by John Rankine
Thrown off their feet, the Alphans clung to the deck as Gwent threw his machine body at random over the moonscape and finally settled for a direct, vengeful drive at Moonbase Alpha.
CHAPTER TWO
Emotion nudged Gwent’s unstable personality over the edge of sanity into a manic tantrum of blind temper. Staff in Main Mission were stunned by the sheer volume and demonic power of the shouting voice. ‘Rude assassins—stand to attention. Show respect.’
Deranged by grief and remorse, the machine was looking for a scapegoat to unload responsibility which it was not equipped to accept. A burst of pure gobbledegook blared away at immense power and cut short in a sudden silence. The Main Scanner which had whited out on overload came to life again with a view of the moonscape. The machine was tumbling about like a drunk.
Computer, freed from outside control began to work on the backlog of requests. Morrow’s intercom net jammed with requests from Alpha sections wanting information.
Security called, ‘Security, calling Main Mission, come in please.’
A female operator from Hydroponics began, ‘Main Mission. Do you read me . . . ?’
An agitated quartermaster called urgently, ‘This is Supply. For godsake can I have instructions for this shipment on Dock Four.’
Making up for lost time, Computer reeled out half a metre of tape from the outfall and Kano had to thump Morrow’s back to get his attention. Among the data, there was one item repeated and he reckoned the chief executive ought to know. ‘DESTRUCTION OF ALPHA IMMINENT.’
Morrow cleared his board. He tried for Koenig. ‘Commander, this is Main Mission. Can you signal?’
Only the computer was still batting. All other operators waited for a reply. None came. Morrow shook his head.
Then, unbelievably, Carter was on the net, his voice crackling with electronic mush. ‘Carter here.’
Morrow said, ‘Status?’
‘Both Eagles damaged but operational.’
An interruption came from Sandra Benes. She had been watching her monitor and threw a picture of the machine to the big screen. ‘Look—it’s lifting off.’
There was no doubt about it. Tumbling on an erratic flight path that reflected Gwent’s demented state, the machine was well above the horizon.
Carter called again, ‘I have it in sight.’
‘Pursue. Stand by to attack.’
In Gwent’s control room, Koenig and Bergman had carried Companion to his couch. Death had brought peace to his time-raddled face. Gwent was keeping an ominous silence and their voices were quiet. The great hemisphere had become a tomb.
Koenig sensed movement, ‘We’ve lifted off.’ The complex instrumentation was pulsing with light. Where there had been a slow steady beeping, there was now a thrum of power. He tried to call Main Mission, ‘Come in Main Mission. This is Koenig. Do you read me? Come on dammit, answer!’
There was no response and he shoved the commlock back in his belt. Gwent’s voice breathed over the quiet room like a curse.
‘Savages!’
Needled to reply, Helena Russell said indignantly, ‘You can’t blame us for Companion’s death. If it’s anybody’s fault, it’s yours!’
‘I will not be accused.’
‘But you judge us! I warned you he was ill. I might have saved him.’
There was a pause. When Gwent spoke, he seemed to be trying to be reasonable. ‘Yes, so you did. Companion was right. He told me he was dying; but I wouldn’t accept that. You see I believe in the power of matter over mind. In the end, Companion proved I was right. But didn’t he rage splendidly at the end? If . . . responsibility . . . is a concern that bothers you, I release you from it.’
Dryly, Bergman said, ‘Thank you for that.’
It provoked a flash of anger, ‘Only Companion is impertinent with me! Now you will prepare him for burial.’
The machine had tumbled itself into space. Carter, driving his battered Eagles was holding on.
Morrow called, ‘Near enough, Alan. Steady as you go. Just stay with it.’
Gwent had pulled another remote controlled trick and extruded a torpedo shaped casket to the deck. It was clearly custom built for Companion. Koenig slipped catches and took off the lid. Then he carried the frail body and laid it out in the half shell.
Before lifting on the lid, they stood to give tribute to a strange and courageous space farer. Bergman said, ‘Companion is ready.’
Gwent’s voice was resonant for a funeral ovation. ‘I must need speak in passion—but he hears me not . . . Here lies Companion, my first friend . . . who served me without complaint or self-pity. The best of his kind. Gone now. I cherish his memory. His memory . . . remains . . . remains . . . remains.’ He seemed to have stuck on a loop and there was a rising note of hysteria.
Playing for time, Koenig took over, ‘We commit to eternal space the body of Companion.’
Gwent’s voice went emotional, ‘Is that all?’
Bergman added ‘Amen.’
Gwent’s shriek rang round the dome.
Helena watched the two men as they closed the capsule and snapped down the seals. A circular hatch opened in the dome wall, clearly intended for the launch. They carried it over and slid it forward for a full due. Auto gear fed it along a conveyor and the hatch sliced shut behind it.
Gwent said, ‘Matter to matter. Goodbye—old friend.’
The trailing Eagles saw one of the circling pods eject the capsule with tremendous power and it arrowed off into the infinite wastes of the starmap.
Morrow picked up the movement and queried, ‘What goes on, Alan?’
Carter was already checking his monitors, ‘Sensors indicate . . . you won’t like this . . . it’s a human body.’
‘Live?’
‘Dead.’
‘Execution of a hostage?’
‘Do I close in?’
‘No. They’ll all be killed. Eagles One and Two return to base. Now!’
He sat staring at his console. Then he moved to a decision and punched a button to bring in Supply. ‘Get that load of stores on Dock Four into an Eagle. Be ready to lift off on my order.’
Reluctantly, Alan Carter called off the chase. Turning for Alpha, he watched the machine dwindling astern. It had been a bad situation from start to finish. Jaw set like a trap, he flung the labouring Eagle on the home course.
Waiting for Gwent’s next move, the Alphans in the control dome sat round a table. From the activity level of the panels, it seemed that Gwent had cut outward flight and was holding the craft in limbo. When his voice suddenly sounded out, there was more frantic pulsation as though to speak was to move. The voice itself was back to normal.
‘And so dear friends, we have committed Companion to eternity. Thank you for your part. Now we shall return to Alpha . . . I expect you to follow orders. Otherwise I will terminate your lives with all the prejudice at my disposal and do not think for a minute that I make an empty threat.’
To prove the point, three beams seared from the dome and bathed each one of the Alphans, locking them to their chairs. Pain needled them from every cutaneous sense bud. While it lasted, it was torment that could not be imagined. Then it was gone and sick and shaken they clung to the table top.
Gwent said icily, ‘A small demonstration.’
Lifting his head, Victor Bergman said, ‘We all owe God a death.’
‘Good. Good. I admire your spirit, Professor. Old men should rage.’
A dialogue with an adversary which had no human form was difficult. Bergman found he was visualising a head with some of the late Companion’s features. He said steadily, ‘What would you know of youth or age or the emotions that give a human biological structure its unique place in the cosmos? You believe that matter and mind are one. But I tell you Gwent there is more to being human than that. Companion was greater than you will ever understand.’
Helena said quietly, ‘Well said, Victor.’ They waited for Gwent to retaliate. But there was silence in the dome. He was concen
trating on another task. The machine steadied in light and settled to a new course.
The big screen in Main Mission saw the change. Steady and determined it was tumbling in the wake of the Eagles towards Moonbase Alpha.
Sandra said, ‘It’s coming back!’
She was thinking of the hostages and sounded almost pleased. Paul Morrow looked at Kano. For his money, it could be disaster. Kano quoted Computer, ‘Destruction of Alpha, imminent.’
Filling Koenig’s empty command slot, Morrow had a problem. He could, however, carry through the supply drill. Switching through to the dock, he asked, ‘Is Eagle Four loaded with those supplies?’
The pilot himself answered, ‘Yes, Sir. All ready to lift off.’
‘Stand by.’
Gwent’s voice was a moody rumble in the control dome of the speeding machine, ‘I have no one to restrain me now. I alone am Gwent.’ The voice hardened, ‘Commander, give your men the order.’
The vast, unwieldy machine was eating up the distance and boring in for a touch down in the same area that it had used before. Koenig’s voice suddenly spoke into Main Mission.
‘Paul, can you hear me?’
‘Yes, Commander. Loud and clear.’
‘We’re still alive.’
‘All three?’
‘Yes.’
Sandra Benes looked blankly round the desks. It did not gell with Carter’s report. But there was no time to query it, Koenig was going on. ‘Get those supplies ready for shipment.’
‘They’re all set. Waiting for your instructions, Commander.’
‘Thank you. Stand by.’
The machine touched down and rolled jerkily to a stop. Koenig stood in the centre of the floor and addressed Gwent, ‘What collateral do I have, Gwent that you will release us once the supplies are delivered?’
The old sprit of sublime self-assurance was back in Gwent’s voice, ‘Collateral?’
‘Are you going to offer your famous word of honour?’
‘Certainly. That will be enough.’
‘Not this time it won’t.’
A solid column of light materialised and fell like a spear on Koenig. Helena’s gasp of dismay chimed with a deep, involuntary groan wrung from the sufferer. Koenig, face set and grim with effort tried to stay erect, but he was beaten down to his knees, pain beating in from every square millimetre of tortured flesh. He was kneeling and then he was pitching forward to the deck with agony whiting out every conscious thought. Lights in the dome dimmed to a red glow, then the pulsating column itself winked out.
Helena was beside Koenig, lifting his head, eyes blind with tears. Gwent’s tone of mocking superiority had never been more offensive when he said, ‘You know, Commander, your mindless hostility begins to tire me. Companion’s love was a source of strength and joy . . . Must I waste valuable energy in punishing you like a child?’
For once he had said too much. Bergman was on it in a flash, ‘Waste energy?’
Whether Koenig heard or not, he was committed to a line of action. Gently disengaging Helena’s helping hands, he drove himself to sit and then climbed painfully to his feet. When he was erect, he went on as though the interruption was of no importance to the argument, ‘Now, Gwent. What about the collateral?’
Gwent sounded too tired to argue, ‘Please, no further discussion. When I return those supplies will be on hand. That is if you have any interest in making the distinction between life and death.’
There was a definitive silence. The lights, which had brightened for Gwent’s words, went dim again.
Lowering her voice to a whisper, Helena Russell said, ‘Return? What does he mean? Where? Where from for that matter?’
Anger was rising in Koenig’s head like a red tide. He was sick to death of being at the receiving end of Gwent’s megalomaniac tantrums. Challenging, he shouted ‘Somewhere, everywhere, where are you Gwent? There’s no point in whispering. Gwent! . . . Gwent! Where are you?’
Bergman restrained him. ‘John. You can do no good. Now there is something interesting in what he said. He needs to conserve energy. Obviously he’s low on vital supplies. That was the prime purpose of this visit.’
Koenig relaxed. It could be the Achilles Heel they were looking for. He said slowly, ‘Of course. The lights.’
Helena Russell was stock still, thinking it out. Every organism consumed energy to live. Sooner or later it had to have its particular food. Energy given out had to be replaced. She said, ‘Needs. It has needs.’
On another tack, Bergman pointed out an obvious truth, ‘Gwent has never lived alone.’
‘So it’s not only the supplies.’
All three made the next step in the logical chain and the knowledge was as unwelcome as anything yet. They looked at each other as the realisation dawned. Koenig himself put it into words, leaving no area of doubt. ‘With Companion dead, Gwent must have a replacement.’
Sitting round a table in the notional recreation area of Gwent’s cavernous dome, the three Alphans were each locked in a frustrating mental cycle that brought them back again and again to the same blank wall. Like prisoners through the millennia, they had to come to terms with their helplessness. Gwent had the power and the will to have his way.
In Main Mission also there was a waiting silence. The crazy machine dominated the skyline. Operators sat at their consoles. Only the monitor on Carter’s circling Eagle showed movement.
Interior lights in the dome remained low. Koenig suddenly pushed back his chair and stalked to the centre of the floor. He called, ‘Gwent! Gwent!’
There was no answer. Gwent was resting his cogs.
Koenig returned to the table and stood behind Helena’s chair. She sensed his presence and leaned back her head to touch him. Victor Bergman stood up and walked over to a spread of monitor screens trying to make some sense of the layout.
His sudden gasp of pain broke the silence and Helena beat Koenig by a step to reach him. Grey faced, Victor Bergman was holding his chest, locked in a private world of agony, mouth open in a soundless scream.
Koenig grabbed the tense shoulders as though he could break the bond by external force, but Helena had already read the symptoms. She knew the medical record. ‘His heart.’
Bergman’s strained eyes gave her the answer. The long strain and Gwent’s punitive torture sequence had taken their toll. It was a weakness that had made his appointment to Moonbase Alpha a borderline case and only his own quiet insistence had brought him through the screening procedures.
Koenig carried him, laid him fiat. Helena, a doctor without a medical kit or a back up service began her examination, bitterly aware that she was only going through the motions.
Suddenly, lights in the dome sprang to full power and Gwent boomed, ‘What is your emergency?’
Helena snapped back, ‘Heart seizure.’ Gwent’s probing finger of light flickered round the three Alphans bouncing frantically about as though unable to sort out which was the patient.
Koenig called, ‘Will you help us?’
There was a pause with the light still trying to get a clear channel. Gwent sounded uncertain. ‘Which of you? Which of you?’
Head on Bergman’s chest, Helena Russell said impatiently, ‘Are you blind?’
Again there was a pause. Gwent had no wish to admit to any imperfection. Finally he said, ‘Separate . . .’ There was no move from Helena and the voice was a roar, ‘Separate!’
Koenig took her hand and pulled her clear. The light circled and then homed in on the prone figure.
Gwent’s diagnosis was instant. ‘He had an artificial heart. Where he is lying is covered by a force field.’
Helena said, ‘The heart’s drained of power.’
‘Move him.’
Koenig was down in a flash. Lifting Bergman across his arms, he fairly ran with him across the floor to lay him on Companion’s empty couch.
There was some relaxation in Bergman’s tense limbs and the pain was less severe, but even a layman could see that he was
critically ill and under shock.
Koenig said, ‘We must be allowed to get him to Alpha for medical treatment.’
‘Stand away.’
This time they did. Koenig had his arm round Helena’s shoulders, knowing she hated to leave Victor to fight his lonely battle for survival. A crackling beam sizzled through the still air of the dome and focussed unerringly on Bergman’s heart.
It was a bizarre resurrection sequence, a replay of Frankenstein on an updated set. Victor Bergman was in a trauma that seemed likely to shatter his scholarly frame. Gwent said, ‘Three thousand volts of electrical energy for five seconds.’
The beam cut. Bergman slumped to the couch. Gwent said triumphantly, ‘Done!’
Helena Russell shook off Koenig’s restraining arm and ran to the bedside, ‘Victor!’
Bergman’s face was pale but calm. He could even smile at her anxiety. He patted her hand like a father reassuring a favourite daughter. ‘It’s all right, Helena. Don’t worry. I’m alive . . . and well.’
Proving it by a practical demonstration, he sat up in spite of her attempt to keep him still. When he spoke again, he was close to imitating Companion, ‘I am obliged to you, Gwent.’
The reply was testy, ‘Oh! You are, are you? . . .’
Koenig caught Bergman’s eye and mimed for him to keep the conversation going. Meantime, he crossed to the table and began to write in large letters on the surface with a chinagraph marker from his belt pouch.
‘Of course. Surely you understand gratitude?’
‘You ask questions like Companion. I miss him. We understood each other . . . in spite of petty differences. He was such marvellous company.’
‘Were you actually friends?’
‘Companion and I were fellow seekers . . . travelling together forever through the universe. Or so we thought.’
‘Everything changes. That is the great truth. Change is the only reality.’
‘Except me. I don’t change. Companion always relied on me.’
Koenig had finished his message and tipped the table for them to read. ‘I THINK HE’S BLIND.’
Bergman went on blandly, ‘But also you always relied on Companion.’