Voyagers I

by Ben Bova

  Before his eyes the ponderous bulk of Earth curved, glittering blue oceans streaked with dazzling white clouds, huge and overwhelmingly lovely. Turning slowly, Stoner saw the depths of infinity, utterly black but flecked with so many stars that it looked like diamond dust sprinkled across black velvet.

  O Lord, I love the beauty of Thy house, and the place where Thy glory dwells.

  The words welled up in him as he turned slowly, effortlessly, surveying the heavens. And then he saw the squat, bulky spacecraft sections that hung a few dozen meters from his Soyuz. Beyond them the Salyut space station rode calmly through the sky, its panels of solar cells looking vaguely like a gull’s bent wings, while the Earth passed majestically behind it like a slowly unreeling backdrop.

  Work to do.

  Using the maneuvering unit in his backpack, Stoner jetted over to the equipment and supply vessels. They had been joined to each other by Federenko and linked by rigid steel cables to the Soyuz by the Salyut cosmonauts. Stoner’s task was to check all the connections, make the final inspection. They had saved the least demanding job for him.

  He moved like a man in a dream, slowly floating, each motion a long, deliberate, weightless glide. He didn’t fight the weightlessness, he enjoyed it. Better than skiing. Like floating out in the ocean, riding the heaving swells out beyond the breakers. Go with the flow, Stoner reminded himself. Enjoy it while you can.

  He chatted with Federenko over the suit radio as he inspected one by one the connections that linked the Soyuz with its new equipment and supply modules. They checked out perfectly; the cosmonauts had done their work well. The Soyuz was ready to move outward toward its rendezvous with the alien.

  And Stoner realized that he felt reluctant, rebellious, unwilling to leave the freedom of space and return to the metal confines of the spacecraft.

  “Shtoner,” he heard Federenko’s voice in his earphones.

  “Yes.”

  “Checkout is complete. Return to air lock.”

  He gazed at the Earth, huge and glowing and heart-achingly beautiful. Turning, he looked out into the depths of starry space. He knew what Odysseus heard when the sirens sang their beckoning call to him.

  “Shtoner! Can you hear?”

  With an effort he wrenched his gaze back to their tiny, lumpy spacecraft. “Yes, yes, I hear you. I’m coming back in.”

  But even as he ducked into the air lock and swung its hatch shut, his eyes stayed fixed on the stars until the heavy metal hatch cut off all view of them.

  Jo sat at the computer console and watched the numbers and symbols flashing across the glowing green background of its readout screen.

  The Russian computer technicians tolerated her at the mission control center. They had given her a console to sit at where she could watch the progress of the mission, one of the hundreds of computer consoles that stretched in long rows across the vast, buzzing room. Up at the front of the control center were huge picture screens and an electronic map that showed where the various spacecraft—the Soyuz, the Salyut orbital station and the alien ship—were in relation to the Earth and the Moon.

  The technical staff tolerated an American woman in the center, but the security authorities were clearly on guard. Jo was escorted by armed, uniformed policemen to and from the command center. Markov sat just behind her, nervously smoking cigarettes and tugging at his beard. Often his wife would come in and sit beside him. She also wore some kind of uniform, although Jo didn’t know which branch of the service she was in and didn’t really care.

  The controls at her console were for readout only. Jo was here as an observer, and the Russian authorities had made it clear that she was not a participant in the mission. Even the way they said “observer” made it obvious that the word was semantically equivalent to “spy” in their lexicon.

  She could watch, she could observe, but she could not help.

  She looked around the huge control complex. The tension of the first few hours had worn away. There was a quiet, almost drowsy air to the center. Even Markov seemed more relaxed, in the seat behind hers. The Soyuz had passed the Moon’s orbit nearly forty-eight hours ago. Stoner and Federenko were farther from Earth than anyone had ever flown before.

  Trailing behind them, she saw on the huge electronic map, was the unmanned tanker that had been launched from the United States. It was moving on a different track, one that would converge with the Soyuz a few hours before Stoner and Federenko came within sight of the alien.

  They’ll be busy then, Jo knew. And so will we.

  In another twenty hours the control center would be crackling with activity: first overseeing the link-up with the unmanned tanker, and then the actual rendezvous with the alien itself.

  But now all was quiet. Half the consoles were unoccupied, and the technicians who were at their posts seemed at ease, almost nonchalant. Even the few who were speaking into their lip microphones or fingering the switches and dials of their consoles had no appearance of urgency about them.

  It’s going well, Jo thought. He’s safe. And it’s too late to sabotage the mission. All the boosters have worked perfectly, all the vehicles are on their courses. Keith is safe, nearly a million miles from Earth.

  * * *

  Stoner scratched drowsily at his stubbly beard. It was starting to itch, and he longed for a hot bath. Federenko, just as grubby and tired-looking, sat calmly in his seat at Stoner’s left, checking the mission schedule. The command module smelled of sweat and body heat.

  “Separating supply module is no problem,” Federenko was explaining. “Explosive bolts snap cable and push it away.”

  “That’s the fourth time in the past hour you’ve told me,” Stoner replied. “It’s worrying you, isn’t it?”

  “No, no. Is no problem.”

  “Something’s bothering you, Nikolai.”

  The Russian’s unshaven face sank into a dark frown. “Not worry, Shtoner. But I see problem.”

  “The tanker?”

  “Da. We must link with it before attempting to rendezvous with alien, according to flight plan.”

  “I know.”

  “But latest radar shows tanker is not in best position for us. Trajectory is deviating from plan.”

  “We can still reach it, can’t we?”

  Federenko nodded somberly. “But will take more maneuvering fuel than planned. Leaves less fuel for making rendezvous maneuvers with alien.”

  Stoner thought a moment. “We could let the tanker go and save our maneuvering fuel for the rendezvous.”

  “And have no propellant left for return to Earth,” Federenko said.

  “They could send up another tanker.”

  With a grim laugh, Federenko said, “In how long? Two days? Two weeks?”

  “They’ve got a backup at Cape Canaveral; they were holding it in case the first tanker didn’t get off okay.”

  “By the time backup tanker is launched we would be on same trajectory as alien—heading out of solar system. Second tanker not reach us at all.”

  “Shit.”

  “We must link with tanker,” Federenko said firmly, “even if it means no rendezvous with alien.”

  “Christ, Nikolai! We’ve come all this way to make contact with that bird!”

  “Is true,” the Russian replied calmly. “But I have no desire to meet alien and never return to Earth. Do you?”

  Stoner did not answer.

  “Don’t worry,” Markov said. “They can easily reach the tanker. They have plenty of fuel for that, according to the mission controllers.”

  He was sitting next to Jo at the dining table in the common room of their barracks. Maria sat on his other side, spooning cold borscht to her lips. Across the table one of the Chinese physicists picked at his dinner.

  “But they won’t have enough fuel left to make contact with the alien,” Jo said. Her bowl of borscht sat in front of her, untouched.

  Markov shrugged and said lightly, “So they will get as close as they can, take a few thousand p
hotographs and then return home. If that’s the best they can do, then that is what they will do.”

  But Jo could feel cold tendrils of fear tracing along her veins. “Keith won’t settle for that. He wants to get aboard the alien spacecraft.”

  “Federenko is an experienced cosmonaut,” Markov insisted. “He won’t allow anything that would jeopardize their safety.”

  “But Keith…”

  “What can he do?” Markov asked, gesturing. “Overpower Federenko and steer the Soyuz to the alien? That’s nonsense.”

  “I wouldn’t put it past him,” Jo said.

  “Besides,” Markov tried a different tack, “Federenko is a fine pilot. The pride of the Soviet cosmonaut corps. I’ll bet you that he links their ship with the tanker and still has plenty of fuel afterward for their rendezvous with the alien.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Jo said, not believing a word of it.

  * * *

  COCOA BEACH, FLA.

  “But why do you have to go?” she asked.

  He gave another exasperated sigh. “For the twentieth time, Marge: I’ve been ordered to go.”

  “But you’re not an astronaut. They can’t order you to fly into space!”

  “The hell they can’t.”

  “You’re a medical doctor, not an astronaut.”

  “I’m a colonel in Uncle Sam’s Army, and when the orders come down from the White House, I salute smartly and say, ‘Yes, sir.’ ”

  “You want to go!”

  “I’m scared green to go! But I’m under orders. What can I do?”

  “You’re too old to go into space.”

  “Not on the Shuttle. I’ll just be a passenger, like a plane…. Look, Margie, it’s only for a coupls of weeks. We’ve got to set up a quarantine for those guys after they contact the alien…”

  “You’ll catch alien germs! I know you will!”

  “Don’t be silly. It’s all a lot of fuss over nothing. Alien organisms are alien. They can’t infect us. Just because the goddamned White House is jittery, we’ve got to go through the motions of a two-week quarantine. In orbit, yet!”

  “I’m afraid, Sam.”

  “It’s nothing to worry about, honest.”

  “Alien germs…”

  “I won’t even be in contact with the guys who make contact with the alien. We’ve got a whole sealed laboratory for them to stay in. All the tests will be done by remote control and anybody who goes into the lab will be wearing a space suit.”

  “But why you, Sam? Why’d they have to pick you?”

  “Don’t you worry, honey. When I come back I’ll be an important guy. They’ll want me on TV and everything. We’ll retire in style, Marge. Real style.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER 42

  Markov sat by the bedroom window, smoking ceaselessly as he watched the long summer twilight give way to darkness.

  It was cloudy out there, and would probably begin to rain soon. It made no difference. Even on a clear night the floodlights surrounding their barracks made it impossible to see the stars. And the spaceships were all so far away that they couldn’t be seen from Earth anyway.

  The first drops hit the windowpane and trickled down across the reflection of Markov’s long, brooding face. He took a fresh cigarette and lit it with the end of the butt in his lips. The fire glowed bright red for a moment, reminding him instantly of the devilish machine that Maria had back on Kwajalein.

  Where is she? he wondered. She had gone out right after dinner and hadn’t come back yet.

  Restlessly, Markov glanced at his wristwatch. Six hours to go before they rendezvous with the tanker.

  Jo was right, he knew. Stoner would never settle for anything less than physical contact with the alien spaceship. Not without a struggle.

  He sighed, then pulled deeply on the cigarette. The rain was spattering down now in big, fat drops. In the reflection of the window Markov saw that he was tugging at his beard again. Annoyed with himself, he got up from the chair and paced across the little room, jamming his right hand into his trousers pocket.

  He heard Maria’s clumping footsteps out in the hall and went to the door. Opening it, he saw that the rain had caught her. She looked soaked and bedraggled, hair dripping down across her face, uniform hanging soggily on her stocky body.

  And then he saw her eyes.

  “Marushka, what is it? What’s wrong? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  She came into the room and shut the door tightly, then leaned against it.

  “I have,” she whispered, her voice strangely harsh and breathless. “Two of them.”

  “What do you mean?” Markov asked, lowering his own voice unconsciously.

  “Federenko and Stoner,” she whispered. “They are both dead.”

  “What?”

  “Not yet,” she said, raising both hands to quiet him. “But they will be. In six hours.”

  Markov felt as if a tiger had clawed out his guts. “What do you mean? What are you saying?”

  “The tanker,” she said, glancing all around the room, as if she could see a microphone if one had been planted. “The one launched from America. It’s been rigged to explode…”

  “The Americans did this?”

  “No.” She shook her head impatiently. “Our own people, a faction, very high up…”

  “They’re going to kill our own cosmonaut? And Stoner too?”

  Maria looked frightened, terrified. “You don’t understand, Kir. It’s a power struggle. Inside the Kremlin, they are fighting for control. We’re only pawns to them, Kir. Less than pawns.”

  “When will the tanker explode?” he demanded.

  “When they make contact with it. The timer was set by one of our technicians just before the tanker was loaded aboard the American shuttle.”

  Markov sank onto the bed. “Maria…to kill them, kill them both, because of their power games…it’s monstrous.”

  “I didn’t think they would kill Federenko too,” she said. “I never thought they would do that.”

  He buried his face in his hands. The cigarette fell from his fingers to the bare wooden floor, glowing in the shadows.

  Maria went to him, knelt by his feet. “I’m sorry, Kir. I risked my neck to find out for you, and now I’m sorry that I did.”

  “It’s not your fault, Marushka.” His voice came out muffled, tearful.

  “There’s nothing we can do,” she said. “Nothing.”

  But Markov put his hands down and straightened his back. He looked down into his wife’s eyes.

  “Yes, there is,” he said firmly.

  “Kir…”

  “There is something we can do, Maria. We can warn them.”

  “But then they’ll know that I…Kir, they’ll kill us both.” She was beyond terror; the absolute certainty of it made her voice flat with hopelessness.

  “Then we’ll die together,” he said. “Better that than letting those two be killed in space.”

  “You are sulking,” said Federenko.

  Stoner pulled his attention away from the computer screen and looked at the cosmonaut sitting beside him.

  “You don’t look so happy yourself, Nikolai.”

  “How can I be? To come all this way and miss the alien…it is not happy.”

  “I’ve been checking the computer figures against the latest data on the tanker’s trajectory. We can still make it—if you can dock us with the tanker on the first pass.”

  Federenko closed his eyes for a moment, as if rehearsing the problem in his head. “Not easy, Shtoner.”

  “You want me to try it?”

  The Russian laughed. “You? You are not pilot; you are passenger.”

  “Then it’s up to you,” Stoner said flatly.

  The laugh died. “I see,” Federenko said. “You make trap for me, eh?”

  “I want you to understand how important this is. You’ve got to dock us with the tanker on the first try. Otherwise we miss the alien.”

  Fede
renko nodded unhappily. “Hokay, Shtoner. You make point. I dock with tanker on first pass. You watch!”

  Breaking into a grin, Stoner said, “See? I wasn’t sulking at all.”

  Blindly Markov raced through the rain, his long legs propelling him by instinct toward the command center. Zworkin. The old man had not been in his bedroom when Markov had pounded on his door. He must be in the command center, Markov told himself. He must be.

  Maria was somewhere behind him as he raced along the gravel path that led to the command center’s massive windowless building. The rain lashed at him and he slitted his eyes against its cold sting.

  Zworkin is the only one who can save them now, Markov thought as he ran. If I try talking with the security police I’m lost. Zworkin! And through him to Bulacheff.

  Stoner couldn’t understand the babble of Russian coming through the radio speaker, but from the expression of Federenko’s deeply lined face he knew it was bad.

  The cosmonaut spoke almost angrily back to ground command, and more urgent words burst from the radio.

  Stoner turned to the radar screen, a small orange-glowing disk on the panel between their two seats. It showed a strong blip almost dead ahead of them. He stretched slightly to search through the observation port and—yes, there it was. A silvery crescent of metal against the starry blackness.

  The tanker. Close enough to see it.

  But Federenko’s gloomy frown sent a chill of apprehension through Stoner. He looks as if he’s just been ordered to attack the whole Chinese Army with his bare hands.

  “What is it, Nikolai?”

  Federenko turned toward him, defeat smoldering his eyes. “The tanker. We must not go near it. Malfunction.”

  “What?”

  “Very strange, they tell me. Malfunction in tanker self-destruct circuit. It can explode, they think.”

  The cosmonaut’s hands reached for the stubby levers that controlled the Soyuz’s maneuvering jets.