Well clear of the shore the tugs cast off, tooted farewell, and turned about.
“Cast off,” Henning said. “Decks cleared and hatches secured.”
“You may proceed then,” Nils said.
There were a separate set of controls at the second pilot’s position, used only for surface navigation. Two great electric motors were mounted on pods secured to the hull of the ship. Only electric cables penetrated the pressure hull, assuring an airtight continuity. Each motor drove a large six-bladed propeller. There was no rudder: steering was controlled by varying the relative speed of the propellers, which could even be run in opposite directions for sharp turning. Throttles and steering were all controlled from the single position on the bridge, accurate and smooth control being assured by the computer, which monitored the entire operation.
Henning eased forward both throttles and Galathea came to life. No longer shorebound, no longer at tow, she was a vessel in her own right. Waves broke against the bow, streamed down the sides, then splashed onto the deck as their speed increased. The lights of Helsinger began to fall behind them. A dash of spray hit the port.
“What’s our speed?” Nils asked.
“A stupendous six knots. Our hull has all the fine seagoing characteristics of a gravy boat.”
“This will be her first and last -ocean cruise, so relax.” He made a quick calculation. “Slacken off to five knots, that will get us to the harbor at dawn.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Their maiden voyage was going more smoothly than anyone had expected. There was some water seepage around one of the hatches, but this was caused by an incorrectly sized gasket and they could fit one of the spares as soon as they docked. In the semidarkness of the bridge Nils crossed his fingers: it should only stay this way.
“Do you want some coffee, Captain?” Henning asked. “I had some made and put in thermos bottles before we shut the kitchen down.”
“A good idea—send for it.”
A tall seaman, sporting sidewhiskers and a great moustache, brought it a few minutes later, stamping in in his heavy sea boots and saluting broadly.
“Who the devil are you?” Nils asked. He had never seen the man before.
“He’s one of the extra deckhands you asked me to get,” Henning answered. “They had to be found and cleared, three of them, and they just came aboard this afternoon. Things were pretty busy at the time. Jens here has been trying to volunteer for this assignment for months. He says he has experience with the Daleth drive.”
“You what?”
“Yes sir, Captain. I helped weld up the first experimental one. Nearly broke the back of our ship, it did. Captain Hougaard is still trying to find someone to sue.”
“Well—glad to have you aboard, Jens,” Nils said, feeling self-conscious about the nautical terms, though no one else seemed to notice.
Their slow voyage continued. It was less than thirty kilometers by sea from Helsingør to Copenhagen, and it was taking them longer than the million-kilometer voyage to the Moon. They had no choice. Until the Daleth drive was installed, they were nothing more than an underpowered electric tub.
The eastern horizon was gold-barred with dawn when they came to the entrance to the Free Port of Copenhagen. Two tugs, riding the easy swell, were waiting for them. They tied up and, in a reverse of their leavetaking, were eased gently into the Frihavn, to the waiting slip at the Vestbassin.
“That’s good timing,” Nils said, pointing to the convoy just pulling up on the wharf. “They must have been tracking us all the time. Skou told me he had almost a full division of soldiers deployed here. Lining the streets every foot of the way from the Institute. I wish it were all over.” He clenched and unclenched his fists, the only sign of tension.
“You and I both. Nothing can go wrong. Too many precautions, but still …”
“Still, all of our eggs are in one basket. There is the drive.” He pointed to the plastic-wrapped bulk already being eased from the flatbed truck by the dockside crane. “And the professors will be right there with it. All in one basket. But don’t worry, it looks like the entire Danish army is out there. Nothing short of an atom bomb could do anything here today.”
“And what is to stop that?” Henning’s face was white, strained. “There are a lot of them in this world, aren’t there? What is to stop someone who can’t get the drive from arranging it so no one can get it? Balance of power …”
“Shut up. You have too much imagination.” Nils meant to say it kindly, but there was an unexpected harsh edge to his words. They both looked up, starting slightly as a flight of jets, bright in the rising sun, screeched by close overhead.
“Ours,” Nils said, smiling.
“I wish they would hurry,” Henning answered, refusing to be cheered up.
It would take precision work to get the giant Daleth drive swung aboard and mounted, so despite all the advance preparations it seemed to be maddeningly slow. Even as Galathea was being securely moored to the dock, the large hatch on the stern deck was being unbolted and opened; a large crane bent its steel neck over, ready to lift when it was free. The hatch would be used once only, then welded shut. The great steel plate moved up, turning slowly, and was pulled back to the shore. The moment it was free the other crane was swinging out the tubular bulk of the Daleth drive. Carefully, with measured movements, it vanished through the hatchway.
The phone rang and Nils answered it, listening and nodding. “Right. Take him to my cabin, I’ll see him there.” He hung up and ignored Henning’s lifted, eyebrows. “Take over, I won’t be long.”
An officer in the uniform of Livgarden, the Royal Life Guards, was waiting when he came. The man saluted and held out a thick cream envelope that had been sealed with red wax. Nils recognized the cypher that had been pressed into the wax.
“I’m to wait for an answer,” the officer said.
Nils nodded and tore the envelope open. He read the brief message, then went to his desk. In a holder there was some official ship’s stationery, unused until now, that some efficient supply officer had had printed. He took a sheet-this was a fitting first message—and wrote a quick note. He sealed it into an envelope and handed it to the officer.
“I suppose there is no need to address the envelope?” he asked.
“No, sir.” The man smiled. “For my own part, for everyone, let me wish you the best of luck. I don’t think you have any idea of what the country is feeling today.”
“I think that I am beginning to understand.” They saluted -and shook hands.
Back on the bridge, Nils thought of the letter resting now in his safe.
“I suppose that you are not going to tell me?” Henning asked.
“No reason why I should.” He winked, then called over to the radioman, the only other person on the bridge. “Neergaard, take a break. I want you back in fifteen minutes.”
There was silence until the door had soughed shut.
“It was from the King,” Nils said. “The public ceremony for this afternoon was a fake all along. A cover-up. They are going to announce it, we are supposed to tie up by Amalienborg Palace—but we are not going to. As soon as we are ready we get out of here—and leave. He wished us luck. Sorry he couldn’t be here. Once out of the harbor, the next step will be …”
“The Moon!” Henning said, looking out at the welders working on the deck.
16
Martha Hansen had trouble sleeping. It wasn’t being alone in the empty house that bothered her—that had become a commonplace when Nils was flying. Perhaps she was just too used to having him around the house of late, so that the big double bed seemed empty now that he was gone.
It wasn’t that either. Something very important, perhaps dangerous, was happening, and he had not been able to talk to her about it. After all these years she knew him well enough to tell when he was concealing something. Overnight, maybe a few days, he had said, then turned away and switched on the television. It was much more than that, she knew, a
nd the knowledge was keeping her awake. She had dozed off, woken up with a start, and been unable to sleep again after that. Too tired to read, she was too tense to sleep as well, and just tossed and punched her pillow until dawn. Then she gave up. After filling the electric percolator she went and took a shower.
Sipping at the too-hot coffee she tried to find some news on the radio, but there was nothing. Switching to the short wave band she ran through an incomprehensible lecture in some guttural language, flipped past some Arabic minor key music, and finally found the news on the BBC World Service. There was a report on the continuing stalemate in the Southeast Asia talks, and she poured more coffee—almost dropping the cup when she heard Copenhagen.
“… incomplete reports, although no official statements have been made at this time. However eyewitness observers say that the city is filled with troops, and there is a great deal of activity along the waterfront. Unofficial reports link the Nils Bohr Institute, and speculation is rife that further tests of the so-called Daleth drive may now be in progress.”
She turned the volume all the way up so she could hear it while she was dressing. What was happening? And, more important, the question she tried to avoid all the time now, how dangerous was it? Since the spies had been killed and Arnie had been hurt she was in continual anticipation of something even worse happening.
Fully dressed, with her gloves on and her car keys already out, she stopped at the doorway. Where was she going and what was she doing? This almost hysterical rushing about suddenly struck her as being foolish in the extreme. It couldn’t help Nils in any way. Dropping into a chair in the hall she fought back the strong impulse to burst into tears. The radio still boomed.
“… and a report just in indicates that the experimental ship, often referred to as a hovercraft, is no longer at the shipyards in Elsinore. It can be speculated that there is some connection between this and the earlier events in Copenhagen….”
Martha slammed the door behind her and opened the garage. There was nothing she could do, she knew that, but she did not have to stay at home. Speeding south on Strandvejen—the road was almost deserted at this hour—she felt that she was somehow doing the right thing.
It did not seem that clear once she reached Copenhagen, a maze of closed streets and soldiers with slung rifles. They were very polite, but they would not let her through. Nevertheless she kept trying, probing around the area in the growing traffic, discovering that a great ring seemed to be thrown around the Free Port area. Once she realized this, she swung wide, through the narrow back streets, and headed for the waterfront again on the other side of Kastellet, the five-sided moated castle that formed the southern flank of the harbor. A block from the waterfront she found a place and parked the car. People passed her on foot, and she could see more of them ahead near the water’s edge.
The wind from the Sound pulled the heat from her body, and there was no way to hide from it. More and more people arrived, and the air was alive with rumors as everyone searched the Øresund before them for sign of any unusual activity. Some of the spectators had brought radios, but there were no news reports that mentioned the mysterious events in the Frihavn.
One hour passed, and a second, and Martha began to wonder what she was doing here. She was chilled to the bone. The radios blared, and a sudden chorus of shushing went up from the groups around these radios. Martha tried to get closer, but could not. But she could still make out the gist of the Danish announcement.
The Galathea … an official launching … ceremony … Amalienborg Palace in the afternoon … There was more, but that was enough. Tired and chilled, she turned to go back to the car. She was certain to be invited to anything public, official. They were probably trying to call her now. Better nap first, then call Ulla Rasmussen to find out what they would be wearing.
A man stood before her, blocking her way.
“You’re up early, Martha,” Bob Baxter said. “This must be an important day for you.” He smiled when he said it, but neither the words nor the smile were real. This was no coincidence, she realized.
“You followed me here. You have been watching my home!”
“The street’s no place to talk—and you look cold. Why don’t we go into this restaurant here? Get some coffee, a bite of breakfast.”
“I’m going home,” she said, starting around him. He blocked her with his arm.
“You didn’t keep that appointment with me. Passport matters can be serious. Now—what do you say we keep this unofficial and sit down for a cup of coffee together? Can’t be anything wrong with that?”
“No.” She was suddenly very tired. There was no point in irritating the man. A hot cup of coffee would taste good right now. She allowed him to take her arm and open the door of the cafe.
They sat by the window, with a view of the Sound over the roofs of the parked cars. The heat felt good, and she kept her coat on. He draped his over the back of the chair and ordered coffee from the waitress, who understood his English. He did not speak again until she brought the coffee and was out of earshot.
“You have been thinking about what I asked you,” Baxter said, without any preamble. She looked into the coffee cup when she answered.
“To tell you the truth, no. There’s nothing, really, that I can do to help you.”
“I’m the best judge of that. But you would like to help, wouldn’t you, Martha?”
“I would like to, of course, but…”
“Now that is much more reasonable.” She felt trapped by her words: a generalization suddenly turned into a specific promise. “There are no ‘buts’ to it. And nothing very hard or different for you to do. You have been friendly with Professor Rasmussen’s wife, Ulla, lately. Continue that friendship.”
“You have been watching me, haven’t you?”
He brushed the question aside with his hand as not worth answering. “And you know Arnie Klein as well. He’s been to your home a few times. Get to know him better too. He’s a key man in this business.”
“Do you want me to sleep with him too?” she asked, in a sudden surge of anger at herself, this man, the things that were happening. He did not get angry at her, though his face drew up in stem, disapproving lines.
“People have done a lot worse for their country. People have died for our country. I’ve devoted my life to this work and I have seen them die. So please keep your dirty little Mata Hari jokes to yourself. Or do you want to make jokes about the boys who got tortured and killed fighting the Japs, Koreans, Charley, all of them? Died making the world safe so you could be a free American and live where you like and do what you like. Free. You do believe in America, don’t you?” He brought the challenge out like an oath, laid down on the table between them, waiting to be picked up and sworn to. “Of course,” she finally said, “but…”
“There are no buts in loyalty. Like honor it is indivisible. You know that your country needs you and you make a free choice. There is no need to take your passport away or coerce you in the many possible ways—”
No? she thought, nastily. Then why mention it at all?
“… since you are an intelligent woman. You will do nothing dishonorable, I can guarantee that. You will help to right a wrong.”
His voice was drowned out as a flight of jet planes tore by low overhead, and he turned his head quickly to look at them. He pointed after them, with a brief, twisted smile.
“Ours,” he said. “Do you know what a jet plane costs? We gave them to Denmark. And guns and tanks and ships and all the rest. Do you know that our country paid fifty percent of all the costs to re-arm the Danes after the war? Oh yes we did, though it is kind of forgotten now. Not that we expected gratitude. Though a little loyalty wouldn’t have hurt. Instead, I am afraid that we have a good deal of selfishness. What can tiny Denmark do in this modem world?” He drawled the word with more than a little contempt. “They can just be greedy and forget their responsibilities and forget that nothing stays secret very long in these times. Remember the Re
d spies and the atom bomb? Their spies are at work here, right now. They’ll get the Daleth drive. And when they do—that’s the end of the world as we know it. We’re going to be dead, or in chains, and that’s all there will be to it.”
“It doesn’t have to be like that.”
“No—because you are going to help. America has been the single bastion of the defense of the free world before, and we are not ashamed to take that role again. We can guarantee peace.”
Like Vietnam, Laos, Guatemala, she thought, but was too ashamed to say it aloud.
The jets swept by again, circling far out in the Sound. Baxter sipped some of his coffee, then looked at his watch.
“I suppose you will want to go home now and get ready. I imagine that you are invited to the big affair this afternoon for the Galathea ship. Your husband must be connected with this project. What does he do?”
There it was, a question she could answer: he must know that from the stricken expression on her face. The silence lengthened.
“Come on, Martha,” he said, lightly. “You’re not siding with these people.”
It was said more in humor than in insult, as though the thought were unthinkable: siding with the Devil instead of God.
“He is captain of the ship,” she said, almost without thinking, choosing the right side. Only afterward did she tell herself that it would be common knowledge soon, everyone would know it. But not now. Now she had taken a stand.
Baxter did not gloat; he just nodded his head as though what she said was right and natural. He looked out of the window and she saw him start, the first sign of real emotion he had ever expressed. She turned to follow his gaze and found herself suddenly cold, colder than she had been standing outside.
“That’s the Galathea” he said, pointing to the squat shape that had appeared in the Sound outside. She nodded, staring at it. “Good, there’s no point in your lying now. We know some things too. We have high altitude pix of this baby. It was in Elsinore last night, came down here for something, probably the Daleth drive, now going to tie up near the castle. You’ll get a closer look at her later. Probably go aboard.” He turned his head to stare unwinkingly at her, conveying a message, You know what to do if that does happen. It was she who turned away. She was compromised, she knew; she had drawn sides.
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