Exposing gross matter to universal space where gross matter cannot
exceed the velocity of light.
The mass of the exposed nose increased without limit; the velocity
of the nose was smashed back below the speed of light; excess energy
poured forth in raw radiation; the intolerable mass curled universal
space around it and radiant energy circled the curl.
The artificial space warp--still enclosing the ship that travelled a
hundred times the speed of light in subspace--folded over the slowed
nose of the ship, buckled, and burst like a soap bubble. The rest of
the ship rammed into the curled space and added its mass-energy to the
vortex.
A burst of energy flared forth, hit the planes held by barrier ships,
flattened against impenetrable planes of force, and hurled the barrier
ships back. Their drivers fought, straining to contain the exploding
gout of twisted space. Around the edges of the planes seared tongues
and sheets of energy.
Steve fanned his cone wide, and he had no time to watch the rest of the
swampers dart back and forth to suck away the long reaching tongues.
The warp exploded, hurling bits of its own tangled space invisibly,
to emerge as isolated bursts that raved and grew as the twisted space
strove to smooth itself out. Nullers darted back and forth, hurling
spherical bombs of energy that nullified the growing flames, and the
barriers crept forward once more, containing the main vortex.
Steve joined the maelstrom of Guardians that circled and looped through
space to kill off the spread of vortexes; he saw Halligan's ship race
past his nose and watched a streamer of flame reach out and lick the
flank of Halligan's swamper. The skin curled off and fed the flame; air
from the ship fanned it out and gave it direction.
Halligan limped away as Hagen swept his cone over the tongue, killing
it.
He looked around for more, but saw that the most of the job was done.
It had come suddenly; one moment the sky was filled with flowing globes
of intolerable brightness and darting ships; then the islands of energy
died--apparently in the length of time it had taken Steve to wipe out
the tongue that licked at Halligan.
The Fleet circled--watching.
* * * * *
The barriers had enclosed the main warp in a faceted enclosure, their
barrier planes intersecting to make a complete prison. Then, in
through the surface of the volume went nullifier bombs; once more space
exploded as the main vortex was broken. Then it was dash, blot-out, and
circle; dart, dodge, and wipe away tongue and finger of flame again
until the last scintillating trace of vortex was gone.
Steve wiped his face.
"Halligan!"
"Check, Cap'n."
"Y'all right?"
"Shook up but alive."
"Can y' make it back?"
"I'll be late but I can make it."
"Hagen!"
"Yes sir?" said Steve.
"You follow Halligan for safety."
"Cap'n, maybe I'd better have Norman," came Halligan's voice.
"Hurt worse than you admit, huh? Okay, Norman, you heard him. Hagen,
this is no slur; you'll have your chance when you have more savvy."
"I'm aware of my inexperience," said Hagen.
"We'll let you get experience enough; stay with the wipe-up squad."
"Check."
Hagen felt a bit miffed, but he knew that he should not be hurt. This
was his first alarm, his first job in the Guardians. Halligan had every
reason to prefer a more seasoned man to a raw recruit when his life
depended upon it.
Then, automatically, Hagen felt better. He was, at least, appointed
to help the clean-up squad. They would patrol this space at random,
watching for a trace of flaming vortex. If none appeared for two hours,
they would watch for a total of six to be certain before going home.
Minute vortexes, space warped into a complete circle with a flow of
radiant energy coursing around in them, might maintain for some time
invisibly, feeding and growing by their contact with the discrete atoms
of interstellar space, attracted by the monstrous force of gravity
centered on the vortex. If left unswamped, they might grow into a real
menace to navigation.
But the barriers would blanket space, and the swampers would be ready
to wipe out any vortex broken against the plane of force. Then, their
job done, they could go home for a well-earned rest.
Hagen watched the squadron re-form, watched waiting rescue craft
collect from the distant flights, then watched them disappear, heading
back the way they all had come. He felt a bit of panic; he felt alone
in the depths of interstellar space in a unique spacecraft that was
sixty percent accumulator, fifteen percent driver, and fifteen percent
swamper-beam. The other zero-percent was put there for his comfort and
protection. He was one hundred and sixty pounds of analog computer,
employed to serve a monstrosity of spacecraft built for a single
purpose. He was there only because no man could cram enough binary
circuits and analog differentials to equal one thousandth of the human
brain into one hundred and sixty pounds and a few cubic feet.
But Steve Hagen was a Guardian!
2
Steve's return with the clean-up squad was made without mishap. It had
been lonely work, for the half-dozen vortex-fighters swept the skies
singly, roaming back and forth along the millions of miles across
which the explosion had taken place. Sometimes they dropped into the
realm below the speed of light to wipe out a bit of wispy cloud that
looked as though it might be trouble brewing in the more firm structure
of universal space. But mostly they raced back and forth at speeds
that multiplied the velocity of light by many times. Nothing they
saw reacted with their damping beams; nothing splashed against the
nullifying bombs--and then, these, too, had to be destroyed lest they
start a counter-vortex of their own.
Steve had been too busy during the mop-up operations to pay attention
to his own feelings. On the way home he had taken time to think,
and then came that first recoiling in abject fear. Utter emptiness,
absolute nothing, sheer black space closed down upon him with an
inherent fear as strong as the inherent fear of falling. Man had a
million of years of evolution on earth, with a constant of one gravity
pulling him down onto something that his senses told him was flat, hard
substantial, and everlasting. Of all that man could count upon, the
earth was the one thing that he could consider unchanging.
But here in space, with no solid planet below him to rest upon, to
succor him and give him strength, Steve felt the abject panic of
helplessness. The mighty power leashed in the room behind him was
invisible; the surging drivers that hurled him along at a thousand
times the speed of light operated without a murmur, a tick, or a sign
of their positive power. The warp generator that folded space around
him to create his own subspace, a feat of gravitic energy that not even
Sol himself could perform, gave him no comfort.
So Steve fought panic and was glad to see the first sight of Base
One. He landed in his allotted space, climbed down out of his swamper
shakily, and walked off the spaceport slowly, hoping that Lois
Morehouse would be there. She was--standing at the edge of the landing
area; she waved to him and Steve changed his course to go towards her.
Lois was a good-looking girl of about twenty-three, a bit too
healthy-looking to suit the present standard of fragile beauty. She
glowed with health, could send a sizzling backhand, sink an iron shot,
or ride water-skis with the best of them. She was the daughter of
Commissioner Morehouse, the nominal top-brass of the Guardians, and
as such was the eye of every single man in the squadron. Just why, in
three or four days, Lois had found a raw rookie interesting had never
occurred to Steve to question.
For while Hagen had formally and legally renounced his stepfather and
his stepfather's business and way of life, Steve could not renounce the
upbringing his stepfather had given him. Steve had none of the truly,
apologetically, deferential bearing of the average rookie, who usually
came of families of average means and worked his way up. Hagen had
attended the finest schools, had gone to the best college, had played
football and been sought-after by three leading fraternities. None
of this had made him a snob; it was just that he saw nothing odd or
upsetting about the fact that an attractive girl found him interesting.
Had he been brought up according to his present financial, emotional,
and social status, Steve would have been inclined to retire and leave
the pursuit of Lois Morehouse to men who had experience and position.
* * * * *
He did not realize it himself, but Steve Hagen was trained to be the
kind of man who felt no shyness at walking into the office of the Big
Brass and sitting down to tell him what he thought. So he saw nothing
odd about walking over to Lois Morehouse and smiling affably.
"How was it?" she asked him.
"Rough," he said. "Shucks, Lois, I wouldn't know whether it was rough
or whether it was a milk run; this is the first I'd ever seen."
"How was the trip back?"
Steve laughed nervously. "I was never so glad to see solid planet
before in my life."
"You sound as though this were your first space run."
"If it had been, I'd be a screaming imbecile by now. Luckily, I've been
in space a lot; it's just that this was the first time I've made it in
a little over-powered can, completely alone. Brrrrr."
Lois smiled at him. "What happened on your first practise drill?" she
asked.
"We didn't go as far."
"But--"
"Well, I'd had that experience softened, too."