Space 1999 #6 - Astral Quest

by John Rankine

  She said defensively, ‘You know, John, if we ever do find a new place to live and if we succeed in founding a new civilisation, we’re going to need a brand new mythology.’

  ‘So we have Jim Calder And The Monster for starters? Does it have quite the right ring to it?’

  ‘Saint George and the Dragon sounds pretty flat until you know the story.’

  Koenig looked at her affectionately. He knocked the sheets of the report into a tidy pile and said, ‘Our first literary genius. Who knows what twists will get incorporated into this in the fullness of time. The story is part of our history. I think Jim would settle for that. He’d be very happy to know that he’d breathed new life into an old myth.’

  Helena moved over to sit on the arm of his chair. She said, ‘I think, now, I understand how I got the details. More mythology if you like. I’ve been talking to Victor. He thinks we tracked through an eddy in space and caught up with vibes from that past time. Calder was specially sensitive and picked them up as he lay unconscious and they were transmitted to me as I sat beside him.’

  ‘Impressions can get transmitted when people sit next to people.’

  ‘There have been misunderstandings enough. I wouldn’t like you to get any wrong impressions.’

  Her fair head nestled silkily against his left ear.

  Koenig thought that the statistical likelihood of the right man and the right woman meeting on an errant Moon in deep space was of the same order as finding his planet amongst the myriad stars. He reckoned soberly it was a good omen and dropped her literary masterpiece, with all due respect, to her oatmeal carpet.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Stylised combat was a great therapy for suppressed energy and Koenig joined with the rest in an enthusiastic resurrection of the ancient art of quarterstaffs, updated and renamed Kendo with a courtly etiquette and a book of rules.

  He reckoned it was a useful safety valve to let one and all take a crack at the command figure and every shrewd thump at his padding was so much psychological gain. Few, in fact, got through his guard or could match his quick reaction times. One who could was Luke Ferro, a powerfully built man, who could move like a cat and was always ready with a challenge as though for him, particularly, knocking hell out of the Commander was an end in itself.

  More than most, Ferro was constrained by the physical limits of Moonbase Alpha. He had not joined as an astronaut. When the Moon took off, he was there on a photographic survey.

  Anna Davis was another such, though, by temperament, she had settled more easily into the isolated community. As a research student in the origins of language, isolation was her meat and she was working on a comprehensive survey of Earth languages, so that when the Alphans finally set up their tent poles, no nuance of their linguistic past would be lost. She irritated and fascinated Luke Ferro. She rated him an uncouth barbarian for when he was not trying to thump Koenig with his Kendo staff, he was using him as a surrogate for the refined and elegant linguist, in the hope of cracking her icy veneer and provoking an earthy response.

  Feet flapping on the mat in the recreation area, eyes narrowed behind the slit in his protective face mask, Ferro bored in for a strike. It was a ferocious work out and both men were breathing hard. The bleep from the commumcations post took a second to break into their concentration. Koenig felt that he had been saved by the bell.

  Paul Morrow on the screen was looking tense. ‘Commander, Main Mission. Urgent.’

  Koenig lifted his face mask, ‘Check. I’ll be right there.’ He picked up a robe and draped it over his shoulders, pitching his staff for Ferro to catch. ‘Your point Luke, without a doubt.’

  ‘Another time, Commander.’

  ‘My pleasure.’

  In Main Mission, every desk had its executive. Sensitised by his work out, Koenig felt the tension like a physical presence. Victor Bergman was frowning at a data sheet. The rest were staring at the big screen.

  Koenig moved in behind Morrow at the command desk. Sandra had isolated a distant system. There was a small planet with a pale glow and away beyond it, the tiny dot of its hot, red sun. He thought, ‘Here we go again. This could be the one. One day, it will start like this and we shall have found what we are looking for.’

  Aloud he said, ‘Easy all. What’s the problem?’

  Morrow picked up a clipboard and handed it over. Koenig glanced at it and he could understand their reactions. Startled himself, he looked at Morrow for confirmation, then he was checking the sheet again in simple disbelief. It was all there and not good.

  ‘Sandra, what’s our position?’

  ‘Eight point five degrees relative, Commander. There’s no mistake. Our course is altering.’

  It earned her a sceptical look, ‘But we’re nowhere near the gravitational pull of that planet.’

  Victor Bergman came to her defence, ‘John, no gravitational or magnetic factors are involved.’

  ‘So you’ve been working on it. What is causing it?’

  ‘I have to tell you, John, that we simply don’t know.’

  ‘Let’s find out. Sandra, activate long range sensors.’

  Sandra Benes tried. For thirty seconds, there was silence as her delicate fingers roved over the instrument spread. Koenig knew if anybody could do it, she was that same one. There was no joy. She said suddenly, ‘Scanner malfunction.’ Something else registered, she went on urgently, ‘And there’s a power loss.’

  Koenig snapped out, ‘Kano . . . ?’

  Kano had needed no prompting, he was already asking the box. A puzzled man, he turned to Koenig, ‘Something is wrong with the generators, Commander.’

  ‘Trace it.’

  All hands watched him work a trouble-shooting sequence. The generators were Alpha’s beating heart. Everything stemmed from the power they gave, heat, light, food, atmosphere. Name anything that gave Moonbase Alpha a toehold on survival and it could be traced back to the power house.

  Kano was apologetic, ‘I can’t isolate anything, but the power loss is confirmed.’ Looking straight at Koenig, he went on, ‘There’s a five per cent power loss right across the board, Commander.’

  If Kano said it, then it had to be right. Koenig left the horseshoe of executive desks and walked over to a direct vision port. To the naked eye, the starmap was unchanged, but the Moon was rushing them forward into some unknown hazard. The only sure thing was that they had no way of avoiding it. Whatever they were getting into, would have to be endured.

  Kano called, ‘Power loss rate now hitting seven percent.’

  Koenig joined Victor Bergman. A glance at his face showed how seriously he was taking it. Paul Morrow asked, ‘Commander, do we alert all sections?’

  ‘Not yet, Paul. Get, Carter and Helena Russell in here and . . . Kano keep checking that power loss.’

  Morrow hit the intercom button and Main Mission shivered through every centimetre of its fabric. He checked along the desk. Voice cracking with disbelief, he jerked out, ‘The Moon . . . we’re slowing up!’

  ‘That’s not possible!’ Bergman had joined him at the command console.

  In a flurry of activity, every operator made an independent check. Main Mission was rocking to its foundations. Holding on to his chair Morrow said, ‘There’s no mistake, Commander. We’re definitely slowing.’

  Koenig had his arm crooked round a stanchion and was glaring at the big screen for any sign of activity from the planet and its sun. There was nothing. He called, ‘Sandra! Are we picking up anything from that planet . . . anything at all?’

  Her voice was edged with rising panic, ‘Nothing, Commander. Negative. Long range probes are affected by the power loss.’

  They were almost cut back to simple, physical estimates. Their wandering cinder heap had developed a rocking motion. Kinaesthetically, they felt it was grinding to a halt.

  Kano had more bad news, ‘We’re still losing power. Loss rate now eight percent.’

  Motion was exaggerated. They were swaying like puppets in a box. There
was a violent shudder and silence as everyone looked around for confirmation of what he knew in his bones had happened. The swaying had died away. Paul Morrow looked up from his console and made it official in a flat statement. ‘Commander . . . the Moon has stopped dead.’

  From the direct vision ports of Koenig’s command office, the moonscape and the starmap were unchanged. But the knowledge that they were held motionless was pervasive and disquieting. With the Moon in headlong motion, there was a sense of progress. Every minute covered distance and sometime, somehow there was the hope of a landfall. Now they were thrown back on the survival prospects of Moonbase Alpha and those were being steadily eroded.

  Koenig looked from Helena Russell to Victor Bergman.

  Bergman said slowly, ‘Gravity or magnetic forces . . . could affect the course and velocity of an object the size of the Moon.’

  Helena finished it for him ‘. . . But they couldn’t stop us cold in space like this.’

  Victor Bergman was positive, ‘Nothing we know of could do that.’

  ‘Then there has to be something we don’t know of,’ Koenig crossed to his desk and sat on the edge of it. ‘There has to be a third force and I think it has something to do with that planet out there.’

  The communications post blipped for attention and Kano appeared on the screen, ‘Commander, we’ve run every possible test on the reactors and generators.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘We can’t trace any faults, but . . .’

  ‘But what, Kano?’

  ‘We’re still losing power, Commander. Loss rate now eleven per cent.’

  Koenig thumped his desk top.

  ‘How can that be, dammit, if there’s nothing wrong with our power units?’

  ‘Computer can only define it as fault due to external forces.’

  ‘External forces! God damn the idiot’s tin guts. Can’t it be more specific?’

  Kano was affronted for his friend. Heatedly he said, ‘Computer is not a crystal ball, Commander. It can only predict on the basis of specific data and there’s a marked absence of that!’

  It was unusual to have Kano losing his cool and it brought Koenig down to earth. He said more calmly, ‘All right Kano. Thank you.’

  He called Paul Morrow. ‘What’s the situation, Paul?’

  Main Mission’s Controller could give no comfort, ‘Alpha is feeling the effects of power loss, Commander. A kind of creeping paralysis. So far only the power-intensive, long range systems are right out—but it’s getting worse by the minute.’

  Koenig shoved himself off the desk. Activating his commlock, he opened the hatch to Main Mission and strode in followed by Bergman and Helena Russell. There was a subdued atmosphere. Every executive was busy at his desk, but clearly reckoning that it was unnecessary now.

  Stopping at Sandra’s console, Koenig said shortly, ‘How long do we have?’

  Trim and efficient, she put it on the line, ‘At the present rate of power loss, we have thirty-eight hours, Commander. Economies across the board would give us ten hours more.’

  It was an easy sum. Koenig said it for his own satisfaction, ‘Forty-eight hours . . . Alan, how much flying time to the planet?’

  That was more complex and Alan Carter used the Eagle Command computer.

  ‘Thirty hours for a round trip.’

  ‘Thirty hours. All right. We’ll take a team down. Victor, I’ll need you for scientific assessment. Helena—medical and environment. Two security files to ride shotgun—Kano, have computer select two others with a wide spectrum of outside knowledge to make up the number.’

  ‘Check, Commander.’

  Koenig turned to his two leading specialists, ‘With our long range systems on the blink, we won’t have access to main computer, so make sure we have everything we’ll need on the surface.’

  They were away and he briefed his chief pilot, ‘Alan, arm and provision Eagle One for an eight man team . . . we’re leaving now.’

  He had still not finished.

  ‘Paul. Phased power shutdown. All the economies you can make stick. Right away.’

  Main Mission slipped easily Into top gear like a well oiled machine. Sandra Benes checked for another estimate of power loss. There was a reading of thirteen percent.

  Morrow began an all stations call and Alphans moving about the halls and covered ways of the sprawling base, stopped in their tracks to get the message. His face was on every communications post screen, serious and intent, ‘This is Controller Paul Morrow. We have an emergency power situation and for the present economies are vital.’

  Koenig and his party heard it as they headed for the travel tube exit which would take them out to Eagle One’s pad. Beside Helena and Bergman, he had Irwin and N’Dole as security cover and computer had come up with a curious choice for the two extras. Luke Ferro was there, with his easy loose-limbed walk and a camera hung round his neck. The other was Anna Davis, neat and precise and walking beside him without giving him a look, as though her mind was pondering on the vagaries of the umlaut.

  Morrow’s voice continued as they waited for Carter to go through exit drills.

  ‘These economies will be phased to deal with the continuing situation. Strict observance is a necessity. Phase One. The following activities are cancelled until further notice . . .’

  It was a poor note on which to leave Alpha. There was silence as the travel tube accelerated away.

  Main Mission watched them board the waiting Eagle and Morrow was on the air again to control the lift off.

  ‘Eagle One, you are clear.’

  Carter, in the pilot seat, answered on the net and fed in some power. Eagle One rose in a flurry of moon dust, circled to pick up a course and was away in its race against the clock.

  John Koenig, in the co-pilot slot, had time on his hands for a further dialogue with Main Mission’s Controller and kept it a one-to-one personal link.

  ‘What’s the situation, Paul?’

  ‘The power loss rate seems to be consistent with the projection. So the figures we gave you still hold—forty-eight hours.’

  ‘Thanks, Paul. We’ll hurry it along. We’ll be back as soon as we can.’

  All told, it was all anybody could undertake to do. Koenig reckoned that he had left Morrow with the harder task. Behind him, Bergman was thoughtful, making notes on a pad, still trying to explain the unexplainable to himself. At his side, Helena Russell was checking a box of sample slides.

  Irwin and N’Dole farther along the car were overhauling hand guns and rocket rifles, not much to tackle a planet with, but they would at least be ready for an attack. In the rumble, Luke Ferro was the only drone. He had his feet up on the squab ahead and he was looking at his diminished image in the lens of his camera.

  This pursuit was not impressing his companion. Anna Davis, serious and methodical, was freshening up on the print-out, data sheets of the mystery planet. Catching sight of his big feet over the top of her file, she gave a delicate shudder and resumed her concentrated scan.

  It was not lost on Luke. He grinned widely, clamped the viewfinder on his camera and swung round to get her in close-up.

  In spite of a massive effort to ignore him, it was all there in peripheral vision and a slow blush built up along her cheek bones.

  ‘Do you have to do that?’

  ‘I’m studying the angles in case the opportunity should arise to use you in a bubble bath commercial.’

  It got him a slow burn which did nothing to diminish his grin. Koenig’s voice on the intercom saved her reply.

  Koenig said, ‘We have a long ride. When we get there, we’ll need all our wits. Get some sleep while you can.’

  He followed it up by coming through the command module hatch and taking a place on the squab next to Helena. They sat in silence and he took her neat, capable, surgeon’s hand. The hurrying Eagle arrowed across the starmap.

  In Main Mission, Sandra Benes forced herself to make the next timed check on the power systems. The monitor still car
ried the legend from her last survey. POWER LOSS RATE 13%. She completed the sequence and got a silvery chime from the switchgear. The screen whited out and then glowed with the latest SitRep POWER LOSS RATE 16%.

  Kano joined her in a silent query to Paul Morrow. It was no more than confirmation of the rate he had extrapolated, but intellectual satisfaction was no pleasure. He said quietly, ‘There’s no choice, Sandra. Activate phase three power cuts.’

  Except for Koenig, who was looking haggard from a long stint in the pilot seat, there was more relaxation in Eagle One. The passenger module was bathed in a restful, low-key light. Anna Davis, as demure sleeping as waking had shifted sideways and her neat head with no hair out of place had chocked itself comfortably on Luke’s left shoulder. First to open his eyes, he grinned appreciatively. Taken close, it was a pleasant visitor to have. He reckoned her reaction would make his day. Without disturbing her, he settled himself for another doze.

  He missed by a fraction the sign that flashed on over the command module hatch—EAGLE ONE IN ORBIT.

  Koenig was watching his scanner. It was shortly before sunset on the slice of planet surface that was currently peeling away below the hurrying Eagle. A round red disc was standing like a penny on the horizon. The landscape was desolate, with jutting clumps of bare rock and isolated thickets of leafless, petrified trees. He told himself that he could be looking at a bad patch, the local Kalahari, but it was a poor omen. It was not the promised land for the Alphans. He shoved down a stud. A musical chime alerted his team.

  Luke Ferro watched his sleeping partner jerk back into the world of sense and relished her maidenly confusion. He asked, ‘Sleep well, then?’

  There was a dignified withdrawal along the squab and an embarrassed silence.

  In the command module, Alan Carter moved out of sleep into instant activity, checking his instrument spread in mid yawn.

  Koenig said, Take over, Alan.’

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘No. Not yet.’