The day was so dark that Dobrynin began to wonder if something wasn't
seriously wrong. He stopped the pede-like cruiser at the foot of the
great volcano, looked up through the glass at the warping sky. Black
clouds continued to roil up from countless hollow, sharp-edged peaks
all across the planet.
The satellite readout only confirmed what his eyes and instincts told
him. Tremors and quakes shook the ground beneath him as a heavy static
storm crackled white and spindly light through the poison atmosphere.
Marcum-Lauries One was caught between the pull of its two suns, which
happened roughly every three hundred years. But even so, internal
pressures were much too high. It boded ill for the hopes of his people
if the massive, ore-laden planet stopped producing.
"Damn." Molten silicates were running down the sides of the volcano's
shattered peak. He re-engaged the flexing wheel pods and headed back
toward the dome.
How he hated this war. Not just for the killing. Any fool knew that
life was no great gift, and death no injury. One took care of his own,
forged what meaning he could, then surrendered in the end to oblivion.
But this war. This stupid, wasteful war. How many times must the same
story be told? Poverty and abuse on Canton leading to discontent, the
fascists coming to power, spreading their hatred in the name of God and
white supremacy. And of course a remote socialist settlement, theirs,
had proved the ideal target for a tune-up campaign. If they hadn't
gone straight for the Khrushchev colony he would probably have laughed.
Fascism must inevitably fail, just as humanist Marxism would never
die. The Cantons would surely be put down, but not before many things
innocent and beautiful had been maimed forever. Fascists! In spite of
all that he knew he could almost hate them without thinking.
And their own tentative alliance with Soviet Space. How long would
that last if the gold, tungsten and osmo-alloys stopped coming? This
planet was the key, and at the moment not a very sure bet. All he
could do was go back to the safety (relative safety) of the dome and
wait for Percy's report, and see if the Soviet astronomers had anything
intelligent to say.
He suddenly realized as he crawled in segments across a gap in the high
ridge. . .that he loved this place. Yes, loved it. The wide valley
that opened before him, even in turmoil, was beautiful to the point of
pain. Who could not feel the beauty of its raw vastness? His wife and
colleagues on the tamer Lauries II had always thought him demented.
THE STORMS, THE LONG NIGHTS, they would say. But he had never minded
the storms or the dark. They merely seemed to him a metaphor for life.
Yes, life was a storm; that thought heartened him. Perhaps this was
just another, if more severe. No, he knew better. The fascists were
real and the planet was in trouble. The flux of power among the Space
giants now favored the United Commonwealth, which remained neutral but
refused to allow the Soviets to intervene. And the German States, God
damn them. For all their greatness and determination they still
retained a stubborn streak of the Nazi mentality. There was little
question who they would side with if it ever came to such a choice. It
was all quite hopeless. His people were just pilgrims and this, too,
would never be their home.
"Yes, yes, yes. But I do not give up!"
The dome was in sight and he was drawing closer. He was there. He
guided the high-gravity cruiser between two of the eight supporting
struts arcing down from the huge floor, the raised structure. He
waited for the lift to be lowered, crawled up onto it. The airlock was
opened, and the cruiser raised inside it. The doors were shut below
him and breathable air whispered around him. He opened the hatch,
climbed down and greeted his son.
"Leon. Any news?" The young man seemed troubled, though he was doing
his best to conceal it.
"Yes, and none of it good. Salnikov is on the communicator. I'd
better let him explain it."
They walked quickly to the high wall of the dock, rose in separate
tubes to a curving corridor on the primary floor. From this they
entered the meeting room. A large screen at the front of it showed the
dispassionate face of Vladimir Salnikov, Soviet ambassador to
Marcum-Lauries Independent. They pushed past the chairs of an oval
table and went to the railing before it.
"Yes, Vladimir. What have you got?"
"I've been talking with Science Central," said the ambassador. "We
know what the problem is, but are not yet certain what is causing it."
"Well are you going to tell me or do I have to guess it?" If all the
stars in Space had suddenly gone out, it would never show on that face.
"Easy, Nicholai. I am on your side?" Dobrynin gave a reluctant nod.
"Your planet is in serious trouble. She will not engage her second
orbit. She only remains at the equilibrium point between the two, and
loses almost six minutes each rotation. Internal pressures, as I am
sure you know, are dangerously high. If something does not change
soon, she will blow herself apart. You have perhaps ninety-eight
hours."
... "Why, Vladimir? Why?"
"We cannot be sure, except to say there is no natural phenomenon that
would explain it." A pause.
"Is there anything else you can tell me?"
"Not for the record."
"What about off it?"
"Go to scramble," said the Soviet. "Code 4."
His son made the necessary adjustments. Salnikov began again, the
words no longer corresponding to the movement of his lips.
"Can you understand me?"
"Yes."
"Have you sent out your reconnaissance?"
"Yes, toward Cantos."
"Deviate course. There is nothing there."
"Where should we go instead?"
Salnikov gave a set of coordinates: a straight line out from the
planet, directly opposed to its trajectory, as it sought to cross the
intersection of its figure-eight orbit, and begin to move around the
second sun.
"What should we look for?"
"An enormous station, over one hundred kilometers across. You won't
pick it up on laser or visual, but if you send someone out you will see
it clear enough."
"What is its function?"
"We don't know, and we are not about to go in and find out. But its
location is suspicious. That is all I can say."
".....okay. Thank you, Vladimir."
"Good luck, Nicholai. I think that you will need it." The screen went
blank.
"Leon. go down to the lower communication room and signal all bases. I
want everyone off---everyone. These domes won't hold forever. I'm
going to try and reach Percy."
Without further speech his son was gone. He leaned over the railing
and tried, and after twenty minutes finally succeeded, in reaching the
racing ship.
The planet had been evacuated. The heads of the geological and mining
crews, along with military, scientific and governmental heads from the
three colonies, were huddled together in a briefing room aboard the
space station 'Lynx'. Dobrynin stood behind the podium and signaled
for quiet, wanting desperately to get started. If only he could get
his hands to work at something. He tapped the quiet buzzer impatiently.
"Gentlemen, please. We haven't much time." Those still standing were
seated, and the last rustle of voices died away. All eyes went forward.
"I'm sure I don't have to tell you the spot we're in," he began. "You
all know that ML One is in trouble. What you don't know is why. I
have just learned myself, and it is hard to believe. But it's true.
The orbit of Marcum-Lauries is being tampered with from outside. The
problem is man-made."
Expressions of shock and disbelief. TIMID FOOLS, thought Dobrynin,
THAT IS ALL FOR THE GOOD. THAT WE CAN DO SOMETHING ABOUT. But there
were others who said nothing: the miners, the workers. They, too,
only wanted to know what could be done.
He dimmed the lights and switched a graphic onto the wall-screen behind
him: a binary system, the elliptical figure-eight of the planet's
orbit encircling two nearly identical suns. He pointed to the lower
right junction of the crossover point.
"Here is where she lies now. Every 304.62 earth years, she completes
her orbit around the first sun, in this case Lauries, and passing the
equilibrium point between the two, begins to circle the second in the
opposite direction. There is a period of instability as she lies
between the pull of both; but nothing like this. Then slowly the pull
of the first sun grows less, she engages her second orbit, and
geological activity becomes more stable. All quite simple. There are
several examples of it just in the part of the galaxy we know."
"So how can a man change it?" came a voice.
"One man can't, obviously. But many men, with much planning and
outside help, can and have."
He expanded the graphic, receding the orbit and two suns to a lower
corner. Then tracing with the pointer a straight line away from the
planet's trajectory, he projected near the center of the screen a
miniature (but still too large for scale) image of the enemy station
that Percy had photographed in ultraviolet and sent back to them. This
he enlarged, until it filled all the screen.
Again expressions of dismay, and this time few kept silent. Its
already ominous outline distorted by the ultraviolet, it looked like
the huge, black and irregular hull of an ancient aircraft carrier, with
something like an enormous radar dish mounted securely to the
corrugated deck. As he rotated the image its high, central tower was
pointed directly at them.
"This is the cause of our troubles." He resolved the image with the
remote, turned it once more to show three similar but lesser tower
structures spread across the bottom, an irregular tripod.
"The concept of a gravity or 'tractor' beam is nothing new. It has
usually been used from ship to ship, or from static base to ship. Its
principals to date have either been magnetic, the creation of
artificial gravity, or kinetic, scrambling an object's own momentum to
bring it down. What we have here is the first case, a gravity beam,
though on a scale, and utilizing principles that are altogether new.
The towers at the bottom of the structure are pointed at neighboring
bodies, and serve only to hold the station in place. The central
tower, the one doing all the damage, is pointed directly at
Marcum-Lauries. That is why she won't engage her second orbit. That's
why internal pressures are ready to blow her apart. She is being
pulled by three sources at once, as well as by the thrust of her own
rotation..... We have eighty-six hours at the most."
He re-lighted the room, and for a time there was silence. Then as the
shock wore off, the questions began to come. He answered them with
growing impatience.
"I don't know how it is possible, vice-minister, but it is..... The
Soviets confirm our theories..... Where would they get the money and
technology? Where do you think? No we cannot be sure. But if it
isn't the German States then I don't know anything. No, the
Commonwealth won't help us; why should they? The Soviets are powerless
to intervene."
"But if the Commonwealth knew what the Cantons were doing---"
"They would applaud it. They are in the midst of a right wing
resurgence themselves. And the propaganda sent out against us has been
most convincing."
"They say we kill our babies," came a grim voice near the front.
"We let the seriously handicapped and terminal disorder cases die of
their own affliction. It is an act of mercy." A doctor.
"I know that as well as you," said Dobrynin. "But to them we kill our
babies, just as we are atheists who believe in nothing, because we
discourage religious extremes. That is all meaningless now. They will
think what they will. We have no time to change their minds."
"We are overlooking the obvious," said a general, standing. "What
about military action, an attack on the base? Our forces beat them
back from Khrushchev well enough."
This time another answered, Ambassador Salnikov, who had just entered.
"You beat them back because you knew they were coming weeks in advance,
and because they did not send their full strength against you. Indeed,
it could only have been a diversion, meant to give you false
confidence. Do not think you will find the station lightly guarded,
General Kopek. THEY (there was something peculiar in the way he said
the word) play this game to win."
"What does an ambassador know of war?" retorted Kopek angrily.
"Much more than I care to. Put away your guns and your anger, general.
They will not help you here." The old man sat down with a snort.
There was a long, defeated silence. Finally one man, a co-worker and
friend, raised his hand.
"Yes, Lebedev."
"What can we do to fight this thing?"
Dobrynin felt the small spark inside him that he knew to be hope.
"Well I am glad someone asked. We are not beaten yet. Stein, you are
chief scientist here. What flaws do you see in the Canton scheme?"
The tall man rose, bowed his head self-consciously. "Well, governor.
As we discussed before, I see two problems for the station. First, if
the tripod is indeed used as an anchor---and this seems likely---and if
the gravity beam is as strong as it must be to do this thing, then the
pull on the station itself must be tremendous. Doubtless it is well
constructed, of the hardest alloys and banding fields, for this
purpose. . .and there may be other forms of cohesion as well. But even
so, I would have to say it cannot maintain that kind of stress for
long. We are given eighty-six hours---though I must tell you that is
only an estimate, it could happen much sooner. The Cantons must also
know this. I do not think they have much longer."
"And the second?"
"The second flaw is what puzzles me, and I think that herein lies our
hope. Any gravity beam, no matter how refined, can be at least
partially disrupted by passing another object between the sending unit
and the target. This particular beam, in order to travel such a
distance and affect such a large, dense mass, is extraordinarily well
honed. The solar flares of Marcum and Lauries have been only mildly
affected. So. If we were able to pass a large mass, say an asteroid
or small moon, between the planet and the station..... During the time
of disruption, should it be successful, we would not only give the
planet time to engage her second orbit, but also send a huge projectile
plummeting directly at them. I'm sure they are prepared for this to
some degree. But a very large, solid object would be quite difficult
to destroy or turn aside. They would have no choice but to shut down
completely, and very soon afterward at that. Unfortunately, as we
discussed, there are no asteroids or other large objects, of sufficient
size, close enough at hand to be moved into position in time. Still,
something of this nature seems our only real chance."
"Thank you, Thomas."
"Then what can---what will we do?" asked many voices at once.
Dobrynin stood calm, until the murmur died away.
"We will make our own asteroid."
Silence.
"May I remind you, Governor, that you do not have the authority to
exercise such a plan without the consent of the Council?" This last
remark came from Franz Pecci, a slight, high-ranking member of the
Leadership Council whom he had never liked.
"And may I remind you, Mr. Pecci, that as governor-general of the
planet I have final say on any decision which affects mining and
excavation. My jurisdiction is quite clear. And if you have a better
plan, I would very much like to hear it."
"We could negotiate. It seems clear that the Cantons don't want to
destroy us, only exact for themselves some future profit. We have not
even tried---" Dobrynin was about to answer hotly, when Vladimir
Salnikov lifted his hand and strode to the front of the room. He stood
beside the speaker.
"Governor Dobrynin's plan has the backing of my government. I have
spoken with them and they will stand behind it. And someday, Mr.
Pecci, I would very much like to know how you can be so sure what it is
the Cantons want." At this the man was silent.
"What say you, Vice-Minister? Has this plan your consent?"
The vice-minister rose. "Well. I am sure the Minister will want to
know all the details, and I am sure he will question the risk. But for
myself, you have my approval. And I think when the Minister is briefed
in full, he will agree that we have little choice."
"Thank you, Peter," said Dobrynin. "I will see that he is given a full
report, and that he is kept informed throughout." He turned back to
the others. "Now, gentlemen, if you will excuse me. My engineers and
I have much work to do. Doctor Stein, we could use your help as well."
With that Dobrynin left the room, followed by five others. Salnikov
watched them go, then lowered his head, and returned to his ship.
The charges had been laid. Two hundred kilometers beneath the surface,
six old-style nuclear explosives had been set in a flat, star-shaped
pattern---this, in the heart of a solidified iron and nickel flow one
hundred and sixty kilometers across, rising directly from the planet's
core. Ironically, the massive upheaval which caused it had occurred
many thousand years before, during yet another violent passage of the
planet's equilibrium point. If such a bullet could be launched at the
station, it would indeed be hard to knock down, though the full effect
on the planet itself could hardly be calculated. Between the force of
the blast and the current instability, almost anything was possible.
Dobrynin had no illusions about serious mining for at least a
year---that things could ever again be the way they were before. But
it had to be tried.
It has gone well enough so far, he thought. Five dead and seventeen
wounded, but still, well enough. This is the hard part now. I don't
mind dying, if I have to. But I don't want to.
MAYBE YOU WON'T DIE, said a voice. Yes, and maybe I will. I hope that
my son understands. I hope he sees that I have no choice. BUT YOU
HAVE A CHOICE. Do I? If there is a choice then I don't see it. Not
without surrendering all that we have worked for. No. I cannot go
back.
His son entered the room, followed by Stein and Alexander Dimitriev,
his chief engineer. At his gesture they were seated at the table
across from him.
"Thomas, Alexander. Now we are come to the hard part: how to detonate
safely and accurately. As you know, in this, timing is everything.
Everything. If we miss by only a few seconds, we doom the planet to
extinction."
"Is it true that you intend to remain behind?" said Dimitriev, "and
detonate the bombs yourself, from no greater distance than a thousand
kilometers?"
"Father!" YOU MUST UNDERSTAND, LEON.
"Before I say yes or no, let us look at the alternatives. That is why
you are here. I must know that you stand behind me."
"We could blow them by radio control." His son.
"No. With the static storms this heavy and unpredictable, they could
detonate too soon, or not at all."
"What about a laser-triggered mechanism above ground?" asked Dimitriev.
"A fast moving ship could activate it, then be gone." Dobrynin opened
his hand toward Stein.
"I'm afraid that's not possible," he conceded. "To avoid cloud cover
and volcanic discharge the ship would have to fly very high. And the
way the upper atmosphere refracts light, even laser is not a sure
thing. And also, there is the problem of the gravity beam itself,
distorting the path of the ship."
Dimitriev turned away.
"Alexander, Leon. Listen to me. There is only one other chance that I
see, and it is not a good one. We could build the laser-trigger upon a
high tower, allowing me to activate it from the ground at a greater
distance. But I am not sure we could construct such a tower in time.
And also, it would cost more lives." He looked at his son. "Or I
could detonate the bombs myself, safely and surely, by cable from
Leopold Station. I wish there was another way."
"But why does it have to be you? You are needed---" His son broke off.
"Who would you have me send instead? I am most qualified, except
perhaps for Stein. And this....." He spoke now with difficulty.
"This is my home. It is everything I have worked for. If it is lost
then I. . .I would not want to live. We have left the mainstream. I
do not want to go back." The room was still, and no one spoke.
Finally Dimitriev rose and came toward him. He offered him his hand,
and Dobrynin took it in both of his own.
"Good hunting, Nicholai. I am with you." He turned and left the room.
Stein rose also.
"I will have an approximate time, and prep the computer, at Leopold
before I go..... I think that it is possible."
"Thank you, Thomas."
The scientist bowed his head and was gone. For a moment father and son
stood looking down, and neither spoke.
"Why couldn't I do it in your place?"
"You have not the skill..... Your mother needs you."
"And not you? Will you leave her alone?"
"She has always been alone. Forgive me."
"Father." He was crying now, ashamed.
"Please, Leon." His throat was thick. "You must be strong now. I
need you to be strong..... There is a chance I will not die." His son
left the room.
Leopold Station. He sat with the button in front of him, on a console
shelf amidst computers. He studied its scopes and readouts carefully:
eight minutes.
He was glad that it was far away. It did not seem real. Almost---he
was thinking in Russian now---he was not afraid. Perhaps he could
reach the tube and down into the shelter in time. If that would help.
I MUST CONCENTRATE. He breathed deeply, and watched the counter tick
away his life. Seven minutes. Six.
He heard a sound behind him. At that moment the image on one of the
screens shifted slightly.
"Turn around Dobrynin."
He whirled, startled, then returned quickly to the console, made the
necessary adjustments. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Putting an end to your brave little noise." Dobrynin said nothing.
"This gun fires nerve pellets as well as the other, Nicholai. I can
paralyze you without killing you." Pecci's voice was calm, but there
was fear beneath it.
"And I can press this button and kill us both. And if I die, how will
you survive? Doctor Stein says the planet will not last another hour;
do you not feel the quakes? You will perish along with it." As he
spoke he watched and moved his hands across the console, all the while
fighting the bitter urge to detonate now: too soon.
"You lie."
"No, Franz, in this I speak the truth. Your only chance is to get down
to the shelter, now, and I will forget what has passed between us."
Pecci said nothing. Dobrynin knew that he must buy more time.
"It doesn't matter, does it?"
"What?" He could feel the tension of the smaller man's mind.
"It doesn't matter that since I am twenty-five I have made no serious
mistake, that myself and many beside me have worked hard for thirty
years to make this place our home. It does not matter that we have
broken from the current. Still, we are dependent on others. We are
like the stalagmite, which must be fed from above. If anything comes
between us and the source, we are cut off. We cannot grow. And any
puny, so-called man with a putrid hammer, can come and chisel away at
our roots!" He could not contain his anger.
"I could kill you now!" cried Pecci. He raised the gun and would have
shot, but at that moment Dobrynin put a hand to his ear. A faint
voice, mingled with crackling static, had come suddenly into his almost
forgotten ear-piece.
"Governor, can. . .hear me?" It was Stein.
"Yes, Thomas. Try to speak louder. What is it?"
".....just received. . .information on the beam. We. . .incorrect by.
. . minutes."
"How many minutes?"
"Four. Must be sooner. Thirty seconds. . .now."
"Thirty seconds!" he cried. And regretted it as soon as the words had
left his mouth. He quickly punched twenty-five into the counter,
forgetting all other instruments.
"Yes....." Then no more was heard.
"Turn around, Dobrynin!"
"Go muck yourself!" he growled. If he was going to die, then let it be
like Trotsky.
14. 13. 12.
Pecci shot him in the back and killed him.
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