Space 1999 - Earthfall

by E. C. Tubb

  “A mistake. Commander.” Morrow’s face was tense on the screen. “The volunteers opened fire. There was no need. They—”

  “Were attacked.”

  “They thought they were being attacked,” admitted Morrow. “As I said, it was a mistake.”

  And one that shouldn’t have happened, but, in war, such mistakes were common. At his side Carter said, “Those poor bastards! Do we go in, Commander?”

  “No.”

  “But—”

  “We daren’t!” Koenig was impatient “If we defend that area the aliens will know something important to us is down there.” He slapped his hand against switches. “Hear this! All Eagles attack crater from far side. Take no risks. This is a diversionary tactic. Conserve missiles and take no risks.” To Morrow he snapped, “How much longer?”

  “We’re doing our best, Commander.”

  “Of course. Sorry, Paul—you need more data?”

  “We’re getting it all the time.” Morrow hesitated then said, “About those surface volunteers. I tried to warn them but someone jumped the gun. He couldn’t be blamed, I guess, but I wish it hadn’t happened.”

  They all wished it hadn’t happened and Tanya Ostrovsky made a point of not meeting his eyes as Morrow broke the connection and turned from the screen. In a way the guilt was shared but he was in charge and to him went the responsibility.

  “Tanya?”

  She shook her head, not answering, concentrating on the papers before her, the lists and graphs and computer readouts. She was a small, delicately made girl with a mane of ebony hair, velvet skin and eyes as soft and enticing as limpid pools on a summer day. In another time and place she would have been a prized courtesan or the spoiled consort of some Oriental ruler devoting her skill to the pursuit of sensuous delights. As it was she was a noted linguist with a command of twenty-three languages and almost as many dialects with an enviable reputation as a cryptographer. Now she was trying to break the alien code.

  “The torpedoes attacked when we broadcast this series of blips based on their reaction when the Eagles first appeared. I assumed it to be a withdrawal signal but, apparently, it was not. There must be a subtle differential either in frequency or intensity which I missed. David, would you please run these recordings through the computer again and determine any variations in pitch or duration. They would be minimal so please amplify and exaggerate.”

  “To what power?”

  “Ten,” she decided. “If nothing shows we can try again but ten should be enough.”

  It took seconds; work which would have taken her weeks, comparisons which could have taken years. Frowning she studied the results, adding her own skill to the workmanship of the computer; the intuition which it could sever emulate.

  “Here!” Her finger touched a portion of the graph. “This is obviously an attack signal. And here we have an attack-withdraw-protect directive. That was when the decoys scattered by Carter were destroyed by atomic missiles from Eagle One. Here again, see, the attack signal but not exactly the same as the other. There is an addition.” Her frown deepened, white teeth gnawing at the fulness of her bottom lip as she concentrated. “And this was when the Queen rose from the crater. And this when the tentacular things appeared. And, again, here we have the subtie variation; a modulation of some kind. But what does it mean? Attack? Observe? Restrain? Contain? Move? It can’t be a simple directive though it seems to be associated with one. Therefore we have what could be a qualified command such as ‘attack with restrain’ or ‘watch but do not attack unless object comes within a certain distance’ or ‘retreat in order to protect’.”

  Kano said, wonderingly, “Are you saying they talk a language?”

  “Of course!” She glanced at him in surprise. “What else could it be?”

  “I don’t mean a simple communication,” he insisted. “I know all about the bee ‘dance’ and the antennae-touching of ants, but a real language? Modulation implies shaded meanings and that, surely, implies an active intelligence.”

  “So?”

  “Are you saying that thing out there is intelligent?”

  “Before we can argue that we first have to decide exactly what we mean by ‘intelligent’,” she said, “But there is certainly communication between the Queen and her parts; the torpedoes and tentacular shapes. There could even be communication between individuals—but is a dog intelligent because it obeys a whistle? Or a moth because it responds to a sonic hum?”

  “Dogs are intelligent,” said Morrow. “I had one once, a pointer, who—well, never mind. I guess it doesn’t really matter as long as we can get that thing off our backs.” Pausing he added, “Can we, Tanya? Can you crack the code?”

  “Maybe,” she snapped. “Given time.”

  C H A P T E R

  Nineteen

  Carter was dreaming. He sat alone in a burning Eagle feeling the skin begin to crisp, the hair singeing, the blood within his veins beginning to boil. A torment common to the foes of the Inquisition who had used fire as a prelude to hell, abrogating the habits of the Devil in their determination to save souls. Had he a soul? Would it be saved? And if it was where would it go in this strange universe?

  Where, in this place, could a man find Heaven?

  “Alan!” He jerked awake, feeling grit in his eyes, the sand of fatigue which had accumulated as he worked to get the Eagles prepared, an accompaniment to the drag of muscle and tendon. “Alan?”

  “I’m all right, Commander.” He stretched against the chafing restriction of his suit and thought longingly of a bath. Hot, steaming water with plenty of soap with a cold shower to follow and plenty of thick, fluffy towels. “What’s new?”

  Nothing. His nap could have only taken seconds, minutes at the most. The Eagles still weaved in their dance with death, moving like the figures in a minuet, graceful as they dived to veer to fire to escape to rise before diving again. And never on the same path twice, never following the same, exact routine.

  Good men and ships which could have been better than they were. Carter shook his head, dismissing ideas for better design, thoughts of protective fields and coupled systems. That was for later, now was the need to survive.

  “Paul wants time,” said Koenig. “We have to give it to him. And Tanya needs a little more data, we have to supply that too.”

  And the base needed what protection was left which, he thought, was almost none at all. A few missiles, the lasers, the mass of the Eagles themselves—if it came to it he would use everything he had.

  “I was dozing,” said Carter. “Dreaming of the past. The bad old days when men were burned because they dared to disagree. An odd way to convince someone you’re right but they used to do it. I guess they couldn’t bear the thought that, maybe, they were wrong.”

  “Blindness,” said Koenig. “A hysterical determination not to see anything other than what you know to be true.” He adjusted his controls, sent the Eagle to one side, lifted it, fired a blast from the laser. “Another name for it is intolerance.”

  “All gone now,” mused Carter. “The same as everything else. All the old traditions, the worn creeds, the ancient superstitions. No more knocking on wood or throwing salt over your left shoulder. No need not to walk under ladders. No fear of Fridays or the thirteenth or—” He broke off, frowning, “I’m not so sure about the thirteenth. That was when it happened, right?”

  “Breakaway,” said Koenig. “That’s the name for it now.”

  “I know. One day, maybe, they’ll think of it as we think of the Exodus. Or the expulsion from the Garden of Eden.”

  “The Exodus,” said Koenig. “We want to look forward, not back.”

  “Can we?” Carter wasn’t so sure. “When things get tough can we forget all we’ve lost? All we’ve done?”

  “We?”

  “Us, the Moon. We wrecked Earth, you know. Ruined it. The cities, the seaboard, all gone. The people—God knows how many are left and how they’re managing. Urban skills aren’t much use when it comes
to hunting rats and planting crops. And they’d have to hunt rats—what else would be available?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Matter? Man, we’re talking about Earth!”

  “About a place,” snapped Koenig. “About a world we’ll never see again. About a past that’s gone and lost for good. This is our home now.” His finger stabbed at the Lunar terrain. “This is our world—and it’s all we’ve got.” He slapped at buttons. “Paul? Any word yet?”

  “A few minutes, Commander. Tanya is just assembling the tape.”

  “Will it do the job?” Koenig didn’t wait for an answer. “Never mind—if it’s the best she can do it’ll either work or we go under. What should we do?”

  “Stay well clear of the area. Make no move no matter what happens.” Morrow hesitated then said, “We want no repetition of what happened to the surface volunteers. If you get scared and come in fighting the whole base could go. Sorry, Commander, but that’s how it is.”

  And how it would have to be—to give an expert a job then to override her decision was stupid. And he had left Morrow in charge.

  “So we wait,” said Carter after Koenig had given the orders to withdraw. “Wait and hope to hell Tanya knows what she’s doing. Talking to bees, sending messages to ants—it’s crazy!”

  Koenig switched on the speakers and listened to the familiar succession of blips sharp against the background drone. They blurred, faded, returned as sharp and clear as before.

  “She’s cut in on their carrier-wave,” said Carter. “Heterodying their signals and overlaying them with her own. Well, this is it.”

  The culmination of the plan. Eagles lost and men killed in order to supply associations for the signals, a means to break the code which alone, if all else failed, could save them. And everything else had failed—now it was up to the girl.

  “Commander!” The voice from one of the Eagles was shrill with strain. “They’re attacking the base!”

  Moving towards it—not attacking! Drifting as the earlier torpedoes had drifted, diving as they had died, venting destruction as before. A line of craters which sowed a pattern of pocks over the ruined hangar, adding to the man-made devastation.

  “Hold!” snapped Koenig. “Hold!”

  “Ellen! I’ve got to save her!”

  “You damned fool!” Koenig thinned his lips as he aligned his Eagle. On the sight-screen the other craft appeared centred by the cross-hairs. “Get up and away or I’ll burn you!”

  “Commander!” Carter’s hand fell on his wrist. “That’s Tyde, in there. You can’t!”

  Koenig snarled, shaking off the restraining hand, thumb tightening on the release of the laser.

  “Tyde, hear me? Move, damn you! Obey orders! Get away from there! Now!”

  “Go to hell!”

  Koenig fired.

  He’d aimed well, the beam of the laser hitting just behind the command module, causing minor damage but not risking either pilot or craft. A warning of what would happen unless the man obeyed. But Tyde had no intention of doing as he was told. His Eagle spun, facing Koenig’s, the missile launchers levelling, spouting fire.

  Threads of flame driving the atomic warheads which would leave nothing of the Eagle but drifting vapor if they struck.

  Carter yelled in reflex, hands grabbing at the dual controls, cursing as they swung loose and inwardly cringing from the expected impact. A moment, then the missiles lanced beneath them as Koenig lifted the Eagle and flung it to one side, continuing the turn so as to bring the other Eagle again on his sight-screen, his thumb tensed to close as the crosshairs came close.

  “No!” shouted Carter. “They’re going—no!”

  The aliens were moving, rising from the area of the base to cluster around the bulk of the Queen, torpedoes and the other, tentacular creatures milling in obvious confusion.

  A pack of trained dogs, thought Koenig, baffled by conflicting instructions, not knowing which way to turn, trying, to be recalled, to be sent on a different route, to be recalled again.

  Like raw recruits numbed by the roars of a sergeant-major.

  He switched on the speakers and listened to the succession of blips, to him identical with the others he had heard, but now, obviously, vastly different. Tanya Ostrovsky using her skill, broadcasting her taped messages and driving the things as a man would drive sheep. For a moment he enjoyed the power of mastery, thinking of how it would be if the alien could be so controlled and governed, what it would mean in terms of defence and protection, then dismissed the dream for what it was.

  They had confused it, no more. Frightened it, if such a thing could know fear. Touched reactive impulses which had caused it to gather its defences, but that alone was not enough. That fear had to be augmented, enhanced, stimulated into terror. Then, with luck, it would run.

  Or, with the other kind of luck, it could attack.

  An unavoidable risk and one now taken. Koenig glanced at his controls, the screens set before him, reached for the switches.

  “No movement,” he warned the Eagles. “No attack to be made under any provocation without my order. You hear that, Tyde?”

  “Yes, I—” The man was thin-faced, his eyes smudged with tension and fatigue, blood at his nostrils and ears. “I’m sorry, Commander.”

  “You damned near killed me.”

  “I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Which washes you out as a pilot. This is your last mission. Act the fool again and it’ll be your last anything. The next time I aim to kill!”

  “Commander—”

  “Shut up!” Koenig cut the connection and sat, breathing deeply, conscious of the trembling of his hands. When Carter spoke again he said, “No, Alan. My order stands.”

  “Tyde’s a good man.”

  “For what? Losing his head? Forget it. There are more important things to worry about than a man’s hurt pride.”

  The aliens for one, the Queen who had lifted a little higher above the crater, the things which could rise from the cells which had been dug below. Koenig watched, tense, listening to the blips, anticipating their change noting it only in the imagination. A shortness and an increase in frequency, a subtle alteration in the pattern, a staccato burst modulated to change into a—what?

  How to tell what the noise meant?

  How to speak an alien tongue?

  He blinked as something streaked across the stars. It came again, a flash of scintillant color, trapped rainbows shimmering, dissolving, changing to diamond glitters, turning to form a crystal, a faceted eye.

  Something monstrous which peered as if through a slit in the continuum.

  “Christ!” Carter was shaken. “What in God’s name is that?”

  “A visitor,” said Koenig. “Come to join the party.”

  It had been summoned or attracted, drawn in some way by Tanya’s message, the blips and sequences she had broadcast into space. A message perhaps similar to that emitted by a moth desiring to mate—or the vibrations which attracted a hungry predator.

  And now, somewhere in this alien dimension, peering as if through a slit in a curtain, it waited.

  “Commander.” Tyde was eager to redeem himself. “That thing—I could get it with a nuke.”

  “Why?”

  “It—well, look at the damned thing!”

  It was big, monstrous in its vastness, yet was that the reality or an impression born of illusion? The space between was occluded and Koenig had the giddying feeling that he was staring upwards through a drop of water into a brilliant light.

  Then the thing shifted a little and the impression changed to that of studying something through a powerful magnifying glass. Something he had done when a boy during the long vacation when he had lain for hours in a field watching insects through his pocket glass, seeing terrible monsters where only minute creatures clung to life in a hostile environment.

  Would his eye have seemed to them as this thing did to him?

  To Tyde Koenig said, “Hold your fire as ordered. N
o heroics.” And no hunting, he added to himself. No killing a creature just because it’s there. “Paul? Have Tanya kill her broadcast.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s talking the wrong language. It’s attracted something. Have all scanners on full coverage, recorders also. Total electromagnetic spectrum. Use relays from all Eagles as well as direct sensors from Main Mission. This could be important.”

  “And dangerous,” reminded Morrow. “We’ll be using a lot of power.”

  “A chance we have to take. Have Tanya stand by with distracting tapes if necessary. And you’d better notify Victor; he’ll never forgive us if we leave him out.”

  And, perhaps, miss the vital clue which could open the door to new discoveries. Recordings were valuable, but nothing could replace the instinctive, sensual impression of first hand observation.

  Carter whispered, “It’s getting bigger, Commander. The damned things coming through!”

  From where? Another dimension? It seemed like it but how could that be? They were in space, drifting through a void illuminated by stars, yet Koenig could see the eye—if it was an eye—grow larger, a limb—if it was a limb—probe in sweeping strokes against the firmament.

  A long, dark, supple thing which curved and arched and gave the impression of hooks and claws, A spider reaching for a fly. The sting of a wasp seeking the soft body of a caterpillar.

  Analogies—how, in this space, could his senses be trusted?

  He remembered the recoiling of his mind when the Queen had appeared, the rejection of what his eyes had seen and the overwhelming need to cower and hide from what he was not constructed to understand. If the new thing should emerge and if the same should happen—?

  “All Eagles,” he snapped. “Land. Land and lock controls. Land!”

  Tyde, with nothing to lose, chose to play the hero.

  “I’m going to take a closer look. Commander. We need to know what that thing really is. I’ll edge close and align the scanners.”

  “You bastard! Land when I tell you!”

  “I’m not afraid. Commander. And—”