by John Rankine
INTERSTELLAR ODYSSEY!
The undaunted Alphans are threatened by alien terrors as they challenge the ghostly forces of the galaxy!
When an ancient space scientist dies, he leaves Alpha his legacy—a futuristic Frankenstein whose need for companionship may trap John Koenig for eternity . . . Alpha answers a cry for help and boards a huge vessel swarming with natives whose survival is horrifying . . . Emotions explode when four Alphans meet an uncanny space demon and only one lives to tell about it . . . And the Alphans discover the desolate planet that spread the first seeds of life on Earth.
Once inside the hatch, Dr. Helena Russell witnessed the first direct evidence of life aboard the Spaceship Daria. Stopping abruptly, she heard the rapid patter of quick, light footsteps.
Suddenly, two pale creatures, small enough to be children, flung themselves around a dark corner. They stopped, breathless, their tiny eyes bright with terror. A male and a female, hairless and birdlike, they stood stark naked.
Dr. Russell's skin crawled. "Mutation," she thought.
The little bird-mouths sounded a silent warning just as she heard the approaching sound of heavy, running feet.
"One step ahead of a posse," she thought with rising panic. Could it be a posse of large mutants?
Books in the Space: 1999 Series
Breakaway
Moon Odyssey
The Space Guardians
Collision Course
Lunar Attack
Astral Quest
Published by POCKET BOOKS
ASTRAL QUEST
Futura Publications edition published 1975
POCKET BOOK edition published April, 1976
This POCKET BOOK edition includes every word contained in the original edition. It is printed from brand-new plates made from completely reset, clear, easy-to-read type. POCKET BOOK editions are published by POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc., 630 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10020. Trademarks registered in the United States and other countries.
Standard Book Number: 671-80392-1.
This POCKET BOOK edition is published by arrangement with Futura Publications Limited. Series format and television play scripts copyright, ©, 1975, by ATV Licensing Limited. This novelization copyright, ©, 1975, by Futura Publications Limited. All rights reserved. This book, or portions thereof, may not be reproduced by any means without permission of the original publisher: Futura Publications Limited, 49 Poland Street, London, England.
Printed in the U.S.A.
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
CHAPTER ONE
John Koenig, Commander of Moonbase Alpha, considered that his people must have worked the longest duty stint ever recorded in the annals of the Space Service. If there was any truth in the old line that living was struggling and the prudent man learned to like it, they had qualified by a big margin . . . at least on the struggling bit
For that matter, they were making out on the second item. Looking around the sprawling complex, he found that morale was still high. The selectors who had staffed the base had done a good job.
Unimaginable distance now separated them from their homes on Earth. As the Moon fled on, probing beams searched in all directions for a new Earth. Round the clock, Computer sifted and processed the data. Negative. Negative.
The Command Office was as quiet as a vault and Koenig looked at his time disc. He had sat long at his desk. The watch in Main Mission must have changed. Checking it by looking through his observation port, he could see that it was so. Paul Morrow, the top hand of the executive staff was back at his control console and Sandra Benes was moving elegantly to the communications slot.
On his desk top, Koenig saw a litter of calculations and moodily gathered the slips in a bunch for the trash can. All the theory in the world was so much crap against one observed fact.
He had taken the crude statistic of 1020 for a measure of the stars within range of their telescopes. From there, he had allowed himself one in a thousand with a planetary system. Of those, he gave a chance of conditions necessary to life at one in a thousand against. So he was still left with 1014. Refining again, he had got down to 1011 with an atmosphere. Knocking expectation with a club, he had to concede that somewhere there had to be a hundred million planets where life had actually got up a little steam. And he only wanted one.
As he used his commlock to open the hatch into Main Mission another thought struck him. Out of all that rag bag, there would be many civilisations so advanced that he and his people would look like aborigines. It was too early in the morning to chase that one to its hole and stare at it. He stretched wearily and moved slowly down the steps to the floor of the operations area and joined Paul Morrow at his console.
‘Any problems, Paul?’
‘The universe sleeps.’
It reminded Koenig that it had been a long and busy day. ‘It knows a good thing. I’m more than ready to join it.’
‘Then I’ll say good night, Commander.’
Koenig held up his wrist. ‘Morning. Morning for those with a sun waiting to come up. Good morning to you, Paul.’
He stayed a minute, watching the immense, black velvet star map on the big screen and then slowly made his way out. In the corridors, duty personnel changing watch saluted as they passed. All in all, it was still a taut ship.
In his own room, he shrugged out of his tunic and prepared for bed. His own face in a polished steel mirror caught his eye. It was a hard, hawk-like job with lines deepening round the mouth and eyes. He would have to watch it, he was turning into an autocratic bastard.
In Main Mission, Paul Morrow was staring in simple disbelief at the big screen and Sandra Benes, whose delicate fingers had conjured the image from an etiolated quirk in a wave pattern, said in an awed whisper, ‘Holy Cow! Somebody tell me they’ve seen anything like that!’
An honest man, Kano, looking at it from the computer spread, said ‘Not me. Not anywhere,’ and was sidetracked by a rapid clatter from his patient friend’s outfall. He read it off. Computer was as startled as the nest man. ‘Computer hasn’t either!’
Paul Morrow was already using his intercom. ‘Main Mission calling Commander Koenig . . . Commander!’
Koenig’s face appeared on the miniature screen, ‘Paul, this had better be more than urgent..
‘It is, Commander. This you have to see.’
‘I’ll be there. Don’t let it go away.’
Before Morrow had switched himself out, Koenig was moving for the door, feeling some of his tiredness drop away. A red tell-tale blinked on a bulkhead and alarm klaxons sounded out. Morrow was calling a full team to the operations centre.
Some, with a shorter journey, beat him to it. Others raced in behind him. There was a full crew to watch Sandra get a clear, hard edged picture on the main scanner. Helena Russell, smoothing honey blonde hair off of her forehead; Victor Bergman, balding and grizzled; Alan Carter, chief pilot of the Eagle fleet; all the Main Mission staff stared at the screen.
Tumbling through space, like a tubular nonsense figure, was an object that had no symmetry or regular construction. Its only definite characteristic was that it had motion and the motion was clearly bringing it out of nowhere and into their path.
Koenig said tersely, ‘Magnification . . .’
Seeing it bigger was no bonus. It was still a nothing, but uglier with it.
As the scientific adviser to the outfit, Victor Bergman recognised that he had a
duty to define it, but he could only shake his head puzzled. It was left to Kano to begin, ‘By all that’s scientific, if that’s a spacecraft . . .’
Finding his voice, Bergman said, ‘It breaks every known law of aerospace propulsion.’
Koenig said, ‘Like the bumble bee, which shouldn’t get off the ground by all technical arguments.’
‘But it does. True. You have a point there, John. The spoils of ignorance.
Koenig looked again at the screen, ‘Give it the lot, Sandra, Extreme magnification.’
There was a pause, with the screen a jumble of silver rain and then a grainy blow up, which seemed to have collected more stark menace as it bore down on the wandering Moon with a lopsided deliberation. Now, they could identify a section which could be judged as a central core to which were fixed a random collection of long cylindrical projections, each of which ended in a bulbous pod.
Koenig reckoned he was being short changed by his technical advisers. He said harshly, ‘Kano. Kick your high speed idiot. Get it to pull its finger out and give us a little information.’
Everybody heard him try. Almost apologetic, Kano said, ‘Computer, I want detailed information on the space object.’ There was silence. He dropped his sights, anxious for the reputation of his section, ‘Anything at all!’
Badgered into speech, the hardware flipped a relay and said coldly, ‘I have nothing to say on that subject.’
Kano could hardly meet Koenig’s eye, ‘Commander, nothing. I don’t begin to understand it.’
Helping him out, Computer chipped in again, ‘My information is privileged.’
Koenig thumped his forehead with the heel of his hand. It was no time of day to face a mechanical prima donna. As if on cue, a melodious chime reverberated round Main Mission and a new voice joined the group. It seemed to seep out of the very fabric with no source that could be pinpointed. It was mellifluous, educated in timbre and on the whole carried friendly harmonies, like a patronising uncle. ‘Good day, dear friends, I would not wish to intrude, but I rather need your immediate help.’
In some ways it was more surprising than a direct challenge or a declaration of hostility. There was uneasiness all round. Sandra Benes, stating the obvious, said, ‘We’ve lost visual, Commander.’
Kano was punching studs all along his spread, ‘He’s not reaching us by radio waves, Commander . . .’
Confirming it, Morrow said, ‘I’m trying all channels. No dice.’
The voice helped them, unctuous and well modulated, ‘Not to worry. Our communication is excellent. In a moment, even with your restricted sight, you will see me.’
Clearly, the speaker believed it would be a rare privilege for one and all. Thinking aloud Koenig said, ‘Friendly?’
Near enough to catch what was said, Bergman said, ‘You’ll have to ask louder John.’
Being on the same personal frequency as Koenig, Helena Russell had also heard the quiet question. There was something about the voice which bothered her. She asked a question of her own. ‘Suppose we get the wrong answer?’
Koenig met her eyes, level and serious and answered obliquely, ‘Kano. Ask Computer if that thing is armed.’
There was no need, Computer answered for itself, ‘I am otherwise occupied.’
They had themselves a joker out of the cosmic hat. A joker, however, with technical knowhow outside their range. Whatever game he wanted to play, he would make the rules for himself. The outlandish spacer was coming in, hovering on the lunar horizon as though waiting to be invited to land. The voice said, ‘Do grant permission for me to land on your territory, Commander.’
‘For what reason?’
‘I need your help. Isn’t that reason enough?’
‘Possibly.’ Koenig looked at Bergman and Helena for their reactions.
Bergman said, ‘We are peace loving people. There will be no aggression from this side.’
Thinking of the human side, Helena began, ‘What kind of people, do you suppose . . .’
She was interrupted by Alan Carter who was making a gut judgement, ‘That thing is hostile.’
‘And yet asks for help?’ Paul Morrow could not believe that the owner of the voice could do anything except hand round sweets at a Christmas treat.
Carter was not convinced. ‘That’s just a clever front.’
‘Where’s your compassion?’
‘Survival first, inter-Galactic charity a long way after.’
The stranger had listened to the exchanges. There was no lessening of goodwill as the voice said, ‘Far be it from me to hurry your democratic discussions, but I have an emergency.’
It was not nice to know that everything spoken could be overheard and Carter made a stage whisper of, ‘And we’ve got our emergency and you’re it.’
It earned him a hard look from Morrow and the voice chipped in with, ‘Mine is greater than your rather naive fear.’
Nobody liked it. Thoughts themselves might be in question. To make it clear that he was dealing from the top of the deck, Koenig said loudly, ‘Very well. You have permission to land.’
There seemed to be no intentional irony in the measured tones, ‘I am obliged to you.’
‘Away from the base.’
‘Of course, naturally; one should always be careful with strangers.’
They watched the strange craft hit the surface and trundle itself lightly about, as random as thistle down. Then it picked out a line and was moving directly for Moonbase Alpha. Hostile or not, it was a fascinating thing to watch and Helena was reminded of the morbid interest some could have in watching a spider.
Koenig said sharply, ‘Hold it, I gave permission to land, not to approach the base.’
The urbane voice was full of reason, ‘Can’t you see Commander that my intentions are pacific?’
‘With respect, that is not obvious,’ Koenig was falling into the same courtly way of speech.
Still rolling forward, from one ugly pod to another, the device made no effort to stop. Keeping the conversation going, the voice said, ‘I only require your assistance.’
Koeing called his Eagle Overlord, ‘Alan, get two armed Eagles off the deck.’
Speaking to the big screen as a convenient location for the mystery voice, he said, ‘They’ll fire on my instruction.’
‘I must advise you not to do that,’ there was a little more steel in the plummy voice.
‘And why not?’
‘Principally because I won’t let you.’
‘Go to it, Alan.’
Alan Carter tried. Then he was turning to Bergman and Morrow with complete bewilderment. There was bitterness in his voice as he said, ‘Commander, I can’t get through.’
The know-all voice was beginning to grate on Koenig’s taut nerves. This time, it said evenly, ‘Your intercommunication systems will function only when I want them to. Now Commander, shall we be reasonable?’
The machine had finally come to rest. Maybe honour was satisfied. Koenig said slowly, ‘If you come in peace . . .’
‘If? What is this if? My word is my bond.’
Koenig went on, ‘Then I’m prepared to receive a small delegation. Unarmed, of course.’
Even as he said it, he knew there would be no agreement. The machine rested a couple of kilometres outside the perimeter. The voice that came from nowhere in particular and used English as though it was an Earth national, put it on the line, ‘No, no, Commander. I shall welcome a small but distinguished delegation. It will consist of Dr. Helena Russell, Professor Victor Bergman and yourself, Commander John Koenig. All armed, of course.’ The small jest clearly pleased the speaker, but did nothing to reassure the Alphans.
Helena Russell put her hand on Koenig’s arm, ‘What do you think, John? Are we going?’
‘Do we have any choice?’
‘A wise decision, Commander. I am delighted. You will not need life support systems.’
When his mind was made up, John Koenig acted swiftly. Leaving Morrow and Carter with a watch
ing brief, he hustled the delegation into a moonbuggy and got under way. Main Mission checked them out, giving a route through protective screens, watching the buggy bounce away over the all too familiar moonscape.
There was silence in the module itself. Bergman was trying to work out how the stranger operated. It was outside rational belief. Whoever had planned it was on a different wavelength from Earth based logic. As they approached, the spidery monster’s huge size became apparent. Even the smallest pods at the end of the tubular arms dwarfed the moonbuggy. Helena Russell watched Koenig’s hands as he made a neat, competent job of navigating the clumsy craft. Koenig himself had stopped thinking. He would have to play it a step at a time and until he met his adversary, he could do no more.
As they approached, a hatch sliced open in the nearest pod foot and a ramp dropped to the moondust. Koenig stopped, looked at it, then moved forward again. It was altogether too much like a trap, but having come this far, there was no point in being coy. The hatch lifted and shut with a definitive click. He killed the motor and waited.
Helena Russell said suddenly, ‘We’re moving. Being lifted!’
It was true. A rushing sound had built up. The whole buggy was off the deck and rising through the ceiling of the pod into the tube above. Seen from the inside, the tube was transparent and they could look out over the moonscape to the halls and covered ways of Moonbase Alpha.
Victor Bergman, fairly hopping about with excitement, said, ‘Fascinating.’
The voice, beamed to a point in the centre of the buggy, said ‘Don’t worry about the mechanics. You’re being delivered to my control room.’
In Main Mission, there was anxiety of another sort. As soon as the excursion module had run into the open pod, communication had ceased. There was no joy on any channel. Koenig’s party might as well have stepped off the edge of a flat Earth.
A worried man, Paul Morrow said, ‘Not a thing. No contact. Nothing.’
Other operators confirmed it, from the communications desk Sandra said, ‘No visual.’