Baxter thought for a long moment, then lowered the gun and smiled. “You’ve done all right. Continue your report. Tell them that you have received assistance. The Commies are not getting away with this. Now—how do I get in touch with the engine room?”
The radio operator pointed silently at the telephone screen, where an impassive face looked out. Baxter was just as unemotional as he strode over to the phone.
“You’re a traitor, Schmidt,” he said. “I knew that as soon as I saw you were a member of the East German delegation. That was not very wise of you.” Baxter turned to Nils who had been placed in a chair. He was struggling back to consciousness. “I know this man, Captain. A paid informer. It’s a good thing for you that I am here.”
General Gev slumped on the floor against the wall, listening silently, apparently unaware of his blood-soaked, dripping leg. His right arm had been hit by a bullet as well, and he had his hand pushed into the open front of his shirt. Arnie’s glasses were broken, gone, and he blinked myopically, trying to understand what was happening.
Baxter looked distastefully at Schmidt’s image. “I don’t enjoy dealing with traitors….”
“We all have to make small sacrifices.” Schmidt’s words were heavy with irony. Baxter flushed with anger but went on, ignoring them.
“There seems to be a stalemate here. We hold the bridge and the controls.”
“While I and my men are in charge of the engines and the drive unit. My forces are not as strong as they should be-but we are Well armed. I think that you will find it impossible to defeat us. You will not get us out of here. So what do you intend to do, Mr. Baxter?”
“Is Dr. Nikitin with you?”
“Of course! Why else do you think we are here?”
Baxter broke the connection and turned to Nils. “This is very bad, Captain.”
“What are you talking about?” The fog was clearing somewhat from Nils’s battered head. “Who is this Nikitin?”
“One of their better physicists,” Arnie said. “With the diagrams and circuitry he should know the basic principles of the Daleth drive by now.”
“Exactly,” Baxter said, and put his gun away. “They hold the engine room, but cannot take the bridge, so all is not lost. Report that to your superiors,” he ordered the radio operator. “It is a stalemate for the moment—but if We had not been here they would have taken the entire ship. You see, Captain, you were mistaken about us.”
“Where did you get the guns?” Nils asked. “That explosive?”
“Of what importance is that? Gun barrels looking like fountain pens, swallowed ammunition, plastic explosive in toothpaste tubes. The usual thing. It’s not important.”
“It is to me,” Nils said, sitting up straighter. “And what do you propose to do now, Mr. Baxter?”
“Hard to say. Bandage you people up first. Try to arrange a deal with that double-agent Kraut. We’ll work something out. Have to turn back, I guess. Prevent any more killing. They know about the drive now, so the cat is out of the bag. No secrets left between allies, hey? Your people in Copenhagen will understand. I imagine America will handle it through NATO, but that’s not my area of responsibility. I’m just the man in the field. But you can be sure of one thing.” He drew himself up. “There is going to be no Daleth gap. The Russians are not going to get ahead of us with this one.”
Nils rose slowly, painfully, and stumbled to his chair at the controls. “Who are you talking to?” he asked the radio operator.
“There is a patch to Copenhagen. One of the Minister’s assistants. It is the middle of the night there and the others were asleep when I called. The King, the Prime Minister, they’re on the way.”
“I’m afraid we can’t wait for them.” They spoke English so Baxter could understand. Nils now turned to him. “I would like to explain what has happened.”
“By all means, sure. They’ll want to know.”
Still in English, slowly and carefully, Nils outlined the recent occurrences. After a long delay, while the signal reached out to Earth and the answer came back, the man at the other end spoke in Danish, and Nils answered in the same language. When he had finished, there was a tense silence on the bridge.
“Well?” Baxter asked. “What was that about? What did they say?”
“They agreed with me,” Nils told him. “The situation is hopeless.”
“Good thinking.”
“We agreed on what must be done. He thanked us.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Nils was finished with patience and formality now. He spat the words with a slow anger that had finally burned through.
“I’m talking about stopping you, little man. Violence, death, killing-that is all you know. I don’t see an ounce of difference between you and your paid creatures here, and that swine now in charge of the engine room. In the name of good you do evil. For national pride you would destroy mankind. When will you admit that all men are brothers—and then find some way to stop killing your brothers? Your country alone has enough atomic bombs to blow up the world four times over. So why must you add the additional destruction of the Daleth effect?”
“The Russkies—”
“Are the same as you. From where I am, here in space, about to die, I can’t tell the difference.”
“Die?” Baxter was frightened, he raised his gun again.
“Yes. Did you think we would just hand you the Daleth drive? We tried to keep it away from you without killing, but you forced this on us. There are at least five tons of explosive distributed about the frame of this ship. Actuated by a radio signal from Earth ...”
A series of rapid musical notes was sounding from the speaker and Baxter screamed hoarsely, turning, firing at the controls, hitting the radio operator, emptying his gun into the banks of instruments.
“A radio signal that cannot be interrupted from here.”
Nils turned to Arnie who was standing quietly. Nils took his hand and started to say something. General Gev was laughing, victoriously, enjoying this cosmic jest. The rightness appealed to him. Baxter shouted …
With a single great burst of flame everything ended.
24
Moon Base
For Martha Hansen, events had a dreamlike quality that made them bearable. It had started when Ove had called that night, 4:17 in the morning, her clearest recollection of his call had been the position of the glowing hands in the dark while his voice buzzed in her ear.
4:17. The numbers must mean something important because they kept coming to the front of her mind. Was that the time her world had ended? No, she was still very much alive. But Nils was away on one of his flights. He had always returned from his flights before this….
That was the point where her thoughts would always slide around and come to something else. 4:17. The people who had called, talked to her, the Prime Minister himself. The Royal Family … 4:17. She had tried to be nice to everyone. Surely she had. She had at least learned to be polite in finishing school, if she had not learned anything else.
But she should have noticed more about the trip to the Moon. But even then the numbness had prevailed. They had flown in one of the new Moon ships, space-buses they were being called. Very much like flying in a jet, only with more room all around. A long cabin, rows of seats, sandwiches and drinks. Even a hostess. A tall ash-blond girl who had seemed to stay quite close for most of the trip, had even talked to her a bit. With the kind of lilting Swedish accent the men loved. But sad now, like all of them. When had she seen a smile last?
The funeral ceremony had seemed empty. There was the monument all right, in the airless soil just beyond the windows. Draped in flags, a bugle had wailed a plaintive call that pulled at the heartstrings. But no one was buried there. No one would ever be buried there. An explosion, they had told her. Died instantly, painless. And so far away. Days later Ove Rasmussen had told her the real story behind the explosion. It sounded like madness. People did not really do this kind of thing to ea
ch other. But they did. And Nils was the kind of man who could do what he had done. It wasn’t suicide, she could not imagine Nils committing suicide. But a victory for what he knew was right. If he had to die at the same time she knew he would consider this second, and not give it much consideration at all. In dying he had taught her things about the man, living, that she had never realized.
“Just a drop of sherry?” Ulla asked, bending over her with a glass in her hand. They were in a lounge, the ceremony was over. They would be returning to Copenhagen soon.
“Yes, please. Thank you.”
Martha sipped the drink and tried to pay attention to the others. She knew she had not been doing this of late, and also knew that they had been making allowances for it. She did not like that. It was too much like being pitied. She sipped again, and looked around. There was a high-ranking Army officer at the table with them, and someone—she forgot his name—from the Ministry of Space.
“It won’t happen again,” Ove said angrily. “We treated the other countries as if they were civilized, not monsters of what?—national greed, that is the only term for it. Smuggled weapons, hired thugs, subversion, piracy in space. Almost unbelievable. They won’t have a second chance. And we are not going to kill ourselves any more. We’ll kill them if they ask for it.”’
“Hear, hear,” the Army officer said.
“The new Daleth ships will be built with a complete internal division. We’ll advertise the fact. Crew on one side, passengers on the other, without as much as a bulkhead in between. We’ll have a troop of soldiers aboard if needs be. Armed with guns, gas …”
“Let’s not get carried away, old boy.”
“Yes, of course. But you know what I mean. It can’t ever happen again.”
“They won’t stop trying,” the man from the Ministry said gloomily. “So they’ll probably get the drive from us some day, if they don’t stumble onto it themselves first.”
“Fine,” Ove said. “But we’ll put that day off as long as possible. What else can we do?”
Silence was the only answer to this. What else could they do?
“Excuse me,” Martha said, and the men rose as she left. She knew where to find the commanding officer of the base, and he was most accommodating.
“Of course, Mrs. Hansen,” he told her. “There is no cause at all to refuse a request like this. We’ll of course take care of sending Captain Hansen’s effects back to you. But if there is any thing you wish to take now …”
“No, it’s not that so much. I just want to see where he lived when he was here. I hardly saw him at all this last year.”
“Quite understandable. If you will permit me, I’ll take you there myself.”
It was a small room, not luxurious, in one of the first sections that had been built. She was left alone there. The walls, under their coats of paint, still showed the grain of the wooden mold the cement had been poured into. The bed was metal framed and hard, the wardrobe and built-in drawers functional. The only note of luxury was a window that faced out upon the lunar plain. It was a porthole, really, one of the first jury-rigs. Two standard ship’s portholes that had been welded together to make a double-thick window. She looked out at the airless reaches and the hills, sharp and clear beyond, and could imagine him standing here like this. His extra uniforms were hung neatly in the closet and she missed him, how she missed him! She still had tears left, not many, and she dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. It had been a mistake coming here, he was dead and gone and would never return to her. It was time to leave. As she turned to go she noticed the framed picture of her on the little desk. Small, in color, in a bathing suit, laughing during some happier time. For some reason she did not want to look at it. It was here because he had loved her, she knew that. She should always have known that. Despite everything.
Martha started to put the picture into her purse, but she did not really want it. She opened the top drawer of the dresser and poked it down under his pajamas. Her hand brushed something hard, and she pulled out a paperbound booklet. Elementaer Vedligeholdelse og Drift af Daleth Maskinkom-ponenter af Model IV it was labeled, and as she mentally translated the compound, technical Danish terms, she flipped through the book. Diagrams, drawings, and equations flicked past as the meaning of the title registered in her brain.
Basic Maintenance and Operation of Daleth Drive Units Mark IV.
He must have been studying it; he always had to know all the details of the planes he flew. The new ships would be no different. He had stuffed it in here, forgotten it.
Men had died to obtain what she held in her hand. Other men had died to stop them.
She began to put it back into the drawer, then hesitated, looking at it again.
Baxter was dead, she had been told about that, dead aboard the ship. There was a new man at the embassy who had been trying to contact her, she had his name written down somewhere.
She could give this booklet to them and they would leave her alone. Everything would be settled once and for all and there would be no trouble.
Martha dropped the booklet into her purse and snapped it shut. It made no bulge at all. She slid the bureau drawer shut, looked around the room once more, then left.
When she rejoined the others some of them were already getting ready to leave. She glanced about the reception hall, seeking a familiar face. She found him, standing against the far wall, looking out of the large window.
“Herr Skou,” she said, and he turned about sharply.
“Ah, Mrs. Hansen. I saw you, but I have not had a chance to talk to you. Everything, everything …”
He had a haunted look on his face, and she wondered if he, somehow, blamed himself for what had happened.
“Here,” she said, opening her purse and handing him the booklet. “I found this with my husband’s things. I didn’t think that you wanted it lying around.”
“Good God, no!” he said when he saw the title. “Thank you, most kind, helpful. People never think. Doesn’t help my work, I tell you. Numbered copy, we thought it was on board the Holger Danske. I never realized.” He drew himself up and made a short, formal bow.
“Thank you, Fru Hansen. I don’t think you realize how helpful you have been.”
She smiled. “But I do know, Herr Skou. My husband and many others died to preserve what is in that book. Could I do less? And it is the other way around. Until now, I don’t think I realized how helpful you, everyone, has been to me.”
And then it was time to return to Earth.
25
Rugsted Kyst
The brakes in the Sprite were locked hard as it turned into the driveway, the tires squealing as it slid to a bucking stop. Ove Rasmussen jumped over the car door without opening it and ran up the front steps to push hard on the doorbell. Even as the chimes were sounding over and over again inside, he tried the handle. The door was unlocked and he threw it open.
“Martha—where are you?” he shouted. “Are you here?”
He closed the door and listened. There was only the ticking of a clock. Then he heard the muffled sobbing from the living room. She was sprawled On the couch, her shoulders shaking with the hopeless, uncontrolled crying. The newspaper lay on the floor beside her.
“Ulla called me, I was at the lab all night,” he said. “You sounded so bad on the phone that she was getting hysterical herself. I came at once. What happened …?”
Then he saw the front page of the newspaper and knew the answer. He bent and picked it up and looked at the photograph that almost filled the front page. It showed an egg-shaped vehicle about the size of a small car that was floating a few meters above a crowd of gaping people. A smiling girl waved from the little cockpit, and on the front, between the headlights, the word Honda could plainly be seen. The craft had no obvious means of propulsion. The headline read JAPANESE REVEAL GRAVITY SCOOTER, and underneath, CLAIM NEW PRINCIPLE WILL REVOLUTIONIZE TRANSPORTATION.
Martha was sitting up now, dabbing at her eyes with a sodden handkerchie
f. Her face was red and puffy, her hair in a tangle.
“I had a sleeping pill,” she said, almost choking on the words. “Twelve hours. I didn’t hear the radio, anything. While I was getting my breakfast ready I brought in the paper. And there …” Her voice broke and she could only point. Ove nodded wearily and dropped into the armchair.
“Is it true?” she asked. “The Japanese have the Daleth drive?”
He nodded again. Her fingers flew to her face, her nails sank into the flesh and she shrieked the words.
“Wasted! All killed for nothing! The Japs already knew about the Daleth effect—they stole it. Nils, all of them, they died for nothing!”
“Easy,” Ove said, and leaned forward to hold her shoulders, feeling her body shake as she cried in agony. “Tears can’t bring him back, or any of the others.”
“All that security … no good … the secret leaked out …”
“Security killed them all,” Ove said, and his voice was as bleak as a winter midnight. “A stupid, stupid waste.”
The bitterness of his words did what sympathy could not do; it reached Martha, shocked her. “What are you talking about?” she said, rubbing the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Just that.” Ove looked at the newspaper with black hatred, then ground it with his foot. “We had no eternal secret, just a lead on the others. Arnie and I tried to tell security that, but they would never listen. Apparently only Nils and his top officers knew about the destruction charges in the ship. If Arnie or I had known we would have made a public stink and would have refused to fly in her. It is all a criminal waste, criminal stupidity.”
“What does this mean?” She was frightened of his words.
“Just that. Only politicians and security agents believe in Secrets with a capital S. And maybe the people who read the spy novels about those imaginary stolen secrets. But mother nature has no secrets. Everything is right out where you can see it. Sometimes the answer is complex, or you have to know the right place to look before you find it. Arnie knew that, and that is one of the reasons he brought his discovery to Denmark. It could be developed faster here because we have the heavy industrial machinery to build the Daleth ships. But it was only a matter of time before everyone else caught up. Once they knew that there was a Daleth effect they would know just what they were looking for. We had two things in our favor. A number of physicists around the world knew that Arnie was doing gravity research. He corresponded with them and they read about his work in the journals. What they did not know was that his basic approach was wrong. He discovered that fact but never had time to publish the results. The real discovery of the Daleth effect came about through the telemetry records of the solar flare. Those data readouts were distributed to the cooperating countries, and it was only a matter of time before the connection was tracked down. We had that time, almost two years of it, and it gave us the lead that we needed.”
In Our Hands the Stars Page 19