulling his senses. He struggled against a nauseating dizziness, squeezing the edges of the desk in his hands and sobbing from the effort and from a terrible pain in his spine. The pale light began to grow brighter on one side of the underground room, but from which side, Mven Mass could not determine, or had forgotten. Perhaps it came from the screen, or from the direction of Renn Bose’s installation….

  Suddenly it seemed that a waving curtain had been torn asunder and Mven Mass heard clearly the splashing of waves. An indescribable perfume, one that could not be remembered, reached his widely dilated nostrils. The curtain moved to the left and in the corner the former grey hangings were still trembling. High copper mountains materialized before his eyes with remarkable reality; they were surrounded by turquoise trees and the violet waves of the sea splashed at Mven Mass’ feet. The curtain moved still farther to the left and he saw his dream. A red-skinned woman sat on the upper platform of the staircase leaning on the polished surface of a white stone table, staring at the ocean. Suddenly she saw something and her widely placed eyes were filled with astonishment and admiration. The woman stood up with magnificent elegance and stretched out her open hand to the African. She was breathing spasmodically and in that moment of delirium she reminded Mven Mass of Chara Nandi.

  “Offa alii cor.” Her gentle, melodious and strong voice penetrated to Mven Mass’ heart. He opened his mouth to answer her but in place of his vision there was a green flame and a shattering whistle filled the room. As the African lost consciousness he felt some soft, invincible power folding him in three, rotating him like the blade of a turbine and then flattening him out against something solid. Mven Mass’ last thought was of the fate of Satellite 57, the station and Renn Bose….

  The observatory staff and the builders who were some distance away saw very little. Something flashed across the profound Tibetan sky that dimmed the brightness of the stars. Some invisible power crashed down on to the mountain on which the experimental station was situated. Then came a whirlwind that swept up a mass of stones. A black stream, some five hundred metres in diameter that seemed to have been fired from a gigantic hydraulic gun raced towards the observatory building, swept upwards, turned back and again struck the mountain, smashing the entire installation and scattering the fragments. An instant later everything was quiet again. The dust-filled air was saturated with the odour of hot stones and burning mixed with a strange aroma similar to that of the flowering coast of a tropical sea.

  At the site of the catastrophe the people saw that a wide furrow with molten edges had been ploughed across the valley, and that the side of the mountain facing it had been torn clean away. The observatory building had not been touched. The furrow stretched as far as the southeastern wall where it had destroyed the transformer chamber built against it; it ended at the dome of the underground chamber cast from a four-metre thick layer of molten basalt. The basalt was polished as though it had been worked on a grinding machine. Part of it remained untouched and that had saved Mven Mass and the underground chamber from complete destruction.

  A stream of molten silver hardened in a hollow — the melted fuses of the power receiver!

  Emergency lighting cables were soon connected and when the searchlight from the lighthouse on the highway threw out its beam an appalling sight met the eyes of the onlookers — the whole of the metal structure of the experimental installation was spread along the furrow in a gleaming thin coating making the ground shine as though it had been chromium-plated. A piece of the bronze spiral had been pressed into the precipice formed where the side of the hill had been cut away as clean as with a knife. The rocks had melted into a glassy mass, like sealing wax under a hot stamp. The turns of the spiral of reddish metal with its white rhenium tooth-like contacts were embedded in the rock and gleamed in the electric light like a flower done in enamel. One glance at that piece of jewellery two hundred metres in diameter was sufficient to arouse fear of the unknown force that had operated there.

  When the fallen boulders had been cleared away from the entrance to the underground chamber rescue workers found Mven Mass on his knees with his head resting on the bottom step. The Director of the Outer Stations had apparently made an effort to escape the moment he regained consciousness. There were doctors amongst the volunteers who had been working there and his powerful organism aided by no less powerful medicines soon recovered. Mven Mass got to his feet, still trembling and staggering and had to be supported on both sides.

  “Renn Bose?”

  The faces of the people surrounding the scientist darkened at this question, and the Director of the observatory said harshly:

  “Renn Bose has been badly disfigured. He is hardly expected to live.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He was found at the bottom of the eastern slope of the mountain. He must have been hurled out of the installation building. There is nothing left on top of the mountain, even the ruins have been wiped off the face of the earth!”

  “Is Renn Bose still lying there?”

  “He mus
t not be touched. Some bones have been crushed, some ribs broken and his stomach injured.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “His stomach has been split open and his insides have fallen out.”

  Mven Mass’ legs gave way under him and he clutched spasmodically at the necks of those supporting him. His will and his mind, however, were functioning clearly.

  “Renn Bose must be saved at all costs. He is the greatest of all scientists….”

  “We know. There are five doctors there. They have erected a sterilized operation tent over him. Two men who have volunteered to give blood are lying beside him. The tiratron[25], the artificial heart and liver are already working.”

  “Then help me to the telephone room. Switch on to the world network and call the information centre in the northern zone. How are things on Satellite 57?”

  “We called the satellite but got no answer.”

  “Are the telescopes in working order?”

  “Yes, they are.”

  “Look for the satellite in the telescope and examine it through the electronic inverter to get the maximum magnification.”

  The night operator at the northern information centre looked into his screen and saw a face smeared with blood, the eyes gleaming feverishly. He had to study the face for some time before he recognized Mven Mass who, as the Director of the Outer Stations, was a person well known throughout the planet.

  “I want Grom Orme, President of the Astronautical Council and Evda Nahl, psychiatrist.”

  The operator nodded his head and began fiddling with the switches and vernier scales of the memory machines. The answer came back in a minute.

  “Grom Orme is preparing some papers and is spending the night at the Council. Shall I call the Council?”

  “Yes, call them. And Evda Nahl?”

  “She’s at School No. 410 in Ireland. If you need her I can try to call her to…” — here the operator looked up at a diagram — ”… to telephone station No. 5654SP!”

  “She’s badly needed. It is a matter of life or death!”

  The operator looked up from his diagrams.

  “Has there been an accident?”

  “A very serious accident.”

  “Then I’ll hand everything over to my assistant and get busy on your call alone. Wait for me.”

  Mven Mass dropped into an armchair that had been pushed towards him, in an effort to gather his thoughts and regain his strength. The Director of the observatory came running into the room.

  “The situation of Satellite 57 has been ascertained. There is no satellite.”

  Mven Mass jumped to his feet as though he had not received any injuries.

  “A piece of the bow which acts as a quay for the reception of ships, has survived,” continued the staggering report, “and is still in the same orbit. There are probably some smaller pieces but they have not yet been discovered.”

  “So the observers….”

  “They must have been killed!”

  Mven Mass clenched his fists and sank back into the chair. A few minutes of oppressive silence followed, then the screen lit up again.

  “Grom Orme is at the Council transmitter,” said the operator and turned a handle. The screen showed a huge, dimly-lit hall and then the well-known head of the President of the Astronautical Council appeared. The narrow seemingly streamlined face, the big aquiline nose, the deep-set eyes under sceptically raised brows, the questioning twist of the tightly pressed lips…. Under Grom Orme’s glance Mven Mass hung his head like a naughty boy.

  “Satellite 57 has just been destroyed,” began the African, plunging straight into his confession as he would into dark water. Grom Orme started and his face seemed even sharper.

  “How could that have happened?”

  Briefly and precisely Mven Mass told him everything, not hiding the illegality of the experiment or in any way sparing himself. The President’s brows knitted together, deep lines appeared at the corners of his mouth but his glance remained calm.

  “Wait a moment, I’ll see about aid for Renn Bose. Do you think that Ahf Noot….”

  “Oh, if you could get Ahf Noot!”

  The screen went dark. There was a long wait and Mven Mass forced restraint upon himself with the last of his strength. He would be all right, soon… ah, here was Grom Orme.

  “I found Ahf Noot and have given him a planetship. He will require an hour to prepare his apparatus and his assistants. In two hours he’ll be at your observatory. Make the necessary arrangements for the handling of heavy cargo. Now about you — did the experiment succeed?”

  The question took Mven Mass by surprise. He did not doubt that he had seen Epsilon Tucanae. Was this, however, real contact with an inaccessibly distant world? Or had it been a combination of the deadly effect of the experiment on his organism and the burning desire to see that had produced a very clear hallucination? Could he announce to the whole world that the experiment had been a success, that fresh efforts, new sacrifices and further expenditure to repeat it would be justified? Could he say that the method adopted by Renn Bose was more successful than that of his predecessors? For fear of risking anybody else’s life they had foolishly carried out the experiment alone, just the two of them. But what had Renn seen? What could he tell them?… Would he ever be able to talk… if he had seen!.. Mven Mass stood up still straighter. “I have no proof that the experiment was successful. I don’t know what Renn Bose saw….”

  Undisguised sorrow was expressed on Grom Orme’s face. A minute before that he had only been attentive, now he had become stern.

  “What do you propose to do?”

  “Please permit me to hand over the station to Junius Antus immediately. I am no longer worthy to direct it. Then, I’ll remain with Renn Bose to the end…” he stammered and then corrected himself, “… until the end of the operation. Then… then I’ll go away to the Island of Oblivion to await trial. I have already condemned myself!”

  “Possibly you are right. Some of the circumstances are not yet clear to me so I must reserve my judgement. Your actions will be examined at the next meeting of the Astronautical Council. Whom do you consider the most fitting successor to your post — firstly for the work of rebuilding the satellite?”

  “I don’t know a better candidate than Darr Veter!” The President of the Council nodded his consent. For some time he continued looking at the African as though he intended saying something, but instead he just made a gesture of farewell. The screen was extinguished just in time, for at that moment everything went hazy in Mven Mass’ head.

  “You tell Evda Nahl yourself,” he whispered to the observatory Director who was standing near by; then he fell, made several attempts to get up and lost consciousness.

  A little man with Mongoloid features, a merry smile and unusually imperative in his words and actions became the centre of attention at the Tibetan Observatory. The assistants that had come with him obeyed him with that glad willingness with which faithful soldiers had probably followed the great captains of ancient days. The authority of their teacher, however, did not suppress their own ideas and enterprise. They constituted a very harmonious little group of strong people worthy to give battle to man’s most terrible and implacable enemy — death!

  When Ahf Noot learned that Renn Bose’s heredity record had still not been received he gave vent to exclamations of indignation, but was just as quickly calmed when he was told that it was being prepared by Evda Nahl herself and that she would bring it in person.

  The Director of the observatory asked quietly what the card was needed for and in what way Renn’s distant ancestors could help. Ahf Noot screwed up his eyes slyly as though he were about to divulge a great secret.

  “Accurate knowledge of the heredity structure of every person is needed both for an understanding of his psychological structure and to help make predictions in that field; it also provides important data on his neuro-physiological peculiarities, the resistance factor of his organism, immunity, selecti
ve sensitivity to traumas and allergy to medicines. The choice of treatment cannot be precise without an understanding of the heredity structure and the conditions under which his ancestors lived.”

  The Director wanted to ask more questions but Ahf Noot stopped him.

  “I’ve given you a sufficient answer for independent thought. I have no time for more!”

  The Director muttered some apology which the surgeon did not wait to hear.

  A portable operating theatre was erected at the foot of the mountain: water, electricity and compressed air were laid on. A huge number of workers offered their services and the building was ready in three hours. Ahf Noot’s assistants selected fifteen doctors from amongst the volunteer builders to service the surgical clinic that had been so rapidly built. Renn Bose was carried under a transparent plastic shield that had been fully sterilized and had had sterilized air blown through it by means of special filters. Ahf Noot and four of his assistants entered the first section of the operating theatre and remained there several hours where they were subjected to waves of bactericides and air saturated with antiseptic emanations until their very breath became sterilized. In the meantime Renn Bose’s body was subjected to deep freezing. Then their swift and confident work began.

  The shattered bones and torn blood vessels were joined by means of tantalum hooks and plates that did not irritate the living tissues. Ahf Noot sorted out the injured intestines and stomach: they were quickly freed of the mortified parts, stitched up and placed in a jar of healing solution B 314 that was prepared in conformity with the somatic properties of the human organism. He then started on his hardest job. From under the ribs he removed the blackened liver, pierced with fragments of the rib bones, and, while his assistants held it suspended in position, he confidently treated the fine hairs of the autonomous nerves of the sympathetic and parasympathetic systems and pulled them into position behind it. The slightest harm done to these finer branches of the nerves might lead to serious, irreparable damage. With a lightning-like movement the surgeon cut through the portal vein and joined the tubes of artificial blood vessels to the two ends. Then he did the same with the artery and placed the removed liver in a jar of solution B 314. After an operation lasting five hours all Renn Bose’s injured organs were in separate jars. Artificial blood flowed through his body, pumped by the patient’s own heart and an auxiliary double-heart, a tiny automatic pump. Now they had to wait for the healing of the removed organs. Ahf Noot could not simply replace the liver with another from the planet’s surgical fund because that would require further investigation and the condition of the sick man would not permit of any delay. One of the surgeons stayed with the outstretched body (it looked just like an anatomized corpse) until the next shift of surgeons had undergone their sterilization.