When a sufficient energy potential had been accumulated within the device, a shimmering light grew up in space around it. To human eyes, had any been close enough to see it, space around the globe would have taken on an appearance similar to the shimmering of air above a heated pavement during a hot summer day on Earth. A force that simulated a tremendous gravitational field held in very close confines—though, of course, it was actually something radically different, but within the fabric of space-time that did not matter—grew up around the scanner; subtly at first, then with a stronger force, it began to warp the space around it, began to rip a hole in the very substance of the universe.
Then suddenly, the normal universe could no longer accept the presence of this thing that had no business being there, and violently spit out the globe. There was a tremendous energy discharge—not unlike lightning in a planet’s atmosphere, though far greater than any lightning Earth had ever seen—and the scanner was gone, was no longer within the space-time continuum.
To say that Non-space is “beside” the normal space-time universe is a weak analogy but better than none at all. Some had explained it this way: imagine two-dimensional universes stacked atop one another like sheets of paper, not quite, but almost touching; imagine further that the two-dimensional creatures, intelligences if you will, of one universe are unable to “see” the next universe beside theirs, though the actual three-dimensional space separation might be but centimeters; imagine now that they develop some means of passing across this space, of “jumping” through the intervening centimeters. Thus it was with mankind and his “three-dimensional” universe called “space-time” and that other continuum called, for want of a better name, Non-space.
And thus it was with the scanning device MAC-5 from the TF starship Douglas MacArthur. Spit violently from the three-dimensional macrocosm of mankind, it crossed the “four-(five) dimensional” space between and found itself in a second continuum.
The scanning device entered this suitcase cosmos, this matchbox universe that was, in size, a mere fraction of space-time. Non-space existed in its own right, independent of space-time, a complete universe, though lacking in the wealth of stars and dust that characterised space-time.
Imagine the two sheets of paper separated by centimeters. Imagine one sheet—call it “space-time”—as being large, and the other, “Non-space,” as being on a much smaller scale, a tenth the size of “space-time,” let us say. Now, pick a spot on the sheet called “space-time” and pick a corresponding spot on the sheet called “Non-space.” Let us call them A and A1. Now, pick another spot on “space time” and call it B and the corresponding spot, to scale, on “Non-space,” B1. The distance from A to B on “space-time” is, let us say, ten centimeters, but on the sheet called “Non-space,” the scale of A1 to B1 is but one centimeter. Moving from A to B at a fixed rate of speed, for example, one centimeter per hour, would take, of course, ten hours—but at the same speed, we can move from A1 to B1 in only one hour—and yet the two sets of points are spatially equivalent!
This again is a weak analogy, but the idea is there. From Sol to Altair at the speed of light—a 5.06 year trip in space-time; in Non-space, light would take only a little over an hour and a half!
MAC-5 came to life, dozens of instruments began to scan the formless grayness of Non-space, while energy, not unlike St. Elmo’s Fire, sparkled on the surface of the globe, dissipating into the hungry void of Non-space. The instruments ignored the dwindling sparkles and probed deeply into the expressways of the galaxy, searching for the approaching warships of General Henri Kantralas and the rebels of the Alliance of Independent Worlds which he led.
A scanner’s minimum stay in Non-space was five hours, for it took that long for its Jump Units to reach sufficient potential to return to normal space and report to its motherships what it had seen. That time had almost passed for MAC-5 when its laser-radar picked up something, detected movement far off in the grayness. Its computer analyzed the returning signal, found how much the signal had dopplered, determined the speed and distance of the approaching craft, then fed that information into memory banks. The laser-radar continued to scan, discovered other moving craft, and, sweep by sweep, determined something of the size of the approaching force. When the five hours had passed, automatic relays closed in the Jump Unit, potentials became actual, and MAC-5 passed out of Non-space back into the black and starry universe where the starship Douglas MacArthur waited.
MAC-5 immediately established contact with the computer aboard its mothership and, in the ultra-high-speed chatter of such machines, relayed the information it had gathered. Then, at a much slower pace, the MacArthur’s computer relayed that information to its human crew.
The captain of the MacArthur read out the information that came to him on a long ribbon of paper, printed out by the computer in terms that could easily be read by humans. The rebels were coming in force, the report said, though exactly how great that force MAC-5 had not determined. The enemy was at least as strong as the fleet that was on its way from Earth, and perhaps stronger. In another hour MAC-6 would return from Non-space, if the rebels did not detect and destroy it, and would probably be able to give more detailed information. The MacArthur’s captain did not have time to wait; the information he had would be sent at once to the fleet coming from Earth.
Deep within the MacArthur, a crew was standing ready with a portable Jump Unit and three message capsules. The captain gave the crew the message tapes to place within the capsules, and moments later the Jump Unit was rolled out through the air locks and cast into space. Rockets carried it as far from the starship as the scanner had gone, and it too passed out of normal space.
Once in Non-space, the capsules released their hold on the Jump Unit and fired their plasma jets. With an acceleration that would have destroyed human flesh and bone, despite Contra-grav, the capsules moved away, spewing behind them stripped atoms that were quickly lost to the energy-hungry fabric of Non-space.
The three capsules were programed to search for the fleet that came from Earth and to inform them of the rebel’s approach. The first to find the fleet would inform its fellows of its success, and the remaining capsules would drive toward their secondary goal, Earth itself, so that the Federation’s capital might know.
Then the starship Douglas MacArthur waited, waited for MAC-6 to complete its scan of Non-space and return with further information, waited for the approaching enemy to discover the scanners and then enter normal space to find their source, waited for the enemy and death.
The captain of the MacArthur stood on the bridge, peering out at the vastness of space, and there was a cold sweat on his brow. His crew was ready. Energy cannon were manned. Missiles were primed. But he knew; he knew. That was the job of the pickets. They were not even the first line of defense; their only job was to look, to search, to find—and to be found. Then their job was done and they could die, but die fighting.
The captain of the MacArthur felt a chill down his back, but he did not show his fear to his crew.
Chapter III
The trip from Luna to Earth could be as short as five hours or as long as fifteen, depending on a number of factors. Janas and a handful of other passengers had elected to take the express ferry down to Flagstaff; it left an hour after the luxury boat but would reach the sprawling human habitations and spaceship facilities some six hours sooner.
The landscape below lay in darkness when the Luna-Earth ferry slipped into the terrestrial atmosphere and plummeted down toward the huge, sprawling complexes of southwest North America. Through the scuttling, moonlit clouds Janas could see the lights that marked the long ribbon city of Phoenix-Tucson, a string of glittering gems laid across the rugged countryside. To the north and slightly to the east of the cluster of lights that was Phoenix proper was another, though dimmer, sparkle. Dwarfed by the brilliance of Phoenix-Tucson, these lights were also those of a metropolis, the spaceport city of Flagstaff perched on the Colorado Plateau.
The ferry slowed its plunge, braked as it passed through a thin, high-altitude layer of clouds, and was moving quite slowly when the lights of the spaceport broke apart into distinct spots of illumination. Moments later it touched the surface of the concrete and steel landing facility with all the velocity of a feather.
As light blinked on inside the ferry’s main cabin, Robert Janas unsnapped the belt that held his waist. He rose to his feet, picked up his attaché case and followed the other passengers out, through the con-tube and into the hoverbus that waited to take them to the terminal buildings some seven kilometers away.
Less than five minutes later, Janas stepped out of the hoverbus and walked into the terminal, glancing anxiously around for the familiar face of Jarl Emmett. He was not there, at least not at the gate.
Janas had walked only a few meters into the crowded terminal when a boy, dressed in the uniform of a messenger service, hesitantly approached him.
“Are you Captain Robert Janas, sir?” the boy asked.
“Yes, I am,” Janas told him.
“I have a message for you, sir,” he said. “Please sign here.”
Janas scrawled his signature across the pad, thumb-printed it, accepted the offered envelope, and dropped a tiny gold coin into the boy’s waiting hand.
“Thank you, sir.”
As the messenger boy turned and vanished into the crowd, Janas opened the envelope. Inside was a single slip of paper on which were written only two words: “Eddie’s. Jarl.”
Odd, Janas thought, but I suppose he has his reasons.
Taking an express slidewalk across the crowded terminal complex, Janas hailed a taxi. He hardly noticed the man who quietly, expressionlessly followed him.
*
Janas took the hovercab into downtown Flagstaff, but decided to get out before he reached his destination. He had a sudden desire to walk in the night air, to see and hear the sights and sounds, for he was again on Earth after a long absence and wished a few moments alone on his homeworld before plunging into the problems that awaited him.
It was autumn in the northern hemisphere when Robert Janas returned to Earth, and there was a chill in the air despite the heat that rose from the city streets. His uniform had been designed for a warmer world than Earth, but he found the coolness pleasant after the artificial environment in which he had lived since leaving Odin. The air in the mountain city was clean and clear, for the city fathers of Flagstaff were strict and cautious about what impurities they allowed to escape into the atmosphere. The lights of the city hid the stars, masking them in their perpetual glow so that the whole sky seemed to be a leaden gray, though that did not bother Janas. Earth’s night sky was one of her less spectacular beauties, especially after one had seen the night skies of Odin.
Even though the hour was late, the streets of Flagstaff were filled with people, for Earth was a planet whose inhabitants had nearly forgotten the diurnal rotation of their home planet.
Little attention was paid to Janas’ uniform: the blue and gold of an STC starship captain was not an uncommon sight in this spaceport city of the western hemisphere. Janas found the clothing of the inhabitants of Flagstaff far stranger than they found his.
During his absence from his homeworld the endless wheel of fashion had turned through half its cycle. When he last saw Earth—was it really a decade ago?—women had covered themselves demurely—high collars, long sleeves, long skirts, rather sober and conservative colors. Now all that was gone. Young girls in the streets of Flagstaff wore the briefest of costumes, ignoring the air’s autumn chill. Brightly colored blouses, sometimes of shimmering, changing colors, sometimes all but transparent or consisting of no more than billowing sleeves and low-cut backs, showing supple, attractive young bodies, arrogantly exposing their firm breasts to the world. Skirts, as brightly colored, were frequently just long enough to justify their name. Necklaces of glittering beads and metallic disks, bracelets and anklets of shimmering plastics, threw back dancing sparkles of light, bright against pink flesh. Piled high above their heads they wore elaborate mountains of hair, often of colors never evolved by terrestrial mammals.
Men’s clothing had undergone a similar change. No longer were the men of Earth satisfied with loose-fitting, somber-colored jackets and trousers. Billowing, silken shirts and skin-tight pants, often decorated with brilliant stripes and patterns, here and there sporting elaborate fringes and lace, gave men the appearance of medieval jesters and harlequins, renaissance dandies. To Janas the most disconcerting aspect of the new masculine fashions were the grotesquely padded, dashingly colored codpieces worn by most of the men.
Janas did not approve of the present fashions, though he had seen more sensual and revealing costumes—or lack of them—on other worlds. But this is Earth, he thought. These are the people who set the trends for mankind, who establish humanity’s concepts of taste. Still, he reminded himself, it’s none of my business.
There were more changes in Flagstaff than the flashy, sensual costumes. The lights of the city were brighter and gaudier than he remembered them; Flagstaff had more the appearance of a spaceport city on Orpheus or Loki than one would have expected to find in the chief port city of the capital of the Federation. Cheap bars and taverns, lewd show clubs and ill-disguised houses of prostitution had sprung up where, ten years before, there had been unspectacular shops catering to the tourist trade. The streets were filled with a rougher sort of people than he remembered, swaggering braves and their painted girls, soldiers, mercenaries, now in mufti, brought from half a thousand worlds to defend the Federation. The laughter was too loud, the happiness too forced. There was, even here, a sense of despair, decay, even fear. What was happening Out There, light year upon light year away, was having its effect on Earth, just the beginning of its effect.
Flagstaff had changed and with it Earth, and Robert Janas, born within a thousand kilometers of that city, was a stranger there.
An uneasy sensation ruffled the short hair on the back of his neck. He stopped suddenly in the middle of the crowded street and looked behind him. He thought that he saw a man turn away quickly and appear to be looking into a shop window, but whether the man had actually been following him he could not know for sure.
Why would anyone want to follow me, he asked himself, and he knew the answer almost before the question was framed in his mind. His reason for coming to Earth was still as real as it had been; the goal had not changed though the methods of implementing it might be modified—and modified in what manner Janas did not yet know. Yes, he told himself, there might be a good reason for someone to be following.
He walked on and soon saw the lights of his destination.
Entering Eddie’s, allegedly the oldest bar in Flagstaff, Janas immediately located the men’s toilet and entered. Locking the door of the small cubicle behind him, he quickly undressed. The man who had appeared to be following him gave him an uneasy feeling that he would not be able to dispel until he was certain of some facts.
Standing almost nude in the center of the small room, Janas opened his attaché case, took out a small, pen-shaped object, and began to carefully explore his clothing, holding the object several centimeters from the cloth. When he came to the back of the uniform coat, just below the collar, the device emitted a barely audible “beep,” and a red jeweled light in its tip began to glow. Peering closely at the folds of the cloth, Janas saw the object of his search. A centimeter or so in diameter, fixed with two small barbs to hold it in place, it was a tiny radio transmitter. Janas pulled it from the coat, dropped it to the floor and,kneeling above it, carefully pounded it to dust with the heel of his shoe.
He continued his search, covering every square centimeter of his clothing and his attaché case, and only when he had finished was he satisfied that no more electronic “bugs” had been placed on him.
Who had placed the “bug” on his coat, or when, he did not know. It could have been on any one of a dozen occasions since his arrival on Luna or even since he reached Eart
h. He could only be sure that he would be more cautious in the future.
Relieved that he had not been imagining things, he dressed and left the room.
Chapter IV
With an acceleration that would have produced a force of something over sixty G’s had it not been for Contra-grav, the armada from Terra’s moon reached approximately the orbit of Saturn. Orders had been given to the commanders of the starships, orders of Jump Sequence, orders of assembly in Non-space, orders of battle when the rebels were met.
Some 1,419,000,000 kilometers from Sol, final Jump orders were issued by the flagship, the TFSS Shilo. Great shimmering fields of potential energy grew up around each starship, exactly matching the potential required to warp space sufficiently to force just that ship’s mass out of normal space. The potential spheres flickered and shimmered and awaited the final command.
Grand Admiral Abli Juliene himself gave that order, speaking into his throat mic as he sat strapped in a Jump seat on the flagship’s bridge. At his command, the potentials became actual, the fabric of the universe was twisted, transformed, burst, and the great mass of starships was spit like seeds out of the rear continuum.
With the passing of an unbelievably sustained heartbeat, the armada moved into a second universe, a grayness, a virtual nothingness.
The starships formed, regrouped and accelerated toward the spot where bright Altair stood in a coexistent universe, toward Altair and beyond.
The Terran Federation starship Salamis, heavy battle cruiser, was the fifth and mightiest to carry that name. She came from Earth, launched on her maiden voyage, moving toward the enemy fleet that menaced the heartland of the Federation. She led the fleet, and behind her came the other battle cruisers and signal ships, their instruments scanning the grayness before them, searching to find, to engage, to destroy the enemy. The flagship of the mightiest armada ever put into space by the Federation, the heavy battle cruiser Shilo, followed in that pack, maintaining constant communications within the fleet.
The Sky is Filled With Ships Page 2
