Broward, having adjusted the transmitter to the frequency received, said in Spanish, "Lieutenant Quiroga. Lieutenant Quiroga. How long have you been broadcasting?"
There was a pause. Then, Quiroga answered in such a torrent that Broward could understand only a phrase and a word here and there. He waited until the man had finished speaking and said, "Speak more slowly."
"You are not an Argentinean," replied Quiroga. "I can tell by your pronunciation. What are you? A South African survivor? God help us, are you in the same situation as I am?"
"Not quite," said Broward. He hesitated to identify himself, because it was possible that Axe ships were even now on the way in response to Quiroga's call. He said, "Are your lasers working? If so, turn one on. I'll lock into it"
"Go ahead."
"Now," said Broward, "we can talk without anyone eavesdropping. I am Captain Broward of the lunar base of Clavius."
There was another silence, so long that Broward decided the other fellow was afraid to reply. He said. "I don't intend to harm you. In fact, I will take you aboard. But only as my prisoner."
"A Soviet prisoner?" said Quiroga. He began to laugh uncontrollably. Broward sat quietly until the man had started to sob. Then, he said, "I'm sure that we can find a place for you in our society, a quite agreeable place. If you're cooperative, that is."
"I don't understand," said Quiroga. "What are you doing out here? And where would you take me? I thought... I thought that..."
"That your fleet had annihilated those on the Moon and Ganymede?"
"Ganymede is untouched. El Macho intends to take the Ganymedans prisoners later; they don't have defenses worth considering. They're ripe..."
"For the plucking. Well, thanks for the information. As for the Moon, the less you know, the better for everybody. Do you want to come aboard?"
"If I stay here, I will surely die. If I become your prisoner... ? Why do you want me?"
Broward could not answer that to his own satisfaction. He intended to loose a weapon that would instantly slay anywhere from 500 to several thousand men, women, and children. Yet, he was risking all to save a single enemy from death.
"I can't come in after you," he said. "You'll have to enter willingly and unarmed into my ship. If you don't reply immediately, I will be forced to leave at once."
"I surrender. And I give you my word of honor as an Argentinean and a Christian that I will not bear arms or try force."
Broward smiled grimly on hearing that and began the steps that would result in automatic placing of his vessel near that of the wreck. After that, he would take over manually. The process required time, more time than he really thought he could afford. But he could not abandon Quiroga. Somehow, by rescuing him, he was compensating for what he would do to his fellows. The idea was not logical or even rational. One life for thousands was ridiculous. But he felt that he was making some slight payment and that was better than none at all.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending upon which way he cared to look at it, there was a port in the section in which Quiroga was trapped. It was not difficult to match the course and speed of his ship with the section. The wreck looked like a huge drum, for the lasers of the South Africans had neatly carved on both sides, as if a section of a sausage had been cut out. The drumshape was not revolving, and this was the reason that Quiroga had been able to make the tight laser-beam contact with Broward. The lack of spin made it relatively easy to jockey the scout next to the gigantic port, which was designed to admit even larger ships than his.
For a moment, watching the big door shut, Broward was uneasy. But he knew that his own beams could melt a hole through the walls for an avenue of escape, and it did not seem likely that Quiroga would want to try anything. Not at this time, anyway.
The inner port opened, and a man in a spacesuit walked through. By this, Broward knew that the means for flooding the landing-port with air were not available. He opened his own port, gave the Argentinean enough time, and closed it After filling the little chamber with air, he said over the speaker, "Take off your suit. Then come in with your hands over your head."
Without waiting for the man to finish unsuiting, Broward took the scout out of the port and away towards Mars. He accelerated slowly to one G so that Quiroga would not have difficulty maneuvering. Then, after placing the controls in automatic, he picked up a pistol, and opened the inner port. Lieutenant Pablo Quiroga entered. He was dressed in silver coveralls with scarlet crossed axes on the right chest and silver bars on the shoulders. He was tall, well-built, about thirty, had a ruddy skin, handsome face, greenish-brown eyes, and wavy deep-brown hair.
He spoke a passable American English. "Where do you intend to take me?"
"Right now you're just going along on the ride," his captor replied. "Sit down in the chair to my left. Here's some stiktite. Wrap it around your ankles so they'll be bound together. Then place your hands behind you, and I'll tape your wrists."
The prisoner did as he was told and presently was bound and seated to Broward's satisfaction. The American then got a flask of water, which Quiroga drank eagerly. After he had enough, he ate the food which Broward spooned from a can and gave to him.
"Nobody's fed me like that since I was a child," remarked Quiroga. "Just now, I feel as helpless as a baby."
"But you're not a baby. I'll remember that. O.K. I'm going to sit down in a moment. When I do, I'll place a stasis field around both our chairs. You know what 'stasis' means in English?"
Quiroga nodded.
"O.K. Watch yourself."
Quirgoa watched the forward visual plate for a while. As if he could not believe it was happening, he said, "You are heading for Mars?"
"I don't plan to land there."
"Then what... ? You plan to missile one of the bases? That will be suicide! Or do you plan on that, too?"
"Do you think I would have bothered to rescue you then?"
"Not unless you are a sadist," Quiroga said, "But you don't act like one."
Broward debated whether or not he should tell the Argentinean what type of bomb he was carrying. After a little thought, he decided against it. The fellow might go mad and do something wild, something to disturb the smooth progress of the ship. If he touched the field, he would be sucked through and spread like a red film all over the interior of the cabin.
"You might as well have left me back there," Quiroga said after a silence. "But I am happy that you did not. At least, I had a drink of water and food. And somebody to talk to, even if he is a Soviet. Death, when it comes, will not find me alone."
"Who knows? It is very possible. I do not hate Americans. My mother was half-American. But the Soviets... !"
"I am a Soviet citizen. Outwardly, at least. Listen! I want to tell you some things, some true things."
Many times, Quiroga opened his mouth to protest, but each time Broward told him harshly to shut up, to wait until he, Broward, was finished. If he did not obey, then he would have his mouth taped.
After half an hour, Broward was through with his narration. Then, he quit talking, fully expecting a rage of denial. But Quiroga, strangely, was silent for some time. When he did speak, his voice had a thoughtful tone and sounded very unsure.
"Howards told us that it was the South Africans who set off the cobalt bombs. At first, he said that they could not really be blamed, that the Axis was too small and too weak to fight the whole world. That the only reason we had not been overrun before was the threat to use the C-bomb if war was waged against us.
"But, once the South Africans had exploded them, we could do nothing but make the best of a very bad
situation. There was still hope for us. Though Earth was dead, it would not always be so. Meanwhile, we could rid the solar system of the evil ones who had started this, exterminate those responsible for this monstrous evil, this sin against man and God. And we could establish a new society on Mars unhindered by enemies without or within."
Broward winced at the latter sentence. It sounde
d so much like his own words.
"But there was some very carefully guarded talk, hints, that Howards himself had given the order to use the bombs. Also, there were things here and there that one picked up. These didn't mean much when each item was isolated. However, if you put them together, an ugly picture began to form.
"I knew this, but I rejected the idea. Then, we officers and later the noncoms were called into conferences. We were told there was evidence that the Africans were plotting treachery. If they were to get rid of us, then they'd have the solar system all to themselves. It would become a black world or, at least, a brown one. The Africans would, of course, spare the women and have children by them. These lectures, of course, were to prepare us for the attack against our allies. Howards reasoned that we must jump first And we did.
"He also revealed to us what you just related. That is, that he decided to strike the Soviets first. Why? Because he knew definitely from his spies and Soviet traitors that the Soviets were going to smash us. He could not afford to wait It wasn't his fault that the Africans used the C-bomb."
Broward said, slowly, "I never thought of it that way. Perhaps our leaders had planned to crush you Axe. But I doubt it They knew of Howards' threat to take everybody down with him.
"Anyway, don't you see that it doesn't matter who attacked first? My leaders and yours wanted complete domination. Eventually, despite the menace of the cobalt bombs, the Soviet would have tried for a surprise blow."
"I see," Quiroga replied. "But what can we do about it? We're little men, pawns, helpless pieces in a big game."
"You must know men with authority, men who would like to stop this senseless slaughter?"
Quiroga said, "The commandant of the Deimos garrison. He's a good friend and my cousin on my mother's side. He has stated his sentiments so clearly, however, that I'm afraid hell be arrested at any moment"
"Do you think he'd listen to me?" said Broward.
Quiroga turned widening eyes to him. " You must be mad? Do you actually think that my cousin would... ? It's
true he does not believe in this war of extermination. But he is a patriotic man, a brave Argentinean!"
"No, I am not mad. Under ordinary circumstances, I would consider it hopeless to approach him. But I have something with which to bargain. Listen carefully to me, Quiroga. Realize the implications of what I'm about to tell you."
Quiroga listened quietly, but he paled and his face showed horror. Broward finished; Quiroga said, "God! Will you really do that?"
"So far, I haven't a choice. I don't want to, but I must to keep your people from doing the same to mine.. What do you suggest as a way out?"
"I don't know the recognition code for Deimos. Undoubtedly it has been changed since the last time I was there. But if I made a plea, my cousin might listen, he might allow us to land. However, he probably would think it was a Soviet trick."
"Even if he accepted you and your story, things won't be that simple," Broward said. "I have to guard against a trick, too. I can't place my mission in jeopardy. But we'll give your cousin a try... now..."
Things were not that simple. Neither were they so complicated, but it did take time to bring them about. Broward altered course to take him far out and then to bring him in again within radarshadow of the moonlet, where the Martian detectors would not find him. Even so, he was open to detection for a long time. At any moment, he expected his equipment to announce the presence of radar or laser beams crossing across his ship or to tell him that it had picked up blips that must be missiles or ships rising from the surface of Mars. He did not expect to see anything coming from Deimos itself, for Quiroga had told him that it had suffered heavily from attack. First, the Soviet missiles had blasted it when the Axe had sprung their attack on Mars. The base on Deimos had expended all its missiles during the repulse. Moreover, its radar and laser external equipment had been wrecked.
New equipment had been brought up from the planet and installed, but Howards would give it no missiles because of a shortage. Then, the South Africans, trapped near this sector, had tried a landing and a storming, the first
Having determined from the Argentinean that the Deimos base still had some communications equipment, Broward then approached Deimos within two hundred kilometers. It was easy to obtain and maintain the tight-beam contact with Deimos. The moonlet always kept one face toward its primary.
No challenge came from the base. Evidently, the Axe personnel did not want to invite attack; they were playing dead. But, on the side opposite from him, was a beam sending messages to the main base, Osorno, in the area of Eos.
"This is Pablo Quiroga speaking. Commandant Saavedra! Patricio Saavedra! For the love of God, answer! This is Pablo Quiroga, your cousin!"
There was no answer. Quiroga continued to call. Minutes passed. Then, a voice said, "Pablo? What is the matter? What are you doing out there? What is going on?"
Quiroga said, "I am in a lifeboat; I am the only survivor of a battle with a South African fleet. I want permission to land."
Saavedra's voice, with much relief in it, said, "Thanks to Mary, then, that we are out of weapons. Otherwise, I would have had to follow orders and fire on you, even if you were my cousin. That is, unless you had given the proper code, and you could not do that. It has been changed."
"O.K.," Broward said. "Into your suit."
Quiroga got dressed. Broward eased the scout onto a landing circle. This was formed of stone which the Argentineans had smoothed out and filled in. Around it rose the tortured broken peaklets that covered the surface of the tiny satellite. At the base of one of the projections was a metal protrusion, the port for entrance of personnel.
The scout's inner port opened, and Broward said, "Out you go. I'll be waiting to hear from you. But not for long."
The inner port closed; the outer opened. Broward delayed a few seconds to give Quiroga time to get clear before shooting the scout away. In the view plates, he could see the armored figure of the man get smaller, then disappear. Presently, even the landing circle was indistinguishable. The cragged and peaked surface became smooth, and Deimos was a small spindle against the round red-and-bluegreen-and-gray sphere of the mother planet
Tense, Broward waited. He kept his eyes on the scopes for the first intimations of enemy action from the surface. Now and then, he flicked a look at the moonlet, though he knew that any communication from it would not be visual. What could be going on beneath its rocky cover, in the many hollowed-out rooms and tunnels? Quiroga would have a strange and unconvincing story to tell. For all the commandant knew, there might be a fleet of Soviet vessels nearby. Not that he could believe that very long. Since Quiroga knew the true state of Deimos' defenses, and since he must have been landed by a Soviet, the Soviet must also know that Deimos was defenseless.
In fact, Quiroga's story would be so extraordinary that Saavedra would have no choice but to consider it true. The question was, would he then take the last chance that Mars, and perhaps the human race, had? Or would he attempt to seize Broward?
A half-hour passed. An hour. Deimos and the scout ship kept pace in their hurtling around Mars. Every few seconds, Broward looked at the chronometer on the panel. Fifteen more minutes. If Quiroga had not convinced Saavedra by then, neither of them could stop the death of all life on Mars. He, Broward, would not give them a second past the specified time.
As it was, he had placed his mission in deep peril. But he did have a little hook on which to hang a little hope. That was the fact that Saavedra had not contacted Osorno yet about the Soviet ship. If he had, ships would have appeared on the radarscopes.
Ten minutes. Broward looked at the button that would send the bomb flashing towards the target. It would take the shortest route possible, and it did not care what part of Mars it struck. Any place was as good as any other. It would be traveling so swiftly that it was extremely improbable that an intercept missile could destroy it. So tremendous would its velocity be that, if it had been an ordinary missile or ship, it
would have burned up even in the very thin air of Mars. But it was enclosed in a sheath of intertron, a material that would have lasted a long time in the thick atmosphere of Jupiter before melting.
Five minutes. Broward raved and cursed. Did he have to do this because of a man's stupidity or his loyalty to a mad-man or to a flag? Three minutes. Why wait? Quiroga was probably under arrest. Or was arguing in vain, would argue until doom's day.
Then, the receiver came alive. "Captain Broward! The commandant agrees to talk to you!"
"All right," said Broward, aware that he was sweating and that he was trembling. "We'll do as I said. No tricks now. I'll be on the watch!"
"I give you my word of honor, may Christ strike me dead, if we are planning any treachery."
Broward sent his scout in but not back to the circle. It landed on a ledge of rock which overlooked the port Should the Argentineans charge out with a mobile laser, they would be cut down by his own beams. Or he could dart off to one side before they could bring it into action and duck behind the peak.
Two men in suits stepped out from the port. They looked around, spotted him, waved, and then leaped into space. Unhampered by the feeble gravity of Deimos, they soared up. Before they had gone far, they were controlling the packs on their back; these sped them straight to the scout. Broward lifted the ship up and back over the peak to take him out of sight and range of the port. A second later, the men rose over its narrow jagged top and landed beside the ship.
He shut the outer port and opened the inner just enough so that he could see the two men within.
"Strip off your suits," he said.
Tongues of the Moon Page 11