Читать книгу The Lagrangists - Mack Reynolds - Страница 8

CHAPTER THREE

Colonel Ilya Simonov, recently arrived from Greater Washington by Supersonic, had had his Zil auto-cab drop him at the old baroque palace on Kaluzhskaya street. Somewhat to his surprise, there was no sign of a guard at the somber entry. On second thought, it called for more than surprise. He made a mental note to mention the fact to his superior in the Chrezvychainaya Komissiya upon his next interview with Minister Kliment Blagonravov. The days of the terrorism of the 1960s and the 1970s were over; indeed, they had rarely applied to the Soviet Complex, but Ilya Simonov was chilled by the thought of what several well-armed, dedicated assassins could accomplish against Soviet science, given fifteen minutes in this building.

The colonel, though now dressed in mufti, was obviously militarily trained. He was young for his rank and handsome in the Slavic tradition, though there was a touch of slant in his eyes that betrayed his mother’s Cossack ancestry. The eyes were also wolfish, cold and, perhaps, somewhat cruel. It was not for nothing that in international espionage circles he was reputed to have killed more men—and women—than the plague. In his lapel was the tiny red emblem that revealed that the colonel carried the Soviet Hero’s Combat Award, the only one of his various decorations that he ever bothered to wear, in a nation more than normally prone to wear medals and decorations. He could well be scornful of all others. The Hero’s Award was earned only in combat and in two cases out of three, posthumously. The only equivalents had been the Victoria Cross of Great Britain and the Knight’s Cross with Oak Leaf Cluster, Hitlerian Germany’s highest award for bravery in the field. The American Medal of Honor is a distant second and could even be awarded to some general far behind the lines of battle.

Ilya Simonov had no idea what this assignment would turn out to be and he suspected that his superior, who had sent him here to the Academy of Sciences center, didn’t either. Next to the Presidium of the CPSU and the Council of Ministers, the Academy was the most prestigious body in the Soviet Complex, not answerable even to Simonov’s police organization.

He entered the building and, for a moment, the interior set him back. The marble halls still contained statuary, uncomfortable Victorian period furniture, paintings and other relics of the days when the palace had been the private home of some long forgotten aristocrat. It would seem that no one had even gotten around to removing them.

There were several reception desks in the entrada, none of them automated, somewhat to his surprise. He marched up to the nearest and rapped out, “Colonel Simonov. On appointment to see Comrade Anatole Mendeleev.”

“Academician Mendeleev,” the girl reproved him gently.

The colonel studied her and made a mental note. It would seem, in the Academy, that scientific rank and title were considered more important than Party position. He wondered at the desirability of that and decided to mention it to Kliment Blagonravov.

The girl had evidently pressed some button since a guide materialized at Simonov’s elbow.

The guide led the way.

Mendeleev was cordial enough, considering his lofty position as one of the few scientists to achieve this elevated rank. He was somewhat vague, a slow speaking man, somewhere in his mid-sixties and beginning to show his years; his remaining hair was completely white and he had a flabby double chin.

He shook hands, dismissed the guide, gestured in the direction of a chair, took his own place behind his desk and stared at the colonel.

The academician said finally, “Colonel Simonov, in my time I have had little contact with the Chrezvychainaya Komissiya.”

There was no answer to that. In his time the colonel had little contact with scientists. Ilya Simonov crossed his legs and held his peace.

The academician said, “It is with deep regret that I come into contact with it now.”

There was no answer to that, either.

Mendeleev sighed deeply and evidently came to the point. “Comrade Colonel,” he said. “What do you know about Lagrange Four?”

Ilya Simonov frowned. He said hesitantly, “Why, I suppose what the ordinary layman knows. It’s part of the Yankee space program. They’re mounting a very extensive operation to build a very large space station about half way between the Earth and moon. It’s out of my field, of course, but even moderately following the news, one is continually hearing of it, especially since I’m based in Greater Washington.”

The academician sighed again and said, “Space station isn’t exactly the term. It is not to be compared with our Salyut space station project. When their Island One, as they call it, is completed, it is expected to contain some 10,000 inhabitants. And that is only their first. Island One will build Island Two, which will be larger, and Island Two will construct Island Three. Island Four is planned to be sixteen miles long and about four miles in diameter, and could house a few millions in a situation somewhat similar to, say, Bermuda. And that is just the beginning! From there they expect to go on to the asteroids where, it would seem, there would no longer be any need for the importation of any raw materials from Earth or the Moon. The asteroids contain them all, practically, including hydrocarbons.”

The colonel was staring at him. He said, “I didn’t know the Lagrange Five Project was of that magnitude. Our American friends seem to have gone overboard in their dreaming this time.”

The scientist gazed at the espionage ace and shook his head before saying, “But you see, you misunderstood me. When I asked you what you knew about Lagrange Four, you assumed that I was referring to the American project. However, my question was: what do you know about Lagrange Four?”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“No. And most informed persons on the space race don’t either. Lagrange Five is the American project; Lagrange Four is the Soviet equivalent.”

Simonov shook his head. “I’ve never even heard of it. But, as I say, it’s not my field and largely I have spent my time in the States of recent years.”

The scientist nodded. “There has thus far been little released to the news media. Briefly, Colonel, in 1772 Astronomer Joseph L. Lagrange computed points in space equidistant from the Earth and moon—points of triangles 237,000 miles on a side—where a satellite or space station would remain in constant orbit above the Earth. Lagrange Four, east, and Lagrange Five, west, are the two stable positions. Each position is on the orbit of the moon and is the third point of an equilateral triangle, the Earth and moon occupying the other two points. Your space station, or almost anything else, could be located on stable orbits at either Lagrange Four or Lagrange Five.”

“I’m afraid that I’m out of my depth,” Simonov admitted.

The scientist made a sound of resignation. “In brief, Comrade Colonel, you could place a marble, or a city the size of Moscow, in that area and it would remain there for all time, falling to neither the moon nor to Earth.”

Ilya Simonov looked at him blankly. He hadn’t the vaguest idea of what the other was building up to.

Anatole Mendeleev could read him. As a matter of fact, he had gone through this scene, almost exactly, with Number One in the Kremlin very recently. As a scientist, he was dismayed by the lack of knowledge among these people who governed his country. But politics had never been his concern, since first he had been spotted as a teenager in the small town of Poltava in the Ukraine. Since then, he had twice taken a Nobel.

Very well, he would go through the same routine he had with Number One.

He said, “Comrade Colonel, let me recapitulate a bit. In the race into space we began with a fabulous start. During the International Geophysical Year, which was 1957-58, our people very quietly announced that we were planning to launch an artificial satellite. It was what the Americans call a very soft sell. But in Washington this was evidently picked up and the White House, in a small fit of competition, announced to a somewhat startled world on July 1955 that it was to launch an artificial satellite. They must have been out of their minds, since they hadn’t taken more than the first steps. Once again, very quietly we announced that the Soviet Union was also to launch an artificial satellite.”

The scientist smiled and paused for a moment before adding, “And the world laughed its scorn.”

On the face of it, none of this was new to Ilya Simonov, though he had not as yet been born when the developments the academician was recounting had taken place. Undoubtedly, the scientist had been on the scene and had perhaps even participated as a young man in the Soviet space program. However, the espionage agent let the other continue without interruption.

“What happened is history,” Mendeleev said, nodding his head in satisfaction, so that his lower chin wobbled. “On October 4th, 1957, to the utter astonishment of the world, the USSR did exactly what it had said it was going to do and orbited Sputnik One. Around and around it went for ninety-two days, beeping its triumph. Less than a month later, on November 3rd, an even larger Sputnik was launched, this one carrying the dog Laika, the first life form of Earth ever to fly in space.”

Simonov nodded and smiled. He was not an emotional man but he shared with his countryman the pride in the early days of the exploration of space.

“Triumph followed triumph,” the academician went on. “While the Yankees were frantically fumbling, attempting to regain some of their prestige, we made first after first. The first artificial satellite to orbit the sun, Lunik One. And on April 12, 1961, Vostok One, bearing Major Yuri A. Gagarin, the first man in space. The first satellite to reach the moon, the first satellite ever to carry two men at once, the first woman in space, the first flight to orbit the moon. And Lieutenant Colonel Leonov, the first space walk. And then the first landing on the moon of an unmanned satellite which sent back photos.”

The older man paused again and ran an aged, freckled hand over his thinning white hair. “By now the world realized that the USSR was no longer to be scorned and thought of as a second rate power. Overnight, with the launching of Sputnik One it had become obvious that we were a scientific nation second to none, that there were only two real first class powers in the world and that we were one of them.”

“We owe much to our science,” Ilya Simonov said. The old boy was proving himself quite a chauvinist. However, as head of Soviet Complex space research, he should be allowed his moments of pride in the accomplishments of his colleagues, and himself.

But Mendeleev sighed and said, “However, the wealth of the colossus of the West was comparatively boundless. Although in the early years they were behind, they announced their intention of putting a man on the moon before the year 1970 and they proceeded to do just that. The race to the moon was on.

Ilya Simonov raised his eyebrows at that.

But the academician shook his head. “Our propagandists denied that there ever was such a race, that we were not interested in such a race. That we were proceeding in more serious endeavor with a long view, rather than attempting spectaculars. But they lied, Comrade Colonel. There was such a race—and we lost it. It was possibly due to Khrushchev in 1964 when he caused an eighteen-month delay in our Soyuz program by ordering Sergei Korolyov, our chief space engineer at the time, to fly two Voskhod missions, using modified Vostok capsules. The only aim of this expensive and time-consuming operation was to claim some more firsts.

“As they had boasted, the Yankee Apollo-11 landed the first man on the moon. And our immediate plans there were postponed. We pretended scorn of the Apollo landings, contended that they were for show and that they accomplished practically nothing. We announced that we would, in due time, orbit the Salyut space station about the moon and embark upon a serious scientific exploration of Luna. We would plant a Lunar colony, equipped with unmanned Lunakhod moon rovers, and supplied with needed necessities by unmanned Luna-class probes, each capable of a payload of five thousand pounds of consumables, equipment and prefabricated shelters. In short, dozens of our already tested Luna-class spacecraft could be zeroed-in on the site chosen for Lunagrad, and the scientists and technicians from our orbiting Salyut space stations could then descend and assemble a base which would allow for permanent occupancy.”

“What happened to those plans?” Simonov said, becoming increasingly intrigued.

“The Lagrange Five Project happened,” the other growled. He took a deep breath and said, “After the success of the Apollo landings, the Yankees sat back for a moment and said to each other, What now? They had plowed almost forty billion of their dollars into landing a few men on the moon and their astronauts had come back with a few pounds of rocks. Their congressmen and other leaders began to ask if they had participated in a ‘moon-doggle’ that was essentially worthless. Funds for the NASA were cut back drastically—much to our satisfaction, of course. However, and this is the crucial fact, they did provide for the development of five space vehicles which they call space shuttles. In short, craft that can take off with a payload, go up into orbit, and then return.”

“This I knew, of course. But why would that be crucial?” the colonel said.

Anatole Mendeleev eyed him emptily and said, “Because, Comrade Colonel, the space shuttle is making practical, the current space colony project of the United States of the Americas. It has spawned other important projects such as the space tug and SPSs. The Yankees were slower than the originators of the idea of the Lagrange Five Project hoped for, but they are now in full swing. At the rate they are going, their Island One will be in operation within a comparatively few months.”

“And how does this apply to us?”

“We have made our second mistake in our battle for men’s minds, as some call it. For the first few years, we were far beyond the Americans and the other imperialist nations. But in 1965 that idiot Brezhnev ordered that our lunar landing program be stretched out because of the cost.”

Simonov knew of the argument as to Brezhnev’s place in Soviet history. He hoped his sigh would not place him in either camp.

Mendeleev grunted contempt. “Colonel, there are two hundred men and women in the Soviet Complex who need not worry about calling a member of the Central Committee an idiot. I am one of them. I am a member of the Academy of Sciences. At any rate, we pressed ahead with our plans for Lunagrad, a permanent moon base.” He shook his head, as though in despair. “But the Americans, with their newly developed space shuttles, went in to the L5 project, under the leadership of their brilliant Professor George R. Casey. They set up their temporary moon base with some two hundred men to operate it, assembled a mass-driver, and began to lob raw materials to Lagrange Five, where they are being processed there in space by another some 1,800 scientists, technicians and laborers, and now Island One, their first space colony, is practically finished.”

“While we are still largely devoting our efforts to a permanent, large sized moon settlement, eh?”

“Until now, yes.”

“As I say, I’m a layman. What is the advantage of this Island One over a permanent moon base? It would seem to me…”

Academician Mendeleev shook his head strongly, his second chin wobbling. “There are various advantages to the American space colonies. For one thing, the availability of energy. The moon has a 14-day night, therefore there is a serious problem of obtaining energy at our chosen sites. Convenient, low-cost solar power is curtailed because of the fact that energy storage over a 14-day period is extremely expensive. On the moon one is wiser to rely on nuclear power, so one loses one of the principal advantages of working in space. Second, the moon is a more expensive destination than Lagrange Five or Four. To reach the moon, you must first fight Earth’s gravity. You have to take it as it comes, and you can never cut it off. Even to get higher gravity than that is a lot more complicated and expensive on the surface of Luna than it is in free space where you can simply rotate a vessel to get any gravity you want.”

“So the Americans have stolen a march on us.”

“Yes. And this we cannot allow. We must be the first to begin beaming plentiful power from space to Earth. That nation that dominates space and begins to beam what amounts to nearly free power to Earth, will dominate the world. The battle of men’s minds will have been won, and he who is behind will never catch up. If we cannot be first to do so, we must at least be almost simultaneous. We might even accept being a few months behind the Yankees, but four years is out of the question. We have begun a crash program to build our own space shuttles and space tugs. We are devoting all efforts to it. We are driving ahead in all other fields involved. But we are desperate for time, Comrade Colonel.”

Ilya Simonov looked at the other warily. He said, “I fail to see my connection with this matter. I was ordered back from Greater Washington, where my duties are involved in… the usual matters of my ministry. But not even my ultimate superior could tell me why I was to report to you.”

The other cleared his throat unhappily and took up a paper from his desk and held it for a moment.

He said flatly, “Colonel Simonov, you are known to be the top, shall we say, ‘hatchetman’, to use the American idiom…”

“Chinese,” Simonov muttered under his breath, and without enthusiasm.

“…in all the Chrezvychainaya Komissiya.”

“It’s a reputation I never sought,” the espionage ace said emptily.

The academician ignored him and went on. “Your orders in this assignment come directly from Number One.” He extended his paper. “There are only three persons in the Soviet Complex who know your assignment. Nubmer, myself; and you. If you are exposed, you will be disowned. You are—to be blunt—expendable.”

Ilya Simonov looked at the paper stolidly. He had never before seen the signature of the supreme head of his country.

He said, “Yes, Comrade Mendeleev, you have been given complete control of my activities. What are my orders?”

“To sabotage the Lagrange Five Project by whatever means you find expedient.”

The academician retrieved the letter of command from the ultimate head of the Party to Ilya Simonov, struck a match, lit the paper, allowed it largely to burn away in his hand, then dropped it into the ashtray on his desk and stirred up the ashes with a stylo.