Gedso looked at Stewie and saw how white the little fellow was getting around the mouth. He was affected by more than what field came through the insulator panel which protected him from it.
“Stop,” snarled Stewie. “Stop, you waddling blankety-blank blanks! Take it, you hell-gulping blobs of stink. Stop!”
On came the salient. With the casual precision of well-trained troops, “things” to the right and left fought forward to keep the flanks of the bulge covered. Arcs from turrets all up and down the line gave the sight a jumpy yellow glare. Behind the salient an illimitable mass was gathering, ready to rush through any break.
There was no sound but the crackle of arcs and the hiss of the white-heated ground. Pushing over crystalline boulders the size of houses as a man might roll a pebble underfoot, the legions pressed forward.
Sweat was dripping from Stewie. His thumb was easing the range expertly. His trained body reacted in unison with the targets’ every shift.
Sweat was dripping from Stewie. His thumb was easing the range expertly. His trained body reacted in unison with the targets’ every shift.
A quarter of a kilometer. Half of that. A hundred meters. Fifty meters. Ten meters. In the reduction sight the heads of the foremost filled the field. Eyeless, expressionless. Gaping caverns of mouths.
Stewie was almost depressed to the limit of the weapon. He was swearing in high-pitched gibberish at the wall men in his immediate vicinity, though they could not, of course, hear him.
The bulge was against the wall. The wall trembled. Fulminating acid was suddenly dumped from huge caldrons on either side of each turret. The torrents splashed devastatingly upon the ranks.
The wall began to shake and then teeter backward.
A scale filled the whole field of the reduction sight. With a crunch the top of the turret sagged, showering Gedso and the gunner with shivered splinters of transparent, shell-proof, heat-proof, failure-proof battleglass.
Stewie’s ledge swept down and the electrodes of the cannon swooped up with savage fury. A huge spot on a scale was visible, taking the full impact of the concentrated fire.
Gedso let drive with a blasting wand. This and the arc had the sudden effect of lashing the scale spot into flame. It moved on. The flame spread out. It became roasting hot in the turret and Stewie ducked under a floorplate, tugging anxiously at Gedso’s shoelace to get him down. The floorplate clanked into space and Gedso flipped on a fingernail torch. Stewie was trying to grin, but he was racked by shudders. There were flecks of lather in the corners of his mouth and a not-quite-sane light in his eyes.
The wall began to sway anew and then, with earthquake abruptness, shook like the dice in a cup about the dog cell. Gedso put a hand out and pinned Stewie to the far wall to ease the strain of the shock. There was a final crash and then quiet descended save for the far-off snap-snap-snap of mobile guns.
“They’re through,” said Stewie, steadying his voice with an effort. “They’re between us and the barracks; they’re being fought by tanks and pillboxes.” A shudder took hold of him and he fought it off. “That’s what’s been happening more and more often for two months. They care less and less about arc cannon. First time, four years ago, arc cannon stopped ’em like mowing down weenies at a picnic. Now we’ll get a new weapon, maybe, and it will last a couple of years. All we do is toughen them up! One weapon. The next. And what the hell’s the use of it? They tell me there’s nothing that can do more damage than a cannon like you saw up there.”
There was a lurch and then another and Stewie whispered, dead-eyed, “The ‘things’ heard us and they’re looking for us. Ssshh!”
They sat in silence, shaken now and then, hearing stones and spun silica crush under weight.
Gedso took out the two apples and gave one to Stewie who repressed a nervous giggle and bit avidly into it. The gesture had not been intended as a demonstration of aplomb, but Stewie took it that way and appreciated it.
Ninety-three minutes later, by Gedso’s watch, all movement in the rubbish ceased. The snap-snap-snap dwindled away.
There was silence.
“Either there isn’t any mine,” said Stewie, “or our birds got rid of them.”
They waited a little time in order to be sure that the “things” no longer snuffled about the wreck of the wall and then Gedso went to work. Stewie was stricken with awed respect at the sight of the seemingly commonplace Gedso pushing out of the rubble like a superdrive tank, so much amazed, in fact, that he nearly forgot to follow. When Gedso was on top of the blasted remains he made sure all was clear, and then, reaching down, snagged Stewie’s collar and yanked him forth like a caught minnow.
The break had not been without damage to the inner defenses, for two towers spread their disassembled parts upon the ground and a rampart was crushed like a slapped cardboard box. A thousand-yard section of the outer wall had been smashed and lay like an atomized dust pile.
A clearing crew, hauling a dead “thing” behind four huge tractors, stopped work to stare in surprise at the pair who had erupted from the debris.
Gedso and Stewie picked their way over the scored and littered ground, depressed by the fumes arising from the mountainous dead “things.” A silica-spinning sled almost knocked them down as it rushed to the repair of the defenses and as they leaped out of the way an officer spotted the convict uniform. Stewie was snatched up and cast into the arms of a straggler patrol which flashed away without any attention to Gedso’s protest.
That evening—or at the beginning of the third period—Gedso sat at the table in his quarters eating his dinner out of a thermocan and gazing thoughtfully at the murky shadows in the far corner of the room. He was intent upon his problem to such an extent that he only occasionally remembered to take a bite.
New weapons. Year in and year gone, combat engineers had invented new means of knocking down the menacing legions. And certainly, with the power available, there seemed no more lethal weapon than the arc cannon—for here it was evolved to a point over the horizon from weapons used in the remainder of space. The invention of another weapon, even if that could be accomplished, would not prove wholly efficacious, for it would only last two or three years and then yet another would have to be compounded.
His door was thrust inward and General Drummond stood there looking at him. Drummond’s eyes were bloodshot and his mouth twitched at the right corner.
Gedso was confused by the unusualness of the visit and hastened to leap up—spilling the thermocan’s gravy across the bare board.
Drummond flung himself into a chair. “I’m worn out. Worn out! The responsibility, the greatness of the command, the rotten character of aid—” He looked fixedly at Gedso. “When will your new weapon be ready?”
“I . . . I don’t think I am going to build one,” faltered Gedso. “There is nothing better than an arc cannon.”
Drummond sagged. “Served by fools. Strangled in red tape. The most valuable command in the Empire left with no attention to its need. I’m hardly used. Hardly.” He straightened up and looked at Gedso, addressing him directly. “You were sent here to invent a new weapon,” said Drummond harshly. “You are going to invent it. I know that I cannot command an E-TS officer unless in a situation where my command itself is threatened with extinction. The command is threatened. I, General Drummond, have the power to demand of you a means of stopping the attackers. If I do not receive one in a very few days, I shall be forced to accomplish your recall. I have influence enough to do that.”
“My orders,” said Gedso, “read that I must investigate the threat to the area here and achieve a means of lessening or removing that threat if it exists.” He recoiled from contradicting Drummond, a general, for any human contact made his shyness acute. But he knew he was well within his own rights. “I do not think a new weapon can be evolved and I do not think its effectiveness would be final, no matter how good it might be. I
must ask for means to inspect this entire area—”
“Blufore intimated,” said Drummond, “that you did not intend to set to work immediately. That is why I came here. I also happen to know regulations. If I wish to effect your recall and replacement, I must give you notice of it in writing. Your interference today on the outer defenses caused a breach to be made in them. I have the full report from an officer and gunners in flanking turrets who saw you go there and saw the fire cease in the turret you approached. You interfered with a gunner on duty. Here are the signed affidavits. I did not intend to submit them if you had actually worked out a means of improving our defenses. My procedure is correct and not to be questioned. Here are your copies of my demand for a new technician. The originals will be facsimile transmitted within the hour.”
Drummond rose and looked at Gedso. “You see, my powers are not small and my command far too important to be slighted by anyone, much less yourself.” He threw the papers on the table, where the gravy immediately stained them, and started out.
“Wait,” said Gedso, “tell me what happened to the gunner!”
“That is a military matter and is in no way within your province.” Drummond again would have left, but an arm shot across the doorway—Gedso had moved with such swiftness that Drummond could not believe the heavy fellow had crossed the room.
“You mean you are going to punish him?”
Drummond replied, “It is to be regretted that we cannot punish all those who affect our operations in so summary a manner.”
“You are going to execute him?”
“That is the penalty.”
Gedso faltered, but only for a moment. “If . . . if you will drop that sentence, I will guarantee to bring peace to these mines in five days.”
Drummond knew he had a winning card. “I can suspend the sentence until you do, if we must bargain for what is actually a duty. That is a very wild offer,” he added, “in the light that peace has not been brought to this place in seventy-five years of constant endeavor by the greatest engineers of the Empire.”
“Release him to me and I will do it in four days!”
“Wilder still. But—it is a bargain. If you fail, of course, the sentence goes back into effect. That, naturally, is understood. And now, if you will be so good as to step aside, I will relieve myself of your company.”
Drummond left and Gedso wandered back to the table to stand there fingering the copies without being wholly aware of them. The folly of his statement was beginning to grow upon him and he could not clearly understand what strange emotional forces had so led him to stake his reputation. And then he remembered half-pint Stewie with the snub nose and the grin and sighed with relief. There was just a chance—Gedso dropped upon his knees beside his baggage and began to haul forth engineering treatises.
The scout ship vibrated nervously as her tubes warmed, as though she shivered at the consideration of the cruise she was about to undertake or, again, in annoyance with the agitation and harshness in the voices of the group of men who stood at her side on the ground.
“It was my belief that you only intended an aerial examination of the mines,” said Blufore haughtily.
Gedso’s tone was patient. “The character of this area has never truly been determined. It will be necessary to go outside and perhaps even to the Black Nebula itself. Unless I am allowed to make the examination I cannot collect facts with which to work.”
“I fail to see,” said Blufore, “what an examination of ‘outside’ has to do with fashioning a weapon to stop these attacks. My orders are specific. I am to act for General Drummond and supervise the interests of his command. It is very unusual to let anyone have a scout and it is unheard of to penetrate ‘outside’ with such a ship!”
“And yet,” sighed Gedso, “I must go out there.”
“You have already wasted a day,” said Blufore. “And now you waste another and perhaps a scout as well.”
The pilot, a dark-visaged officer who seemed to be made of roccill from the way he smelled, reeled a trifle and said, “That finishes it. I can determine when and where I will take my ship and I’m not taking her ‘outside’ and I don’t care if the E-TS complains until the end of space!” So saying, he marched off.
“And I,” said Blufore, “do not consider it wise to expose a piece of government property to such danger and so refuse to accompany you, thus preventing our departure, for the orders are specific in that I am to accompany you.”
“I am sorry you are afraid,” said Gedso.
“Fear?” said Blufore, stung. “I have no knowledge of the meaning of fear, sir. But discretion in the expenditure of government property is the first function of a combat engineer—”
“Then you have to go with us or we cannot go?” said Gedso.
“Just so,” said Blufore haughtily.
A much overburdened little man came up and began to dump bits of equipment through the hatch. Stewie looked pale after his ordeal with the penalty bureau, but his eye was bright. Stewie had been bowed with awe at the intelligence that his companion in the battle had been a Scienticorps technician, but awe, with Stewie, was not of long duration.
“What happened to the pilot?” said Stewie from the top of the ship.
“He quite definitely refused to go,” said Gedso.
“And what is wrong with this guy?” said Stewie, pointing at Blufore with a disrespectful finger.
“If he doesn’t go with us, our permission is canceled,” replied Gedso.
Stewie went on dumping equipment in the hatch while Blufore, ignoring a convict gunner as a self-respecting combat engineer should, went on with the finale of obstructing Gedso. There is a certain glory in being able to talk strongly and disrespectfully to one to whom one should salute with reverence.
Abruptly, Blufore’s clear and melodious voice ceased and Blufore dropped heavily to the ground. The thermocan which Stewie had dropped on his head rolled a little way and then stopped.
Stewie glanced around to see if anyone had noticed and then said urgently to Gedso, “Hand him up. The orders don’t say nothing about what condition he has to be in to go, do they?”
Gedso hesitated for a moment. “But the pilot—”
“Even if I ain’t touched one of these for years and years, I can still make ’em do tricks,” said Stewie. “Hand him up!”
Gedso handed up Blufore and they dropped him into the hatch.
A few seconds later the scout ship was aloft.
When Blufore at last came around, several hours later, he received the vague impression that he was being shaken by demons and kicked by Faj men. But such was not the case. The scout cruiser was being battered about by a hurricane of bright yellow wind and running from darkness into light with such rapidity that the change constituted an aching vibration.
Blufore, seeing a convict jacket on the man at the controls, thought himself the victim of an attempt at escape, particularly since he himself was strongly strapped into an observer’s seat. Then he caught sight of the technician.
Braced by four lashed lines which ended in eye bolts, Gedso was standing before the ports, busy with a big shiny box from which came a loud and continual sequence of clicks. Beyond Gedso, Blufore could see the towering vaguenesses of the “outside” and the aspect of this, combined with the spacesickness caused by the violent and unsteady motion of the tiny craft, made Blufore very sorry for himself.
“Go back!” he whimpered. “Go back before we are torn apart!”
Stewie said, “Shall I hit him?”
Gedso was too intent on his work to answer.
Blufore subsided and resigned himself to an agonizing doom. He knew so well that two out of every three space freighters sent back from the Crystal Mines never arrived at all, were never heard from again, and it was thought that they vanished while traversing the Black Nebula. His only hope was that they would
return to the mines in a short while. And then the ports went dark and stayed dark. They were within the Black Nebula. Blufore fainted, both from illness and terror.
He had no means of knowing how long they were inside the darkness, for they were in the light when he came around. They could not have gone through, for that would have taken many, many hours. Perhaps now they were going back to the mines. Perhaps even yet they might return alive from this. Then horror struck him down again. They swooped into a turn and the dread black mists shut off the light anew.
From a long way off Blufore heard the series of clicks and opened his eyes to the yellow hurricane once more.
“Want to go through again?” said Stewie to Gedso.
“One more time. I think we might possibly get some results if we keep it up long enough.”
“You’re the boss,” said Stewie, swinging the cruiser back into the darkness.
Running the rim, stabbing into and out of the Black Nebula! Like a couple of schoolboys amusing themselves playing with a high-tension wire. Blufore bethought himself of all those vanished ships and, with a groan, collapsed.
Gedso was giving Blufore a drink of something acrid when that officer next knew anything. But Blufore was too spacesick to swallow. He looked with tortured mien upon the fiend he had begun to conceive in Gedso. It was dark outside, and the cabin lights gave the technician a terrifying bulk.
“Are we—still inside it?” gulped Blufore.
“No. We are trying to find the entrance to the mines and it is somewhat difficult to do in the darkness.”
Blufore tried to peer through the black port, but could see nothing. Yet Stewie was flying at full speed and without a sign of caution.
“You’ll be all right soon,” said Gedso sympathetically.
Blufore moaned, “I’ll never be—all right again. Never.”
“I’ll say you won’t,” growled Stewie, a shadowy gnome against the lighted panel. “If you yap-yap when we get home.”
The Scifi & Fantasy Collection Page 6