Jack Mcdevitt - Engines of god

by David Geary

"The packets are fast. If they leave as soon as they hear the distress call, the Valkyrie will be here in eleven days."

  "We can live with that," said George. "Maybe in the mean­time we can figure out what that thing back there is."

  The real problem surfaced five hours later. Hutch was still trying to reroute and reprogram her status board when Janet strolled in, blowing conspicuously on her

  hands. "It's getting cold in here."

  It was chilly. Hutch's board showed 103° Celsius. Hot enough to boil water. She ran a diagnostic, and got a Nega­tive. No problems. She shook her head, got up, and walked over to one of the ducts. "It's pumping cool air."

  "It's not really cold," Janet said. "But it isn't room tem­perature either."

  "We better go down and take a look. The programming is probably scrambled. But I can't get at it from up here."

  They collected George in the passenger lounge, and crossed over to C ring, Life Support and General Maintenance. They walked halfway round the long outer passageway, picked up a repair harness, and entered Engineering. The bulkheads were lined with housings, casings, cabinets. The metal was cold.

  "We should have brought sweaters," said Janet. "Let's make this quick."

  Moving about was difficult because of the tumble. There was a tendency to lurch anti-spinward. As they moved toward the spine of the ship, it translated into an affinity for strolling into left-hand walls, and falling down easily. They stumbled past the fusion power unit, a set of teardrop cylinders framed within a series of tori. A yellow status lamp and the pale light from the control panel provided the only illumination.

  "You sure you don't want to try to fix this?" asked George.

  "Yes," she said. Fusion units were strictly dockyard work. Not to be touched by operating personnel. Hutch's training was clear on the point: switch to auxiliary systems, cut back wherever possible on power usage, and go home. By the shortest route. Here, of course, with the Hazeltines exhausted, they weren't going anywhere. In that case, send for help.

  They inspected the series of tanks and drums which housed the ventilation system. Nothing obvious suggested itself. Hutch brought the air flow schematic up on the control terminal.

  Four recyclers, operating in series, maintained the appro­priate carbon dioxide/nitrogen/oxygen mix. These were large cylinders from which air was pumped into three enormous pressurized tanks, where it was stored until needed. The recyclers and tanks were interconnected. Prior to re-entering the ventilation system, air passed through a series of four con-vectors, which heated (or cooled) it to the proper temperature. The four convectors all showed "Nonfunctional."

  They removed one of the hatch covers and looked at a

  charred ruin. "So we replace them. Right?" asked George hopefully.

  "We can replace one of them."

  "You only have one spare?" Janet sounded skeptical.

  "One spare," said Hutch. "These things don't give out. And this sort of damage is not supposed to happen."

  "Right" said Janet.

  "How much good does one spare do us?" asked George.

  "I don't know. We'll have to figure it out. But it should mean that we'll freeze a little more slowly."

  "I'll tell you what I think it is." Maggie, wrapped in a blanket, jabbed a finger at the ovoid. It was blown up, and spread across a wall-length screen in the lounge. It looked somewhat like a spider web, half-seen on a moonless night. They could make out a fine network of lines, a sense of fragile beauty. "It's the ultimate Monument, and if this is not the home system of the Monument-Makers, at least it suggests we're on their track."

  Carson was wearing a sweater and had a spread draped over his legs. "Are we agreed we went through it?"

  "Had to," said Maggie. "Say—" She brightened. "Maybe we've got some samples aboard."

  Carson's eyes met hers. "On the hull."

  "Could be."

  He looked up at one of the air ducts, walked over to it, and held his hand in front of it. "It's colder," he said.

  A door at the rear of the compartment opened. Janet came in, followed closely by Hutch and George. All had acquired jackets, and they looked discouraged.

  "Not so good, huh?" said Carson.

  Hutch described what they had done. The new convector was in. "We'll get a little heat," she said.

  "How about diverting the air flow?" said Maggie. "Put the air from the working conductor in here."

  George shook his head. "It doesn't work that way. The air passes over all four conductors and then exits into the individual ducts."

  "Then cut off the other spaces altogether," suggested Carson. "I'd think a smaller volume of air will cool down more slowly because less of it is exposed to the outer bulkheads."

  Hutch nodded. "We thought so too. But we're limited as

  to where we can cut down. Anything that freezes over, we lose. Data banks in B ring, for example; food and water and life support in C."

  "How cold will it get?" asked Maggie.

  Hutch took a deep breath. "Cold." She patted Carson's wool-clad shoulder. "You're going to need more than that. Let me see if I can get my systems back on-line, and maybe we can figure out some options." She passed through the cabin, headed for the forward door.

  "Before you leave," said Carson. "I've got a question on a different matter. We keep getting further away from that thing. Is there any chance of turning around and going back? To get a closer look?"

  "It wouldn't be a bad idea," said Janet. "It would give us something to do while we're waiting for help to arrive. And we wouldn't look quite so silly when this is over."

  Hutch shook her head. "We don't even have the power to stop our forward motion, Frank, let alone reverse it. No, Wink isn't going anywhere except straight ahead for a while. Sorry—" And she was gone.

  The obloid floated on a wall-sized screen. George frowned, turned his head sidewise, used his hands to frame a picture, frowned again. "Anybody mind if I reduce this?" It was at five mag. Nobody objected, and he took it down, stage by stage. He played with it awhile, back and forth, and turned suddenly to Maggie. "You know what I think? It's a bowl. Look at it: it's a big, curved, planet-sized bowl." He cupped his hands, and tilted them so they could see. "You come in at the right angle, the football looks like a bowl. See?"

  "You're right," said Carson. "So what is it?"

  Maggie sank deeper into her blanket. "We know it puts out radio signals. It's apparently a big dish. A relay station, maybe. Certainly a beacon of some kind."

  "Why would you want a beacon that big?" asked Janet.

  "Maybe they never developed the TD band," said Carson. "Is that possible? That they could have FTL travel, but not FTL communications?"

  "I guess it's possible" said Maggie. "But it makes no sense. Why would anyone with a stardrive want to send a message that would need decades, or centuries, to get to its destination?" Her nose was cold. She rubbed it. "You know," she said, "this place is starting to get downright drafty."

  ARCHIVE ZZ 03/241611

  XX EMERGENCY EMERGENCY EMERGENCY TO: GENERAL DISTRIBUTION FROM: NCA WINCKELMANN SUBJECT: GENERAL DISTRESS

  GENERAL DISTRESS CALL ALL SHIPS/STATIONS. UP­DATE 01. REQUIRE IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE—LIFE THREATENING SIT/BETA PAC. LIFE SUPPORT FAILURE. WILL MAINTAIN ALL-CHANNEL SIGNAL, STANDARD SET. THIS IS A FIVE ALPHA EMERGENCY, EXTREME DANGER, EXTREME NEED FOR HASTE. MESSAGE WILL REPEAT AT EIGHT-MINUTE INTERVALS.

  On the bridge, Hutch faced the bad news. The lone convec-tor would prevent the temperature from falling below -36°C. That in itself would not be comfortable, but it was survivable. The problem was that the system that supported the convector would start to freeze up at twenty below. It was then likely the convector would fail. If that happened, it was going to get very cold.

  How long would it take?

  She was unable to measure current heat loss. It appeared to be somewhat more than a degree per hour. At that rate, they could expect to hit zero sometime tomorrow. There would be other hazards as it got co
lder: air pumps would fail, food dispensers would cease to work, the power system might give way altogether, trapping them in a frigid, dark shell.

  She had six Flickinger belts to fall back on, but there were only twenty-four hours of air for each. Once the power went, there would be no way to refill the breathers.

  My God. She sat and stared at her instruments.

  She needed an idea. And no reasonable possibility presented itself. A sense of her culpability began to take hold. Not that she had erred in any way that a board of inquiry could bring a finding against her; but she was ultimately responsible for the safe delivery of her passengers. Whatever that took. At the moment, she was not sure what it might take—

  When she felt she'd postponed the confrontation as long as she could, she pushed away from the console, took a deep breath, and returned to the cabin.

  Carson was absorbed in his notebooks when she entered. The others were talking, a conversation that immediately faded.

  "Okay," she said, "here's where we are." She outlined their situation, trying not to seem alarmed, speaking as if these were merely complications, trivial inconveniences. But the inevitable conclusion was that they would freeze before help could come. Carson watched her without putting down his pen, as though prepared to take notes. Janet remained impassive, blue gaze fixed on the deck; George and Maggie exchanged glances freighted with meaning.

  When she finished, they were quiet. Maggie tapped an index finger thoughtfully against her lip. Hutch sensed dis­belief. "What do we do?" asked George.

  Janet looked up. "Can we build a fire? Keep it going in here?"

  "There's nothing to burn," Hutch said. Even their clothes were fire-resistant.

  George looked around as if he expected to find a stack of logs. "Got to be some stuff somewhere."

  "If there is, I don't know what."

  "And we can't expect help earlier than eleven days?"

  "At best." Everyone looked at the calendar. Rescue might arrive sometime April 4.

  "It'll be pretty cold by then," said Maggie.

  Carson was writing again. He didn't look up. "How about abandoning ship? Take the shuttle? Is there any place we can reach from here?"

  "No," said Hutch. "We've got about a week's air supply in the shuttle. There's an oxygen world in the biozone, but we couldn't get close in the time we have."

  "Do you have any suggestions?" asked Maggie.

  The crunch. "I'll think better in the morning. But yes: maybe we can reconfigure the micro-ovens that cook our food to put some additional heat in here. Actually, we can probably manage that fairly easily. It won't be much, but it'll be some­thing. The problem is that the rest of the ship will freeze."

  "Which means?"

  "The recyclers will stop, for one thing. That'll be the end of the air supply." She looked at them. "Listen, we're all exhausted. I'm sure we can work out something. But we need to sleep on it."

  "Yes," said Carson. "Let's give it a rest. We'll come up with some ideas tomorrow."

  Hutch huddled under three blankets during the night. She rolled and tossed and stared into the dark. Where else could she get heat? The first priority was to keep the convector going, but she could see no way to do that.

  By first light, she was still awake, and exhausted. But it was time to stop beating herself up. She wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, grabbed fresh clothes (she had not undressed), and padded across the cold floor to the bathroom. They still had hot water. One of the first tasks this morning would be to salvage a water supply from C ring.

  She closed the door behind her, and opened the faucets. When she judged the room was warm enough, she dropped the blanket, stepped out of her clothes and into the shower. It felt good, and she soaped herself down thoroughly. But she was cataloging places where they could find containers. Damn, this was a nightmare.

  George was in the main cabin, brewing coffee. He was wrapped in a thick robe. "How we doing?" he asked, holding out a cup for her. His usual optimism had vanished, and she knew that he too had lain awake much of the night.

  She took the cup. The coffee was good, and imposed a sense of routine. "Okay, I guess." Her nose and ears were cold.

  He looked glad to have company. "This is scary," he admit­ted.

  "I know."

  Hesitantly, he asked: "Any ideas?"

  The reluctant criticism stung. "Not yet."

  Deep in the ship, a hatch closed.

  George's gaze met hers. "Who's wandering around back there?"

  She checked her board. "Lower level. One of the supply rooms."

  "Maybe somebody else can't sleep."

  Hutch opened a channel. "Hellooo?"

  Nothing.

  "Ghosts," he said.

  "I think we're hearing a computer glitch."

  He could not entirely keep the emotion out of his voice.

  "Hutch, you know the ship pretty well. What are our chances?"

  She took a minute to drink him in. Despite his size, there was something of the eternal child in George. He was boy­ishly good-looking, enthusiastic, careful of her feelings in a situation which he understood must be especially painful to her. And he was striving manfully to hide his fears. Some­how, it was for George she was most anxious. "We'll find a way," she promised.

  "I've got something else to tell you."

  Hutch didn't think she wanted any more news. "What's that?"

  "I've been up on the bridge. I hope you don't mind."

  "No," she said. "Why would I?"

  He nodded. "There's no radio noise out here anywhere. Except what comes off the star. And the signal we followed."

  "None at all?"

  "None. No electronic radiation of any kind." In the press of events, the reason they'd come to Beta Pac, on the track of an artificial radio broadcast, had got lost.

  "But we're still picking up the signal from the Football?"

  "Yes. It's still there. But that's all there is. Hutch, I don't think anyone's here." His eyes looked away. "I've got a question."

  "Go ahead."

  "We'd all like to find out what it is. The Football, I mean. We can't turn the ship around, but what about going back with the shuttle?"

  "No," she said quietly. "We could do it. But we wouldn't be able to get back to the ship." She finished off the last of her coffee.

  He studied her for a long moment. "Does it matter? Wheth­er we can get back?"

  The question jolted Hutch. "Yes," she said. "It matters."

  Someone was coming.

  // matters.

  Janet appeared in the doorway, shivering. "Cold," she said. "Hutch, we need some ideas."

  Hutch was still thinking about the shuttle. "Maybe you're right," she said. They had no place to go. But that didn't mean they shouldn't use Alpha.

  Hutch woke Maggie. "Let's go."

  She pulled her blankets more tightly around her and did not look up. "Go? Where?"

  "The shuttle. It has a heating system. Get whatever you need."

  Hutch hurried to her own quarters, grabbed clothes, towel, toothbrush, comb, whatever she could carry. She'd come back later for the rest. Now, with the prospect of warmth imminent, the temperature seemed to plummet. Her teeth were chatter­ing when she entered the shuttle bay. Carson arrived at the same time.

  She opened the hatch with her remote and they climbed in. The pilot's seat was stiff and cold. She switched on the heat­er and waited. George appeared, hauling a suitcase. "Good idea," he said.

  He threw the bag into the rear. The blowers kicked on, and warm air flowed into the cockpit. "Hallelujah!" he said. The others arrived, and hurried inside.

  "Shut the hatch," said Janet, trying to find room. "Keep it warm."

  "Why didn't we do this last night?" Maggie grumbled from a rear seat. "Or didn't we think of it?"

  Janet blew on her hands. "It feels good. I'm not leaving here until help comes."

  "Cargo area in back will be warm in a few minutes," said Hutch. "We can set up living qua
rters in there."

  They passed clothes and overnight bags back and then crowded into the cockpit and shut all the doors. Hutch handed out coffee.

  She felt better now than she had since they'd come out of hyper. She wasn't sure yet they were safe, hadn't taken time to think it through, but for the moment at least, life was good again. The hold was gray and cramped and utilitarian. It would provide little privacy. But it already looked like the best accommodation she'd ever had.

  "What's our situation exactly?" asked Carson. "We're get­ting our power from Wink, right? That's not a very reliable source."

  She nodded. "We should have all the power we need. We can switch to internal if we have to, but we won't be using much other than heating and lights. The shuttle's batteries are designed for a much heavier workload. I suspect we'd

  be okay for six months or more on internal alone. Not that we'll be here that long," she added hurriedly.

  "How about air?" asked Janet. "How much air do we have?"

  "For five people?" Air was their potential problem. "If we used only the shuttle tanks, we'd be limited to about a week. But we're getting our air from Wink. We'll continue to do that as long as it's available. When it freezes out there, we'll switch to our own system. But we should be fine. There are a lot of things we need to do though, and we have to get to them before it gets too cold outside."

  "Food," said Janet.

  Hutch nodded. "That'll be your job, okay? We'll assume rescue will be late."

  "Where do we put the food?" asked George. "Space is limited in here. We know where to get more if we need it. Why not leave it outside? It's not as if anything will spoil."

  "I'm not so sure," said Hutch. "We're talking cold. Better we have it in here where we can control temperatures. I don't want to leave anything to chance."

  "Okay," said Carson. "What else?"

  "Water. Frank, you take care of that." She told him where to find containers, and then turned to Maggie. "Cargo area divides into three sections. There's a washroom at the rear. We'll expand that, and use the other two sections as living quarters. See what you can do in the way of furnishings. Oh, and if you can get us a supply of towels, soap, dishes, that would help." She glanced around the cabin. "I'll be back in a little while."