Blades felt a helpless anger on her account. He wasn't sure why. What
was she to him? He'd probably never see her again. A hell of an
attractive target, to be sure; and after so much celibacy he was
highly vulnerable; but did she really matter?
He turned his back on Warburton and his eyes on her--a five thousand
per cent improvement--and diverted her from her embarrassment by
asking, "Are you from Colorado, then, Miss Ziska?"
"Oh, no. Toronto."
"How'd you happen to join the Navy, if I may make so bold?"
"Gosh, that's hard to say. But I guess mostly I felt so crowded at
home. So, pigeonholed. The world seemed to be nothing but neat little
pigeonholes."
"Uh-huh. Same here. I was also a square pigeon in a round hole." She
laughed. "Luckily," he added, "Space is too big for compartments."
Her agreement lacked vigor. The Navy must have been a disappointment
to her. But she couldn't very well say so in front of her shipmates.
Hm-m-m ... if she could be gotten away from them--"How long will you
be here?" he inquired. His pulse thuttered.
"We haven't been told," she said.
"Some work must be done on the missile launchers," Warburton said.
"That's best carried out here, where extra facilities are available if
we need them. Not that I expect we will." He paused. "I hope we won't
interfere with your own operations."
"Far from it." Blades beamed at Ellen. "Or, more accurately, this kind
of interference I don't mind in the least."
She blushed and her eyelids fluttered. Not that she was a fluffhead,
he realized. But to avoid incidents, Navy regulations enforced an
inhuman correctness between personnel of opposite sexes. After weeks
in the black, meeting a man who could pay a compliment without risking
court-martial must be like a shot of adrenalin. Better and better!
"Are you sure?" Warburton persisted. "For instance, won't we be in the
way when the next ship comes from Jupiter?"
"She'll approach the opposite end of the asteroid," Blades said.
"Won't stay long, either."
"How long?"
"One watch, so the crew can relax a bit among those of us who're off
duty. It'd be a trifle longer if we didn't happen to have an empty bag
at the moment. But never very long. Even running under thrust the
whole distance, Jupe's a good ways off. They've no time to waste."
"When is the next ship due?"
"The _Pallas Castle_ is expected in the second watch from now."
"Second watch. I see." Warburton stalked on with a brooding expression
on his Puritan face.
* * * * *
Blades might have speculated about that, but someone asked him why the
Station depended on spin for weight. Why not put in an internal field
generator, like a ship? Blades explained patiently that an Emett large
enough to produce uniform pull through a volume as big as the Sword
was rather expensive. "Eventually, when we're a few megabucks ahead of
the game--"
"Do you really expect to become rich?" Ellen asked. Her tone was awed.
No Earthsider had that chance any more, except for the great
corporations. "_Individually_ rich?"
"We can't fail to. I tell you, this is a frontier like nothing since
the Conquistadores. We could very easily have been wiped out in the
first couple of years--financially or physically--by any of a thousand
accidents. But now we're too far along for that. We've got it made,
Jimmy and I."
"What will you do with your wealth?"
"Live like an old-time sultan," Blades grinned. Then, because it was
true as well as because he wanted to shine in her eyes: "Mostly,
though, we'll go on to new things. There's so much that needs to be
done. Not simply more asteroid mines. We need farms; timber; parks;
passenger and cargo liners; every sort of machine. I'd like to try
getting at some of that water frozen in the Saturnian System.
Altogether, I see no end to the jobs. It's no good our depending on
Earth for anything. Too expensive, too chancy. The Belt has to be made
completely self-sufficient."
"With a nice rakeoff for Sword Enterprises," Gilbertson scoffed.
"Why, sure. Aren't we entitled to some return?"
"Yes. But not so out of proportion as the Belt companies seem to
expect. They're only using natural resources that rightly belong to
the people, and the accumulated skills and wealth of an entire
society."
"Huh! The People didn't do anything with the Sword. Jimmy and I and
our boys did. No Society was around here grubbing nickel-iron and
riding out gravel storms; we were."
"Let's leave politics alone," Warburton snapped. But it was mostly
Ellen's look of distress which shut Blades up.
To everybody's relief, they reached Central Control about then. It was
a complex of domes and rooms, crammed with more equipment than Blades
could put a name to. Computers were in Chung's line, not his. He
wasn't able to answer all of Warburton's disconcertingly sharp
questions.
But in a general way he could. Whirling through vacuum with a load of
frail humans and intricate artifacts, the Sword must be at once
machine, ecology, and unified organism. Everything had to mesh. A
failure in the thermodynamic balance, a miscalculation in supply
inventory, a few mirrors perturbed out of proper orbit, might spell
Ragnarok. The chemical plant's purifications and syntheses were
already a network too large for the human mind to grasp as a whole,
and it was still growing. Even where men could have taken charge,
automation was cheaper, more reliable, less risky of lives. The
computer system housed in Central Control was not only the brain, but
the nerves and heart of the Sword.
"Entirely cryotronic, eh?" Warburton commented. "That seems to be the
usual practice at the Stations. Why?"
"The least expensive type for us," Blades answered. "There's no
problem in maintaining liquid helium here."
Warburton's gaze was peculiarly intense. "Cryotronic systems are
vulnerable to magnetic and radiation disturbances."
"Uh-huh. That's one reason we don't have a nuclear power plant. This
far from the sun, we don't get enough emission to worry about. The
asteroid's mass screens out what little may arrive. I know the TIMM
system is used on ships; but if nothing else, the initial cost is more
than we want to pay."
"What's TIMM?" inquired the _Altair's_ chaplain.
"Thermally Integrated Micro-Miniaturized," Ellen said crisply.
"Essentially, ultraminiaturized ceramic-to-metal-seal vacuum tubes
running off thermionic generators. They're immune to gamma ray and
magnetic pulses, easily shielded against particule radiation, and
economical of power." She grinned. "Don't tell me there's nothing
about them in Leviticus, Padre!"
"Very fine for a ship's autopilot," Blades agreed. "But as I said, we
needn't worry about rad or mag units here, we don't mind sprawling a
bit, and as for thermal efficiency, we want to waste some heat. It
goes to maintain internal temperature."
"In other words, efficiency depends on what you need to effish," Ellen
bantered. She grew grave once more and studied him for a while before
she mused, "The same person who swung a pick, a couple of years ago,
now deals with something as marvelous as this...." He forgot about
worrying.
* * * * *
But he remembered later, when the gig had left and Chung called him to
his office. Avis came too, by request. As she entered, she asked why.
"You were visiting your folks Earthside last year," Chung said.
"Nobody else in the Station has been back as recently as that."
"What can I tell you?"
"I'm not sure. Background, perhaps. The feel of the place. We don't
really know, out in the Belt, what's going on there. The beamcast news
is hardly a trickle. Besides, you have more common sense in your left
little toe than that big mick yonder has on his entire copperplated
head."
They seated themselves in the cobwebby low-gee chairs around Chung's
desk. Blades took out his pipe and filled the bowl with his tobacco
ration for today. Wouldn't it be great, he thought dreamily, if this
old briar turned out to be an Aladdin's lamp, and the smoke condensed
into a blonde she-Canadian--?
"Wake up, will you?" Chung barked.
"Huh?" Blades started. "Oh. Sure. What's the matter? You look like a
fish on Friday."
"Maybe with reason. Did you notice anything unusual with that party
you were escorting?"
"Yes, indeed."
"What?"
"About one hundred seventy-five centimeters tall, yellow hair, blue
eyes, and some of the smoothest fourth-order curves I ever--"
"Mike, stop that!" Avis sounded appalled. "This is serious."
"I agree. She'll be leaving in a few more watches."
The girl bit her lip. "You're too old for that mooncalf rot and you
know it."
"Agreed again. I feel more like a bull." Blades made pawing motions on
the desktop.
"There's a lady present," Chung said.
Blades saw that Avis had gone quite pale. "I'm sorry," he blurted. "I
never thought ... I mean, you've always seemed like--"
"One of the boys," she finished for him in a brittle tone. "Sure.
Forget it. What's the problem, Jimmy?"
Chung folded his hands and stared at them. "I can't quite define
that," he answered, word by careful word. "Perhaps I've simply gone
spacedizzy. But when we called on Admiral Hulse, and later when he
called on us, didn't you get the impression of, well, wariness? Didn't
he seem to be watching and probing, every minute we were together?"
"I wouldn't call him a cheerful sort," Blades nodded. "Stiff as
molasses on Pluto. But I suppose ... supposed he's just naturally that
way."
Chung shook his head. "It wasn't a normal standoffishness. You've
heard me reminisce about the time I was on Vesta with the North
American technical representative, when the Convention was
negotiated."
"Yes, I've heard that story a few times," said Avis dryly.
"Remember, that was right after the Europa Incident. We'd come close
to a space war--undeclared, but it would have been nasty. We were
still close. Every delegate went to that conference cocked and primed.
"Hulse had the same manner."
* * * * *
A silence fell. Blades said at length, "Well, come to think of it, he
did ask some rather odd questions. He seemed to twist the conversation
now and then, so he could find things out like our exact layout,
emergency doctrine, and so forth. It didn't strike me as significant,
though."
"Nor me," Chung admitted. "Taken in isolation, it meant nothing. But
these visitors today--Sure, most of them obviously didn't suspect
anything untoward. But that Liebknecht, now. Why was he so interested
in Central Control? Nothing new or secret there. Yet he kept asking
for details like the shielding factor of the walls."
"So did Commander Warburton," Blades remembered. "Also, he wanted to
know exactly when the _Pallas_ is due, how long she'll stay ...
hm-m-m, yes, whether we have any radio linkage with the outside, like
to Ceres or even the nearest Commission base--"
"Did you tell him that we don't?" Avis asked sharply.
"Yes. Shouldn't I have?"
"It scarcely makes any difference," Chung said in a resigned voice.
"As thoroughly as they went over the ground, they'd have seen what we
do and do not have installed so far."
He leaned forward. "Why are they hanging around?" he asked. "I was
handed some story about overhauling the missile system."
"Me, too," Blades said.
"But you don't consider a job complete till it's been tested. And you
don't fire a test shot, even a dummy, this close to a Station.
Besides, what could have gone wrong? I can't see a ship departing
Earth orbit for a long cruise without everything being in order. And
they didn't mention any meteorites, any kind of trouble, en route.
Furthermore, why do the work here? The Navy yard's at Ceres. We can't
spare them any decent amount of materials or tools or help."
Blades frowned. His own half-formulated doubts shouldered to the fore,
which was doubly unpleasant after he'd been considering Ellen Ziska.
"They tell me the international situation at home is O.K.," he
offered.
Avis nodded. "What newsfaxes we get in the mail indicate as much," she
said. "So why this hanky-panky?" After a moment, in a changed voice:
"Jimmy, you begin to scare me a little."
"I scare myself," Chung said.
"Every morning when you debeard," Blades said; but his heart wasn't
in it. He shook himself and protested: "Damnation, they're our own
countrymen. We're engaged in a lawful business. Why should they do
anything to us?"
"Maybe Avis can throw some light on that," Chung suggested.
The girl twisted her fingers together. "Not me," she said. "I'm no
politician."
"But you were home not so long ago. You talked with people, read the
news, watched the 3V. Can't you at least give an impression?"
"N-no--Well, of course the preliminary guns of the election campaign
were already being fired. The Social Justice Party was talking a lot
about ... oh, it seemed so ridiculous that I didn't pay much
attention."
"They talked about how the government had been pouring billions and
billions of dollars into space, while overpopulation produced crying
needs in America's back yard," Chung said. "We know that much, even in
the Belt. We know the appropriations are due to be cut, now the
Essjays are in. So what?"
"We don't need a subsidy any longer," Blades remarked. "It'd help a
lot, but we can get along without if we have to, and personally, I
prefer that. Less government money means less government control."
"Sure," Avis said. "There was more than that involved, however. The
Essjays were complaining about the small return on the investment. Not
enough minerals coming back to Earth."
"Well, for Jupiter's sake," Blades exclaimed, "what do they expect? We
have to build up our capabilities first."
"They even said, some of them, that enough reward never would be
gotten. That under existing financial policies, the Belt would go in
for its own expansion, use nearly everything it produced for itself
and export only a trickle to America. I had to explain to several of
my parents' friends that I wasn't really a socially irresponsible
capitalist."
"Is that all the information you have?" Chung asked when she fell
silent.
"I ... I suppose so. Everything was so vague. No dramatic events. More
of an atmosphere than a concrete thing."
* * * * *
"Still, you confirm my own impression," Chung said. Blades jerked his
undisciplined imagination back from the idea of a Thing, with bug eyes
and tentacles, cast in reinforced concrete, and listened as his
partner summed up:
"The popular feeling at home has turned against private enterprise.
You can hardly call a corporate monster like Systemic Developments a
private enterprise! The new President and Congress share that mood. We
can expect to see it manifested in changed laws and regulations. But
what has this got to do with a battleship parked a couple of hundred
kilometers from us?"
"If the government doesn't want the asterites to develop much
further--" Blades bit hard on his pipestem. "They must know we have a
caviar mine here. We'll be the only city in this entire sector."
"But we're still a baby," Avis said. "We won't be important for years
to come. Who'd have it in for a baby?"
"Besides, we're Americans, too," Chung said. "If that were a foreign
ship, the story might be different--Wait a minute! Could they be
thinking of establishing a new base here?"
"The Convention wouldn't allow," said Blades.
"Treaties can always be renegotiated, or even denounced. But first you
have to investigate quietly, find out if it's worth your while."
"Hoo hah, what lovely money that'd mean!"
"And lovely bureaucrats crawling out of every file cabinet," Chung
said grimly. "No, thank you. We'll fight any such attempt to the last
lawyer. We've got a good basis, too, in our charter. If the suit is
tried on Ceres, as I believe it has to be, we'll get a sympathetic
court as well."
"Unless they ring in an Earthside judge," Avis warned.
"Yeah, that's possible. Also, they could spring proceedings on us
without notice. We've got to find out in advance, so we can prepare.
Any chance of pumping some of those officers?"
"'Fraid not," Avis said. "The few who'd be in the know are safely back
on shipboard."
"We could invite 'em here individually," said Blades. "As a matter of
fact, I already have a date with Lieutenant Ziska."
"What?" Avis' mouth fell open.
"Yep," Blades said complacently. "End of the next watch, so she can
observe the _Pallas_ arriving. I'm to fetch her on a scooter." He blew
a fat smoke ring. "Look, Jimmy, can you keep everybody off the porch
for a while then? Starlight, privacy, soft music on the piccolo--who
knows what I might find out?"
"You won't get anything from _her_," Avis spat. "No secrets or, or
anything."
"Still, I look forward to making the attempt. C'mon, pal, pass the
word. I'll do as much for you sometime."
"Times like that never seem to come for me," Chung groaned.
"Oh, let him play around with his suicide blonde," Avis said
furiously. "We others have work to do. I ... I'll tell you what,
Jimmy. Let's not eat in the mess tonight. I'll draw our rations and
fix us something special in your cabin."
* * * * *
[Illustration]
A scooter was not exactly the ideal steed for a knight to convey his
lady. It amounted to little more than three saddles and a locker, set
atop an accumulator-powered gyrogravitic engine, sufficient to lift
you off an asteroid and run at low acceleration. There were no
navigating instruments. You locked the autopilot's radar-gravitic
sensors onto your target object and it took you there, avoiding any
bits of debris which might pass near; but you must watch the distance
indicator and press the deceleration switch in time. If the 'pilot was
turned off, free maneuver became possible, but that was a dangerous
thing to try before you were almost on top of your destination.
Stereoscopic vision fails beyond six or seven meters, and the human
organism isn't equipped to gauge cosmic momenta.
Nevertheless, Ellen was enchanted. "This is like a dream," her voice
murmured in Blades' earplug. "The whole universe, on every side of us.
I could almost reach out and pluck those stars."
"You must have trained in powered spacesuits at the Academy," he said
for lack of a more poetic rejoinder.
"Yes, but that's not the same. We had to stay near Luna's night side,
to be safe from solar particles, and it bit a great chunk out of the
sky. And then everything was so--regulated, disciplined--we did what
we were ordered to do, and that was that. Here I feel free. You can't
imagine how free." Hastily: "Do you use this machine often?"
"Well, yes, we have about twenty scooters at the Station. They're the
most convenient way of flitting with a load: out to the mirrors to
change accumulators, for instance, or across to one of the companion
rocks where we're digging some ores that the Sword doesn't have. That
kind of work." Blades would frankly rather have had her behind him on
a motorskimmer, hanging on as they careened through a springtime
countryside. He was glad when they reached the main forward air lock
and debarked.
He was still gladder when the suits were off. Lieutenant Ziska in
dress uniform was stunning, but Ellen in civvies, a fluffy low-cut
blouse and close-fitting slacks, was a hydrogen blast. He wanted to
roll over and pant, but settled for saying, "Welcome back" and holding
her hand rather longer than necessary.
With a shy smile, she gave him a package. "I drew this before
leaving," she said. "I thought, well, your life is so austere--"
"A demi of Sandeman," he said reverently. "I won't tell you you
shouldn't have, but I will tell you you're a sweet girl."
"No, really." She flushed. "After we've put you to so much trouble."
"Let's go crack this," he said. "The _Pallas_ has called in, but she
won't be visible for a while yet."
* * * * *
They made their way to the verandah, picking up a couple of glasses
enroute. Bless his envious heart, Jimmy had warned the other boys off
as requested. _I hope Avis cooks him a Cordon Bleu dinner_, Blades
thought. _Nice kid, Avis, if she'd quit trying to ... what? ... mother
me?_ He forgot about her, with Ellen to seat by the rail.
The Milky Way turned her hair frosty and glowed in her eyes. Blades
poured the port with much ceremony and raised his glass. "Here's to
your frequent return," he said.
Her pleasure dwindled a bit. "I don't know if I should drink to that.
We aren't likely to be back, ever."
"Drink anyway. Gling, glang, gloria!" The rims tinkled together.
"After all," said Blades, "this isn't the whole universe. We'll both
be getting around. See you on Luna?"
"Maybe."
He wondered if he was pushing matters too hard. She didn't look at
ease. "Oh, well," he said, "if nothing else, this has been a grand
break in the monotony for us. I don't wish the Navy ill, but if
trouble had to develop, I'm thankful it developed here."
"Yes--"
"How's the repair work progressing? Slowly, I hope."
"I don't know."
"You should have some idea, being in QM."
"No supplies have been drawn."
Blades stiffened.
"What's the matter?" Ellen sounded alarmed.
"Huh?" _A fine conspirator I make, if she can see my emotions on me in
neon capitals!_ "Nothing. Nothing. It just seemed a little strange,
you know. Not taking any replacement units."
"I understand the work is only a matter of making certain
adjustments."
"Then they should've finished a lot quicker, shouldn't they?"
"Please," she said unhappily. "Let's not talk about it. I mean, there
are such things as security regulations."
Blades gave up on that tack. But Chung's idea might be worth probing a
little. "Sure," he said. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry." He took
another sip as he hunted for suitable words. A beautiful girl, a
golden wine ... and vice versa ... why couldn't he simply relax and
enjoy himself? Did he have to go fretting about what was probably a
perfectly harmless conundrum?... Yes. However, recreation might still
combine with business.
"Permit me to daydream," he said, leaning close to her. "The Navy's
going to establish a new base here, and the _Altair_ will be assigned
to it."
"Daydream indeed!" she laughed, relieved to get back to a mere
flirtation. "Ever hear about the Convention of Vesta?"
"Treaties can be renegotiated," Blades plagiarized.
"What do we need an extra base for? Especially since the government
plans to spend such large sums on social welfare. They certainly don't
want to start an arms race besides."
* * * * *
Blades nodded. _Jimmy's notion did seem pretty thin_, he thought with
a slight chill, _and now I guess it's completely whiffed._ Mostly to
keep the conversation going, he shrugged and said, "My partner--and
me, too, aside from the privilege of your company--wouldn't have
wanted it anyhow. Not that we're unpatriotic, but there are plenty of
other potential bases, and we'd rather keep government agencies out of
here."
"Can you, these days?"
"Pretty much. We're under a new type of charter, as a private
partnership. The first such charter in the Belt, as far as I know,
though there'll be more in the future. The Bank of Ceres financed us.
We haven't taken a nickel of federal money."
"Is that possible?"
"Just barely. I'm no economist, but I can see how it works. Money
represents goods and labor. Hitherto those have been in mighty short
supply out here. Government subsidies made up the difference, enabling
us to buy from Earth. But now the asterites have built up enough
population and industry that they have some capital surplus of their
own, to invest in projects like this."
"Even so, frankly, I'm surprised that two men by themselves could get
such a loan. It must be huge. Wouldn't the bank rather have lent the
money to some corporation?"
"To tell the truth, we have friends who pulled wires for us. Also, it
was done partly on ideological grounds. A lot of asterites would like
to see more strictly home-grown enterprises, not committed to anyone
on Earth. That's the only way we can grow. Otherwise our profits--our
net production, that is--will continue to be siphoned off for the
mother country's benefit."
"Well," Ellen said with some indignation, "that was the whole reason
for planting asteroid colonies. You can't expect us to set you up in
business, at enormous cost to ourselves--things we might have done at
home--and get nothing but 'Ta' in return."
"Never fear, we'll repay you with interest," Blades said. "But
whatever we make from our own work, over and above that, ought to stay
here with us."
She grew angrier. "Your kind of attitude is what provoked the voters
to elect Social Justice candidates."
"Nice name, that," mused Blades. "Who can be against social justice?
But you know, I think I'll go into politics myself. I'll organize the
North American Motherhood Party."
"You wouldn't be so flippant if you'd go see how people have to live
back there."
"As bad as here? _Whew!_"
"Nonsense. You know that isn't true. But bad enough. And you aren't
going to stick in these conditions. Only a few hours ago, you were
bragging about the millions you intend to make."
"Millions _and_ millions, if my strength holds out," leered Blades,
thinking of the alley in Aresopolis. But he decided that that was then
and Ellen was now, and what had started as a promising little party
was turning into a dismal argument about politics.
"Let's not fight," he said. "We've got different orientations, and we'd
only make each other mad. Let's discuss our next bottle instead ... at the
Coq d'Or in Paris, shall we say? Or Morraine's in New York."
She calmed down, but her look remained troubled. "You're right, we are
different," she said low. "Isolated, living and working under
conditions we can hardly imagine on Earth--and you can't really
imagine our problems--yes, you're becoming another people. I hope it
will never go so far that--No. I don't want to think about it." She
drained her glass and held it out for a refill, smiling. "Very well,
sir, when do you next plan to be in Paris?"
* * * * *
An exceedingly enjoyable while later, the time came to go watch the
_Pallas Castle_ maneuver in. In fact, it had somehow gotten past that
time, and they were late; but they didn't hurry their walk aft. Blades
took Ellen's hand; and she raised no objection. Schoolboyish, no
doubt--however, he had reached the reluctant conclusion that for all
his dishonorable intentions, this affair wasn't likely to go beyond
the schoolboy stage. Not that he wouldn't keep trying.
As they glided through the refining and synthesizing section, which
filled the broad half of the asteroid, the noise of pumps and
regulators rose until it throbbed in their bones. Ellen gestured at
one of the pipes which crossed the corridor overhead. "Do you really
handle that big a volume at a time?" she asked above the racket.
"No," he said. "Didn't I explain before? The pipe's thick because it's
so heavily armored."
"I'm glad you don't use that dreadful word 'cladded.' But why the
armor? High pressure?"
"Partly. Also, there's an inertrans lining. Jupiter gas is hellishly
reactive at room temperature. The metallic complexes especially; but
think what a witch's brew the stuff is in every respect. Once it's
been refined, of course, we have less trouble. That particular pipe is
carrying it raw."
They left the noise behind and passed on to the approach control dome
at the receptor end. The two men on duty glanced up and immediately
went back to their instruments. Radio voices were staccato in the air.
Blades led Ellen to an observation port.
She drew a sharp breath. Outside, the broken ground fell away to space
and the stars. The ovoid that was the ship hung against them, lit by
the hidden sun, a giant even at her distance but dwarfed by the
balloon she towed. As that bubble tried ponderously to rotate, rainbow
gleams ran across it, hiding and then revealing the constellations.
Here, on the asteroid's axis, there was no weight, and one moved with
underwater smoothness, as if disembodied. "Oh, a fairy tale," Ellen
sighed.
Four sparks flashed out of the boat blisters along the ship's hull.
"Scoopships," Blades told her. "They haul the cargo in, being so much
more maneuverable. Actually, though, the mother vessel is going to
park her load in orbit, while those boys bring in another one ... see,
there it comes into sight. We still haven't got the capacity to keep
up with our deliveries."
"How many are there? Scoopships, that is."
"Twenty, but you don't need more than four for this job. They've got
terrific power. Have to, if they're to dive from orbit down into the
Jovian atmosphere, ram themselves full of gas, and come back. There
they go."
The _Pallas Castle_ was wrestling the great sphere she had hauled from
Jupiter into a stable path computed by Central Control. Meanwhile the
scoopships, small only by comparison with her, locked onto the other
balloon as it drifted close. Energy poured into their drive fields.
Spiraling downward, transparent globe and four laboring spacecraft
vanished behind the horizon. The _Pallas_ completed her own task,
disengaged her towbars, and dropped from view, headed for the dock.
The second balloon rose again, like a huge glass moon on the opposite
side of the Sword. Still it grew in Ellen's eyes, kilometer by
kilometer of approach. So much mass wasn't easily handled, but the
braking curve looked disdainfully smooth. Presently she could make out
the scoopships in detail, elongated teardrops with the intake gates
yawning in the blunt forward end, cockpit canopies raised very
slightly above.
Instructions rattled from the men in the dome. The balloon veered
clumsily toward the one free receptor. A derricklike structure
released one end of a cable, which streamed skyward. Things that Ellen
couldn't quite follow in this tricky light were done by the four tugs,
mechanisms of their own extended to make their tow fast to the cable.
They did not cast loose at once, but continued to drag a little,
easing the impact of centrifugal force. Nonetheless a slight shudder
went through the dome as slack was taken up. Then the job was over.
The scoopships let go and flitted off to join their mother vessel. The
balloon was winched inward. Spacesuited men moved close, preparing to
couple valves together.
"And eventually," Blades said into the abrupt quietness, "that cargo
will become food, fabric, vitryl, plastiboard, reagents, fuels, a
hundred different things. That's what we're here for."
"I've never seen anything so wonderful," Ellen said raptly. He laid an
arm around her waist.
The intercom chose that precise moment to blare: "Attention!
Emergency! All hands to emergency stations! Blades, get to Chung's
office on the double! All hands to emergency stations!"
Blades was running before the siren had begun to howl.
Rear Admiral Barclay Hulse had come in person. He stood as if on
parade, towering over Chung. The asterite was red with fury. Avis Page
crouched in a corner, her eyes terrified.
Blades barreled through the doorway and stopped hardly short of a
collision. "What's the matter?" he puffed.
"Plenty!" Chung snarled. "These incredible thumble-fumbed oafs--" His
voice broke. _When he gets mad, it means something!_
Hulse nailed Blades with a glance. "Good day, sir," he clipped. "I
have had to report a regrettable accident which will require you to
evacuate the Station. Temporarily, I hope."
"Huh?"
"As I told Mr. Chung and Miss Page, a nuclear missile has escaped us.
If it explodes, the radiation will be lethal, even in the heart of the
asteroid."
"What ... what--" Blades could only gobble at him.
"Fortunately, the _Pallas Castle_ is here. She can take your whole
complement aboard and move to a safe distance while we search for the
object."
"How the _devil_?"
Hulse allowed himself a look of exasperation. "Evidently I'll have to
repeat myself to you. Very well. You know we have had to make some
adjustments on our launchers. What you did not know was the reason.
Under the circumstances, I think it's permissible to tell you that
several of them have a new and secret, experimental control system.
One of our missions on this cruise was to carry out field tests. Well,
it turned out that the system is still full of, ah, bugs. Gunnery
Command has had endless trouble with it, has had to keep tinkering the
whole way from Earth.
"Half an hour ago, while Commander Warburton was completing a
reassembly--lower ranks aren't allowed in the test turrets--something
happened. I can't tell you my guess as to what, but if you want to
imagine that a relay got stuck, that will do for practical purposes. A
missile was released under power. Not a dummy--the real thing. And
release automatically arms the war head."
* * * * *
The news was like a hammerblow. Blades spoke an obscenity. Sweat
sprang forth under his arms and trickled down his ribs.
"No such thing was expected," Hulse went on. "It's an utter disaster,
and the designers of the system aren't likely to get any more
contracts. But as matters were, no radar fix was gotten on it, and it
was soon too far away for gyrogravitic pulse detection. The thrust
vector is unknown. It could be almost anywhere now.
"Well, naval missiles are programmed to reverse acceleration if they
haven't made a target within a given time. This one should be back in
less than six hours. If it first detects our ship, everything is all
right. It has optical recognition circuits that identify any North
American warcraft by type, disarm the war head, and steer it home.
But, if it first comes within fifty kilometers of some other
mass--like this asteroid or one of the companion rocks--it will
detonate. We'll make every effort to intercept, but space is big.
You'll have to take your people to a safe distance. They can come back
even after a blast, of course. There's no concussion in vacuum, and
the fireball won't reach here. It's principally an anti-personnel
weapon. But you must not be within the lethal radius of radiation."
"The hell we can come back!" Avis cried.
[Illustration]
"I beg your pardon?" Hulse said.
"You imbecile! Don't you know Central Control here is cryotronic?"
Hulse did not flicker an eyelid. "So it is," he said expressionlessly.
"I had forgotten."
* * * * *
Blades mastered his own shock enough to grate: "Well, we sure haven't.
If that thing goes off, the gamma burst will kick up so many minority
carriers in the transistors that the _p_-type crystals will act
_n_-type, and the _n_-type act _p_-type, for a whole couple of
microseconds. Every one of 'em will flip simultaneously! The
computers' memory and program data systems will be scrambled beyond
hope of reorganization."
"Magnetic pulse, too," Chung said. "The fireball plasma will be full
of inhomogeneities moving at several per cent of light speed. Their
electromagnetic output, hitting our magnetic core units, will turn
them from super to ordinary conduction. Same effect, total computer
amnesia. We haven't got enough shielding against it. Your TIMM systems
can take that kind of a beating. Ours can't!"
"Very regrettable," Hulse said. "You'd have to reprogram everything--"
"Reprogram what?" Avis retorted. Tears started forth in her eyes.
"We've told you what sort of stuff our chemical plant is handling. We
can't shut it down on that short notice. It'll run wild. There'll be
sodium explosions, hydrogen and organic combustion, n-n-nothing left
here but wreckage!"
Hulse didn't unbend a centimeter. "I offer my most sincere apologies.
If actual harm does occur, I'm sure the government will indemnify you.
And, of course, my command will furnish what supplies may be needed
for the _Pallas Castle_ to transport you to the nearest Commission
base. At the moment, though, you can do nothing but evacuate and hope
we will be able to intercept the missile."
Blades knotted his fists. A sudden comprehension rushed up in him and
he bellowed, "There isn't going to be an interception! This wasn't an
accident!"
Hulse backed a step and drew himself even straighter. "Don't get
overwrought," he advised.
"You louse-bitten, egg-sucking, bloated faggot-porter! How stupid do
you think we are? As stupid as your Essjay bosses? By heaven, we're
staying! Then see if you have the nerve to murder a hundred people!"
"Mike ... Mike--" Avis caught his arm.
Hulse turned to Chung. "I'll overlook that unseemly outburst," he
said. "But in light of my responsibilities and under the provisions of
the Constitution, I am hereby putting this asteroid under martial law.
You will have all personnel aboard the _Pallas Castle_ and at a
minimum distance of a thousand kilometers within four hours of this
moment, or be subject to arrest and trial. Now I have to get back and
commence operations. The _Altair_ will maintain radio contact with
you. Good day." He bowed curtly, spun on his heel, and clacked from
the room.
Blades started to charge after him. Chung caught his free arm.
Together he and Avis dragged him to a stop. He stood cursing the air
ultraviolet until Ellen entered.
"I couldn't keep up with you," she panted. "What's happened, Mike?"
The strength drained from Blades. He slumped into a chair and covered
his face.
* * * * *
Chung explained in a few harsh words. "Oh-h-h," Ellen gasped. She went
to Blades and laid her hands on his shoulders. "My poor Mike!"
After a moment she looked at the others. "I should report back, of
course," she said, "but I won't be able to before the ship
accelerates. So I'll have to stay with you till afterward. Miss Page,
we left about half a bottle of wine on the verandah. I think it would
be a good idea if you went and got it."