Don Pendleton's Science Fiction Collection, 3 Books Box Set, (The Guns of Terra 10; The Godmakers; The Olympians)

by Don Pendleton

  “Yes, plus others.”

  They passed through an arched doorway and onto a gently curving ramp. Zach squeezed Stel’s hand and said, “This rises to Command Cabin. Is nice. Stel will like.”

  Blue was still thinking about the guns. He scampered along, laboring to meet the long strides of his companions, and huffed, “Zach . , . where do you get all the energy for these guns? Isn’t there an ultimate limit?”

  Whaleman nodded his head. “Yes, Blue, ultimate limit is energy radiation of Sol.”

  “Huh?”

  “Correction, of all galactic Sols. Heart of Terra 10 is magnetherm core. Is constantly replenished by captured gamma radiation, X-radiation, plus others. Terra 10 is perpetual energy machine.”

  “It’s more than that,” Hedge said. “There’s a very definite up and down here. You have an artificial gravity.”

  “Is not artificial, Hedge. Is another feature of magnetherm core, plus supporting systems. Terra 10 is miniature earth. Has north pole, south pole, complete gravitational field. Down as you say, is core attraction. Up is reverse, toward surface.”

  “We saw the thing wobbling as we approached,” Stel said. “What made it stop?”

  Whaleman grinned. “Is not stop, wobble continues.”

  “Then why can’t we feel it?”

  “Does Stel feel Earth wobble? Earth also wobbles, Stel. Gunship in runaway mode. Earlier, danger was that gunship would impact Venus. We introduce variation to magnetic field, cause wobble, change course, gunship does not impact Venus.”

  “Then this thing really is in trouble,” Tom Cole commented.

  “Yes, Tom, is serious glitch. First, we must conquer Terra 10.” He turned and smiled. “Second, we conquer ourselves. Third, we conquer Board Island.”

  Cole was scowling, in deep thought. Hedge said, “I’ll buy that.”

  Whaleman pulled the group to a halt at the top of the ramp, directed them onto a motorized stairway, then waved his hand in front of a photoelectric cell which was mounted on the bulkhead. The stairway began moving and a heavy hatch at the top swung open. “This is Whaleman’s World,” he declared proudly, swinging an arm across the void beyond the stairway.

  “Whaleman’s World” was a technological wonderland of automated consoles by the score, light panels, monitor stations, relay boards, power stations, clicking circuits, and whirring computers, stretching in a seeming infinity through the interior well of Terra 10 in a bewildering array. He halted the stairway momentarily at the midpoint so that all could have a look.

  Following a brief, awed silence, Stel said, “You run all this, Zach? One man? By yourself?”

  “Yes, Stel, one man ... but many machines. Terra 10 is a machine, run by many sub-machines, all reporting ultimately to the Gunner. Submachines are brains of Terra 10, but the Gunner is the mind. This is important, never forget, only man has the mind.”

  He started the stairway again and they went on through the open hatch and into the command cabin. It was spacious, but not to the point of comfortably accommodating so many visitors. A master console occupied a dais at the center. Various other pedestal-type consoles were scattered about, and the walls of the turret-like room were completely covered with panels, light indicators and viewscreens. A clear-dome ceiling projected beyond the surface of the gunship, apparently protruding at a sharp angle. “Observatory,” Whaleman explained, pointing to the dome.

  A very tall female came to her feet and stared silently at them from the master console. She appeared to be of about Whaleman’s general height, somewhat slighter of build and more rounded in critical places, shiny black hair cropped close in a boyish fashion with full sideburns and tight curls across the forehead. She wore the blue and black of the Defense Command and held herself in a stiffly military posture. Stel nudged Whaleman with an elbow. As he turned into full view, the girl at the console inclined her head in the formal salute and said, “Ho, Gunner.”

  Whaleman returned the salute and raised a hand in greeting, then wordlessly led his group to the console. He thrust Stel to the forefront. “Sub-Gunner Rosslin, this is Stel Rogers/Brandt.” He also introduced Tom Cole and each of the raiders in turn. The girl stared with frank interest at their uniforms, especially those adorning Blue and several other Homan-sized men, and her eyes kept returning to the projections at Stel’s chest.

  Whaleman’s only explanation was, “These have accompanied me from Terra. Primary task is to correct control glitch. Report status, Sub-Gunner.”

  The girl’s voice was cool and crisp. “Status remains unchanged, Gunner. Instructions relayed via DDC have been followed, results negative.” She crumbled a bit then and raised a trembling hand to her forehead. “Gunner ... DDO advises that Gunner Whaleman re-assumes command Terra 10. Rosslin happily relinquishes. Request immediate.”

  Whaleman smiled and embraced her, said, “Well done, Rosslin,” and moved quickly to the console. He made a cursory inspection of the indications, then raised his eyes to the girl. “Isolation shield negative?” he queried.

  She nodded. “Negative, all recycles. Plus, maneuvering subsystems all negative. Solid glitch, all controls.”

  Whaleman nodded his head and murmured something beneath his breath, as though talking to the console. Then he said, “Rosslin, take guests to command billet. Rest, make friends, eat, refresh.”

  The girl replied, “Skronk,” and turned her gaze to Tom Cole. He grinned at her and let his eyes travel her frame. Her eyes fled the confrontation and she murmured, “Tom Cole is no Commander.”

  “Bet on that,” he said, enunciating carefully. “But, aren’t there better things?”

  She pushed on past him and said, “Please follow.”

  Whaleman met the Reever chief’s questioning gaze and nodded his head in reassurance. “Stel, too, follow,” he said, smiling at her. “Zach much busy, immediate time next.”

  “Don’t dehumanize, Zach,” she said plaintively.

  His smile broadened. “Not this Reever,” he assured her.

  She went over and kissed him, then followed the others out of the cabin. Zach waited until the hatch closed, then he began rapidly positioning switches, setting up alternate command circuits. “Now, my friends,” he whispered, “talk to Zach.”

  “DDO from Terra 10. Gunner Whaleman reporting status.”

  “Go ahead, Zach. Squadroneer Bond-Durant here.”

  “Circuit fusion, command logic. Reroute, alternate circuits using gunnery logic, has bypassed glitch. Control is now positive. Using trajectory swing to come around on Terra. Velocity sixteen-two-eighty per second, range from Terra two-five-point-eight million. Request defense assignment.”

  A pause, then, “Skronk, Zach. Does this mean batteries cannot be activated?”

  “Affirmative. Gunnery logic substituting for command logic.”

  “Skronk. If able attain defense station, can logic be restored to primary batteries?”

  “Only if ferry squadron can take gunship in tow. Unable maintain station with negative control.”

  Another pause, then, “Zach, every ship in command is ordered to defense slot at outer envelope. This is massive invasion. Estimated two full flotillas, plus more still following in outer corridor.”

  “Skronk. So, no ferry squadron.”

  “Problem is, Zach, time factor. Unable return ships plus station gunship in effective time. Suggestions?”

  “Squadroneer, this glitch is no glitch. This glitch is sabotage.”

  “Unskronk. Explain.”

  “Cause of control circuit fusion is outside source. Interrogate intelligence computer, ascertain probability that outside source is alien ships.”

  “Zach, this is ... Skronk. Standby.”

  “Standing by. Plus, altering course, proceeding Solan corridor.”

  “No time, Zach, no time. DDO suggests Terra 10 attempt achieve gravity-orbit earth-moon system, disable bypass control features, activate batteries for all possible defense Mother Planet.”

  “Negat
ive, negative, this is ineffective procedure. Dead orbit neutralizes defense capability, aggressors can attack at will on blind side of orbit.”

  “Bitter truth, Zach, Terra 10 is not ultimate defense. In such case, is no defense at all. Planning glitch, Zach.”

  “Negative, Terra 10 will perform defense assignment. Reporting course change positive, velocity same, proceeding Solan corridor.”

  “Problem is simple mathematics, Zach. If alien fleet passes defense perimeter, Terra will be gone long before Terra 10 achieves Solan corridor. Standby, intelligence computer report. Is positive, Zach. Probability is seventy-thirty positive.”

  “Skronk, this checks my data. Automated report follows.”

  “Hold, Zach. Words from Chairman.”

  “Chairman can save . . . apology, Terra 10 standing by for Chairman.”

  The precise tones of the Chairman’s automat came through. “Chairman requests probability of Terra 10 achieving Solan corridor for effective defense posture.”

  Whaleman said, “Terra 10 standing by for Chairman, not for Chairman’s automat.”

  A pause, then the reedy voice, “Gunner, are you in full possession of your senses?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Your insistence upon proceeding to the solar corridor smacks of sheer emotionalism. Your defense station has been assigned. You are to proceed without delay to a gravity-orbit of Earth, where you will then place your batteries in the automatic-ready mode.”

  “Negative.”

  “You are directly disobeying a Command decision?”

  “Affirmative. Chairman has proved to be fallible. Many errors noted. Terra 10 will make Command decisions. Recommend Chairman interrogate intelligence computer re: probability aliens monitoring all Solana communications. This should check positive, repeat positive. Terra 10 will transmit automated data, then go comm-dead, repeat comm-dead. Zach off.”

  Whaleman deactivated the communications console and swung about to regard Sub-Gunner Rosslin with a steady gaze. “So,” he told her, “umbilical is severed.”

  Her eyes dropped. “Eva Rosslin serves the Commander of Terra 10,” she murmured. Her gaze came back up, swung to the group of Reevers who were conversing among themselves in the doorway, then returned to Whaleman.

  But what are these? This Tom Cole is no Commander.”

  “This Tom Cole is a Reever,” Whaleman told her.

  Her eyes flared noticeably. “And this female with motherhood chest, this also is Reever, plus all?”

  Whaleman nodded. “Plus Zach Whaleman.”

  The girl sank weakly into a command chair, “Is nightmare,” she said.

  “No, is awakening from nightmare. Does Rosslin still serve Commander of Terra 10?”

  “What else?” she asked dully.

  The Gunner flipped a lever, bringing a view- screen to life, then sharpened the focus. “Observe, solar corridor.”

  The girl straightened and stared at the screen. “Many cruisers,” she commented.

  “Yes, plus others, top of barrel.” He raised to his full height and signalled to the group in the doorway.

  The Reevers approached the command console and arranged themselves in a fan behind it. Two of the men had removed their uniforms and wore only crotchguards. Whaleman swept them with a disapproving glance and said, “Get in uniform.”

  “What for, Zach?” replied one. “You said get comfortable.”

  Whaleman waved a hand in front of him, like a high priest conferring a benediction. “Gunner of Terra 10 commissions these men, this woman, in name of Solana.” He grinned. “These Reevers are now Defense Commanders.” He glared at the two unclothed ones. “Get in uniform!”

  The two men laughed and trotted quickly out of the cabin. “And report back soonest!” Whaleman called after them.

  Tom Cole was giving Whaleman a curious stare. “What’s going on here, Zach?” he asked testily.

  The Gunner pointed to the viewscreen. “There is your cry wolf, Tom Cole. Emergency is real.”

  The big Reever chieftain was peering into the viewscreen with a perplexed expression. “Where is this?” he asked.

  “Solan corridor to Andro. This is also called Galactic Slot.” He leaned forward and traced a circle with his finger around a clump of lights near the top of the screen. “This is alien ships. You see many.”

  “Maybe they’re friendly," Stel suggested.

  Whaleman shook his head. “Too many for friendly. Plus, combat formations. Plus, intelligence computer reports no life signs from ships, but heavily armed. No, Stel, this is invasion fleet.”

  “How can you know all this?” Cole asked, his voice hotly irritated.

  Whaleman shrugged. “Is just know, Tom. Is irrefutable data.”

  “Well I don’t buy your damn irrefutable data,” Cole snarled. “Those zingoes down there on Board Island are pulling a ringer on us. This is the first chance the Reevers have had in centuries, and I’m not gonna throw it away.”

  Whaleman brought a balled fist from deep space and sent it crashing into Tom Cole’s unprepared face. The big fellow staggered backwards, hit the wall, and slid to a sitting position on the deck. He shook his head viciously, tried to get up, and fell over onto his outstretched hands. Sub-Gunner Rosslin sat frozen to her chair, staring at Whaleman in bewilderment. Tom Cole rose to one knee, then took the girl’s hand and merely held it.

  Whaleman said, “Tom hits Zach, wake Zach up. Now Zach hits Tom. Is Tom woke up?”

  The big Reever chuckled, rubbed his chin, and came to his feet. “Okay, Zach,” he said amiably, “you’re right. What’s in your mind?”

  “Reever’s freedom to live is worth fight,” the Gunner told him. “Freedom to die, no. First assignment, Tom, is save some place for Reevers to live. Next, win freedom. Skronk?”

  “Skronk,” Cole replied, grinning. “How much of a fight is this going to be, Zach?”

  Whaleman looked back to the screen. “Is seem Defense Command have superiority, many more ships than invaders. Not so. More ships, yes, but many are unfit to fight. No good, Tom. Defense Cruisers will not hold invaders. Terra 10 is needed.”

  “So what do we do? Is this thing still out of control?”

  Whaleman quickly briefed his “crew” on the status of Terra 10. He completed the assessment with, “So, this is problem. Plus mathematical one. How get Terra 10 to Solan corridor in time?”

  “Well what’s pushing us right now?” Cole asked. “Isn’t there some way to just speed it up?”

  “No, Tom. Push is basic law of motion, inertia. Terra 10 is prop-dead, meaning no propulsion plant, except for minor maneuvers using gravitational system.”

  Tom Cole threw up his hands. “So, Mars, buddy, you’ve got a problem here that can’t be solved.”

  Whaleman's gaze fell on Blue. “Reevers can steal gravcar, leave Terra first time, find way to moving speck near Venus. This is human mind, in all its excellence. Can human mind push Terra 10 to combat?”

  “It was your machine, Zach,” Blue muttered. “We just followed the instructions and pushed the buttons.”

  “Did mind push buttons, Blue?”

  The small Reever stared at his hands, then took a deep breath and said, “You got this isolation shield. You got a gravitational system, and you say the energy potential of the universe. There oughta be some way to put it all together.”

  The Gunner was grinning like a happy Reever. “We make gravcar of Terra 10?” he said.

  Hedge cried, “Hey, you just might have something there!”

  “You’re way over my head,” Tom Cole rumbled.

  “Me too,” piped in Stel. “But I’ll sing songs and wash the dishes, if that’ll help any.”

  A small, dark, intent youth edged forward, peering at the Gunner shyly. He swallowed hard and said, “If this is Whaleman’s World, then I guess you can do anything you want to with it, Zach. You tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

  Whaleman's eyes moistened. He said, in barely audible tones
, “Guns of Terra 10 will speak for man. They will speak in the Solan corridor.”

  None present doubted the truth of that statement.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Talking Guns

  Whaleman dispatched Eva Rosslin and most of his new crew into the interior maze of Terra 10. The Sub-Gunner’s task was to set up a fire-control communications network between the various batteries, to station a “gunman” at each battery and to instruct each gunman in the simple procedures of firing the guns in the local-control mode.

  Remaining in the Command Cabin with Whaleman were Stel, Blue, and Hedge. Tom Cole was double-teaming with Eva Rosslin and “getting the feel” of the gunship.

  Whaleman was explaining warp-speed concepts to his companions. “Is warp, meaning distortion. Is like, shortest distance between two points is straight line, but in space, all straight lines are, believe this, distorted lines.”

  “How can they be straight and warped at the same time?” Hedge asked.

  “Apology, Hedge, is in appearance. Understand, space has dimensions not detectable by human senses. Open space appears straight. Is not. Is curved. Apparent straight line through apparent straight space is actually curved line. Like same on earth, any sphere.”

  “You mean,” Blue commented, “the straight line from America to Asia is right through the earth, not curved across the surface.”

  “This is like same,” Whaleman agreed. “Surface of sphere, if sphere large enough, appears straight. . . flat. Like early man, thought Earth was flat. Not flat. Curved. Space not flat. Space also curved. Flat space is illusion, like flat Earth. Flat space illusion is created by physical properties of space, not detectable by human senses. This caused early confusions in science. Early science was like so: Observe, report, make conclusions. Conclusions made were based on observations. Early scientists observed that light always travels in straight line.”

  “Yeah,” Blue said, “and they also decided that the speed of light is the ultimate speed limit in the universe.”

  “Yes, and this is true in three-dimensional space. But space has more than three dimensions. Error was caused by fact that light diffuses only in three dimensions. Human observation limited by dimensions into which light diffuses, or travels. Light does not burrow below third dimension, but diffuses evenly along apparent flat space.”