"Wha-at? You dared to keep me off duty that long? I must report for
duty at once."
"Please, sir. No excitement. You must rest. Just a moment and I'll
call Dr. Green." With that the medic turned and fled.
As Dr. Green approached, Steve Elbertson was already on his feet,
swaying dizzily, white as a sheet, but perhaps the latter was more
from anger than from anything else.
"Major Elbertson. You received a severe dose of radiation. You are
under my personal supervision and will return to bed at once."
"Is the flare over?" Elbertson asked the question, although already
vaguely aware that the ship was again spinning, that he was standing
on the floor fairly firmly, and that, therefore, the emergency must be
over.
"Yes."
"In that case, sir, my duty is to my post on Hot Rod."
"Hot Rod's out of commission and so are you. I cannot be responsible
for the consequences if you do not follow my orders."
"Explain that, please. About Hot Rod, I mean."
"Why, it was struck by a meteor shortly after the flare last night. I
think I heard someone say that it burned out Thule Base before they
managed to turn it off."
Without waiting for more, Elbertson brushed past the doctor and headed
for the bridge.
The captain was startled by the mad-looking, unshaven scarecrow of an
officer that approached him, demanding in a near-scream, "What
happened? What have you done? What did you DO to Project Hot Rod? No
one should have tampered with it without my direct order! Captain, if
that mechanism has been ruined, I'll have them nail your hide to the
door!"
"Major!" The captain stood. "This may be a civilian post, but you are
still an officer and I am your superior. Return to your quarters and
clean up. Then report to me properly!"
For a moment there was seething rebellion on Elbertson's already wild
features. Then, automatonlike, he turned and walked stiffly away
without saluting.
But the stiffness left him as he passed through the door. Momentarily
he sagged against a wall for support, far weaker than he thought
possible for a man of his youth and what he thought of as his
condition. Making his way almost blindly to Security's quarters in
rim-section B-5, he staggered through the door and on towards the
latrine, shouting at Chauvenseer to "Get out of that sack and give me
a detailed report on events since the flare. Oh, and send somebody for
coffee--lots of coffee."
* * * * *
On the bridge the captain flipped the intercom to Dr. Green's station.
"Is Major Elbertson under the influence of any unusual drugs, doctor?"
he asked when he'd reached the medical staff chief. "Anything that
might make his behavior erratic?"
"Only sedatives, captain. And, oh yes, those new sulph-hydral
anti-radiation shots. We're not too familiar with what they do, though
the reports indicate the worst effect is a mild anoxemia, which
generally results in something of a headache. Of course, that's if the
quantity of the drug was precisely calibrated. They can be fatal," he
added as an afterthought.
"Would anoxemia cause a change in character, doctor?"
"It might. It might make one behave either stupidly or
irrationally--temporarily or permanently, depending on the severity of
the effect."
"Did Major Elbertson seem normal to you when you discharged him from
hospital?"
"I did not discharge him, captain. I ordered him to remain under my
care. But he seemed greatly upset, and short of force I could not have
kept him from leaving."
"I see." The captain paused, then asked: "Doctor, please consider
carefully. Would you consider Major Elbertson's condition serious
enough to warrant confining him to bed by force?"
"Probably not. He should come out of it in a few hours. Exercise may
possibly be good for him, though I doubt if he's capable of much of
it." The doctor chuckled as though at a private joke with himself,
then added, "He's really quite weak physically, you know, even without
the after effects of radiation and drugs."
"Thank you, doctor."
* * * * *
Back in his quarters, Elbertson was refusing to admit to himself the
fact of his own weakness. He had been quite ill in the shower, had
managed to slash himself rather badly with the razor while shaving,
but was now smartly attired in a clean pair of the regulation
coveralls, with the insignia of his rank properly in place--and so
weak he could hardly move.
The coffee hadn't helped much.
The briefing had helped even less. The major knew himself guilty of
negligence while on duty. Inadvertently, but as though by his very
hand, certainly through the agency of some saboteur he had failed to
spot, his weapon had been turned on his own troops at Thule, key post
in the plan.
It was possible that the entire plan had been sabotaged, though that
seemed quite unlikely. Its ramifications were too great. So long as
Hot Rod still existed, was still within their reach, the plan was
operational.
The nonsense about a magneto-ionic effect he discarded without
hesitation. Obviously it was sabotage, possibly by someone with a plan
of his own, more probably by someone in the pay of one of the big
power companies that would like to see the operation at least
postponed. Obviously--he gave up.
Nothing would be obvious until he knew in exact detail what had
occurred, what the plans of the enemy would be, where next they would
strike--and who was the enemy.
But that last, at least, was almost obvious. Who else, but the man who
had carried the political battle, against all odds, that Hot Rod be
created? Who else but Captain Naylor Andersen could possibly have
delivered this sneaking, underhanded attack against himself and his
comrades?
Who else, he thought, but a man so callous as to order _him_, sick as
he was, as though he were a mere cadet, to leave the bridge.
Major Elbertson's mind was made up as to the identity of the enemy.
But he would have to proceed with care, or he would key the plan
before the time was ripe. There must be no great shake-up in
personnel, or undue attention from Earth to the potentials of Project
Hot Rod.
Perhaps the saboteur's cover-story of a magneto-ionic effect would
serve his ends as well--at least until his comrades on Earth signaled
that the time was ripe.
Yet now that Hot Rod had proved its power, the time was ripe. It was
that proof on which the plan had waited. And perhaps this very
sabotage would prove to be the "incident" on which the plan hinged....
Even as he fought to clear his normally organized mind of the
weariness of his body that now sapped at its strength, the call came.
Chauvenseer appeared at his side, saluting smartly. "Com Officer
Clark, sir, reports a message from Earth. _The_ message, sir. 'Begin
Operation Ripe Peach.'"
Major Elbertson pulled himself to a military stance, returning his
aide's salute with complete precision.
Briefly he considered gathering all his men, all the Security
personnel, and storming the bridge.
No, obviously the enemy was organized--an unforeseen circumstance.
Obviously the captain was not alone. Obviously _his_ men included at
least some of these slipstick boys--and he would command the loyalty
of them all, since he was somewhat of their ilk himself.
No, an officer must seek the most advantageous position from which to
deliver his ultimatum.
He must use Hot Rod itself to control them. If Hot Rod itself were
actually sabotaged, then the plan must wait until he could have it
repaired. He doubted it was hurt.
The flare had thrown off all original sequences--but perhaps that was
to his advantage.
To Chauvenseer he snapped: "This is the detail of our immediate
operation. Get four of our best men besides yourself. Have each of
them come separately and unobtrusively to the south polar lock, where
I will meet them. I will bring Smith with me.
"Have each of the others take his assigned post for Operation Ripe
Peach--but order them to take no action other than to prevent anyone
on board from doing anything unusual that might be an enemy
operation--until I alert them that Operation Ripe Peach is
operational.
"Their orders will, of course, come on our personal radios, Security
Band 2Z21.
"Execute!" he ended, saluting smartly.
* * * * *
As the Security squad moved, with individual secrecy, towards their
various posts, Captain Andersen was considering that Elbertson would
probably snap out of it as soon as he had had coffee and a shave. The
man had probably been severely affected by the drugs he had been
given. He would make no further reference to the incident of erratic
behavior, unless it continued.
[Illustration]
Bessie, having at the moment nothing else to do, was busily plying the
Sacred Cow not only for her own horoscope for the day, but also those
of the several persons of whom she was most fond, while carefully
keeping a shielding bunch of paper work in a place to make it appear
that she was officially busy. The captain's horoscope, she
recognized, didn't look much worse than the rest of them, but was
definitely the worst. One of those mathematical jumbles that somehow
didn't interpret clearly. None of them looked very good today.
Out on the rim, things were getting back to normal. The labs were
functioning again, most of them according to their assigned, routine
procedures; but in some, heads were drawn together over the absorbing
diagrams supplied by Mike and Ishie.
Mike and Ishie themselves had already put in twelve hours almost
without a break. Working under stress, neither of them had remembered
to eat.
There was a cough at the entrance to the machine shop, and Dr. Millie
Williams' soft voice said "May I come in?"
The two looked up as the slender figure of the dark-skinned biologist
entered the lab, balancing "trays" with plastic bottles atop.
"If I know you, Dr. Ishie; and you, too, Mike--you haven't eaten," she
said with a smile. "Now, have you?"
"Millie," said Mike, "you've just reminded me that I'm as hollow as a
deserted bee-stump after the bears get through with it!"
"Little Millie," said Ishie, looking up at the figure nearly as tiny
as his own, "you must be telepathic as well as beautiful. Confusion
say 'Gee, I'm hungry!'"
"I'm told that the fate of the satellite depends on you two," Millie
smiled. "I thought I'd just give our fate a little extra chance. Now
drop what you're doing and light into this.
"After that, if you've got a job for a mere biologist, I've got my lab
readied up where it can last till I get back and--I'm not bad with a
soldering iron. Meantime, why don't you let Paul and Tombu go eat
while you eat?"
"Good idea," said Mike. "You two. You heard the lady. We gotta give
our fate the benefit of victuals. Scat."
* * * * *
As soon as the physicist and the engineer were settled to the plastic
containers of food and coffee she had brought, wolfing them down
hungrily, Millie opened up.
"While we're alone, I'm going to speak my piece," she said. "You two
will do me the honor of not taking offense if I say that you have the
most brains and the least consciences aboard--and I happen to share
the latter characteristic."
The two looked up guiltily and waited.
"Now don't stop eating, for I'm not through talking," she said. "That
magneto-ionic effect canceler you dreamed up would probably cancel the
six hundred forty pound magneto-ionic effect pull you dreamed up--if
such a thing existed.
"What I want to know ... don't stop eating until you've decided
whether you're going to let me in on your game or not ... is what
really does exist? I might be of some help, you know."
"But--" Mike and Ishie simultaneously choked over their food, looked
at each other, and then Mike blurted out, "but how could _she_ know?"
"Don't worry," said Millie. "I'm probably the only one. It takes a
person with little conscience and much imagination--takes a thief to
catch a thief, I mean--yes, I think I mean that quite literally.
Besides, I can help with some of that glassware that disappeared out
of my supplies several days ago. Oh yes, I knew it was gone and where
it went--but I figured any purpose you had was a good one, Ishie.
"But for how I personally canceled the idea of your magneto-ionic
effect from the flare--it just happens that last night I was curious
while everybody was asleep. When Bessie first came on duty this
morning, I offered to relieve her while she had a cup of coffee, and I
got a half-hour all by myself with the Cow. The captain wasn't up yet.
Her console's so simple anyone with a basic knowledge of computers and
cybernetics could figure her out.
"Practically the first question I asked--something about our
orbit--the Cow told me that the information was top secret, and to get
it I must go to the proper channel and identify myself as Mike. I
started to intercom you, Mike, to tell you that your machinations were
showing, but Bessie came back about then. I hung around to see what
would happen, and pretty soon Bessie asked the Cow about the same
question--but instead of getting the same answer, the Cow told her
that an external magneto-ionic field was pulling us out of line.
"So I went up to your engineering place. I rather thought you'd like
to know what the Cow had told me--but Dr. Ishie was there, and so
instead I went about my own business until I could figure things out.
"Now I couldn't figure things out. But I could figure there's a monkey
wrench somewhere--and since the two of you have been sticking together
like Siamese twins, I know it will be perfectly all right to ask you
in front of Ishie.
"Now," she finished, "do I get my girlish curiosity satisfied? You
don't have to tell me. I'll just keep on being puzzled quietly and
without indicating the slightest magneto-ionic dubiousness, if you'd
rather. But I might be helpful; and I _would_ like to know."
"Confusion say," Ishie declared through the side of his mouth, "that
he who inadvertently puts big foot in mouth is apt to get teeth kicked
loose. We are very lucky, Mike, that it was Millie who asked the
question of the Cow at that time. Besides, we've got to tell somebody
sooner or later. We can't just run off by ourselves.
"Yes, Millie, I think you have a job," he said. "Your help here will
be appreciated, of course. But what we really need is a way of
bridging the gap between ourselves and the rest of the personnel
before it gets too wide. How's your P.R. these days?"
"That's something I learned in a hard school, public relations," she
answered nonchalantly. "De-segregation was just beginning when I was a
girl back in Georgia. But maybe I'd better know what the gap is."
* * * * *
The two began to talk, interrupting each other, incoherently
outlining the Confusor and the various forces it exerted, and
the--what Mike kept calling the inertial fish hook.
Finally Mike took over. "To put it simply," he said, "our pet didn't
do at all what we expected--it hooked in on inertia and it took us
off. A confusing little Confusor--but Millie--it's a space drive! A
real, honest-to-gosh space drive!"
Millie gulped. It was far, far more than she had expected. Perhaps
this was another form of disguise like the magneto-ionic....
"Are you sure?" Then she answered her own doubts. "Of course you're
telling the truth now. That's not something you two would play games
about." Then in awe--"You've really got it!"
"But why, then," she said, uncomprehending, "are you hiding it?" But
before they could answer, she answered her own question again. "You'd
have to. Of course. Otherwise it'll be strangled in red tape.
Otherwise nobody'll let you work on it any more, except as head of a
research team stuck off somewhere. Otherwise, Budget Control would
take it over and make a fifteen-year project out of it--and the two of
you will probably have it in practical operation...."
She looked at the molds and wiring taking form all across the machine
shop.
"Oh, no! You'll have it in operation--soon!"
"Yes, soon--and we hope soon enough." Ishie sighed, then grinned
impudently. "There is," he said, "the little matter of the fact
that--in all innocence but nevertheless quite actually--we wiped out
Thule Base.
"If we don't get the big Confusor in operation very soon, it may be
that we shall spend a good deal of time in Earth's courts proving our
innocence while someone else botches most thoroughly the job of
creating a Confusor that could take us to the stars. And that," he
added mournfully, "neither of us would enjoy. We might not even be
able to prove our innocence, for there would be many very anxious to
prove us sufficiently guilty to keep us out of the way for many years.
"So you see," he said, "you have a very real P.R. problem. Our
assistants here could work better if they knew what they were doing.
The people aboard the wheel would be most excited by a space drive,
and would give us every aid.
"But what the law says, it says--and the captain would have no choice
but to put us in irons if he heard, though I think our captain is such
that he would not want to do it.
"We must tell everyone what we have, for where the wheel takes us,
they will go. But we can't tell them, for if we tell anyone, it will
get back to Earth--and we murdered Thule, according to the law of
Earth.
"It is a very neat problem," he said.
* * * * *
Major Steve Elbertson arrived first at Project Hot Rod, and trailing
behind him on their scuttlebugs, the other six men.
As he slipped through the lock and out of his spacesuit, he reached
down the neck of his coveralls and carefully extracted the Security
key in its flat, plastiskin packet, from between his shoulder blades.
At least the villainous captain had not gotten his hands on this, he
thought, and whatever damage had been done to Hot Rod probably could
be quickly repaired.
He had heard of the hunt for the key, and been silently amused, though
he had volunteered no information to his briefing officer,
Chauvenseer.
Stepping forward as briskly as a sick rag doll, he fitted the key into
the Security lock and snapped open the bar that prevented Hot Rod's
use.
As the others entered, he turned to them. Supporting himself against
the edge of the console and managing to look perfectly erect and
capable despite his weakness, he said: "I have instructed each of you
to learn as much as you could of the operation of this device. It is
now necessary that the civilian scientists," he pronounced the
"civilian" as though it were a dirty word, "be relieved of their rule
over this weapon, and that the military take its proper place, as the
masters of the situation. I trust each of you has learned his lessons
carefully, because it is now too late for mistakes--although we have
with us assistance far superior to that of the civilians.
"Gentlemen," he said, and his voice took on power as he talked, "it is
a pleasure to re-introduce to you a companion whom you have known as
Lathe Smith.
"This, gentlemen," he said formally, gesturing one of the men forward,
"is the Herr Doktor Heinrich Schmidt, of whom you would have heard
were you familiar with the more erudite of the developments of space
physics.
"Dr. Schmidt," he added, "it is a pleasure to be able to again accord
you the courtesies and respect that are your due.
"Now for myself," he continued, "it may surprise you to know that I,
too, have a somewhat more advanced rank than you have suspected."
Deliberately he unpinned the major's insignia that he wore, and
brought out a sealed packet, opened it, and pinned on four stars.
"Gentlemen," he finished, "may I introduce myself? General Steve
Elbertson, commanding officer of all space forces of the United
Nations Security Forces.
"Now," he said briskly to his astounded men, his voice crackling with
authority, "take stations.
"Dr. Schmidt will key in the number one laser bank only. You will
select as your target area that area through which the passenger
spokes of the wheel pass. These will each in turn be your targets if
it becomes necessary to fire.
"Dr. Schmidt has advised me that, should it become necessary to fire
on the hub, the resultant explosion of the shielding water will wreck
the big wheel.
"If we should miss and hit the rim, the resultant explosion would
inevitably wreck both the big wheel and Project Hot Rod.
"Therefore, gentlemen, I caution the most accurate possible aim.
"And Dr. Schmidt, will you connect the storage power supply you have
readied, please?"
Quickly then, he slid into the communications officer's seat, as the
Security officers assumed each of the four major posts of the project,
while Chauvenseer took up a stance at his general's right hand, ready
to respond as directed.
* * * * *
On the bridge, Captain Nails had been annoyed. Too many queries from
people who really didn't have authority over his satellite. Too many
directives and counter-directives were flooding at him from various
officials on Earth.
Some one down there even had the temerity to suggest that Security
take over--not officially, just sort of take over.
If that didn't take the cake, he thought. Trying to put that crumb
Security officer into command, _real_ command, of a scientist? Over
HIS people? Never!
And just because somebody had a wild idea about sabotage--after all,
the whole thing must be some sort of effect or accident. Why couldn't
they leave people alone long enough to find out what was really going
on?
And where was Elbertson, anyhow? The man had had plenty of time to
freshen up. Possibly he had caved in some place. The medic had said he
was sick. But even so, I'd best check, he thought.
Reaching for the intercom switch that would give him a private line to
Security quarters in the rim, his gaze happened to fall on the panel
that still displayed Hot Rod on its taut cable--
--And seven figures riding the end of the cable to the air lock.
Elbertson, of course, he thought furiously. And taking his men out
when the proton level was still too high to go beyond the rim
shielding....
Then the captain stopped in mid-thought. This was no idle act of a man
feeling the effects of drugs.
He switched the intercom quickly to the Hot Rod crew's quarters on the
rim. "Dr. Koblensky!" he almost shouted into the mike.
"Just a minute, sir," came the answer, and seconds that seemed like
eternities passed before the doctor's calm voice answered, "Dr.
Koblensky speaking."
"Did you know that seven men were going out to Hot Rod?"
"Of course not. They mustn't...."
The captain switched off and changed to the intercom for the machine
shop. "Dr. Ishie. Mr. Blackhawk. To the bridge on the double. _Fast_,"
he said.
It might not be the saboteur, he thought, but the chances looked
grimly real that Earth was right--that the whole thing was sabotage,
and those were the seven saboteurs. While he waited, he checked the
Security quarters for Elbertson. The major was not there, nor was he
in the hospital.
Elbertson, he thought. I've been blind.
He decreased the magnification of Hot Rod so that the entire project
showed.
Mike arrived first, almost skidding to a stop at the captain's
console, Ishie right behind him.
"The saboteur--seven men that I believe to be saboteurs--are aboard
Hot Rod," the captain told him crisply. "Can they activate it?"
"Captain, there's no saboteur...." Mike began, but the captain
interrupted.
"Gentlemen, I'm not asking you to be the judge of that. If they are
saboteurs, is there any way that they can activate Hot Rod?"
"Oh, they could have storage batteries aboard, I suppose." Mike didn't
even pretend to be excited.
"Then we will assume they have, Mr. Blackhawk." The tone of the
captain's voice told Mike he'd better darned well believe in those
saboteurs or tell the captain the truth--and that quickly. "Now,
assuming Hot Rod can be activated, we will also assume that their
first aim will be to control the wheel. They would, therefore, aim at
the hub and issue an ultimatum."
"They might aim at a target on Earth, and issue an ultimatum to us."
Mike would play the game.
"No. We would refuse such an ultimatum. They would aim at us. Can you
prevent that?"
Mike thought hard. He'd better come up with an answer to that one,
saboteurs or no.
"If they shot through the hub, they'd hit our shielding water and
explode the hub-hull. That would wreck the wheel, and they'd need the
wheel. The only place they could safely shoot us would be the
passenger spokes, and that would take some pretty fine target
shooting--with only one laser bank. They could do it though," he said
thoughtfully.
"Assume, Mr. Blackhawk, that if they couldn't hit the passenger
spokes, they'd be willing to destroy the wheel in order to gain
control. Is there any way to prevent that?"
Mike stood completely silent for almost a minute. Then he grinned.
"Sure," he said. "If we turned the rim towards Hot Rod, they couldn't
fire into the rim without hitting that shielding--and that would
create an explosion, even from their smallest possible shot, that
would almost inevitably take Hod Rod with it. If we turn the lab so
that only the rim is towards Hot Rod, it's suicide to shoot us."
"You will swing the rim of the wheel into that alignment as rapidly as
it can possibly be done." The captain's voice practically lifted the
two men off the bridge, and they were on their way to the engineering
quarters with every appearance of the urgency they should have felt if
they had not known who--or rather what--was the real saboteur.
* * * * *
Then Mike heard Ishie's soft voice from behind him, slightly
breathless. "At that, you'd better swing the rim and swing her fast,
Mike. The captain sure 'nuff believes in his saboteurs, and it's just
possible they're real."
O.K., thought Mike, and really moving now he reached the engineering
quarters a good ten strides ahead of his companion.
As he entered the open bulkhead lock he saw a man that he recognized
as one of the Security personnel, and brushing on past him said, "If
you want to see me, come back later. I'm going to be very busy here
for a while."
Mike headed for the panel that controlled the air jets and other
devices that spun the wheel.
The Security man didn't hesitate. Seeing the ship's engineer about to
make important--and possibly subversive--adjustments, he drew his
needle gun and aimed it squarely at Mike's back. "Halt--in the name of
Security!" he barked.
Slowly Mike swung around, eying the man coldly, and began a question.
But there was no need. Dr. Chi Tung, having seen what was going on
through the lock before he entered, had held back just long enough for
the Security man to turn fully towards Mike. Now he launched himself
through the lock like a small but well-guided missile, and arriving on
the Security guard's back, had his gun-arm down and half broken before
the man knew what was happening. Had he been alone, it is possible
that the larger man might have won. But Mike had never been fond of
people who pulled guns on him, even if they were only sleepy guns.
Between the two of them, the Security guard was lucky not to lose his
life in the first two seconds of battle.
The conflict ended almost before it had begun, with a meaty slap of
Mike's fist connecting with the man's jaw, right below the ear. It
hadn't been a clean punch, Mike thought, but then he wasn't really
used to fighting in this gravity. Anyhow, the man was out.
And now came the question of what to do with him, but Mike left that
to Ish.
He turned back to the precession panel a bit more convinced that
perhaps the captain had been right--perhaps there were enemies aboard.
The precession controls, though operational, had not to date been
required. Carefully, Mike switched the sequence that would put them
into active condition but not operate. That was left to the Cow.
Turning to the vocoder panel, he directed the Cow to take over control
of the now active precession equipment; to use the sun as a referrant
for the axis of precession, and to move the pole ninety degrees in a
clockwise direction around that axis of precession.
Under these directions, the big wheel began to turn, not as it had
been turning, but sideways. The operation would take ten minutes, and
the axis of this new turn would be aligned directly on Sol by the
computer.
The Cow's help in such a maneuver was required, because the precession
could only be accomplished by switching valves between the tanks of
the rim in such a manner that water was switched north on one side of
the wheel, and south on the opposite side of the wheel, and the points
of this switching between the tanks must remain in a stable position
relative to the spin of the wheel. The valves that accomplished this,
seventy-two of them, were spaced at intervals of five degrees around
the rim, but only two out of the seventy-two could be active at any
time; and these must be selected by the computer's controls so that
always the precessive force was properly aligned to produce the
required precession.
When the precession was finished, the rim of the wheel would be
aligned, still with the sun, but also with Project Hot Rod which had
been to their south.
As a third thought, Mike switched off the Confuser.
Having set up the necessary factors, Mike turned back to the problem
of the Security guard, or saboteur, whichever he might be, but found
this problem had already been well taken care of. Not satisfied with
simply tying the man up, Ishie had bound him with wire to somewhat the
resemblance of an Egyptian mummy, and then for added good measure,
given him two sleepy shots with his own needle gun; put electrician
tape across his mouth; and taken from him everything he could possibly
use either as a method of communication or as a weapon.
At least, Mike thought, Ishie is a thorough workman when he sets his
mind to it.
Having parked the Security man in a nearby tool locker, with the
feeling that he would keep for a while there, Ishie turned back to
Mike with a grin.
"Confusion say those who play with firearms should be cautious! Mike,
this convinces me. I've heard snatches of what's going on on Earth,
and it looks like somebody is putting over a fast one down there.
Seems like maybe our own Security boys are part of it. They would be
the ones the captain saw going out to Hot Rod. And that means they've
got a purpose out there. Is good to know they can't shoot us now, at
least in a few minutes now, without getting themselves shot back. But
they can shoot at Earth. Any ideas?"
"Well ... I thought some time ago that there was a little fallacy
involved in that project when I saw how they hung the beam-director
way out in front on those little old balloon-poles. They've got 'em
bent, and if any one or two of 'em should happen to get punctured, the
other two would move the mirror complete out of the laser beam focus.
Then the only thing they could shoot would be the sun--and I don't
think it'd care.
"Ishie, you stay here just to keep the home fires burning and make
sure that nobody fiddles with anything we don't want 'em to. All of
the bulkheads leading into this section can be locked from the
inside--a feature I haven't seen fit to point out to other people who
really don't need to know."
* * * * *
Walking around the floor, Mike carefully secured the four bulkheads,
two leading back to the morgue; two leading forward to the north pole
end of the hub. And then, jumping catlike upward and grasping the
access ladder to the central axis tube, he carefully bolted that one,
too.
[Illustration]
Dropping back to the floor he stepped over to the intercom and
switched in Captain Nails' circuit.
"Mission accomplished, sir. And you were quite right. One of our
_Security_ servos is off balance. I'm attending to the matter."
"Thank you, Mr. Blackhawk." The captain's voice was calm, quite unlike
the voice he'd used to them on the bridge. "You would do well to
listen for the ... sound ... of those servos." The captain's voice
stopped but the intercom continued to hum, alive from his end.
"Ishie," said Mike, "the captain's in trouble, and he's asking us to
listen in on what goes on the bridge. He's left his intercom open.
"Now I've got a mission to accomplish; and you can't leave here,
because this post's got to be operational. But you can listen and do
whatever the captain tells you.
"And, Ishie--if anybody takes the bridge away from the captain, you
tell the Cow not to obey any orders or answer any questions unless
they come from here."
With that, Mike leaned over, loosened an inspection plate in the
floor, and climbed down a ladder through the inspection tube that led
through the six feet of normal-shield water directly beneath the floor
into the seventeen-foot flare-shielding chamber beyond. This was the
tank which surrounded the hub and held all of the waters of the rim
during flare conditions; but was now holding only the air supply
which, during a flare, was pumped to the rim.
Making his way back towards the center of the hub, Mike considered his
luck in being one of the people most familiar with the entire
structure of the ship. It would be unlikely that enemies operating
aboard would think to cut off the air and water passages, or even keep
them under surveillance. Nevertheless, he would be cautious.
He must now get to the machine shop, and enter it without triggering
any more of those--he laughed quietly to himself--Security servos.
The particular tank he was in he had selected carefully. Of the
twenty-one possible combinations, this one he knew would bring him
into the water under the north hall that circled the outer rim.
In a few strides he reached the three-foot-diameter spoke tube through
which the flood of water would pour during a draw-in action such as
that they had had during the flare; let himself over the side head
first, let go and began falling down the seventy-nine foot length of
the tube, accelerated by the light pseudo-gravity of the spin. Even
so, he spread his legs and arms against the walls of the tube to act
as a brake, so as not to arrive with too much impact at the bottom of
the tube.
As he hit the water at the bottom, the tube swung around the
circumference of the rim to the point at its far side at which it
entered its particular river.
The course of his dive carried Mike to the bottom of the curve, and he
started crawling up its far side to where the tunnel entered the
rim-river. There the motion of the fluorescent-lighted water caught
him, and he was swirled quickly to his target, twenty-five feet along,
inspection plate B-36. He grabbed the hand-hold by the plate before he
swirled past, loosened the plate, lifted it only enough to be sure
that the room was empty, and then pushed it off, pulled himself
through, and emerged into the whining dimness of Compressor Room 9,
next to the machine shop. The low whine assaulting his ears was that
created by the air compressors that fed the jets that drove the waters
through the rim.
Stepping over to the wall locker, Mike took out a dry pair of shorts,
a T-shirt, and moccasins, kept there for the purpose of making changes
after such swimming inspections of the rim tanks.
* * * * *
Before entering the machine shop, Mike spotted the Security man
through the open bulkhead--just standing there while Paul and Tombu
grimly worked on; and Millie sat idle, watching.
Mike entered the machine shop casually, as though intent on business,
brushed past the Security man, and stepped over to the tape-controlled,
laser-activated milling machine as though to inspect its progress.
Then, as though finding an error, he halted its operation and swung
the laser-head back away from the work piece.
The head swung free in his hand, attached to the machine but
nevertheless free. Casually, without even looking at the Security man,
he had somehow centered the laser directly on him. Just as casually,
he stepped to one side.
"The beam from this machine is quite capable of milling the hardest
materials," he said, still casually, as though to himself. "Even a
diamond can't withstand it."
Now he looked directly at the Security guard. "It's capable," he said
in an even tone, "of milling a hole right through your guts if you
even to much as breathe too deep."
Then to Chernov, "Move around behind him, out of range of this beam,
and secure the man please. Millie, is there any thing in your
department that will make sure he won't talk for while?"
"Yes, Mike, but I don't think I'd better go there right now. There
aren't many of them, but these boys seem to be spread out all over."
Chernov had the gun now; and the personal communicator from the
Security man as well.
"O.K.," said Mike. "I don't think he can give us much trouble in
there," pointing at the air-lock bulkhead through which he had just
entered. "We can go in and out through the physics lab," he said.
"Best we shut that off now before some more of these boys wander
along."
When both the lab and the Security man were under control, Paul
Chernov turned to Mike. "That milling-laser," he said. "It's got a
focus of about six inches maximum. How did you fix it so it could burn
the guard at that distance?"
"I didn't," said Mike briefly. "He already knows that lasers can reach
from here to Earth. Why should I bother to tell him any different?"
Turning to Tombu he handed him the Security man's radio. "See if you
can rig this," he said, "to broadcast everything they say over the
general intercom channel. It's about time we let people know what's
happening."
* * * * *
It took Tombu only minutes to hook in the radio. As he turned it on,
Elbertson's voice came over the loud-speaker system. A roll call of
Security men was apparently being completed. The last three man
responded as called.
The Elbertson's voice, crisp but somewhat labored, came over the
Security beam, booming throughout the ship. "It is obvious that the
renegade scientists and engineer of the wheel have replaced the men
guarding their sectors.
"As we were informed, the captain had put them in charge. Since they
struck the first blow, it is now up to Security to converge on them
and eliminate them.
"Jones, Nackolai and Stanziale are detailed to the Dr. Chi mission.
Nilson, Bernard and Cossairt are detailed to get the Indian. The rest
of you will take over where you are posted, and secure all personnel
to their quarters.
"Clark. Drop your cover and take over control of the bridge.
"I expect to have Hot Rod operational within five minutes. And Clark.
Instruct the computer to discontinue precession operations that have
been initiated.
"Take whatever measures are necessary to carry out these
instructions.
"This is no longer an undercover operation, gentlemen. Security is
taking control.
"This is war."
* * * * *
As the last sentence came over the loud-speaker, Mike sprang to the
intercom. He quickly keyed the direct line to engineering.
"Ishie," he said, "I gather you're safe?"
"Yes, Mike. Situation here very secure. I heard announcement of
conflict. You need not tell me to put the Cow under our control. It is
done. She will obey no one else until further instructed from here. I
didn't instruct her to obey only instructions by me, Mike, because we
are all expendable now."
As he finished speaking, the intercom went dead. Obviously the
communications officer, as his first act, had turned off the central
intercom power system under his control.
* * * * *
On the bridge, from the time that Mike and Ishie had left, the picture
of what was occurring had grown more ominous by the minute.
More than the vague, official messages had been flooding in from
Earth.
At the captain's command, the communications officer had opened up a
channel for news broadcasts, and put it on the speaker so they could
all hear.
The news round-ups indicated that various elements and factions in the
world below had had their say--each more vicious than the last.
From an original rumor of a minor space disaster, it had become a
tremendous accident that had wiped out Thule Base and left a smoking
ruins of Greenland.
From this it had become--possible sabotage.
From this, a direct, unprovoked attack by the scientists on Earth
itself.
Suddenly statesmen were standing forth in the U.N., condemning the
actions of country after country that had made possible the great
wheel; and just as suddenly, word had been announced:
Earth would be protected. The U.N. would act.
The U.N., it suddenly was found, controlled the majority of all
weapons on Earth; controlled the majority of all armies, navies, and
all stockpiles of ships and planes and ammunition that it had so
boastingly told everyone that it had scrapped.
The honeyed phrases of a few years before that there would always be
peace on Earth, and that the U.N. had taken the bite out of war,
changed; and the individual nations were now forgotten.
Now the U.N. itself was the military power; and now it would be U.N.
telling others what to do.
Mobilization would be declared. A war footing for the economy.
Everyone must fight back against the insane scientists above with
their inhuman weapon.
With appalling swiftness, where apparently nothing had been before, a
military force stepped forth in full armor to grind man's hopes for
freedom under an iron heel while waving its fist at the stars.
At first there had been voices crying out against this monstrous
action, this unbelievable birth, in the U.N. Assembly. But the voices
had become fewer and fewer, weaker and weaker, and in a matter of
hours had been drowned out.
Amazingly, even now, there were one or two who stood up in an attempt
to stem the tide; but they were ignored, and a ninety-eight per cent
favorable vote was cast.
The U.N. Security Forces had been granted dictatorial powers.