Space 1999 - Earthfall

by E. C. Tubb

  C H A P T E R

  Eleven

  Paul Morrow leaned back in his chair and stared bleakly at the instrument ranked before him. A lock of hair falling over his left eye gave him a small-boy look belied by the harshness of his voice.

  “Reactor Two is sealed, Commander. I can’t establish contact. Door’s jammed, spy-eyes out, no response from those inside.”

  Rick Graham, Brian Teal and John Calder. All trained electronic technicians skilled in atomic plant maintenance, but Brian Teal would be the one. Kufstein had mentioned him and it made sense. Damn it, why hadn’t Volochek guessed?

  “Commander?” Morrow was waiting for orders. “Do I keep trying?”

  “Maintain open channel. Teal will want to communicate sooner or later. Play soothing music over the speakers—we aren’t hearing him but my guess is that he can hear us. If he tries to get in touch let me know immediately.” Koenig turned to stare at Sandra Benes. “What is the situation?”

  Glancing at her monitors she said, “No change as yet. Commander.”

  The rest she kept to herself but Koenig knew what was in her mind. No change as yet—but what would happen if Teal drew the rods and concentrated the fuel? A breeder reactor used plutonium and made more all the time, an ideal situation for any station utterly dependent on atomic power, but one with in-built hazards. Plutonium was the basic essential of atomic bombs. Should Teal gather the rods he could reach critical mass or, more likely, the reactor would slag beneath the mounting fury of accumulating heat. A total fusing which would vaporize the reactor and the entire area.

  The base and everything in it. The men and women now held hostage.

  The tactics of terrorism, he thought, bitterly. The curse of a civilized world dependent on its high level of technology. That very technology made it vulnerable to those dealing in the blackmail of murder as they had been quick to realize. The hijacked aeroplanes, the innocent held at gunpoint in trains and buses and ships, the use of bombs with their indiscriminate destruction. Urban guerrillas glorying in their power to kill and maim the defenceless. Cowards! Scum!

  Vermin which now infested the Moon.

  Koenig looked at his hands and closed the fingers to still their trembling. Anger had no place now and neither did regret. Anoux had been too clever for the system he had attacked. The murdered guard, the stolen gun, the fool he had pursuaded to carry it—all had been a distraction. The real action had taken place among others and he had chosen well. Brian Teal now held the power to destroy the base—who else was there to be feared?

  How to defeat them?

  “Commander.” Morrow glanced to where he stood. “I’m getting a faint response, listen.” He threw a switch and from a speaker came a blur of amplified sound, a melody accompanied by a peculiar humming. A moment then, “He’s singing,” said Morrow. “The bastard is singing!”

  Squatting, perhaps, or sitting with his back against the reactor shielding, the men he had entered with now lying dead or dying with broken skulls. And he was humming, enjoying the music, lulled by the melody and probably dreaming of the women he would have and the power he would enjoy once those now in command had capitulated.

  “He’s in a state of euphoria,” explained Helena as Koenig joined her in his office. She sat at the desk, papers spread before her, the physical and psychological profiles of the men concerned. “An actual state of bliss. Oddly enough it has been noticed in those due to be executed. It seems they react that way to a situation in which they no longer have any need to make a decision. Nothing they can do will alter what-is-to-be; they have, in a sense, already accepted the termination of their existence.”

  “Will he blow the reactor?”

  “In his present condition, yes.”

  “How long will it continue?”

  “That depends,” She frowned, considering. “Given time there will be a natural reaction but then will arise the need to avoid the punishment he feels will be inevitable. That alone may trigger him to the final act of suicidal violence. And if you are wondering if he is bluffing and will not carry out the threat, forget it. He will. That is certain.”

  Koenig said, slowly, “In your judgement, Helena, is Brian Teal a victim of a death-wish? Does he actually and positively want to die?”

  If he did they could all say their prayers and have done with it. His actions, if that were true, equalled the mania of a man who ran amok, killing, wanting all the time to be killed in turn, unable by some compulsion to take his own life but managing to find a bloody way out of his dilemma.

  “No, John, I would say not,” said Helena, finally. “There is no history of intense depression always associated with such a frame of mind. No serious illness, religious belief in an after-life and no romantic involvement. He has no apparent reason to end his existence. In a sense he is a gambler in a state of euphoria, one who is convinced he can’t lose. Which isn’t to say he won’t blow the reactor if he feels there is no other choice. He is, after all, staking everything on a single throw of the dice.”

  And it would be a romantic gesture to lift the pistol to his head when they fell against him and go out with a shrug and a smile. But, if he followed the analogy now, he wouldn’t go alone.

  “How long can we leave him?”

  “Not too long,” she warned. “The euphoria may not last and it will yield to acute anxiety. He will grow worried, feel betrayed, be driven to take some kind of action. In the circumstances there is only one kind he can safely take.”

  Curtains for them all.

  “John?” Helena was looking at him, her face serious. “Have you decided what to do?”

  The suit was claustrophobic in its narrow confines, the hiss of air against his forehead bringing a welcome coolness. Koenig leaned back, looking through the faceplate at the glitter of stars, bending to wave at the other shapes standing before the outer lock. A dozen men bearing tools and power-packs, the sound of their breathing coming over the radio, Morrow’s voice rising above the sussuration.

  “No change, Commander. I’m maintaining the music.”

  “Is he still singing?”

  “Quieter, now. And he’s moving around a little.”

  Sound carried by the one microphone left active and Koenig could guess why. But already too much time had been lost. Urgently he waved on the little party. Ahead stood other suited figures, Volochek among them.

  “Progress is slow, Commander, but we’re on the right path. Sonic echoes confirm it.”

  “The drill?”

  “A two-centimetre bit coupled to an extending shaft. It can cut through rock like a red hot knife through butter, but I’m not sure what it’ll do when it hits the outer shielding.”

  “We’ll, keep it going. Relieve your men.”

  Those he had brought with him moved into place as the others made way. A team set up another drilling rig, the shaft and bit supported on a tripod, dust flying as the diamond-edged teeth tore into the rock. A second offensive as men within the base were trying a third. They too were drilling a minute hole into the sealed doors of the reactor but the shielding was stubborn and the need to cut noise and vibration made progress slow.

  A better hope lay with Volochek. Already his secret agents were moving among the personnel, talking, slanting what they said, doing their best to identify Anoux’s sympathizers. But, in the final essence, Teal was the danger.

  A man caught in the fabric of another’s ambition. A finger on the trigger of a weapon aimed at them all.

  If a hole could be drilled gas could be fed into the reactor and the man rendered unconscious before he could do too much harm. If he didn’t hear the grind of the bit, if he hadn’t made precautions against that happening, if he was asleep or dreaming or lost in speculation.

  Too many “ifs” and too thin a chance but it was a positive effort and could even succeed. At least the music piped to him would serve not only to hold his attention but to dull his ears.

  Koenig said, into his radio, “Paul, increase the vo
lume a little, but slowly. I don’t want Teal to notice.”

  “Any special kind?”

  “Syncopated jazz.” The preference was listed in his file. “We should have some in the library. No silence when switching tapes.”

  Koenig returned his attention to the men handling the drills. One jerked at a control, lifted his arm, tugged again. The rasp of his breath was a curse.

  “Damn the thing! The blasted shaft has buckled. Pass me a new drive.”

  Time lost as the machine was uncoupled, the buckled shaft withdrawn, the broken drive removed, the new one replaced, the whole thing reassembled and the drill fed again down the hole it had made.

  Ten minutes later it broke again.

  “It’s the outer shield-wall,” the technician explained. “We’ve got twenty metres of fused and impacted rock down there covering five metres of ceramics and another five of dense metal. Then there’s the three jackets and all the rest of it. We need to gouge a tunnel so as to work against the face.”

  “Do your best,” said Koenig.

  A best which wasn’t good enough and time which ran out.

  “Commander!” Morrow’s voice was tense. “Increase in radiation noted from reactor Two. The crazy bastard is pulling out the rods!”

  “Check! Sandra?”

  “Situation verified, Commander. Two hundred per cent increase and climbing in stages.”

  “Exposure?”

  “One hundred and thirty Rontgens.”

  A lethal dose was over five hundred but Teal was taking a chance. The effects of radiation were cumulative and his exposure rate was climbing all the time. Unless he was heading for the end he’d have to begin replacing the rods and soon.

  “Sandra?”

  “Radiation level stabilizing, Commander. Falling. Down to two hundred and ten per cent. One hundred and eighty . . . fifty . . . ten . . .” She sighed her relief. “Back to normal aside from residual emissions.”

  Volochek said, “What the hell was that all about?”

  “A warning. He’s getting impatient.”

  “And we’re making no headway with the drills.” The big man sounded worried. “What can we do next, Commander?”

  “There’s only one thing we can do,” said Koenig, bleakly. “We give in.”

  They gathered like the mourners at a wake; Helena, her eyes filled with the numb hurt of despair, Carter who yearned for something to fight, Victor Bergman who grunted as he sat at the desk and massaged his left shoulder.

  “You’re making a mistake, John.”

  “I have no choice, Victor.”

  “There’s a choice,” said Bergman, grimly. “There always is. Once you give way to terrorism then you can never stop. You must say ‘no’ and mean it and keep on saying it.”

  “And die?”

  “We’re all going to die, John. No matter how you crawl you can’t avoid that. But you can choose to die with pride.”

  “Myself, yes,” said Koenig, quietly. “But who am I to decide for others?”

  He turned before Bergman could answer, looking towards the inner door of his office, watching as Anoux entered accompanied by two guards. He had washed the blood from his face but the bruises still showed, dark and ugly against the skin. He glanced through the open doors into Main Mission then stared meaningfully at his guards.

  “Security—stand down,” said Koenig. “Report back to your station.” To Anoux he said, “It’s up to you now. I assume you have arranged some form of code with Teal. Use it and tell him that you have won. If he hopes to save his life he had better leave the reactor and report to Medical for treatment.”

  “Is that all?”

  “What more do you want?”

  “I suggest that you stop treating me like a fool. Do you really expect me to order Brian from the reactor so that you can arrest him?”

  “I promise not to do that.”

  “And your word, naturally, is your bond. But you must not expect others to risk their lives on it.” Anoux’s voice chilled. “Now this is what you will do. All guards are to be disarmed and confined in a deep-level compartment. I have those who will attend to it once you give the order for them to obey. Yourself, Carter and Bergman to remain here. You,” he glanced at Helena, “together with a dozen other women, to be confined in the observation room.”

  “To be held as hostages?”

  “You are shrewd. Exactly.”

  “How long to be held?”

  “Until all danger of a counter-revolution is over. I will assume full command until free elections can be held.”

  “Which will be, when?” Helena shrugged as he made no answer. “Never, I assume.”

  “Your assumption is incorrect. The elections will be held when it is expedient. In the meantime affairs will continue as they must for the good of all. If you will open that door, please?” He gestured to the inner panel. “Thank you. You may come in now.”

  There were a dozen of them, men and women both, all known to Koenig from Volochek’s investigations. The new Council, he guessed, those who would take over and run things their way.

  He said, “The reactor?”

  “After the guards have passed over their weapons.”

  Koenig activated his commlock and gave the order. Waiting he looked at the new arrivals, studying the tension revealed in the faces, the intransigence in the eyes.

  A woman said, coldly, “I want to make it clear, Raoul, that you have our support only as long as you respect the concept of liberated womanhood. There must be no assumptions of sexual inferiority.”

  “That is understood, Monica.”

  “We are at liberty to choose partners as and when we decide. There will be no restrictions as to choice of work. Children will be conceived at our discretion from males we select.”

  “As agreed.”

  “And there will be no compulsion of any kind. The rights we demand are clear.”

  “And will be given. Masak, see if the guards have handed over their weapons.” He grunted as the man turned from the communicator and nodded. “Good.”

  Koenig said, patiently. “And now the reactor?”

  “All in good time.”

  “You have no time,” said Helena, coldly. “The man is swinging into a psychotic condition. Already he has exposed himself to a high degree of radiation and must be close to the critical dosage. His brain could become affected and his time-sense can no longer be trusted. He may think that you’ve abandoned him.”

  “No,” said Monica, quickly. “We haven’t done that.”

  “Then why not release him? You have gained what you wanted. The guards have been disarmed. You are now in control of the base. Alpha is under your direction. Must you have a sacrifice as well?”

  “Sacrifice?”

  “Brian Teal is dying. If we move quickly he can be saved. If not—” Helena shrugged. “He already knows we have capitulated. One speaker is connected to the reactor and is operational as you must know. If he thinks you have betrayed him then he will destroy the base. Why shouldn’t he? What has he to lose?”

  Monica said, loudly, “Brian, if you can hear me, the answer is negate the invisible. If you can hear me the answer is negate the invisible!”

  “You fool!” Anoux glared his anger. “How did you know the code?”

  “He told me.”

  “When he slept with you? The idiot! Brian, stay where you are. It’s a trick. Stay where you are!”

  “He can’t hear you,” said Koenig. “The line has been closed.”

  And the trap had been sprung. He could hear the noise, the cries and shouts and thud of running feet. The conflict as men tried to use the weapons taken from the guards and finding them useless. A precaution as had been their release by men who had stayed under cover.

  Anoux snarled and sprang, hands reaching, knee jerking as Koenig twisted to save his groin, feeling the tear of nails on his face as fingers clawed at his eyes. A time of screaming and murderous battle, of men and women turned into devi
ls as others came bursting into the office to join the fray. Volochek, snarling his anger, big hands gripping, closing.

  “You bastard! I told you I’d get you! I told you!”

  Anoux’s scream, his face turning blue, eyes starting from the long, narrow face, then a fury of hair and teeth as a woman shrieked and pulled him down.

  Koenig rolled, felt the bone-bruising impact of a foot, rolled, again and caught the ankle as it aimed the boot at his face. He twisted and heard the thud as the man fell.

  A thud which grew to become a rolling thunder, the crash and roar of blasting explosives, the jerk and movement of the floor beneath him.

  Again and then Morrow’s voice, urgent against the screaming blast of the alarms.

  “Red alert! Red alert! We’re under attack!”

  C H A P T E R

  Twelve

  They came in darts and shimmers of light, flashing brilliances, scintillations, a coruscating rain of broken rainbows which threw a kaleidoscope of variated hues against the silver sheen of the watchful stars. A hail of shapes which darted and veered to dart again as if they were whirling snowflakes caught in a screaming wind. And yet there could be no wind and the shapes were not made of frozen liquid—two things of which Koenig could be sure.

  He studied them in the screens as Morrow checked the condition of the base, sitting tense in his chair, lips pursed as he read the information relayed by the tell-tales. Explosions had flowered close, rupturing some compartments and jarring others, utterly destroying one and undoing the arduous work of months.

  “Section Sixteen total loss, nine dead, bodies sucked into the void. Sections Nine through Thirteen cracked, repairs now being made, no dead but two injured. Medical intact. Technical suffered some damage, three dead, five injured, one seriously. Reactors secure. Air-tight doors sealed. Red alert in operation.”

  Koenig said. “What happened, Paul?”

  “Damned if I know. One minute the screens were clear, the next the meteor warning field was sounding the alarm. For a moment I couldn’t see anything then they appeared.” He scowled at the flashing scintillations. “Then came the explosions.” He added, defensively, “I guess I wasn’t concentrating as hard as I should. We had other things to worry about.”