Space 1999 #1 - Breakaway

by E. C. Tubb

  She smiled as Koenig entered the diagnostic unit, extending her hands, their touch soft and warm. ‘John. It’s over now?’

  ‘Over.’ He glanced at Mathias. The doctor pointed to a cranial scan he had set on the illuminated panel.

  ‘Look for yourself, Commander. Not a trace of that energy-nodule she carried. She’s fine, not a thing to worry about.’ He sobered as he saw Koenig’s expression. ‘No?’

  ‘I’m not sure. That thing told me something before it went. A threat or a warning, I’m not sure which. But it said that we were all heading for certain destruction.’

  ‘A bluff?’

  ‘It was a machine, Victor. Machines don’t bluff and they don’t lie. I think it was trying to justify its action in letting us go. The logic of a machine—save itself at no real cost. Obey its orders in a fashion and yet make the best of a situation. It must have had a survival drive built into it otherwise my threats wouldn’t have worked.’

  ‘Just what did it say, John?’

  Koenig frowned, thinking, remembering. He said, slowly, ‘We are taking a path which will lead us to certain destruction. A dark area which we cannot avoid. A black sun—’

  ‘A black sun.’ Bergman looked thoughtful. ‘But one so close to the solar system? Did it say just when we would meet it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Which means that it could be months from now, or years.’

  ‘Or days.’

  ‘No, John, not days. A black sun would have a tremendous mass. It would affect the orbits of the system if it were too close and we would have spotted it years ago. We should have seen it occlude the stars if nothing else. The galactic drift—’ He broke off, musing. ‘A black sun,’ he murmured. ‘Most stars have planets so where would they have gone? There is an inconsistency here. John, are you certain the thing said a black sun?’

  ‘That’s what it told me.’

  ‘Does it make any difference?’ Helena looked from one to the other. ‘If it’s there and we’re heading towards it the end will be the same no matter what it is. Complete and utter destruction. The gravity will be enormous, we’ll be crushed to slime, the base, the entire moon, all will shatter into dust.’

  Mathias said, ‘If it’s there. We can’t be sure about that and, as Victor said, it could be years away, decades. Time for us to find an escape, perhaps.’ The doctor was optimistic, a false emotion, perhaps, but one he was determined to maintain. ‘We’ve found one new world and there could be others. Why talk about dying before we actually see the grave?’

  A good point and one Koenig encouraged. Morale had to be kept high.

  ‘You’re right, Bob. I’m jumping at shadows. That thing operated on a cycle different from ours. A year much longer, for example. Soon, to it, could be centuries to us. And it didn’t say soon. It just said that it would happen. Victor, let’s go and check that shield.’

  Anderson was incredulous.

  ‘It worked,’ he said. ‘It operated just as you predicted. I’ve checked as far as I can and there’s no sign of crystalization or stress fractures in any part of the structure. A little impact-damage on the hull, but Alan tells me that wasn’t due to the shield.’

  ‘No,’ said Koenig, dryly. ‘It wasn’t.’

  ‘Light which acted like a grab,’ said the engineer. ‘Radiation which acted as if it were solid.’ He shook his head, baffled. ‘How the hell did they manage it? I’d give ten years of my life to have had the chance to inspect their generators.’

  Generators which, perhaps, had broken loose on the home world, energies released in a ravening fury, spacial strains which had snapped like a rubber band to hurl Triton into some unknown region.

  They would never know.

  Koenig said, ‘Victor, could your shield be extended to cover a larger area?’

  ‘I guess so. The trouble is that we’re up against spherical projection. Double the distance and you need far more than twice the power. It’s a matter of surface area.’

  ‘I know, but could you do it?’

  ‘Given time, yes. It’s a matter of design—why, John? Are you thinking of building a larger Eagle?’

  ‘No.’

  Bergman, apparently, had not heard.

  ‘It’s a possibility,’ he mused. ‘We’d need to strip the base of all metallic elements and set up foundries, and then we’d have to arrange facilities for storage and recycling. Power too, that would have to be based on both drive-needs and life-supports systems.’ His hands twitched as if he felt an imaginary slide-rule. ‘I’d have to do a lot of figuring as to logistics and design. Three hundred people take a lot of room.’

  ‘Too much,’ said Koenig impatiently. ‘I’m not talking about building a ship to evacuate the base. We can’t do it as yet and we may never be able to do it. No, I’m talking about shielding Alpha. Could it be done?’

  Anderson said, ‘Shield the base? That’s crazy!’

  ‘That’s no answer. Could it be done?’

  ‘I guess so if the professor could work out the design. My boys can build anything given time. Time and materials. We can’t produce alloys from thin air, Commander.’

  ‘We can cannibalize.’

  ‘Sure we can.’ Anderson looked hurt. ‘But to build what? We need a plan before we can start.’

  ‘You’ll get your plan,’ said Koenig. ‘Just start gathering material. Check on every item and set aside all duplicates and spares. Find out what can be taken without loss of safety. Make a list.’

  In his laboratory Bergman said, ‘John, what’s on your mind?’

  ‘A shield for the base.’

  ‘So you said, but why?’

  ‘Call it an umbrella,’ said Koenig dryly. ‘To keep out the rain. The important thing is can it be done?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Bergman ruffled his hair, looking a little like a bedraggled lion. ‘It’s the math,’ he complained. ‘This thing is new, John, barely tested. I’ll have to work out effective ranges, overlaps, power-needs, compensators, insulation—a total new scientific approach. The computer will help naturally, but it can only do the donkey work.’

  ‘And you will provide the intuitive genius.’ Koenig crossed the room to stand looking at the framed award of the Nobel Prize. He said flatly, ‘Victor, what do you know about a black hole?’

  ‘You mean a black sun.’

  ‘Call it that if you like, but we both know it’s a misnomer. A star, a sun, can be relatively dark. It’s even been theorized that it can be dead, a burned out cinder, but if one exists we’ve never found it and probably never will. Suns don’t act that way. The atomic reactions which cause them to radiate light and heat are understood; the Phoenix reaction which creates helium and uses the excess energy so obtained to maintain the high temperatures associated with any star. So—tell me about a black hole.’

  Bergman said, as if addressing a class of students, ‘A star, basically, is a fusion engine in which hydrogen is converted into helium aided by the catalytic action of carbon and nitrogen. The internal temperatures are immense and the distance of the outer layer from the core is maintained by the sheer volume of radiation produced by the thermonuclear reaction. Now, when a smallish star uses up its nuclear fuel not enough radiation is produced to maintain that distance. The star then collapses into a smaller bulk and becomes what we know as a white dwarf. A star much smaller than the original and hot because of condensed energy. A larger star, one about half as large again as our own sun, will collapse into itself until it winds up as a mass of neutronium. Neutronium is the most dense matter which can exist in our universe. It is composed of neutrons packed as tight as they can get and the bulk of such a star will end as a ball of neutronium about six miles across.’

  ‘And a larger star?’

  ‘When such a star collapses something odd happens and we aren’t sure exactly what. The gravity of the compacted mass increases until it becomes so great that it passes the Swartzchild radius. The Swartzchild radius is the point at which the gravity is so high t
hat nothing can escape from it. Nothing at all. Solid matter, electromagnetic energy, light itself, all are held fast. The star is gone then but the mass remains as a kind of field. A warp in the normal space-time continuum. The latest theories suggest that it can form a door into somewhere.’

  ‘Somewhere?’

  ‘John, I don’t know into what or where,’ said Bergman, flatly. ‘No one does. No one will do until they go through and return to tell what they found. Maybe it’s impossible to pass through, as I say we simply don’t know.’

  There was too much they didn’t know. Koenig turned from the framed award. ‘That machine talked about a black sun. If it was right, literally right, then we haven’t a hope in hell if we get dragged into its gravity field. We’ll end just as Helena said, crushed, pulped, everything smashed to dust. Even if the anti-grav shield protects the base the rest of the moon will be affected and we’ll be buried. But it it isn’t a black sun. If it is a black hole?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Bergman slowly. ‘But if the shield can maintain our environment—John, I simply don’t know!’

  Koenig paced, thinking hard. ‘Just think of it—a hole, warp in our own universe, a doorway leading into a different region. A pit of darkness into which everything attracted by the tremendous gravitation must fall. If the original mass has been transformed into an etheric field then normal laws needn’t apply. With the shield we might stand the smallest of chances. It’s a gamble, but one we might win. Victor, how long will it take to formulate the plans?’

  ‘Days, weeks, I don’t know.’ Bergman looked harassed. ‘Damn you, John, why dump this into my lap?’

  ‘Who else?’

  ‘But the time—’

  ‘We must assume the worse. It could be years or decades, but I don’t think so. The Tritonian machine was confident that we wouldn’t survive and too much could happen in that time.’ Koenig pushed a mass of papers at the other man, graphs, equations rough designs. ‘Think in terms of days, Victor. Hours, even. Use every resource of the base—but get that shield built. Get it working before we hit whatever is waiting for us—it’s the only chance we have.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Sandra Benes saw it first. She was on duty, scanning space in all directions, but paying particular attention to what lay ahead. An instruction she had followed for days, now a routine which had become a habit.

  ‘Paul! There’s something odd.’

  ‘What is it?’ He operated his controls and looked at the big screen. The familiar glitter of stars filled it with distant beauty. ‘Where?’

  ‘I’m getting a high-mass reading from a point two degrees left, one degree up. Nothing solid visible.’

  Morrow adjusted his screen, heightening the amplification. Sight-lines moved to centre on the designated position, steadied as he locked the scanner.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said after a moment. ‘Just a patch of darkness which—’ He broke off, hitting a button. ‘Commander! I think we’ve found it!’

  Koenig came on the run to stand behind Morrow as he looked at the screen.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘There. At the centre of the sight-lines. See? Just a patch of darkness but watch the stars at the edges.’

  They were moving in as if to be swallowed, but, no that was an illusion. They were occluded by something which was growing steadily larger with the passing of each second. Larger because of nearing proximity. A strange darkness which showed as a clearly defined disc edged with distant stars.

  ‘Distance?’

  ‘As far as I can tell, sir, about five days at our present rate of progress.’

  A guess, and their progress would not remain constant. The nearer they got the faster they would travel, drawn by the incredible gravity of the black sun. Or the black hole. As yet it was impossible to be certain exactly which it was. It could even be a wandering planet of the size of Jupiter, a frozen ball of lifeless matter.

  ‘Sandra, maintain a check on selected stars. Read angles every hour.’

  The differences would be minute, parallax measurement required a long baseline, but the computer could determine the differentials and provide some kind of an answer. At least they would know if their velocity had increased and from that determine the approximate mass.

  Koenig lifted his commlock.

  ‘Carter? Get an Eagle on the pad. Who is the duty pilot? Ryan? Tell him to take things easy. Orders will be relayed.’ To Morrow he said, ‘Take him far to one side of the point, Paul. I want an angle for crossreference. Full sensor-scan, he’s not to take any chances.’

  The Eagle lifted, vanished into the sky, the pilot reporting, his face cheerful on the monitor-screen.

  ‘Condition green, all systems go. Am moving at a thirty degree angle from base to point.’

  ‘Velocity?’

  ‘Maximum—I’m in a hurry to get this over with.’ Ryan smiled, winking from the screen. A favourite among the girls he had an easy, smiling manner and a gift of humour which made him welcome company.

  Morrow said, ‘Keep your mind on the job, Mike.’

  ‘It’s a milk-run—still, it breaks the monotony.’

  One boredom replaced by another. The confines of the command module for that of the base, but any action to a man of his temperament was better than none. As the hours passed he settled deeper into his chair, thinking, remembering.

  A girl with hair like spun silk, another with a mane of fire, a third with a figure like a dream.

  Girls, wonderful all of them.

  He snapped alert to the chime of a bell.

  He had travelled faster than he’d thought, moved too far from his flight path. The mysterious darkness lay to his right, no, to his front, and he frowned.

  ‘Alpha, Ryan reporting. No sensor readings.’

  Back at the base Morrow said, sharply: ‘None at all?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Ryan was positive. ‘The board’s dead. All I’m reading is vacuum.’

  ‘Position?’

  ‘Heading direct.’

  ‘What? Your orders—’

  ‘Were followed. I must have veered. Am correcting now.’ A moment and then Ryan said, a little unsteadily, ‘No response. Systems read go, but the controls do not respond.’

  Morrow stared at the screen, checked the monitors and frowned. Ryan was wrong, the controls were working, but the ship was maintaining its position and rapidly gaining velocity.

  Standing behind him, watching, as he had watched all through the flight, Koenig said, ‘Take over, Paul. Use slave-control.’

  ‘Right, sir.’

  ‘Try to pull to one side. Give it all it’s got.’ Stepping to the monitor-screen he said, to the pilot, ‘Ryan, Koenig here. Keep your hands away from the controls. Do you understand? Don’t touch a thing.’

  ‘Understood, Commander.’ Ryan looked annoyed. ‘Do you think I’m suffering from hallucinations then? I can handle this crate with my eyes shut.’

  ‘Just do as I say.’ Koenig glanced at Morrow, saw the negative shake of the head. ‘You’re trapped in a gravity well, Ryan. The only chance now is to run into it, build velocity and hope to break loose.’

  ‘Head into that?’

  ‘We’ll get you out if we can.’

  ‘You got me into it.’

  ‘No!’ Koenig was sharp. ‘You were in control. You should have been more careful. Now just sit there and stay calm.’

  Easy advice to give, hard to take, and he shouldn’t have reminded the man that it was his own fault. It was, but this was not the time to berate him.

  ‘Velocity mounting, Commander.’ Morrow was tense at the controls. ‘Am trying to bring him up.’ He sucked in his breath as the screen flickered, the dark area growing, an ebon pit swelling to blank out the circle of stars. ‘Commander! I can’t manage to—’

  The screen went blank.

  ‘Ryan! Answer me!’

  The speakers remained silent.

  ‘This is crazy.’ Morrow spun in his chair. ‘I had full contact and ev
erything was green. Then all at once, nothing. Commander, what the hell is that thing?’

  ‘A black hole.’

  ‘What?’

  Koenig shook his head, turning from the screen, his face bleak as he left the control area. The ship hadn’t died and Ryan could still, even now, be living, but they would never know it. Nothing could reach them from where he was. Light, radio, electronic impulses, all were held imprisoned in the gravity well into which the ship had driven. The pit from which it could never escape.

  ‘So it’s a black hole,’ said Bergman. ‘No doubt about it, John?’

  ‘None. How is the shield progressing?’

  ‘Better than could be expected. Anderson is working wonders. See?’ Bergman gestured to the model resting on the bench in his laboratory. ‘We’ve set a ring of seven towers around the base and they should provide a complete screen.’

  ‘Seven,’ said Helena. She had joined them. ‘A lucky number.’

  ‘There’s nothing esoteric about it,’ he said a little shortly. ‘Seven is the minimum we can get away with according to the computer. And that’s about all we have components for. We could have squeezed eight but,’ he glanced at Koenig, ‘some of the units were spoken for. Anyway, seven should be enough. The power-drain is the thing which worries me. It’ll take every erg we can produce.’

  ‘How long before testing?’

  ‘A few hours.’ Bergman picked up a schematic, compared it to a circuit diagram. ‘Before that, though, I have to re-route some of the circuits. Why don’t you children go and entertain yourselves while I get on with the job.’

  ‘Entertain?’

  ‘Sleep then. You look all in, John. Helena, tell him that flesh and blood isn’t made of iron. A man needs to rest and dream if he’s to stay in good condition.’ Pausing he added, meaningfully, ‘Women too. You can’t do it all alone, you know.’

  A fact Koenig knew too well. He slumped at the desk as Bergman left, palming his eyes, conscious of his fatigue. He had hardly slept at all since Ryan had gone. Hadn’t rested aside from the times when he’d snatched a little food. For hours, days, he had worked to get the shield built, seeing to it that rumours did not get out of hand, explaining, at all times to keep morale high and the base on an operational level.