Space 1999 #6 - Astral Quest

by John Rankine

  Bergman joined him, received a frank, radiant smile of welcome from Kara and said, ‘This is an amazing ship, John, and not just in size. Medical techniques are way ahead of anything we have. Their mind scanner taps Into memory banks. When she set out from Daria she must have been one of the wonders of the Galaxy.’

  Kara smiled again. She liked it. He was more appreciative than Koenig, who refused to be charmed. She said frankly, ‘Coming from a man with your great powers of mind, that is praise indeed, Professor. Perhaps we have things to teach you. But I am sure you also have knowledge to give us.’

  Koenig broke In on the détente with a jarring practical note, ‘I must talk with your Commander. Where Is he to be found?’ At the same time, he took a step towards the hatch.

  Kara proved she could move smartly and still be graceful about it. She was on her feet in a lissom glide and between Koenig and the hatch. He had a flash of intuition that she did not want him wandering about the command suite without a guide. Which could only mean that there was something he was not supposed to see. But her ready speech was all agreement, ‘Of course. Our Commander will be anxious to meet you and thank you for your response to our signal. Follow me.’

  Daria’s Supreme Commander was nearer than they expected and might well have been on his way to make a courtesy call. He was at the end of a short corridor, turning from a massive door which showed signs of heat damage and which he had just closed. He was tall, had the same ageless look that characterised Kara, and was dressed in a steel grey fluted tabard. He was an urbane, polished type; but the eyes were hard and direct as he stared at the approaching Alphans.

  If Koenig had been with the party in the hydroponics spread, he would have recognised him as the living model of the barbarian’s ikon.

  His voice was cultured and positive, ‘Welcome. I am Neman, Commander of this ship.’

  Koenig dispensed with formalities and went right to the heart of the matter, ‘Have you found the rest of our people?’

  ‘Unfortunately, no.’

  Bergman said, ‘We planned to rendezvous back at our ship.’

  The steely eyes turned to give him the full treatment and the unhurried voice said, ‘There’s no one near here, but it’s possible they are looking for you.’

  Neman’s eyes shifted to Kara and although there was no flicker of a signal, Koenig felt they had exchanged some communication. Neman went on, ‘Believe me, we are doing our best.’

  It was all too calm. Koenig said angrily, ‘And not succeeding, dammit!’

  Neman’s cool was unruffled. He said, ‘Commander, I understand your concern for your people. But you must also understand that we are few in number.’ He turned back to the closed door and spun a hand wheel in the centre panel. Holding bolts slid dear and the door sagged open on strained hinges. He waved them forward. ‘See. This will show you the scale. The ship is huge.’

  It was true. They already knew it, but they followed him out to a high gantry set on the side of the power house which had shoved Daria over the reaches of space.

  The sheer size of the machinery and the immense area of the vaulted chamber was staggering. He had made his point. Hands on the guard rail, Koenig looked about him. Only a fraction of the gear was functional. For the rest, a works team of hundreds with the backing of a planet-based workshop would be hard pressed to put it back into order.

  At that level, he had to be convinced. He said quietly, ‘All right. I take your point. I understand you have problems.’

  Neman said, ‘Be so good as to follow me.’

  Dwarfed by the scale of Daria’s devasted heartland, the group moved along the gantry. Koenig walked beside Neman and the Darian Commander suddenly opened up on another tack, ‘As Commander of the Alpha base on the Moon, your people accept your decisions?’

  ‘That is correct. Why do you ask?’

  Neman looked closely at his partner, ‘First, Commander, has it occurred to you how very similar our situations are. This ship, your Moon, both seeking an end to their long journeys. Both of us victims of an unforeseen disaster,’

  Koenig was not sure of the drift, but he reckoned he was giving nothing away by agreeing to that, ‘Yes. We have that in common.’

  ‘You know that this ship was virtually destroyed, that few of our people survived—but do you know what our mission was?’

  Again, Koenig was on the receiving end of a direct look and Neman went on to surprise him with a little Earth history.

  ‘You may recall from the early days of your Earth culture there is the record of a ship in which the life of a doomed world was preserved?’

  Bergman had been walking close enough to hear the conversation and said, ‘You mean the Ark?’

  ‘Indeed, Professor. And I tell you that this ship has a similar function—to preserve the life and skills of the Darian race.’

  They had reached another massive door. Neman opened it and they went through into a corridor. Kara said, ‘You see our planet, Daria, no longer exists. We who set out on this voyage were the chosen survivors of our race.’

  Neman said, ‘Is it not true that your own planet, Earth may also no longer exist?’

  Where the conversation was heading was a mystery. Koenig said shortly, ‘It’s possible.’

  ‘Your community on Moonbase Alpha may be all that is left of Earth civilisation?’

  ‘That, too, is possible.’

  ‘But a possibility you dare not ignore?’

  ‘Maybe, but it is also the incentive that spurs our will to survive.’

  ‘And will you survive?’ Neman seemed to have come to his key question and walked more swiftly to a smaller hatch which he opened and went through.

  When all were in, Kara closed the door. It was a familiar scene to Koenig. He was in a Command Centre, not unlike Main Mission. There was a command console, supporting desks round the perimeter in a horse shoe. He could imagine Neman sitting there calling the shots as he conned Daria on her interstellar passage.

  Beyond the central command area there was another larger spread, seen through a panoramic window where several Darians were moving about on routine chores.

  Koenig continued the conversation, ‘We make it a rule not to anticipate the future. Our concern is with the present and for the present, yes, we will survive.’

  ‘But for how long? Your Moon is lost, at the mercy of all random forces of deep space. There will come a time when your resources are not enough. They will fail you. Your people will start to die. All will perish.’

  For the honour of Moonbase Alpha, Bergman said, ‘We have some way to go before that happens.’

  Neman and Kara exchanged glances and Neman said, ‘Commander Koenig. We are coming to the end of a voyage of a thousand years. In spite of all the devastation you have seen, our main drive has maintained a steady thrust. We know where we are. The ship is programmed to reach our destination, a virgin planet where the Darian civilisation can begin again.’

  This piece of information opened up a whole new line of thinking. Koenig was already well ahead when Neman put it into words, ‘Don’t you understand me? You are operating on blind chance and statistics are against you. We are offering your community a guarantee of survival.’

  Koenig looked at the two Darians. It was an offer to climb off a drifting raft onto a passing ship with a port on the chart. But he felt instinctively that there was some collateral that he had missed. He was still searching for the drawback as Neman warmed to his theme and went on, ‘Join us. Share our future in the new world which awaits our arrival.

  ‘I know you are concerned for the rest of your party. I shall personally take charge of the search. In the meantime, please consider our offer.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  After an interval to recharge their emotional batteries, the crowd in the settlement had reformed in an expectant circle round their shrine. Morrow and Carter were still fifty metres from their objective when the action was rejoined. The medicine man was not through with Helena. Anoth
er ritual was being set up.

  Hadin called to the guards. Two of them entered the geodesic dome. Helena Russell, pale and strained, but still proud and erect came out between her escorts.

  They marched her through the ring to stand before the altar where the oldster was already working himself to a frenzy. Voice edged with hysteria he croaked, ‘Here in the Sacred Shrine of knowledge we dedicate this perfect body. We pledge her in the spirit of true science. We pledge her in the light of clear knowledge and vow and affirm that she is free of the Mute whom we abhor in all his manifestations.’

  Morrow said bitterly, ‘Everybody has to invent the devil to shrug off his own guilt. What do they want from her?’

  ‘How long do we wait?’

  ‘Get in closer. We can’t afford to miss.’

  The old man was looking at Neman’s battered picture and he addressed it for his incantation, ‘This we pledge on the sacred book of Neman, maker of men, father of spirits. To you, Neman, we the survivors of Level Seven, pledge this offering.’

  Hadin strode forward and shoved down a stud on the console. Then he backed away a pace at a time and an awed silence fell on the arena. There was not long to wait. All lights suddenly dimmed.

  Carter thumped Morrow’s arm and took off, bent double, running for the back of the crowd. There was a nervous stir from the assembly, the pay off was close. Helena was looking wildly about her, wanting to face whatever it was. A sound from the bulkhead had her whirling round. A door was sliding open beside the destructor niche.

  It was difficult to see what was going on. Carter and Morrow were in the rear rank unnoticed. They could have been beating a drum and no eye would have turned from the shadowy shape that appeared in the aperture.

  Helena, lips dry, was backing away. Hadin moved in and shoved her violently forward so that she staggered, missed her footing and fell full length on the peaty floor.

  The opening was wide enough to admit two figures side by side. They marched forward into the clearing. Darkened visors glinted in the dim light, bulky radiation suits hid any human outline. They were grotesque and horrific shapes to the barbarians.

  Morrow and Carter were elbowing a way through the press. They saw Helena trying to get to her feet and the two zombies stump up to her and take an arm apiece to lift her. Clearly, they had no fear of the locals nor any interest except in the victim.

  Morrow yelled, ‘Stun beam. We might hit Helena,’ and he and Carter were through into the inner space. At last it dawned on the barbarians that there was an anti-social faction about, trying to disrupt the ceremony and some ran forward to intercept. They fell like ninepins as both lasers fired.

  The two Darians had reached their hatch and turned to check out the commotion. It was the first good news that had come her way for some time and Helena’s voice was ecstatic, ‘Alan . . . Paul . . . !’

  But Hadin was not finished. The ceremony was going awry and it was his responsibility. He charged in like a tank and grabbed Carter in a tackle that brought them both to the deck. The Darians had seen enough. It was not their business. The survivors of Level Seven could knock seven kinds of hell out of each other in their absence. Helena was struggling to get free and they concentrated on dragging her through the hatch.

  Hadin’s strength was too much for Carter. He was being slowly throttled. Using the last surge of energy he could raise, he got minimum movement for his right hand and swung his laser in a short, vicious arc to clump home on the side of Hadin’s head. Then he was struggling to free himself from the dead weight of a stunned man.

  Paul Morrow had been jumped by three Survivors and his only small advantage was that he knew who he was and in the dim fight they were confused about each other. Swinging his laser like a club, he had two down and one to go when another one took him from behind and brought him down. He was a minute getting back into the action and when he was free to look around, Helena was disappearing through the hatch.

  He made a marksman’s job of it, cradling his laser on his left forearm and the bright beam arced out for a dead centre hit on the left-hand marker’s black visor. There was no argument, the Darian reeled out of the trap and folded. Alan Carter crossed the line of fire, charging in to take the other one, but the Darian was ready, fired once and a blinding asterisk of white fight blossomed on Carter’s chest.

  The Alphan went face down in a crumpled heap and the Darian was away hauling Helena along by main force, The doors began to slide together. Paul Morrow ran for the closing gap and was in with a fine fraction to spare.

  The doors closed at his back cutting off a confused scene. The oldster was quietly frothing through his broken teeth, beyond the reach of question and answer. Helped by a couple of his guards, Hadin was sitting up fingering a weal on the side of his head. Confusion was absolute. The only non-moving figure was Alan Carter who lay where he had dropped.

  John Koenig and Victor Bergman had been left alone with the proposition hanging in the air. It was tempting, there was no doubt about that and maybe the Alphans would welcome it. Koenig knew it would depend a lot on how he presented the idea and there were a number of angles to get clear before he could begin to make up his mind. He would have liked Helena’s clear headed views and where she might be was a nagging, background worry.

  Bergman said, ‘It comes down to this. If we throw in our lot with them, they allow us to share their new world.’

  ‘It isn’t as simple as that, Victor. Our people would have to move from a secure, healthy environment to the hazards of this ship. I’d need a lot of data on that before I could recommend it.’

  ‘There isn’t a lot of time. The Moon is going to run out of Eagle range.’

  ‘Exactly. A hurried decision could take us out of the frying pan into the fire with a vengeance. They won’t reach that planet for a hundred years. A hundred years, Victor. It’s a long time. None of us would be around to see it.’

  ‘True, but we could rehabilitate massive sectors of this ship. Start families. Prepare our people for the future. It’s a serious proposal, John. We can’t go on for ever as we are. We are wanderers, they have a programmed planetfall ahead. Neman has offered us a free hand to check his offer. He said we were welcome to use the data banks In his Command Centre.’

  ‘It would mean abandoning Alpha at short notice, maybe only time for one trip. Then there would be no turning back. Resources pooled. All right, Neman’s off looking for the rest, we’ll look at it. See what the chances are that we could complete this voyage with the Darians.’

  ‘We owe it to our people, if there’s a real chance.’

  ‘I know that, but I want the facts.’

  It was Bergman’s province to find them and when they reached the Command Centre, Koenig left him to it. Neman seemed to be as good as his word. There was no interference. A few Darians were still moving about in the operations room, but they had the key desks to themselves. Even Kara had disappeared.

  Bergman settled down at the computer console. First things first, he reckoned he should estimate the viability of the food chain. There would be over three hundred extra mouths to feed and more In a family situation.

  Koenig took the command seat. Before he did anything else, he wanted to know how his Eagle could be sprung from the trap. There was a long silence that lengthened to a half hour. Victor Bergman, took a print-out from the computer and studied it, frowning. He crossed the floor to Koenig who had his desk top covered with working diagrams.

  Koenig looked up, ‘I think I’ve located the airlock mechanism. No great problem. We should be able to fix it for controlled entry and exit.’

  There was no reply and he saw that Bergman was not looking happy.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I’m not sure . . . We know that the Darians are human on the same biological pattern as ourselves. Their food requirements should be similar to ours.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Well . . .’ Bergman put a data sheet on the desk, ‘These are the staples we use to
provide food on Alpha. They’re processed and recycled, of course, to make them palatable, but the basic ingredients have to be there.’ He flapped down another sheet and Koenig arranged them side by side.

  Bergman went on, ‘These are the Darian requirements. They have a different preparation system, but the basic ingredients ought to be the same.’

  Koenig studied the analysis. He said, slowly, ‘No basic proteins, no amino acids or trace elements, no enzyme variants . . . the Barians can’t support life on these.’

  ‘That’s what I’d say. But the Darian computer supplied the figures. I’ve checked. There’s no mistake. There are no reserves of those elements anywhere on this ship.’

  If Bergman said so then it was true, but it made no kind of sense. Koenig said, ‘But Victor, what are you saying? You can’t get round the plain fact that they’ve kept themselves alive for nine hundred years.’

  ‘Not on these resources, they haven’t.’

  ‘Have you checked on the recycling procedures themselves?’

  ‘Yes. At that stage every one of those essential elements is present . . . and there’s a steady renewal.’

  Koenig was already half way there and met Bergman’s eyes over the desk. ‘But if they have no reserves on the ship . . . how?’

  ‘I said they had no reserves of those elements on the ship . . . but that’s not strictly correct. There is one source where they could find high grade replacements—a human source.’

  ‘The top slot of the food chain. Bodies?’

  ‘There’s no other theory to fit, John. Living human bodies.’

  One body that would not lie down was stirring painfully on the peaty floor of the arena in the barbarians’ camp. Alan Carter opened his eyes, groaned, and tried to sit up. The scene around him wavered, split into double vision and settled again.

  Hadin, beside himself with anger at the disruption of the ceremony noticed the move and planted a shrewd kick in the Alphan’s groin. Pain exploded in Carter’s tired head and he dropped back to the deck. Two guards ran in and grabbed him from either side, hauling him to his feet to face the oldster, who had been muttering to himself, but now had a new target. Shoving his face close to Carter’s he fairly spat out, ‘Defiler of truth! Defiler of this sacred place! Killer of the spirit! Enemy of Neman!’