by John Kippax
'Acknowledged,' she said. 'Begin gentle awakening.' That had been Maseba's idea. When there was danger - alert stations danger - then you hurled into wakefulness all sleepers and off-duty personnel with those dreadful clanging bells. But when it was not a danger wake, then 'have a prettier sound to do the awakening'. Corps ship commanders had laughed at the idea - and six months later all Corps ships had the system, and commercial fleets had copied.
So, hundreds of warblers began their slowly increasing volume of sound...
The purple lights went out, to be replaced by amber, and the announcement 'Deceleration begins in ten minutes'.
She heard a footstep behind her, and at once vacated the command chair.
Bruce sat. 'No snags?'
'No,' she answered, and at once Bruce forgot her presence as he took command of Vee Twelve. She watched the repeater board, but her mind was not upon it, no matter how hard she tried.
Twenty-nine, yesterday. And no one, but no one, had wished her 'many happy returns'.
Chapter 12
Necessity is not only the mother of invention; it is also the mother of discovery.
PROFESSOR HANS KONINBURGER
Koninburger could not pinpoint the reason for his disturbance. The only comparison he could find was the way he felt when he was about to go on and address the UNO assembly of scientists. But he had no such ordeal in front of him now...
Once more, score in hand, he tried to turn his whole attention to the Prokoviev piano concerto No 4, the sound of which flowed round him as though he were in an acoustically perfect concert hall... and after he had turned four pages, reading the music as it came to him from the loudspeakers, he left off turning, and his eyes saw nothing as his mind wandered...
He needed fresh air... He went to the air indicator; gases needed by man registered as being present in exact proportion, along with the humidity scale reading. He turned and sat in the chair again, not following the score, but lying back, eyes closed, letting the music envelop him. Perhaps it had been too harassing a day; what he felt now was the residual emotion. He let his mind check over the rows of machines, past the banks of computers, each there to do its tiny part in the problems which he, Koninburger, had set out, sub-dividing his calculations, to which he alone knew the complete plan, he and the forty-odd cassettes of tape to
which he had committed his picture of the structure of past, present and future. And in the future plans there lay, in one cassette, the manner in which the geon paths and their variations might be plotted. He smiled to himself; it was not often he indulged in self praise, but in this instance he might be excused.
Perhaps this might be it, perhaps this might settle the indefinable yearning which seemed to be creeping over him. If he listened to his own voice on those last two tapes upon which the plans for the future were reasoned out, it might calm him.
Once more, he changed his mind. 'What you need, Hans, is a fresh human contact,' he murmured to himself. 'A fresh... yes. Other people grow stale on too much acquaintance. .. How my top men must dislike me. It is the overriding sense of duty which prevails, of course, but...' He picked up the receiver of the vidphone. 'Operator.'
'Sir?'
'Put me through to Mr Chalovsky, please.'
'Ch—' The operator, though instructed to be ready for such calls, was nevertheless startled, for something less than a second. Then discipline and training showed. He said: 'Professor, Mr Chalovsky is sleeping. I don't think I should wake him. He works almost as hard as you do. I can, of course, leave a message for him to read when he wakes. Would that do?'
The duty officer, a former Corps man named Douglas, listened on a spare earpiece, his eyes bright.
'No. Not really. I felt I wanted - all of a sudden, I wanted—'
'Sir?' '
'I wanted to talk to a practical man who knows spaceships very well, someone who - who - who has been on the spaceways and feels as well as knows what this whole thing is about... someone who can, through his experience, understand how I feel on this possibly dangerous threshold..
The pale face on the screen lapsed into a temporary vacuity. The operator saw that the duty officer, keeping out of the range of the vid scanner, had slid forward a piece of paper, which bore three words. The operator relaxed. He said: 'Sir, I don't think we shall be able to get Mr Chalovsky; but we could locate Captain Bruce, for you, and have him meet you in the morning...?
The duty officer, out of scanner range, nodded emphatically.
Koninburger sighed. 'Bruce. Commander - no - Captain Bruce, now. A fine officer. Yes. Yes, it would be very satisfactory to talk to him. Yes. Thank you, operator. A wise suggestion. Yes. In the morning.' He managed a faint smile. 'Yes. I think I shall be able to rest, now, when the good Dr Uschl has performed his ministrations. Thank you.' And Koninburger broke contact. The operator expelled air, gulped with relief and said: That was a narrow one. But how can we get Captain Bruce... I mean, with Vee Twelve only in orbit, now, by the time he gets down here he won't fancy missing his sleep, will he?'
The ex-Corps man shook his head. 'Sonny boy, you've got a hell of a lot to learn about the Corps in general and Bruce in particular. He'll do forty hours' duty at a stretch. He's also not tolerant of anyone who can't do likewise. Give him a buzz, and I'll talk to him.'
'Babadan,' the alien said.
They were using the laborious but throat-saving speed up and run down method of conversation with the tape machine.
'Yes.' Creighton always watched the alien's face, though it was a face which never gave anything away, never registered any emotions. He was not in the least daunted; rather was he uplifted by the knowledge that he, of all Earth's scientists, was making some progress in the vast assignment represented by the pink, placid creature before him.
'Ba, how am I like your people? Am I like them at all?'
'You are like. You work hard, but often you work where there is no reason. You will soon come to the end of your discovery of me, because you know only me.'
'Perhaps,' Creighton said, 'if I were to visit your home planet...? Would that help?'
'That would be of use.'
'In order that we may begin to understand each other?' Creighton nodded; the alien, who had picked up the affirmative gesture, nodded also.
'I am still a worthy person to you, Ba?'
'Yes, you are still worthy, Creighton.' Unmoving, he asked Creighton a question. 'When we land on Babadan, which you call Balomain Four, will they allow me to walk freely on the planet surface, to see and understand what is going on? You realize that I know something of the work being done there, already.'
It was a reminder to Creighton that this creature could listen to computers and any other kind of signal through the circuits of the ship. It was a fact which made him uneasy, until he thought of what his true duty was - to find out about this alien; everything, including the Captain, whom Creighton neither liked nor respected, came a long way second to that...
Ba said: This person for whom you have great regard is awaiting you. This Niebohr person. A female thing, as you have explained... curious..
'You know the Niebohr person is there?'
'I know. I know that you want this person.'
Tes.'
This person wants you.'
'I hope that the person does.'
'I think so.'
Creighton seemed to feel a certain unsteadiness within him.
'Who is first in your mind, Creighton?'
'You know that. I may want the Niebohr person—'
'In this curious physical way—'
'Yes, Ba. But you I need. When the time for great decisions comes, I shall be with you. Let there be no doubt about that.'
A voice spoke, slightly distorted. It said: 'Drill for planet- fall begins in ten minutes from now.'
Elsa Niebohr was talking to Dr Anderson Fane. As usual, she was winning, seated in the office of her private ship, the Loudon.
'Doctor Fane, the promises we have made for your s
ervices will be carried out; we owe you another million credits.'
Fane was still stumbling, trying to get his bearings. 'But - if what you say is true, I have - bungled the job on Koninburger!'
"Open that case beside you.'
Fane did so. 'Cassettes - about forty, I'd say. Well?'
Those cassettes are Koninburger's personal account of the work done here. Add to that what there is in the computer banks, and you will see why, in our opinion, you have succeeded.'
Fane sighed and shook his head.
'In your daily report, you tell of increased restlessness in Koninburger, now that he has virtually reached the end of his task from the theory point of view; he has, in fact, gone beyond theory in some instances. We have all we need of Koninburger, just in time.' And once again she enjoyed seeing those who could not see as far as herself struggle to understand - and fail.
Fane said: 'To me, there seems to be only one interpretation to put upon what you have said. Despite our agreement and contract, you were expecting me to fail!'
'Bull's eye.'
She wanted to laugh at his expression.
'You were chosen even though you would fail eventually. But you were known as a hard and patient worker, and we felt that you would manage to keep Koninburger and his
GNP in order for a considerable time. As you know, his form of the condition is Catling's syndrome, which cannot be cured. Believing this, my father chose you to do the next best thing.'
She saw emotions chase across Fane's face. Anger was there, bewilderment, sadness... and the sadness remained.
'Knowing all this about Koninburger, and about myself—'
'We spied upon you both, very efficiently. And we decided that the risk was worth taking. We were right.'
'It doesn't matter, then,' Fane said with bitterness, 'if Koninburger, one of the master spirits of our age, will die here, slowly, shaking with terror, curled up in a foetal position, desiring only the womb, and peace, and finding neither?'
'Dr Fane. I am in business, just about the biggest single business in the whole of the explored galaxy. For running that business I have two qualifications only; one, the ability to see what is wanted, two, the ability to ensure that we get what we want. Do you have any further questions?'
Fane got slowly to his feet. Another man cut down to size; it had been a good day - or night, whatever it was outside.
Fane said: 'I would like to tell you something about yourself, Miss Niebohr. Your driving force is your hatred of men; you hated your father, and your brothers, and now you are in a state in which you must continue to conquer men, as you see it, either with sex or with commercial might. You are obsessed, through and through, and just as you live by this fact, one day you will die by it.'
She would not descend to anger, though what he had said angered her greatly. She said: 'No doubt you will take your second million!'
'Yes,' he replied, 'I'll take it At least it will always remind me of what I truly am.'
Bruce did not hesitate when he got the message. He decided on a dawn touchdown and, once on the inhospitable surface of Balomain Four, left Lindstrom in charge of securement, shutdown and doming.
The elevator took him down to Koninburger's level, and a small railcar transported him along the smoothly tunnelled way, where the white-blue lights cleated above made the rock surfaces take infinitely varied patterns. As he quitted the railcar, a door opened, and Dr Baksh was there to greet him.
'Ah, Captain. Good of you. Make sure you catch up with your sleep. He's in reet good form, knowing you agreed to come at once.'
Bruce was not sure about the word 'reet' as pronounced by Baksh; maybe it meant 'right'. He said: 'First things first.'
Baksh took him in, offered bourbon which was accepted. Baksh said: 'He works very hard, as you probably know. It's a measure of his progress in this enterprise that he now needs to talk to a practical spaceman.'
That's my brief?' Bruce asked.
'Precisely. Whatever he says, try to pick on any practical difficulty.' Baksh paused. 'I know that you, Captain Bruce, are no "yes man".'
Koninburger came in, tall, pale, white-haired and slightly stooping. Bruce could not help but reflect that a man's life wrote itself upon his face.
'My dear Bruce, how good of you to come at once! I will take you to my private workroom. The good Dr Baksh will be within call. Isn't it strange? Always to have a doctor within call does deadly things to a man's ego. But I try to stay humble...'
They went through a door, walked along a shining alloy corridor, where another door opened to Koninburger's thumb pattern. Bruce did not quite know what to expect. Consequently, when he saw that it contained only a bench upon which stood a small computer, with several large wall screens and a control console, he was somewhat surprised. The place was comfortably furnished. Koninburger
motioned Bruce to a seat, sat himself down, and favoured his visitor with a fixed smile. 'Now, Captain,' he said, 'tell me what you expect from me.'
"You mean - what do I imagine you're doing here?'
'Yes. Listen. For the time being you are more than just your skilful self; you represent spaceship captains everywhere. What do you want?'
'Parity of power with the aliens.'
'Captain, you have experienced at least one kind of alien. Whether the one that you have imprisoned in your ship is of the race which has blasted colonial planets is not certain.'
'Creighton is pretty sure that it is.'
'Yes. But let us cast enmities aside - enmities between other races in space and ourselves. Give me an objective examination, Captain Bruce. I shall enjoy it.'
'Have you completed the math?'
'Barely.'
Then you will know how right or wrong the Wheeler "geon" theory is.'
'We know that it is correct.'
That's magnificent!'
Koninburger raised a pale hand. *We know - on paper. Long, long strips of paper. But of course, I have been preparing for this work of ours for close on twenty years. It is, maybe, the reason I was born - but perhaps you find that too much to swallow.'
'If it works, that's all that matters.'
'Good. Look at us, Bruce. We are men from the same planet and race, yet we might be from different worlds. But we agree.' He rose, walked to a dark screen. A switch, and the thing began to pulse faintly. 'If we find that Wheeler was right, then our next job is to create a survey vehicle which is traceable in subspace.'
Bruce was silent for ten seconds. Then he said: 'It's a staggering thought. Surveying just a tenth of this little galaxy might take man a thousand years.'
'It might. Or it might well be a ten-year job - no more.'
The routes that we find will have to be classified—'
'No,' Koninburger said. 'What you are doing is to suggest that we have to find every one. We must trace those that we need.'
'And suppose one subspace route bifurcates, taking some poor bloody Earth ship instantly in the wrong direction? You could have men lost in time, not merely in space - and to be lost in space is bad enough.'
'Yet the paths must be investigated, when the time comes.' He seemed to stir within, and his face became more mobile and enthusiastic as he took a letter from a folder. 'Look at this. Twelve final-year Sandpoint cadets have offered themselves as pilots for the first survey ships. They are prepared to die for Earth.'
Bruce took the letter; it was in two halves, the one in ideographs and the other in the English translation. He nodded, impressed. 'And every one Japanese.'
'Yes.' Koninburger took back the letter, replaced it with care in the folder. 'Happily we shall be doing without pilots for the first attempts.'
Bruce said, realizing something that was staring him in the face: 'Then - according to the way you are working, there really is no danger to Earth from this work?'
"None. Yet If we can trace the geon paths with small machines which constantly inform the parent bases of their positions, and I do not see why not, then it will be
simple, but perhaps laborious. Indeed some of the work can be done from the ground, at the beginning at least.' He turned back to the screen, turned a dial. A clear picture of the stars over Earth's northern hemisphere glowed into life. *Now, let us suppose that you are in our solar system, and you want to see what you have to work on. It should be like - this.'
He turned another dial. A soft lilac mist spread across and through the picture, and it grew in intensity, until the stars dimmed and apertures grew from nothing, and showed themselves.
Bruce was fascinated, delighted - and humble. That's really how it should be?'
'I have enough confidence in myself to say that that is how it will be. One of my engineers devised a filter system so that the holes in space should show themselves just like that.'
Bruce said: 'There appears to be a hole blotting out Orion. Does that mean—'
'Ah. That is where I managed to be honest; there's a great puzzle. I could have faked it so that everything in the garden seems beautiful. It is not; you know far better than I the harshness and cruelty of space, it does not give up its secrets easily. But if - if we can begin true survey without risking human life, then all we shall lose will be a few thousand credits each time we send out a survey bug which does not return.'
'Bug?'
'That's what I call them. Here's a model, full size.'
It was like a long-finned bazooka bomb, seventy centimetres long by fifteen at its thickest point; a bulbous rear end made Bruce think of a miniature reactor. He said: 'So you are really quite advanced with the work.'
'We are quite advanced in hope, Captain Bruce. But I do not underestimate the difficulties which we shall most probably discover when, for example, we send the first bug into a hole in space, and maybe it disappears, or blows up, or even - foolish though it may sound - bounces back. And we must also rate the strong possibility that the alien who has so far ignored our attempts at retaliation may be taking a strong interest in our work. We know so little about them... Captain Bruce, have you any idea of the real resources and wealth of the Excelsior Corporation?'
Bruce said cynically: 'They don't pay tax any more. They just ask world government how much it needs.'
