Space 1999 - Earthfall

by E. C. Tubb

  “Sorry, Professor.” Kano stared directly from the screen. “That was the Commander. He wants you to join him here right away.”

  “Scintillation?” Helena looked up from the graphs and stared from Koenig to Bergman. “Are you certain?”

  “I am now.” Koenig was emphatic. “Until Kano made the correlations there was room for doubt but his findings make it plain. Those men who died were affected by minute particles of radioactive material. Tiny bullets, if you like, which penetrated their armor and passed through skin and flesh and bone venting their energy as they went. Doctor Mathias’s report confirms it. The waste disposal areas have turned into death traps.”

  Deposits of buried, man-made devils which could reach out and strike without warning taking lives with a wilful abandon. A nonsensical piece of fantasy as she knew but, somehow, it seemed appropriate. Helena studied the graphs again, the data winnowed by the computer from the mass of recorded items. The dates and time matched all along the line. Only a little doubt remained, but so small as to be safely ignored. One man had been working close to, but not over Area Two. An exception which Koenig bruskly explained away.

  “A ricochet, maybe. He could have been hit by a secondary particle fired by impact from some nearby installation. Check again and you’ll see he took longer than the others to die.”

  Something she had missed, but Koenig had been looking for facts to bolster or disprove his suspicions and so had held an advantage. Even now he hadn’t fully explained what it was.

  “Scintillation,” said Helena again. “But how?”

  They were in Koenig’s office, the doors closed to ensure an oasis of privacy, a place in which Koenig could afford to drop his mask a little. But he was not alone and the mask remained.

  “You’ve seen the radium dial of an instrument,” he said, curtly. “The luminous hands of an old watch, perhaps? Studied under a glass it’s obvious the glow isn’t even. There are a succession of minute bursts of energy as radioactive atoms decay. The surface scintillates.”

  “So?”

  “That’s what is happening in the disposal areas. The massed radioactive wastes are, somehow, creating nodes of critical energy. Those nodes are, in a sense, exploding and sending a rain of particles from the source. Some of them found living targets.”

  Men who would not have known they’d been hit. The tiny punctures would have added nothing to the normal air-loss of a suit. Flesh and bone would have failed to react to the pain of a few atoms penetrating and possibly, missing every nerve-ending. The damage caused by their physical passage would have been so minor as to be safely ignored. The radiation they carried alone had leaked.

  “But how?” said Helena again. “Those cans are sealed and buried, constantly monitored, checked for any increase in temperature or radiation. All right, I understand that scintillation means a sudden accumulation and equally sudden dispersal of energy, but surely some trace must have been recorded.”

  “It was.”

  “And not reported?” She read the answer in his eyes. “Gorski didn’t bother, is that it? He didn’t want to rock the boat. It was easier to blame other causes than admit he’d made a mistake expanding Area Two. Or maybe he didn’t even bother to read the reports. The bastard!”

  Thirteen men dead—she had reason for her anger. A rage shared by Koenig who knew now how strong was the trap which held him. One problem solved had yielded to another and it would be human nature for him to be blamed for what was to come. More deaths, more destruction, international complications—then he shrugged, recognizing the futility of concern. The world itself was threatened and yet he worried about his career. The normal defence of any human when faced with overwhelming disaster; to worry about the small things he could understand rather than the crushing immensity of those he could not.

  As Helena clung to the thing which puzzled her.

  “The scintillation,” she said. “Something must have started it. Could it have been spontaneous?”

  “No,” said Bergman. He had said nothing, watching, listening, checking his own data. “And Gorski isn’t to be blamed for expanding the disposal area. The higher concentration of the cans has nothing to do with the scintillation though, of course, he should have checked and double-checked when the first few men died. The cause, I am sure, is external. It has to do with Meta.”

  Helena grew taut as she listened, A mass of antimatter heading towards Earth. Atomic particles of reversed polarity attracting others of normal matter. As in magnetism where likes repel and opposites attract so it was with the approaching threat and the mass of waste accumulated on the Moon. And, within that mass, activated by the stranger, nodes of accumulated energy were gathering, reaching critical mass, venting themselves in rains of particles. Miniature atomic releases of latent energy in a scintillant flood. A flood which could grow, spread, co-join in a tremendous explosion of nuclear fury.

  “The possibility is remote but it exists as a theoretical development of present trends,” said Bergman in his dry, precise tones. “If the accumulated waste should reach critical mass and detonate then the resultant explosion will be the largest ever known to mankind. A rough calculation shows that a crater half as large again as Tycho will be blasted from the Lunar surface with accompanying shocks which could easily destroy the base itself.”

  Koenig said, “Recommendations?”

  “As to prevention? Immediate evacuation of all personnel and—”

  “That is surrender. What can we do to avoid the possible detonation?”

  Bergman said, stiffly, “I was coming to that, John. First the evacuation of all non-essential personnel as a precaution against failure then the wide-spread dispersal of the cans of waste. Not, unfortunately, that it will do any good under the present circumstances. Our main threat is Meta.”

  The destruction heading towards Earth. What did it matter to avoid a Lunar explosion if the home world couldn’t be saved? And Earth had to be saved. How? How?

  Koenig looked at the graphs, the table on which they were spread, the globe standing on the edge of the polished wood. The globe of Earth, but it could have been the Moon and, of the Moon, he was the master. His Command gave him more power than any old-time conqueror. More actual power than any previous despot had ever possessed. Men, machines, technology—surely something could be done?

  If Earth was to be saved something had to be done!

  “Victor, that effect you reported observing during your last experiment, can you investigate it?”

  “The magnetic flux formed while trying to establish a null-G field?” Bergman frowned. “Of course, John, but it will take time.”

  “We have no time. Commandeer all the help you need and get to work. Twenty-four hours a day and multiple investigation. I want—” Koenig broke off, shaking his head. “I’m not sure what I want but we all need a miracle. A field of some kind to give us a form of protection. A beam, a repulsive energy, something to stop what’s going to happen. Get to it and see what you can do. Helena, we’ll need anti-fatigue drugs and stimulants. Can do?”

  “In two hours I’ll have all we’ll need.”

  “Good.”

  “Is it, Commander?” Her eyes were direct as they met his own. “From what I understand of the situation it is the very reverse. Are you going to keep the base informed?”

  A question he had pondered without reaching an answer. To risk panic or to gain a greater cooperation. To put his ability to command to the test—and he had had so little time; as yet to gain a firm loyalty. But to remain silent and to act the martinet would be to arouse antagonism.

  The attention signal of his commlock saved him from the necessity of an answer.

  “Yes?”

  The face, on the screen said, “An urgent message from Earth, Commander. Luna Commissioner Simmonds is on his way with a flight of Eagles.”

  “So?”

  “Commander!” The girl’s eyes were wide, her voice high as she relayed information gained over the grapevine fro
m sympathizers on Earth, “He’s coming to take over the base!”

  C H A P T E R

  Four

  He was as Koenig remembered, smooth, sleek, more than a little confident. His mouth, shielded by his beard, betrayed no emotion and his eyes, long-schooled to resemble glass, yielded as little information.

  “John!” His hands reached out before him as he stepped from the communicator tube. “It’s good to see you again though, to be honest, I could have wished this meeting had been delayed. The pressure of work, you understand. The Councillors demanding facts and the media interviews. The media!” He threw hands and eyes upwards. “You don’t know how fortunate you are to be free of the pests.”

  Koenig was blunt. “Why are you here?”

  “To talk, John. To discuss the situation, what else?” Simmonds glanced from side to side and lowered his voice. “But not here. In your office would be a better place. A quiet, friendly chat over a glass of wine. I have some with me, a claret which I am sure you’ll appreciate. No need to dispense with civilized luxuries, eh?”

  There were biscuits with the wine, small, round sugary things with crisp exteriors and insides as dry as Dead Sea dust. Koenig refused them as he waved aside the ruby liquid, mentally computing the cost in fuel their passage had demanded. His face betrayed nothing of the anger he felt at the wanton indulgence; like Simmonds he could smile and murder as he smiled—a trait which had once been attributed to a king by a playwright now centuries dead. A trait which he had been unaware he possessed until now.

  Again he said, “Commissioner, why are you here?”

  “Surely that is obvious, John.” Simmonds sipped at his wine and touched his beard with a handkerchief in a studied gesture. He was relaxed, at ease, enjoying the situation. He wore his self-confidence like a mantle of state. “You’ve been careless,” he continued, accusingly. “The victim of panic and fevered imagination. Your message was unwise. Discretion, John, I gave you credit for knowing its value. To speak so openly—you cannot even begin to imagine the trouble you caused.”

  “My message was a personal one to you alone.”

  “But overheard, John. Monitored. Relayed. Passed on. Do I have to tell you how these things happen? A word, a hint, a suggestion and the media spring like wolves. A juicy morsel to feed to their customers. Tall headlines and hysteria from the box. The End of the World! John, I ask you!” Wine gurgled as Simmonds refilled his glass. He lifted it and sipped making no effort to include the other. “I had to act fast and use my influence. Promises, bribes, outright lies, anything to minimize your fault. I’m sorry, John, but that’s the way it is.”

  And now his appearance with a flight of Eagles crewed by men of his choosing. Eagles loaded with seeds, stables, small luxuries, expensive medicines. Koenig already knew the type of things they carried as he knew the type of men Simmonds had brought with him. The women too.

  Casually he said, “Did you see Marcia before you left, Gerald?”

  “Marcia?” A shadow drifted over the Commissioner’s face. “No, John, no. She wasn’t at home when I called. But you’ll be seeing her soon.”

  The first hint as to the real nature of his visit. One emphasized as, finishing the wine he added, “I guess you’ve missed her, John. Well, a pleasure deferred is a pleasure doubled as they say and your wedding night will be the sweeter for having waited. Once you’ve officially handed over your command you can head for home without delay.”

  “You’re firing me?”

  “No, John, no!” Simmonds lifted one hand, smiling, shaking his head. “Promoting you. Your work is finished here and a man of your ability must not be wasted. I’ve arranged for a position at the Space Centre. You start in a month. High rank, good remuneration, a responsible job. You’ll like it, John, and so will Marcia.”

  “We’ve finished.”

  “A lover’s tiff. A stupid quarrel. She’ll come round, John. She needs you.” Simmonds rose to his feet. As he straightened his eyes glanced at the chronometer on his wrist and he frowned. “Now, John, if you will announce to the base that I am officially in full command you can make preparations for leaving.”

  “No,” said Koenig.

  “What?”

  “No.” Koenig glanced at his desk, at the lights winking on the communications panel. “It isn’t going to work. Commissioner.”

  “You defy me? The Council? How dare you! My men—”

  “Have been disarmed and are now under close arrest,” interrupted Koenig. “The women you fetched along with you also. The stores and supplies you carried up from Earth have been placed in the stores and the Eagles themselves are now in operational service.” Then, his voice hardening, Koenig said, harshly, “Did you think me so great a fool?”

  “John!”

  “A neat plan and one to be expected from a man like you. I warned you about the danger of Meta and what have you done? Taken care of yourself, that’s what. A word, a hint, and I was made to appear an irresponsible idiot. You volunteered to come up here and take over and so buttered your bread both sides. If I had been right and Earth was in danger then you’d be safe here at Moonbase Alpha. If I had been wrong then you would get the credit of stepping in and rescuing the base from a madman. No matter what happened you would win. Well, Commissioner, this time you lose.”

  “You think so, John?” Simmonds smiled and shook his head. “You overestimate yourself and underestimate the power of Authority. Once your people know I have been sent here backed by the full weight of the Council do you think they will stand with you? Man, if you think that then you’re a fool. They have their careers to think about, their futures. Ask them to defy me and you are asking them to become rebels against the authority of Earth. Try it, John, and see what happens. Tell them what you intend.” Simmonds’s smile grew wider, betraying the confidence the man held in the self-seeking subservience of those he regarded as underlings. The bribe, the promise, the easy promotion—how often had he seen honesty and principle vanish beneath their impact? Men were creatures to be manipulated and he was a master of the art. “I challenge you,” he urged. “Tell the staff what you intend. Put their loyalty to the test. Go on, man, do it.”

  Koenig said, quietly, “I have.”

  It had been a gamble but one he had taken as Helena had urged and he had won as she had predicted. He could have continued to act in secrecy, to follow the age-old pattern of established authority, but he had chosen to be open and honest and to recognize that the entire personnel of Moonbase Alpha had an equal stake in what was happening and about to happen. And so he had admitted that he was not an Emperor, not a Dictator, not a man gifted with Divine Authority, but just a human being as weak and as limited as themselves whom accident had placed in command and that he could only retain that command with their consent.

  They had given it together with a whole-hearted loyalty he could have won in no other way.

  A loyalty Simmonds could sense as he followed Koenig into the ordered chaos of Main Mission. A few of those hard at work he could recognize; Paul Morrow busy at the main console checking and re-checking the flood of data relayed to him from scanners set in and around the base. David Kano at the computer, a sheen of sweat turning his face into oiled and carved ebony, more dulling the neck of his uniform with its rust colored sleeve. Sandra Benes, the yellow of the Service Sector to which she belonged in sharp contrast to the gleam of her dark hair.

  Alan Carter who was in a temper.

  He turned as they approached, glancing at Simmonds but speaking to Koenig, by his act emphasizing the lack of doubt as to who was in full authority.

  “Commander! I must protest about the proposed use of the Stellar Probe. If—”

  “No doubts, Alan. We have no choice.”

  “But why the Probe? It took years to build and maybe we’ll never be able to replace it what with those penny-pinchers back on Earth. We can’t afford to throw away the only chance to explore interstellar space we may ever get.”

  “We have no
choice.”

  “But—”

  “That’s enough!” Koenig’s voice held an impatient snap. “Be logical, man. You’ve no crew now that Warren and Sparkman are dead and we’ve no time to train others. And we need the Probe. Kano!”

  “Computer verifies, Commander. It’s the largest vehicle we have and it’ll be used to full capacity. Replacement means five Eagles and there will be problems in distribution of loads.” With a sudden warmth he added, “Sorry, Alan, but that’s the way it is.”

  And would have to be accepted as Carter knew. But it was hard to give up the ambition of a lifetime.

  “You’d better get to your post,” said Koenig, quietly. “We’re all relying on you, Alan, but be careful. Set the Probe, trigger the time-fuses and get out and back here as fast as you can.”

  “And land, Commander?”

  “No. Take up observation station and relay all that is to be seen. How much longer, Paul?”

  “Twelve hours, Commander.”

  “And Victor?”

  A screen flickered in answer and revealed the suited figures of men hard at work on the Lunar surface. Bergman was among them, one arm lifted, a hand pointing, his voice coming over the monitoring speakers.

  “Deeper, there. The channel must be another three centimetres lower. Check for clearance and hurry! Hurry!”

  “Relax, Professor,” answered a voice. “We’re doing the best we can.”

  Koenig said, “Paul, order out relief workers. Tell Bergman to check the far side of the area.” And tell him to quit riding men who were already at the limit of their endurance, he thought, but kept the instruction to himself. Victor couldn’t be blamed for his impatient anxiety and the men couldn’t be blamed for any resentment they might feel at his interference. Better to relieve the crew and find a harmless job to engage the scientist until, later, he would be recalled to the base. “How’s it going, Paul?”