Читать книгу Vandals of the Void - James Morgan Walsh - Страница 3
ОглавлениеOff to Mars
THE message that was to change the whole course of my life came through on the General Communicator about 10 P.M., Earth Time, while we were still within the planet's atmospheric envelope. The interstellar liner Cosmos, bound from New York (Earth) to Tlanan (Mars) had lifted from the Madison Landing scarcely an hour before and we were still making altitude when the call came through from Harran.
This was to have been my first interplanetary trip as a private passenger, my first carefree holiday in years. Not that the journey itself held any attraction for me or that I was new to the outer reaches of space. On the contrary.
As an official of the Interplanetary Guard, which is responsible for the smooth running of traffic and the maintenance of law and order in the void between the inner planets, I had seen rather too much of them. Nevertheless I was looking forward to a holiday free from emergency calls, the long restful voyage to the Red Planet and the hope, if time allowed, of a stopover on Venus on the way home.
Captain Hume--a man of Earth parentage, though he had first seen the light on Mars--and I were old friends and I expected a heartier welcome than usual, since on this particular trip I had no official status. As a rule the captains of the interplanetary liners look askance at us.
We mean trouble for them, the endless scrutinizing of passengers and documents and often as not the complete suspension, where the need justifies it, of the skipper's own functions.
I boarded the Cosmos early in the evening while the liner was still tilting in the slips. Captain Hume was then in his cabin. His own particular duties would not begin until after the takeoff and in the meanwhile the running was in the hands of the first and second officers.
The first, a man named Gond with whom I had some slight acquaintance, came up to me as I crossed the gangway and told me the skipper would be glad to see me as soon as I could make time, presumably after I got settled in my cabin.
That did not take long. To one used to the stark simplicity of the Guard-ship accommodation, the passenger cabins spelled luxury. But I did not linger as my training had taught me how to dispose of my few belongings in the minimum of time with the minimum of effort. Then I made my way in what I judged to be the direction of Hume's cabin.
The Cosmos was a new type of craft to me. She was the first to be commissioned of the new giant liners that were meant ultimately to ply to the outer planets, though until the entire fleet was ready she was being tried out on the home run between Earth, Mars and Venus.
She embodied features with which I was not familiar, and in many ways her designers had departed from the standardized plan laid down by the Board of Control in the year 2001, when the first regular space service was begun following on that disastrous business of the War of the Planets.
I had some difficulty in finding my way and once I was stopped by an officer I did not know with the intimation that this part of the ship was not free to passengers. I flashed my badge at him however, that silver model of a Guard-ship with the letters I. P. G. stamped across it, asked to be directed to the captain's quarters. Rather surlily he conducted me through a maze of cross-passages to a stairway and told me that I would find what I sought at the head.
I came out on the observation deck and here I was more at home, for in this part of the ship the original design had not been departed from, I pressed the button on the door that would show my face in the vision-plate on the captain's table and waited. Almost immediately the door swung open and Hume's hearty voice cried, "Come in!"
IT was like coming into another world after the bare bleak passage outside--a warm cozy room lit by suffused daylight from the store-tanks, a room picked out in restful white that some how lulled the senses and soothed the eyes.
In most respects it was like any other skipper's cabin, with the televox, the ground screens of the television, the dial charts and the thousand and one compact gadgets necessary to an interplanetary captain's hand at any hour of the day or night. One new feature however caught my eye, the bookmatchines racked up on the shelves.
"So you've come along at last, Sanders, and for once other than as a trouble-maker," Hume boomed at me, "Make yourself comfortable. I've nothing to do for thirty clicks or so."
He nodded at the clock above his table. I had been subconsciously aware of the humming buzz of the seconds passing but almost on the heels of his words came the click-click-click of three minutes past the hour. This, too, was a new feature. We in the Guard-ships have another type of clock, one that neasures in half-seconds, for when we travel it is at a tremendous speed and our chronometers need to be accurate to the last least degree.
In answer to a question of Hume's I told him something of my plans, My knowledge of the surface of the planets was rudimentary, I had been a dozen times in Tlanan and once to Shangun, the capital of Venus, but these had all been flying trips--literally--and I knew nothing of either land in the way I had come to know my own world.
Hume chuckled. "Mars you'll like," he said. "Next to Tellus"--he meant Earth--"it's the sweetest little planet I know and I've seen some and mean to see more. But Venus--" He gave a mock shudder. "It's certainly beautiful, though I can't abide the perpetual cloud-drift. I like empty skies with the hot sun pouring down."
"I don't," I said. "Perhaps too much work in the absolute zero of space has tempered my regard for the sun."
"You chill being! But all you Guards are the same. Have something as a warmer for a change."
He did not wait for my nod but pressed a button in the wall behind him. A panel slid away and a tray shot out with two glasses on it filled with--pure water!
He chuckled again at my look, then took a small metal box from a drawer of his table. The box held a hundred or more tiny brown pellets, of which he selected two, dropped one in each glass and watched the water discolor as the pair dissolved. When a stream of hissing bubbles rose to the surface he handed me my glass.
"Martian Oxcta," he explained, though it was a thing I had never heard of. "It has all the virtues of Earth whiskey without its drawbacks. Drink up."
I tasted it, just the merest sip. Liking it, I swallowed the rest at a gulp. There was exhilaration in the draught and something more. In all my interplanetary experience I had never tasted the like and I said so.
"You wouldn't. Earthmen don't as a rule. Mars still keeps some of its own secrets, But I happened to have been born there. As you know my wife's a Tlananian, and that counts too."
He slipped the box back in the drawer and I heard a click as the automatic lock engaged. The care he took of it made me wonder about some of those other secrets at which he had hinted and what, if anything, would happen to anyone who betrayed them.
It came to me suddenly, sitting there, that the situation had its illegal side. "Hume," I said. "I'm a friend of yours, you're a friend of mine. Put it that way. This stuff of yours we've just drunk?"
"Yes?" He cocked one eye at me.
"Only this. I'm a Guard. They pick us for integrity, moral, physical and every other way. Should I, knowing what you have, say nothing? There's an Earth-law banning alcohol even on spaceships in the void."
He laughed heartily. "There's not a taste or trace of alcohol in it. Giving it to you transgresses no law in the Universe. Can you take my word for that?"
I nodded. "I know you, Hume."
"Good." And there the matter dropped.
QUITE a little thing, it seemed--then. Looking back I'm not so sure. That odd Martian Oxcta, it appears to me, had something to do with the events that were to come.
We never felt the lift, the Cosmos rose so lightly from the slips. Insulated from all sound as we were in the cabin, we heard none of the blare of departure either. Only, the warning glow of the red bulb above the dial chart on the opposite wall told us that New York, the whole American continent indeed, was sliding away beneath us.
In the old days there was none of this gentleness in the take-off. We had not as yet learnt to control gravity with our screens. We could only nullify it, a practice that sometimes had dire results.
We sat and talked and time went on. Soon the call would come for Hume to take over and sling the ship out of the Earth's envelope of air, always a ticklish business. Already he had his eyes on the ship's communicators, awaiting reports from the various control departments.
A shutter dropped in the wall, and a call came through from the communications room. Hume touched a button. The face of the operator glowed in the screen and his voice came.
"Call through for Mr. Sanders," he said. "Televox."
I rose to my feet and Hume caught my eye.
"I'd better leave you to it," he mumbled.
"No need," I said. I knew it didn't matter. He couldn't hear what was said if I didn't wish.
I stood before the screen, my fingers on the buttons that made contact. The surface of the screen flashed the room first of all, that room in Headquarters Building I knew so well. Then the view narrowed, centering on Harran's chair until Harran's face itself, lean, tanned and immobile, completely filled the picture.
"Hello, Jack," his voice came. "Release."
The command might have been Greek to Hume but it carried a definite meaning to me. I released one button, that which intensifies the voice, and clapped my free hand over my ear. Hume could not have seen, even had he been looking, the flat black disk no larger than a penny that I held against my ear.
The moment I put it into position the disk functioned. Harran's voice, which before had filled the room, faded away entirely. The screen itself grew dark. But I could still hear him talking, a tiny voice in my ear, clear and marvellously distinct, though a man standing at my elbow could not hear a sound.
What Harran had to say was startling enough. Two spaceships had come in that night with all communications paralyzed. In each case the trouble had occurred in open space and was preceded by a feeling of intense cold, though the heating apparatus in each ship was working perfectly. Some passengers, indeed, had succumbed to the cold. Whether they could be revived had not yet been ascertained.
"Where do I come in?" I asked. Harran told me. It might be some as yet undiscovered property of space that had caused the trouble. It might--he thought it quite likely--be the work of some alien forces. But whatever it was I was to keep an eye lifted.
"Hold on," he cut in on his own orders. "There's something else." "Quickly," I warned him. "We're near the edge of the atmosphere now." Once we were away from the Earth's atmosphere, of course, the televox would not function.
Why is beyond me.
"Reports through from entry ports of Venus and Mars," Harran took up again, "state number of craft overdue and failing to answer calls. The Guards are being notified at their stations but to be on the safe side we're tuning in on all, who like yourself, are space-traveling. Use your own discretion but solve your end of the mystery if you can."
"Is that all?" I asked.
The screen flashed up again and I saw him nod. "That's all," he answered.
"Good..."
He meant 'Good-bye', but the last word came to me only as the thin ghost of a whisper. We had passed beyond the atmosphere and were now out in free space.
I slipped the disk back into my pocket, and looked around.
The cabin was empty.
