Space 1999 #6 - Astral Quest

by John Rankine

  Except for a dubious ‘Mmm,’ Gwent made no reaction. Still at the table, Koenig switched his commlock to visual and brought in Main Mission.

  Morrow and his staff got the picture on the big screen. There was no mistaking the mime. Finger on his lips, Koenig was asking for utter hush.

  Morrow lifted his hand to signal agreement. Only the hum from the consoles and the occasional rattle from Computer could be heard. Still aloft, Carter was circling endlessly in his patrolling Eagle.

  Koenig wrote across the table, ‘PREPARE.’ Main Mission went tense waiting for the payoff.

  Blind, Gwent might be, but his intuition about anything going on in his dome was uncanny. He said coldly, ‘Commander, since you are using that device to communicate with your subordinates, order your men to deliver my supplies. Now!’

  The three Alphans braced themselves for some punishing stroke. None came. Morrow and Main Mission staff looked their disappointment, shared by Carter who was thumping his console with a balled fist.

  Koenig was going on. He was judging that Gwent had the basic idea that communication was taking place, but still had no exact notion of what was being said. He wiped clear his first message and began again. ‘A . . . T . . .’ He paused conscious that sweat was standing out on his brow. Still writing, he spoke to Gwent.

  ‘Gwent, I’ve given you a lot of thought.’

  ‘So you should.’

  ‘You are not getting those supplies. It’s you or us.’

  The word was done. The big. screen In Main Mission had it in banner headline A-T-T-A-C-K.

  Morrow slammed round his console. Red alerts blinked from every communications post in Moonbase Alpha and strident klaxons sounded out. Armed Eagles, held ready in their hangars rolled out for launch. It was total mobilisation and Main Mission staff leaped Into top gear. After all the frustration, it was almost welcome. At last, they felt they were taking the initiative and that there was some hope of a break out of the deadlock.

  Carter picked up a squadron of Eagles and led them in for a strike. In the interval, he had made up his plan. He thought it was probable that the central structure held the Alphan hostages. Avoiding that, he designated targets and his Eagles peeled off and strafed selected pods.

  On the ground, Morrow had run out a column of armoured buggies on remote control. As they raced for Gwent over the stark moonscape, Carter found time to shout, ‘Good thinking, Paul. Nice to have ground support!’

  Morrow said grimly, ‘You’re welcome.’ His big screen was an animated battle map and he had his hands full.

  Koenig had a spectator’s view of it on the miniature screen of his commlock. The shuddering of the control dome chimed with Eagles’ strikes. Ominously calm, Gwent said, ‘So. You think it is better to negotiate from strength—puny as it may be.’

  Koenig said, ‘Not negotiating, Gwent. That is your word.’

  The dome lurched. Needled into action. Gwent had made a response. He fired again and again. Each time the interior lights dimmed to a glow. He was concentrating on the land force and at each savage burst, one of the racing moon buggies was irradiated in a bright asterisk of intense, cadmium yellow flame. As the flame died it was gone, dispersed as molecular trash.

  Bergman looked at the dimming lights and than at Koenig. Could they hope that Gwent would finally exhaust his reserves of power?

  Gwent paused long enough to say ‘Do I understand you aright, is this a moral issue?’

  Koenig, holding on to a table as the floor rocked again, said, ‘That’s about it, Gwent. It’s a matter of intelligent sacrifice.’

  ‘Intelligent? What kind of intelligence is there in that? Are you quite mad?’

  He was working systematically along the line of mooncraft and Helena had to struggle to keep on her feet as she said, ‘You are nothing but a pirate, a marauder, a kidnapper, looting and pillaging the universe.’

  A tremendous burst of energy from Gwent’s armament engulfed a whole group of buggies and opened up a brand new crater on the Moon’s ravaged map. Gwent shouted, ‘Are you counting the cost. Commander?’

  ‘I believe so. To both of us!’

  Gwent turned his fire to the Eagles. A searing rope of fire from one of the pods snaked out and homed on the underbelly of a turning craft. The pilot’s voice came through laced with static, ‘Rescue unit! Area twelve.’

  The Eagle was down in a cloud of moondust.

  ‘Still counting the cost, Commander?’

  There was a sneer in it and Bergman said simply, ‘We’re willing to risk our lives to stop you.’

  Carter’s Eagles were in for a concerted strike and the battery shifted the machine and rolled it a half kilometre. Gwent’s growl had a sombre finality in it, ‘You have chosen. So be it.’

  The machine stabilised itself. One of the pods, jutting into the moon sky, swung and aimed for the sprawling complex of Moonbase Alpha. A bolt of energy crackled out over the ancient rocks and an intense glow surrounded Main Mission like a golden aureole.

  Swiftly, every interior and exterior surface began to heat. They were to be fried alive. It was unendurable. The light deepened to a cherry red. Etiolated screams came from the commlock in Koenig’s hand. He had condemned his people to an agonising death. Paul Morrow’s voice was just audible, ‘Commander . . . help!’

  Koenig hunched his shoulders. It was defeat and he knew it. Whatever happened to Gwent, he could not let them take it. He said, ‘Hold your hand, Gwent. We will do whatever you say.’

  There was silence. Gwent was savouring it. Another Eagle caught In crossfire from two pods screamed down in a death dive. Koenig, blind with anger shouted, ‘What words do you want, Gwent?’

  ‘Surrender is sufficient.’

  Koenig called, ‘Commander to Moonbase, cease fire. Recall all Eagles!’

  The glow died around Main Mission. Thickly, Paul Morrow called off the attack. ‘Cease fire. Come in Alan.’

  Carter was still circling, debating whether or not to go it alone and Morrow said again, ‘Alan, come in. This means you.’

  ‘Understood.’ Carter circled once more and dived for his launch pad.

  Main Mission came back to normality. All knew they had skirted the edge of the diamond moment of death. Gwent’s voice, assured and urbane again was an insult, ‘So much better to see reason—dear friends.’

  He went on to speak to his three internees, ‘You must believe me. I admire your spirit. Now these are my terms. Professor Bergman. Because of your age and defective condition, you will return to base in exchange for my supplies.’

  Victor Bergman looked angrily about him. To be judged and found wanting by a machine was too much. Before he could speak, however, Gwent was at it again, ‘Commander Koenig and Doctor Russell must stay with me as my Companions, for as long as you both shall live. I sense there is already a bond between you. In time our relationship could be agreeable.’

  Helena’s horrified ‘No!’ interrupted him. The prospect of imprisonment with Koenig was not the issue. This would be a shotgun contract and a life together in the presence of a blind fiddler. Koenig tried to comfort her, holding her close.

  Bergman made a bid of his own. ‘No, Gwent. You need a man of science to understand your ways. Keep me. I’m in better condition than you think. Don’t you understand that with this artificial pump, I have a better life expectancy than my colleagues. Just help me from time to time and I shall be your Companion for many years to come. I know something about loneliness. We shall do well together.’

  Helena freed herself from Koenig, ‘Victor. You are the best and dearest friend.’

  ‘It’s for the best Helena. Don’t you see? Far better me than you and John.’

  Koenig said shortly, ‘Better no one.’

  Still trying, Victor Bergman said, ‘It has to be me John. Can you promise to live beyond tomorrow?’

  Gwent was tired of the argument, ‘Promises! I decide who stays, who goes, who lives, Who dies. The Professor goes. Get those supplies.�
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  His voice had hardened. He was ready to demonstrate again where the final power lay.

  Bitterly, Koenig spoke into his commlock. ‘Prepare to lift off supplies.’

  Paul Morrow answered, ‘Check, Commander!’

  It was clear enough that Main Mission accepted there was no more they could do. Koenig snapped his commlock shut and shoved it in his belt. He had wanted a homecoming with Helena for long enough. But not like this. His hundred million planets had shrunk to a little room in the maw of a mechanical maniac. He could not meet Helena’s eyes.

  Alan Carter set it up to take any chance that might come his way. Tough skinned as Gwent undoubtedly was, there might just be less armour on the inside. He took three security guards to ride shotgun on the supply waggon and saw they were armed with the heaviest calibre lasers that could be hand fired.

  Watching the party on his monitor, Paul Morrow could see the look on Carter’s face. If there was any way of getting to the hostages, Alan Carter would be there.

  The war party hurried along the corridor from Security and piled into a travel tube for Dock Four. When he picked them up again, they were pounding up the ship hatchway tube into the waiting Eagle. Two supply details were at the hatch and the boxes of supplies were already stacked inside. Carter mimed for them to leave and say nothing. He was playing the sequence in silence. Gwent’s perambulating ear would have nothing to report.

  Last aboard, Carter lifted his thumb. Morrow breathed, ‘And the best of luck go with you.’

  Eagle Four jacked herself off the pad in a flurry of moondust, dropped to a metre above ground level and arrowed away like a surface craft for the monstrous machine on the horizon.

  When she was still a kilometre off, one of Gwent’s grounded pods flipped open a huge hatch and extruded a boarding ramp. Carter lined up his ship, set her down with mathematical accuracy and drove forward out of an instant grey cloud. The Eagle crawled up the ramp like an angular slug and was gone. The ramp retracted. The hatch closed.

  Gwent announced it to the only person who had any proper interest in a relief column, ‘Professor Bergman, you’ll be delighted to know the Eagle has arrived. Your incarceration is nearing an end.’

  Helena and Koenig tried to make it easy for him. Forcing some kind of resigned cheerfulness, they stood either side of him to lead him to the hatch.

  Bergman was not deceived. He tried one more time, ‘Gwent, let them go.’

  ‘No. You weary me, Professor.’

  Koenig found the will to say it, but could not look at her as he did so, ‘At least let Dr. Russell go. You only need one. Let that be me.’

  ‘Deprived of your companion, you would be a sullen and moody traveller. No!’

  Eagle Four had been lifted and shunted around until it was positioned to offload into the main corridor leading to Gwent’s control dome. Carter was stalking about facing the great sealed hatch with his massive laser held two handed. Behind him, his security men dumped the cases in piles and then joined him, each carrying a similar weapon. When they were lined up in front of the door, he announced himself, finding it difficult to talk to an unseen host. ‘We have all your supplies . . . Sir. Everything on your list. Where do you want them?’

  Gwent’s voice was from everywhere and nowhere, ‘You have brought everything?’

  ‘All accounted for . . . Sir.’

  ‘I’ll make my own check.’

  From overhead a probing finger of light materialised and began to roam around the piles of cases.

  The four Alphans were stock still watching the door, waiting. Suddenly the finger of light shifted over and centred on Carter himself. He flinched. The light ran along the barrel of the laser, stopped, repeated the sequence. Gwent’s laugh had no element of jollity in it, ‘Ah, ah ah! Do I detect a weapon?’

  On the other side of the door the hostages exchanged glances. They heard Carter’s inspired lie, ‘No, Sir. That’s a commlock. Part of our communications system. We all carry them.’

  The light shifted again, taking each man in turn. It was an eery investigation. Although there was nothing specific to feel, each one felt that the probe was missing nothing even down to the thoughts in his head.

  Gwent was sarcastic, ‘Indeed you do. All four of you.’ He sighed, ‘Ah me. It’s no good trusting humans. Always trying out your mindless schemes. Do you take me for a fool? Get out of here with your child’s toys!’

  Carter stood his ground, ‘But the Professor . . . You promised to release the Professor.’

  Gwent’s voice boomed and reverberated, ‘That was before your treachery. Out, out! The Professor stays with me. Get out!’

  Angrily, Koenig said, ‘You’re not letting him go?’

  ‘No! Tell your men to return to their craft, before I do something you’ll regret.’

  Koenig hated to put Helena in jeopardy again, but he knew he had no choice. Drawing his laser, he flicked the stud to destructor beam and called, ‘Alan, do you read me?’

  ‘Check, Commander.’

  ‘Concerted fire at the door. Now!’

  Four heavy duty lasers fired as one. The great blank barrier was irradiated with asterisks of searing light. From inside Bergman and Helena joined the barrage, then seeing they were making no impression, wheeled away and fired at random into the banks of instrumentation. Blasting around, they should have reduced the interior to a smoking ruin. Gwent’s metallic bowels were unmarked. One by one, they stopped firing.

  Outside, Carter had called a halt. The whole party looked stupidly at the undamaged door.

  Gwent’s long gale of laughter was the last, contemptuous insult.

  He said, coldly, ‘Pitiful! What a pitiful performance. You’re only good for killing each other.’ He laughed again and then cut short for a demonstration of his own power. Pulsating beams dropped precisely to centre on each Alphan inside and outside the control chamber. One by one they were beaten to their knees and then to the floor as the agony broke their hold on their personal worlds of resolution and human dignity.

  Even when the beams died, they still lay on the deck afraid to move.

  Gwent had no further interest. He was concerned with his own comfort. Ironically, he said, ‘Gwent giveth and Gwent taketh away. Now, Professor. You are to join us. Perhaps, indeed, I shall find some small use for your limited knowledge and experience.’

  Gingerly, Carter’s men were slowly getting to their feet, waiting for Gwent to strike again. Instead they had a contemptuous dismissal, ‘Be thankful I am letting you go. Take your primitive machine and get out before I change my mind and kill you.’

  They moved slowly into the Eagle. Last to leave, Alan Carter looked dejectedly round the area. He had never felt more helpless. But in truth there was nothing else to be done. The elevator hatch snapped shut. The Eagle began its descent to the entry port.

  Main Mission saw the distant pod open and the Eagle was literally thrown out, skidding and slewing in moondust before Carter gained control and lifted it off in a course for Moonbase Alpha. There was gloom all round the desks. Typically Gwent rubbed their noses in it, ‘You are defenceless against me. No more demonstrations!’

  There was a time of silence and apathy in the dome. They had lost. Defeat hung heavily in the air. Each one was trying to adjust to a bleak future. Gwent’s voice was heavy with a kind of human fatigue, ‘And now my dear . . . Companions. You will open those supplies.’

  The great door sliced away. A probing finger of light moved slowly over the cases and came to rest on one. ‘That one is the first.’

  Between them, Koenig and Bergman hefted the crate and carried it inside. The door slammed shut at their backs. Another pencil of light made a pointer, indicating a slot which had opened in the dome wall.

  ‘Unpack the crate.’

  Koenig shoved away snap catches and lifted the lid. It was fuel, made up to Gwent’s specification in metre long rods.

  ‘Take out a rod. Insert it where you see the feed port.’

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bsp; Koenig balanced a rod across his palms and looked at Bergman. Then he said simply, ‘No.’ Bergman’s ‘No’ followed in the same tone.

  The pointing finger glowed more intensely. ‘Do you imagine that passive resistance can serve against me?’

  Punishment rays struck from the height of the dome. Either he was building a tolerance to it or Gwent was lower on power, but Koenig found he could still keep on his feet.

  Gwent’s voice was tired, ‘When will you learn to obey? Do you have to die?’

  Recovery was faster for Koenig, he said, ‘Perhaps. But then, are you immortal? I think you are tiring, Gwent. You didn’t hurt us so much this time.’

  Anger revived the machine’s flagging energies. There was something of the old boom, ‘I have enough power to destroy you three and your entire base. For the last time, I warn you!’

  Bergman yawned, ‘Oh come on: get it over with.’

  Helena joined in, ‘Yes, use up your precious power. Kill us all. Then who will take care of you? You haven’t the strength to go elsewhere and find other Companions. You’re terminal, Gwent! We’re your last hope of survival.’

  Gwent’s voice was a hoarse rasp, ‘There’s no truth in what you say. I demand . . . your . . . co-operation.’

  It was the first crack in the dyke. Koenig felt that the initiative was moving his way. He knew he must keep Gwent alert and talking. ‘Our co-operation? Why? We don’t know who you are, where you come from or where you’re going.’

  Pride needled Gwent. There was an access of vigour to his boast, ‘I am Delmer Powys Plebus Gwent of the planet Zemo. I was a man of the first importance on that planet. Perhaps not recognised as the scientific genius I am. This machine is an extension of myself. I programmed my entire personality into it by a computer language of my own invention. My affective and cognitive aspects are fused with the immense range of a computer’s brain and the might and power of a machine impervious to destruction. I have power to destroy a whole planet. That is who and what I am. Belmer Powys Plebus Gwent!’

  Koenig picked up a fuel rod and held it above his head, ‘Well Belmer Powys Plebus Gwent, you have won some battles, but now you lose the campaign.’