“May I offer you a drink, a cigarette?”
“A drink, yes. A cigarette, no.”
“Gin, vodka, whisky? I’m afraid I only have the hard stuff.”
“Vodka and tonic, please.”
Later she would regret the booze on top of the analgesics. But what the hell.
“The same for me, then,” said Conrad.
He opened a drawer in his desk, took out bottles and glasses, poured the drinks.
“I believe you are Anglo-Indian, Lieutenant. A great combination. I once had an Anglo-Indian first officer who was the most attractive man—as far as women were concerned—in the system. He was also a demonic chess player. I never won a game.”
“Actually,” said Indira, “it’s the other way round.” She smiled. “As a result of the British Raj, Smith became a fine old Indian name. It is my mother who was English.”
Conrad looked slightly puzzled. “According to your file, you should have black hair. Why is it white?”
“The file should have been updated,” said Indira calmly. “I was raped by an unknown quantity of Brazilian Indians, then my lover’s eyes were gouged out and my legs were cut off. Is that sufficient explanation?”
“It seems reasonable,” said Conrad. “Do you know much about the kind of outfit you have applied to join?”
“No.” The vodka and the analgesics were beginning to get together. “But perhaps we are wasting your time and mine. Can you really use a woman with tin legs, a failed suicide with a five-star hang-up about sex?”
He didn’t answer her at once. He studied her objectively. She seemed almost frail, unsure of herself. When she had lifted the glass of vodka and tonic, her hand had been shaking. But he knew from her record that she was physically tough, had a high intelligence and had achieved much during her service with the Terran Disaster Corps. Her recent experiences would have been sufficient to totally destroy any ordinary woman. Indira Smith had come close to destruction, but the important fact was that she had survived. Somehow… And that was the vital factor.
He felt sorry for her; but he knew that he must not allow it to show. If he did, she would swallow the pity like she swallowed the vodka. And then she would feel even more sorry for herself. Someday, perhaps, he would be able to allow himself the luxury of telling her that he thought she was one hell of a woman. But not now. Now, the only thing to be determined was whether she was expendable.
He checked an impulse to smile, an impulse to touch her, an impulse to try to reassure her.
“Excuse my lack of sympathy,” said Conrad coldly, “but I just may be able to use a woman with tin legs etcetera. Do you want to hear about the job?”
She sighed. “If it is your pleasure, and if it will brighten a dull afternoon.”
“It is my pleasure, and it will brighten a dull afternoon for both of us. This I promise.”
Recklessly, Indira accepted more vodka. “Fire away then, Commander, sir.”
“Let’s drop this rank stuff. If we are going to get anywhere at all, we have to begin by knowing and accepting each other. I’m scrap-heap material, too, Indira. I didn’t have it anyway near as rough as you did. But, still, we’re both on the junk heap. And that is what counts.”
“Keep talking, Commander,” she said. “I have nothing to lose.”
He leaned forward. “But you have something to win.”
“What would I possibly have to win?”
“A world for mankind. A planet called Kratos.”
And then he told her what ExPEND was all about.
“There are twenty-five thousand million reasons why this project is needed—and they are all people, most of them living here on Terra. Sure we have colonies on Luna, Mars, Mercury, Venus and one or two of the satellites. But, all told, the solar colonists don’t even account for one thousandth of one per cent of the total population.” He gave a grim smile. “We have come too far too fast. This beat-up old planet is almost exhausted. Its fossil fuels are almost finished, and there are deserts where once good soil was over cropped. Earth can’t take much more of the treatment mankind has been dishing out in the name of progress. What do we do with the people when population totally outstrips food production—as it surely will? We can’t ship many to Mars because the planetary engineering programme will take centuries. And everywhere else you need total life-support systems… So, you either accept the proposition that mankind, being too bloody greedy, isn’t worth saving. Or you have to try to create some way of ensuring that at least part of mankind survives —somewhere.
“About a hundred years ago, the futurologists saw the way it was all going. Eventually funds were provided by U.N. for two apparently impossible projects— Faster Than Light drive and Matter Transmission. They were crazy gambles that no responsible physicist would want to touch. But man has a habit of pulling off crazy gambles. So, while the Nobel prize-winners looked the other way, the young men—the irresponsible physicists, who asked why not, instead of why— had their chance. Some of them blew themselves to glory, simply demonstrating that two molecules can’t be in the same place at the same time.”
“I am familiar with the history of F.T.L. and M.T.,” interrupted Indira. “If the money spent on such projects had been used sensibly for reclamation here on Terra, we might not be in such a jam now.”
“Life on Terra was routed for disaster, anyway,” retorted Conrad “The point is, both projects have succeeded.”
“I know. And the economics of both F.T.L. and M.T. are frightening. It is cheaper to ship materials to Mars, say, than to use matter transmission.”
Conrad shrugged. “When the alternative is racial suicide, high cost loses some of its’ importance.”
“In any case,” said Indira, “you can’t transport people by either method. The trauma is too great. They go crazy.” She finished her vodka, wondering why she was busy trying to talk herself out of a possible job. Probably an extension of the death wish.
Conrad showed signs of irritation. “Woman, do not parade your ignorance! People have been experimentally transported by both methods.”
“They came out sane?”
“They came out sane.”
“How was it done?”
“Cold storage. Now, shut up and listen. Because the experiments were successful, mankind now has a real chance of survival. Not too great, maybe, but at least a chance. Hence the setting up of the Extra-Solar Planets Evaluating and Normalising Department. For the past twenty years small F.T.L. robot probes have been shot off in all directions at the nearer stars. They had to be robot probes because of the cost. When one of the probes finds a star with an Earth-type planet, it does an orbital survey then comes back with the data. Then, if the scientists think it is worth a try, we send people. Not colonists. Not until it has been proved that the planet can reasonably support human life. We send expendable people—people like you and me… Does it really matter to anyone whether you live or die, Indira Smith? I’ve checked the records, and I know it doesn’t. Your parents are dead, you have no close surviving relatives, your boy-friend walked through a high window. I shall not be missed, either.”
Indira was beginning to feel angry. It was true what he said about her—but it was the way he said it that hurt. It made her seem like a piece of human garbage. It offended her pride. She was amazed to discover that she had any pride left.
“And why will you not be missed, Commander?” she said silkily. “I understand you were something of a celebrity. I heard about your court-martial and, of course, I watched the resulting debacle when you proved how tough you were. But a lot of people still seem to think you are some kind of hero. Why will you not be missed?”
He laughed grimly. “Like you, no surviving relatives
… It is true that the Space Service didn’t actually fire me. I beat them to the draw… The plain fact is that I’m paranoid—at least, according to the psych boys. Therefore useless as far as the Space Service is concerned. The only authority I care to accept is my own. A
s commander of a team of Expendables, I will have absolute authority, which suits me fine. My qualifications are not, perhaps, as good as yours; but they are not bad… Now let us stop wasting time. I need a good second-in-command. The file and the results of your recent tests indicate that you are promising material. You would need some intensive training, of course…Yes or no?”
Indira was silent for a while. “I can’t say that I like you very much, Commander Conrad,” she began.
“So? It doesn’t worry me. Also it is not too relevant. All I require is an honest answer, Lieutenant. Yes or no?”
“How big would the team be?”
“Seven human beings, six robots.” Again he laughed. “Don’t ask why the mystical number. It was arrived at by the think-tanks and the economists.”
“What about the other five human beings? How do you intend to select them?”
“Like me and you, they will be totally expendable. They will probably be criminals and misfits—people who have nothing to lose. They will also have certain talents. I don’t think there will be too much difficulty in recruitment. Well, Lieutenant Smith, let us not waste any more time. Yes or no?”
Indira took a deep breath. “Yes, damn you.”
“Welcome aboard, then.” He smiled. “In view of your recent history, I suppose we shall have to train you to avoid being raped—especially since some of our enlisted men may have ambitions in that direction.”
Indira said quietly: “Not necessary. If you don’t believe me, try it yourself, Commander. These two legs of mine can kick your aspirations right out of your brain —or elsewhere—in nothing flat.”
“I thought as much,” he said calmly. “That is one of the reasons I chose you.”
“The interview is over?” she asked. “Yes, it’s over. It wasn’t too dreadful, was it?” Indira stood up, swaying slightly. “You are a pretty inhuman bastard, Commander, sir.”
Conrad shrugged. “That is the general opinion these days, apparently. Until you actually sign articles, Lieutenant, you can say what you like. After that you can only think what you like. Understood?”
“Understood.”
Conrad also stood up. “I wonder if you would have dinner with me this evening? We might get to know each other better.in less formal surroundings.”
She gave a cynical smile. “Wine and dine, soft ligtits, the soft sell and a quick lay?”
Conrad gazed at her coldly. “That was not the intention. But since you imply it was, the invitation is cancelled.”
“Thank you, Commander.” She turned to go. “I’ll try to bear my disappointment with fortitude.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” he retorted evenly. “Our professional relationship is what counts.”
“I’ll remember that.”
When she had left, Conrad poured himself another drink—a large one—and sipped it meditatively. Lieutenant Smith, he decided, was going to be a little difficult to handle. But that did not change his opinion that she was right for the job.
EVENT THREE
Death in Orbit
Indira Smith had dined well, so had Conrad. Her first meal, his second. Emerging from suspended animation usually left people ravenously hungry for a day or more. Like partial loss of memory, it was an aftereffect of the immense shock to which the body had been subjected.
Indira’s appetite was excellent, Conrad noted. She, too, had made great inroads into the Santa Maria’s small and precious supplies of natural food. Later, everyone would have to live on concentrates, synthetic foods and whatever edible things could be found on Kratos. But, until the entire team of Expendables was restored to full strength, its members would be entitled to take in as much natural food as they wished.
After the meal, Conrad had taken Indira on a tour of the vessel. She had never been—in a conscious condition—on a space ship before. And this was an F.T.L. vessel. Its wonders confounded her. She had never seen such sophisticated electronic equipment in her life.
The engine room—or reaction control complex, as it was officially described—made her eyes widen with astonishment. A master computer, no larger than a small desk, controlled three separate propulsion systems. The conventional rocket engines, used only for orbital manoeuvres, blast-off and touch-down; the thermo-nuclear drive, used for interplanetary travel; and the gravimagnetic pulse generator that enabled the Santa Maria to create its own modified black hole in the space-time continuum to bridge the stair gap at speed much faster than light. Conrad was able to explain the principle of rocket propulsion and thermo-nuclear drive easily. He had logged more space-hours than he cared to remember in vessels equipped with dual-system chemical and t/n propulsion. But he was still dazed by the gravimagnetic pulse generator and cosmometer. The mathematicians and astrophysicists had patiently tried to explain their functions; but, somehow the message had not got across. It was still the white man’s magic. And what the hell—the whole shebang was computer-controlled, any way. With F.T.L. a space captain, however good, was just supercargo. Chilled supercargo.
But he did try to tell Indira quite as much as he knew of the F.T.L. system.
“The point is,” he said, “Einstein was both right and wrong. He was right in maintaining that no physical body could travel faster than light without achieving infinite mass. He was wrong that he did not foresee techniques that would allow the Santa Maria to opt out of conventional space-time mechanics. The pulse generator enables this vessel to create its own black hole in space and disappear like the proverbial Cheshire Cat. The cosmometer aligns its re-emergence in space-time with the desired destination.” He sighed. “That’s about all I know of F.T.L. and—so they told me—all I need to know. Well, the magic works… And here we are as the living proof… Sometimes, I wish I were back in the fifteenth century, when life was simple and a lot of people still believed the Earth was fiat.”
Impulsively, Indira held his hand. “We have come a long way from the fiat Earth mentality,” she said softly. “Let us hope it was all worth while.”
Conrad laughed. “Amen to that. Let’s go back to the nav deck and take a look at Kratos.”
He kept her hand in his all the way. He rationalised by telling himself that she was not yet used to walking on bond-fuzz in zero gravity. You had to plant each foot very firmly on the carpet, so that the hooked bristles would grip the soles of your boots. Otherwise, you might take off and float helplessly.
Indira Smith, despite white hair and prosthetic legs (or was it because of them?) was a very attractive woman, compact and graceful. But, after the trauma of jumping sixteen light-years in S.A. the sex impulse was minimal. What mattered more was that she was a fellow human being, a companion with whom he would lace as yet unknowable dangers, a vital member of the team that would either open up Kratos for mankind or, by perishing, prove that the planet was inimical to colonisation. That was why he held her hand. Because they both belonged to an elite company. The fraternity of the damned. The Expendables.
Besides, the physical contact generated warmth. In S.A. you were chilled and didn’t feel it. Afterwards you were chilled because you had endured it. Not physically cold, but spiritually cold. Something that could only be combatted by the ancient magic of touch.
On the navigation deck, Conrad pressed the stud that rolled back the screen covering the observation panel. It was a good moment. The Santa Maria was just traversing from night-side to day-side. The planet of Kratos lay revealed in chiaroscuro.
There was no denying it was beautiful, but not so beautiful as Terra. Nor quite so complex. It had more ocean and only two major continental masses. The North Polar Continent was comparable in size, though not in shape, to Australia. It was, in fact, more like an elongated inverted South America with the narrow section straddling the pole and the bulge stretching well into the equatorial regions. The other land mass was similar in size and roughly similar in shape to Eurasia. The equator passed almost centrally through it; and it reached almost a third of the way round the planet. Apart from t
hese great land masses, numerous archipelagos were revealed in the immense oceans.
As the Santa Maria moved slowly over day-side, Indira found the view breath-taking. “I had no idea it would look like this. It looks so tranquil, so utterly peaceful and lovely.”
“So does Terra from a thousand miles up,” said Conrad. He laughed. “Then you touch down and find it’s not peaceful at all. Maybe that is the way it will be with Kratos.”
“At least there won’t be millions of competing and destructive human beings to foul it up,” she retorted.
“No. Let’s just hope we don’t find millions of non-human beings who resent intruders.”
“You think there will be intelligent animal life?”
He shrugged. “Look at it. An almost perfect evolutionary melting-pot-—to mix metaphors. The surprising thing will be if we don’t find any formidable animal life.”
“I used the words intelligent, you used the word formidable.”
“A man with an atomic weapon is both intelligent and formidable,” explained Conrad patiently. “A black widow spider is not intelligent, but it is formidable. If the man with the atomic weapon doesn’t like you and the spider doesn’t like you, the end result can still be the same… I hope that there is nothing nasty in the woodshed, but I’m not betting on it.”
“When do we go down?”
“When the entire team is in optimum condition. I have scheduled resuscitation of the rest at three hourly intervals. We will all need five T days, I think, to get our strength and our wits back.”
“I think I am going to like working with you, Commander Conrad.”
“I hope so. But drop this bloody rank stuff. I think I can still retain my authority even if in private you commit the dreadful indiscretion of calling me James.”
She laughed. “Very well. I’m still hungry, James. I would sell my soul for a well-done steak.”
“So am I, and you already have.” He smiled. “Let’s indulge ourselves. While the rest are coming out of the cooler, we will have an orgy of eating.”
Deathworms of Kratos (v1.1) Page 3
