Space 1999 #6 - Astral Quest

by John Rankine

  Kano was disgusted with his Computer, ‘No Computer—again.’

  Thumping the Eagle Command Console, Alan Carter came to a decision. ‘Right then. I’m taking those Eagles up.’

  Morrow was less sure, ‘You heard the threat.’

  ‘I heard and that’s why I’m following the Commander’s original order. We’re all being brainwashed by Big Brother out there.’

  As if on cue, the plummy voice was at it again. This time, clearly speaking to the visiting team. ‘Welcome aboard, Alpha party. Relax and be welcome. Just let yourselves go.’

  Maybe it was going for open diplomacy. There was to be communication, but strictly on its own terms. Morrow, Sandra and Kano looked at each other. Alan Carter stood up. If he waited for a decision from them, he would wait a long time. He hurried off for the hatch.

  In the interior of the spacer, the moonbuggy had reached journey’s end. Doors had opened revealing a landing area and a corridor. Still talking them in, the voice said, ‘It’s quite safe for you to come out now.’

  Koenig thumped his harness release and opened the hatch. They stepped out. Behind them, the elevator doors slid shut and there was a repeat of the vacuum whoosh as the buggy was whipped off to be garaged.

  Curious, but cautious, the three Alphans walked slowly along the corridor.

  Encouraging them, the voice seemed to speak softly into each head, ‘Do come in so that we may be well met.’

  Bergman was speaking hardly above a whisper, ‘As the spider said to the fly.’

  He was taken up immediately, ‘Children’s stories are brutal, Professor. But you have nothing to fear.’

  ‘Except fear itself.’

  ‘Ah yes. The wise man is he who knows when to be afraid.’

  Ahead of them, the way was suddenly clear. A vast hemisphere structure opened from the corridor. This was the control room, then? Koenig went in and stopped. The others followed. At their backs, a metal sheet slammed home with a thud and they spun round. The way in was sealed as though it had never existed.

  Koenig took a grip on a rising tide of anger and irritation. Actions and words seemed to be on two distinct planes. But they were in and the only course was to go for a meeting with the owner. He said, ‘All right. So we look around. When he’s finished playing games I suppose we get to meet him.’

  There was certainly plenty to see. It was evident that the tumbling motion of the craft was of no importance at the centre. The floor of the half globe would stay level whatever was happening. It was gymbal mounted with some sophisticated, compensatory devices that had Bergman sucking in his breath with admiration.

  Switchgear was on a big scale, pedestal mounted and out of reach for a normal human operator. Glowing screens flushed continuously with changing coloured light. The whole interior had been engineered to give the impression of endless space. It was big enough as a physical fact, but subtle colour had been used so that the observing eye was not confronted with a stop. Soft pastel shades suggested immense distances. If the machine had come from nowhere, it carried the same theme at its living centre.

  But there were distinct areas at floor level. Gossamer thin screens suggested certain divisions. There was what could be thought of as a ‘living’ space with chairs and tables. Another which was a ‘resting’ place with couches. All furniture was of such beautiful construction and such proportion that it seemed to express the quintessence of the function it served.

  There was floor space to wander over. Helena touched a chair. It looked like marble, but was light and warm. She was about to speak when an intense beam of light shone down, turning her blonde hair into a pale gold aureole. Then it moved like a free standing column and played around Koenig. From there, it rolled across to Bergman. Except for the startling intensity of the light, there was no discomfort.

  For Bergman, the mass of unfamiliar hardware was a delight and a vexation. Mind and body at a stretch, he was trying to make something intelligible out of it. Koenig grinned at Helena and they left him to it. Pushing on into the sleeping place, they continued to search for the host and stopped in their tracks before a couch that was in use. Unbelievably, they had found something to talk to.

  It was not what they had expected at all. For a spell, there was silence on both sides. The man stretched out on the bed was so old that Methuselah would have looked like a Spring lamb. Skeleton thin, with a shock of white hair and gnarled, wrinkled hands, he could have been long dead. When the eyelids flicked open and a pair of amazingly bright, searching eyes stared up at them, they stepped back in shock.

  Bergman heard Helena’s startled exclamation and hurried in. The oldster was moving, jacking himself off the bier with slow deliberate movements.

  Once a doctor always a doctor, Helena Russell moved in to help, but the ancient man waved her aside. She had another surprise when the figure spoke. The voice was firm, soft and courteous without any of the harmonics of extreme age.

  ‘I regret not welcoming you on your arrival. I rest only when I must. How can I help you?’

  It was nice to have a dialogue with a recognisable hominoid type—even one at the edge of dissolution, but it made no sense. The man waited for an answer. Koenig said slowly, ‘It’s more a matter of what we can do for you. You summoned us.’

  ‘I summoned you?’

  ‘For help.’

  Believing in protocol, Helena Russell thought names might be useful, ‘I’m Doctor Russell. This is Commander Koenig—and Professor Bergman.’

  The ancient nodded. He made a courtly gesture and walked slowly towards the living space. ‘Be seated. I am Companion.’

  It was not much in the way of explanation. When they were seated, Koenig tried again. ‘Perhaps if you would send for the others they could explain.’

  The ancient looked shrewdly at him recognising a hint of condescension. ‘I know why you’re here, Commander.’

  He looked away and addressed empty space, ‘You think I don’t know what you’re doing. Why are you silent, Gwent?’

  Koenig looked quickly at Helena. For his money Companion was senile. They would get no sense.

  Whether he saw it or not, the ancient went on, ‘Gwent? Not speaking? Then I’ll speak for you.’ The bright eyes focussed suddenly on Helena, ‘He’s devious. Very devious. Leaves me to deal with his lesser chores.’

  Bergman asked, ‘Where is Gwent?’ and was ignored. Companion’s voice took a more incisive bite, ‘His purpose in coming here is clearly two-fold. I am well aware of the first and can guess the second. But I shall only speak of what I know.’

  Making amends, Koenig said respectfully, ‘We shall be grateful for any information you can give us, sir.’

  ‘From time to time, we must interrupt our endless journey to obtain certain items necessary to our continued well-being.’

  A metallic clatter from a pedestal interrupted. A printout slip was projecting and Koenig reached it half a pace ahead of Bergman.

  Suddenly cranky, Companion said, ‘So. Now you take an interest when you want something. I suppose he’s issued a list of his requirements?’

  Koenig had skimmed down it and handed it to Bergman. ‘Some list. What do you say, Victor?’

  ‘Well, we have most of the basics.’

  The voice boomed out with startling volume, ‘I’ve consulted your computer. You have everything I need.’

  Companion said, ‘Devious, devious. Why have me explain and then interfere?’

  ‘You were handling it badly.’

  ‘Badly? You say badly? Then I withdraw. You can tell them whatever you want.’

  ‘You presume too much on our relationship, Companion.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear I can!’

  Gwent spoke to Koenig, ‘Well now, Commander. Can I count on your co-operation?’

  That was a hard one, Koenig knew he had no way of renewing supplies for Alpha. ‘We’ll do our best. If Computer says we can spare all this.’

  ‘I’ve already told you . . .’

&n
bsp; ‘I’d like to hear that from Computer myself.’

  ‘Very well. Do so. Do so. By all means, do so. Let us proceed through all the proper channels.’

  If it was a small victory for Koenig, Companion took the success out of it, ‘You’re wasting your time, Commander. He controls your Computer. It will say anything he wants it to say.’

  Gwent sounded impatient, ‘Speak to your Computer. Speak to your staff. Ask your questions. Go on. Do you dispute my word of honour?’

  It was not humanly possible to conceal their disbelief. Something of the same feeling was clear in Kano’s voice as he tried for the hundredth time to get a reasonable reply from his computer. Punching buttons he said, ‘Here we go again, with faith, hope and . . .’

  Computer answered pat and might have finished the phrase, ‘Gwent’s orders have been relayed to Supply Department and await shipment on Dock 4.’

  Koenig’s voice followed, loud and clear, ‘Kano, do you read me?’

  ‘Yes, Commander.’

  ‘I heard that. When was the order given?’

  Computer answered for itself, ‘Twenty-two fourteen hours.’

  In case anybody was having trouble with simple arithmetic, Gwent said, ‘Twenty-three minutes ago to be precise.’

  ‘Then you presume too much, Gwent.’

  Companion relished the reference and his ancient map split in a death’s head grin. It took Gwent another five seconds to remember his earlier use of the expression and then a huge bellow of laughter rolled and reverberated around the dome.

  ‘Spoken like a Commander!’

  Koenig faced Companion, ‘I demand to see Gwent.’

  ‘You do.’

  It was softly spoken and Koenig suddenly wheeled round expecting to see the missing joker. Companion went on, ‘Everything is Gwent.’

  It was a new slant and there was a digestive pause as they considered the only meaning.

  Koenig said, ‘Gwent. This? This machinery?’

  It was not popular. Gwent’s voice said, ‘Machine. Are you calling me a machine!’

  ‘If you’re not a machine, show yourself.’ There was silence and he turned again to Companion, ‘You control this machine?’

  ‘It is true he is not entirely self-sufficient . . . but almost.’

  Bergman pressed for a direct answer, ‘But you do have ultimate control . . . ?’

  ‘Over Gwent? No . . . no. Would that I had . . .’

  Gwent’s voice had quiet rage in it, ‘Control me! Control me!’

  Companion raised his voice, ‘Some of the time,’—then he lowered it for a quiet aside, ‘Seriously, I should do as he says.’

  It was so much gobbledegook to Koenig. Either the oldster was in control of the machine or he was not. He tried to force an answer, ‘But you must control this apparatus.’

  There was not much mobility left in Companion’s withered mask of flesh. Nevertheless, he contrived to convey a nice blend of laughter at Koenig’s naive ignorance and fear of what action his mechanical buddy might take. The struggle to resolve conflicting emotions was taking a toll on his emaciated frame. He did manage to jerk out, ‘Oh . . . oh . . . please . . . you must refer to him as Gwent.’

  Gwent himself was alarmed at Companion’s physical distress. He called sharply, ‘Doctor Russell!’

  Helena was already on the move. She had been watching Companion and her instinct told her that only a very little was needed to shift him definitively into the land of the dead. Holding him steady, kneeling beside his chair, she said soothingly, ‘Don’t speak. I can help you.’

  She lifted his hand, it was bird frail, the pulse was hardly detectable.

  For the first time, there was a ring of genuine feeling in Gwent’s voice as he said, ‘Companion!’ and went on, ‘If you’re not dead then speak!’

  Unbelievably, Companion still could, though the effort was pitiful to see, ‘All you care about . . .’

  Helena turned to Koenig, ‘He’s a very sick man.’

  Companion was drawing strength from a sheer act of will power, ‘I’m fit. These little attacks come and go—mere discomfort.’

  ‘Are you certain, dear friend?’

  Companion forced himself to sit erect, too proud to endure pity. ‘Don’t worry about my capabilities. Send for your supplies so that we can be on our way.’

  It was meant for Gwent, but Koenig took it as if for himself and Companion went on, ‘Quickly. Quickly if you please.’

  Koenig said, ‘Very well. I’ll issue the order the moment we reach base.’

  Gwent’s voice bellowed ‘No! From here.’

  ‘You have my word.’

  ‘I believe only in my honour. Issue the order!’

  Koenig signalled to the others and they followed him to the closed hatch.

  Companion had struggled from the chair to make his appeal, ‘Please accommodate him in this. He always has his way.’

  Gwent said, ‘Always.’

  Helena looked at Koenig. She hated to see what it was doing to Companion. But Koenig was adamant, ‘You’ll get those supplies when we get back to Alpha.’

  Companion had crossed the floor and was ready to fall. He clutched at Koenig for support, ‘No, Commander—no! None of us—not you, not I—can stand up to him.’

  ‘Haven’t you any influence?’

  ‘Gwent is my master.’

  He saw their reaction and drove himself on, ‘I have always been his companion. I’ve grown old in his service. I might die, but Gwent goes on forever. He’ll let nothing stop him. Forget your human pride. Give him what he wants, then go . . . while you still can.’

  The sting in the tail was not lost on Bergman and Helena. It was a clear warning. Helena spoke to the centre of the great room, ‘Gwent. Your Companion is close to death. I have no medical equipment with me. If we can get him to the medi-centre at Alpha . . .’

  Pride had once more boosted the dying man. Erect as a spear he walked away from them.

  Gwent thundered, ‘Enough. Do what I say.’

  Koenig’s ‘No!’—was a matching shout.

  ‘I can blast your puny base from the universe.’

  There, was a sense of motion though the floor remained horizontal. Watchers in Main Mission saw the machine tumble itself towards Alpha. Koenig flipped open his commlock, ‘Paul, immediate launch. Attack to disable.’

  Alan Carter answered him, ‘Check, Commander. On our way.’

  The two Eagles which had been circling at a distance raced in on a bombing dive. Needle thin beams of searing light bored out in concert from the heavy duty lasers. Brilliant asterisks flared on two of Gwent’s pod feet as the lines went home. Watchers in Main Mission saw some material sheer and break away, but as the Eagles beat away for a turn it was clear that no vital breach had been made.

  In Gwent’s control dome, Companion was showing acute distress, but the three Alphans watching the action on the miniature screen of Koenig’s commlock saw nothing of it. Gwent himself was wholly concerned with retribution. He said, ‘Measure for measure, if that’s what you want!’

  The Eagles were turning over a jagged mountain feature as Gwent operated some unseen armament. Lights in the globe dimmed and the floor lurched. The whole mountain was bathed in an incandescent glow before it erupted in a vast boiling geyser of atomic trash.

  Morrow called urgently, ‘Stand by rescue unit.’ and Gwent’s mocking voice sounded simultaneously in Main Mission and his own control room, ‘Truce?’

  Koenig knew a demonstration of overkill when he saw one. Grim faced, he called Morrow, ‘Cease fire.’

  He stared in impotent anger at the iridescent dust cloud where his Eagles had been. At his back Companion suddenly sagged at the knees and crumpled to the deck.

  Helena saw the movement in the corner of her eye and ran over, kneeling beside the fallen man. She said urgently, ‘Gwent! You must let us go! Your Companion needs medical attention.’

  Lights flashed in a spasm round the dome. A column of light b
uilt itself and centred on the prone figure.

  Gwent said, ‘What’s wrong with him?’ It was brusque, unsympathetic, as though Gwent refused to accept that anything could be allowed to interfere with his arrangements.

  Helena made no effort to soften the diagnosis, ‘He’s dying.’

  ‘Companion must not die.’

  ‘Words alone will not save him.’

  Companion’s eyes were open. He seemed to appreciate Gwent’s concern. But his smile was wry. Sentiment had little place in their long relationship. He said heavily, ‘Don’t pretend you didn’t know I was dying. I said there were two reasons why we came here. I am that second one.’

  Accusation in her tone, Helena also addressed Gwent, ‘You knew he was dying?’

  Gwent was silent. Companion forced himself to speak, ‘You don’t understand.’ Levering himself up on one elbow he went on with something like anger in his voice, ‘Tell them you didn’t want to admit I was dying. You won’t even admit it now will you?’

  Gwent’s voice was a boom, ‘No! You’re not dying. You’re only feigning—trying to annoy me. Admit it you old fool.’

  A spasm of pain wracked Companion’s emaciated body. He just managed to speak, ‘I admit nothing . . . old . . . friend.’ His eyes sought Koenig’s, ‘I’m sorry I leave behind the worst part of me.’

  ‘Gwent?’ Part of the riddle was plain to Koenig.

  ‘Yes . . . Gwent is me . . . he took control . . . outgrew his creator. Think of me at my best . . . I have to leave you to his dreadful mercy.’

  The ancient body went slack. Not even his fierce pride could hold Companion any longer inside the frail shell. No announcement from Helena was needed to tell the Alphans that their only human link with Gwent was dead.

  There was silence under the great dome. Gwent knew the score, but typically refused to accept it. He said, ‘Companion?’

  Helena Russell stood up, ‘Companion is dead.’

  Gwent’s voice suddenly broke in a savage howl. Lights flared and pulsed and the control room lurched crazily. The probing beam zig-zagged in a mad dance of death around the dome.

  ‘Savages! Blind savages! You’ve killed him!’