Day of the Dragonstar

by David Bischoff

  KEMP BENT DOWN to pick up the discarded ration-pak. It was lying by the long-dead ashes of a fire-pit near the entrance to a small limestone cave. “Anything in there?” he asked of Mikaela Lindstrom, who was still inside the cave.

  There was a pause before he saw her blond hair corning out of the darkness. Her bright green eyes were shining like a cat’s as she appeared, carrying a small object. “This must be what set off the metal-detector,” she said, handing him a small communications unit. The metallic surface was already showing signs of corrosion from the fierce humidity of the interior.

  “At least somebody survived,” said Phineas. “Long enough to get this far, anyway.”

  Looking up into the surrounding treetops, and the bright hazy sky beyond them, he was again reminded of the scope of the ship’s interior. Despite his anxiety, he could not deny his sense of awe and dread when he thought about the beings who had built this place.

  “Presuming that they could not find their way back to the entrance hatch,” said Phineas, “why would you suppose they would be making camp this far away from the general area. They couldn’t be that lost.”

  “They?” said Mikaela.

  “I’m assuming, and hoping; that there was more than one survivor. Anyway, it seems like they were moving away from the general direction of the base camp.”

  Mikaela looked up at the illuminating rod, high in the sky. “They were heading towards the aft section of the cylinder?”

  “Maybe. If Coopersmith made it, I’d bet that he was trying to reach the part of the ship where the engines are located. And then maybe find a way into the alien crew-quarters.”

  “I wonder if they made it. . . .”

  “Hard to tell how long ago they were through here. Going through this forest on foot must be hell. But we know now at least that we should be out looking for them.” Kemp looked back to the omni-terrain vehicle, where Richards, the driver, and Nordman, the weapons specialist, both kept watch with razer rifles. “And we’re going to need something a little faster than the OTV. Too damned slow.”

  “The ornithopter?” asked Mikaela.

  “Yes, I’ve got them bringing the thing in in pieces now. As soon as we can get it put together, I’d like to get started.”

  As they began walking back to the OTV, Mikaela touched his arm, and Kemp felt his pulse jump a bit. “Phineas?”

  “Yes?”

  “I know this might sound out of line, but would you mind if I went along with you in the ’thopter?”

  “Part of the search party? I don’t know . . . I’ve been thinking about that. If you didn’t come, I would miss your company, but I don’t want to put you to any unnecessary risk. It’s not your responsibility, you know.”

  “I know that. But I could use the chance to survey more of the environment. I won’t get in the way, I promise . . .”

  “I wasn’t worried about that,” said Phineas, managing a small smile, but feeling awkward doing it. He was attracted to this woman, and now that he had renewed evidence that Becky might still be alive, he didn’t know how to deal with his new feelings.

  Mikaela smiled back. She was a pretty woman. “Then it’s a deal?”

  “It’s a deal.”

  * * *

  Richards stopped the OTV, waiting for the guard on duty to deactivate the perimeter-field, then guided the ungainly vehicle into the base camp. As they approached the main dome, Phineas saw Doctor Robert Jakes waiting for them.

  “Colonel!” said Jakes over the dying whine of the OTV’s engines. “I’ve got to see you right away.”

  Kemp opened the door and jumped down, then guided Mikaela down, before turning to face the engineering specialist. “What’s up, Doctor?”

  Jakes looked at Mikaela Lindstrom and the two others climbing down from the OTV. “I’d like to speak with you privately, Colonel . . .”

  Kemp looked to Mikaela for a moment. Mikaela grinned, and began walking towards the lab-dome. “I’ve got some work to do anyway,” she said with no apparent hurt feelings. “See you later, and thanks for the ride, Colonel.”

  Phineas wanted to say something, but she walked away quickly. It was an awkward moment, and he felt some resentment towards Jakes.

  “Please, Colonel. It’s important.” Jakes’s thin face looked even more dour and grim than usual.

  “All right, what is it?” asked Kemp as they began walking toward his offices in the main dome.

  “The communications modules,” said Jakes.

  “Trouble?”

  “Bad trouble. They’re damaged so badly that I’m not sure we can fix them.”

  “What? What could have happened to them for it to be that bad?” Kemp stopped and looked at the engineer, while his mind wrestled with the idea that the operation might be totally cut off from Copernicus Base.

  “I tell you what did happen, Colonel. Somebody sabotaged them. They knew what they were doing, too. Everything’s fouled up pretty good. Used a magnetic-driver and welding torch . . .”

  Kemp did not speak right away. His mind was reeling with added knowledge, and the attendant implications.. Sabotage. Christ, what else can happen? But for what reason? He couldn’t believe that anyone would want the alien ship destroyed. What the hell was the purpose in cutting off their link with Copernicus Base? And who did it?

  “Colonel, are you all right?”

  “What? Oh yes . . . Sorry, Jakes. And you say there’s not much chance of getting things fixed?”

  “We can try . . . I don’t know.”

  “How many people know about this? Anybody see anything?”

  Jakes shook his head. “I had two of my men down there to check out the problem right after it happened. They didn’t see anybody. I told them to keep their mouths shut, and I haven’t said anything about it, other than that communications are down for the moment.”

  “I can’t believe this,” said Kemp. “Everybody on this mission’s got top-level security clearance . . . It’s almost impossible that they could get somebody on board, presuming that they knew about the mission in the first place.”

  “Who’s they, Colonel?’”

  “The Third World Confederation, who else? It’s obvious what this ship represents, and if they do know of its existence, they would want it for themselves just as badly as we want it.”

  “What do you think their next move is?” Jakes rubbed his chin and cast a quick paranoid glance about the camp to see if anyone was watching them speak.

  “That’s hard to say. They don’t have any ships fit for Deep-Space Operations . . . but they must have some kind of large plan involved. Damn it, I just don’t believe this is happening, that’s all!”

  “I’m afraid it is, Colonel.”

  Kemp shook his head, rubbed his eyes. “All right, Doctor, why don’t you see what you and your men can do about patching us up? Check back with me later.”

  Jakes nodded and walked towards the entry hatch. In the clearing just below it, some of the crew were working on the ornithopter. It was almost completely assembled and looked like a giant mosquito with large gossamer wings and a pair of helirotors above its thorax.

  Colonel Kemp stood watching the work on the ornithopter for a moment, knowing that he also had responsibility to whomever might still be alive out in the interior, but his mind was getting jumbled. Too many things happened too fast. He walked to his headquarters wrapped in thought.

  * * *

  “Will that be all, sir?” asked Captain Marshall, who was standing stiffly before Kemp’s portable work-table. The man was a model underling—efficient, trustworthy, and ultimately boring. Kemp knew that Marshall would follow his instructions to the letter because of his lack of imagination to do otherwise.

  “Yes, I suppose so, Captain.” Kemp did not look up from the notes he had been making to himself on a small pad. “Oh, one more thi
ng. Has the ornithopter checked out for flight yet?”

  “Yessir. It’s fine. Lieutenant Zabriski’s taken her up. It’ll be ready when you are.”

  “Very well, Captain. Have it loaded up with the gear, and tell the others we’ll be lifting off in about ten minutes.”

  Marshall saluted laxly and left the room, shutting the door and leaving Kemp alone with his thoughts. A small air conditioning unit hummed in the background.

  Phineas should hot have been surprised to know that Marshall was aware of the sabotage, but he was angry. Apparently the men who had discovered the mess had opened their mouths, and now the whole crew was looking at one another, wondering if they were staring into the eyes of a traitor. That kind of tension wasn’t good, but Kemp was powerless to do anything about it.

  The only good thing he could be certain of was that the outrigging operation had gone smoothly and Artifact One (even now, he clung to his original name for the alien ship, disdaining the more popular Dragonstar) was being gently but inexorably shifted out of its cometary orbit and onto a course which would intersect with the Earth-moon system.

  But everything was ganging up on him. Not knowing if Becky might still be alive; his feelings for MikaeIa; the lack of contact with Copernicus; an espionage agent loose among the crew; and the growing feeling that the TWC had more tricks up their sleeves.

  As a precaution, Kemp had Fratz and Bracken monitoring the long-range detection scanners, in the event that anything might be approaching them as they drew closer to Earth orbit. Even if it was an IASA vessel, Kemp wanted to know about it way ahead of time. He wanted a safe margin in which to operate, especially if he might be out in the ’thopter when more trouble started. Damn it, he thought. If it wasn’t for Becky, and his conscience, he wouldn’t be taking personal command of the search party flight . . . Sometimes he didn’t know what he was feeling.

  For the first time in his career, in fact, he considered taking something for his nerves—one of the little green capsules which were standard issue in all Mission medkits. He reached into his desk drawer, where he kept a small pack of them, opened the container, and looked at the capsules. He wondered why they were called “little green monsters” by everyone.

  No, not now, he thought. If I’ve gone all this way without them, I’m not going to start now.

  Slamming shut the drawer, he got up and went outside.

  * * *

  The ornithopter’s engines whined softly behind the cabin, just loud enough to make everyone speak loudly without really yelling at one another. Including Kemp and Lindstrom, there were three others on board—Zabriski, the pilot; and Michaels and Nordman, who were both expert marksmen with a razer-rifle.

  “Ready to lift off, Colonel,” said Zabriski.

  Kemp nodded, and the odd-looking craft leaped into the air. It was a mechanical hybrid, combining the actions of a helicopter and a bird, and was exactly the kind of craft needed to operate in a closed air-space that was full of tricky flying conditions, such as the rotating, vortices-full atmosphere of the Dragonstar.

  As the base camp dwindled in size, and Zabriski headed for the aft end of the cylinder, Mikaela began studying the terrain below with a pair of electronically-magnified and adjusted binoculars. She carried a small recorder on her lap, and occasionally she recited a particularly important observation. Kemp watched her at work, and was pleased to see that she was one of those people who were truly dedicated to their jobs. There simply weren’t enough people around like that anymore.

  Zabriski remained hunched over her controls, a tense expression on her homely features. “We’ve got to watch ourselves in here, Colonel . . . There’s a gravity gradient which increases sharply as we increase altitude. Also some funny air currents. Doctor Jakes said it has something to do with the atmosphere not rotating at the same speed as the land mass.”

  “Stay as low as you can,” said Phineas. “I want to keep an eye out for any sign of them down there.”

  Zabriski gave a thumbs-up signal and continued staring straight ahead. The view was spectacular, even from the relatively low altitude of a thousand meters. The mind was continually trying to reject the image of the upward curving landmass and the lack of horizon. In addition, when you looked down the length of the cylinder, the lines of perspective closed in and gave the impression that you were falling down a bottomless well. But Kemp knew that more than two hundred and fifty kilometers distant, this particular well did have a bottom, and they were betting on the logic and ingenuity of the survivors to have headed for that spot.

  Several times the ornithopter would buck or dip as it passed through a thermal bank, or the residual wash of an atmospheric vortex. Kemp wondered if the heat-energy of the illuminating rod in the center of the cylinder was heated to varying temperatures so that gradients would be produced to create artificial weather. If that were so, it would help explain the turbulence experienced by Zabriski.

  “Everything all right, Captain?” Kemp leaned forward with his most serious expression setting his features.

  “Yeah, Colonel, but I’ll tell you . . . this is the damndest ride I ever took. I’ve flown everything there is to fly, just about, but this is one hell of a ride! I don’t recommend airspeed much above a hundred klicks per hour.”

  “That’ll be fine, Captain. Just take it as it comes . . .”

  The craft continued to pitch and dip occasionally, but Zabriski seemed to be learning some of the interior atmosphere’s tricks, and she was having less difficulty as the flight progressed. Phineas hardly noticed any of this.

  At least he was doing something now. He had never been the kind of person who could sit still, letting somebody else get all the action while he directed things from an armchair. He had considered staying back at the base camp, now that the sabotage was known, and it was a good bet that the TWC would be trying something else . . . But he doubted if he could have withstood the waiting. The sheer tedium of simply sitting around, waiting for something to happen would have brought him that much closer to the Iittle green monsters in his desk drawer.

  They flew on for another two hours, passing over three areas which had Lindstrom so excited she almost fell out of her seat. The discovery of stone-block ruins, their peaks above the green carpet of the forests, was a surprise to everyone. Lindstrom insisted that they land and investigate. Kemp agreed, thinking that it was possible that the survivors might be there, or that some sign of their presence might at least be found.

  The first set of ruins, simple post-and-lintel constructions, yielded little except the ideas from Mikaela that there was intelligent life in the cylinders. Kemp countered with the idea that the building might be the work of survivors from the original alien crew, or perhaps their descendants, who had worked their way out into the cylinder once all the supplies within the crew section had been exhausted.

  Later on, they landed at a group of three pyramids, where Kemp and his men found evidence of a campsite. Once again, he felt hope rekindled in his heart. The feeling that Becky and probably Coopersmith were still alive was growing stronger. Mikaela Lindstrom wanted to stay long enough to make some sketches of the pyramids, but Kemp was getting impatient, so much so that he did not want to land at all when they passed over the remains of an ancient city. Mikaela was upset with the decision, but something else had just become visible in the distance ahead of them. The flat end of the giant cylinder was now becoming clearer, even though parts of the sky at the distant end were obscured by patches of water vapor.

  Mikaela had been talking about how many of the dinosaurs so far observed exhibited discrete changes in their somatotypes when compared with the fossil records. She said that it was most obviously due to genetic mutation and the continuing evolutionary process, despite the constant, controlled environment of the Dragonstar. She felt that over the hundred and fifty million years or so, it was possible that evolution had produced some intelligent species,
although it would be difficult to predict whether there would be representatives from the saurian or mammalian families in existence.

  “ . . . and you’ll have plenty of time to test out your theories,” Kemp was saying in response, when Zabriski cried out excitedly.

  “Colonel! I’ve got something coming up down there. Looks like a mountain range or something . . . see it?”

  Kemp looked down and ahead of them to see a long low ridge stretching across the landmass, extending through the thick forests, and curving upwards as though endless. As the ornithopter dropped down to a lower altitude, and drew closer, the definition of the ridge became more clear.

  It was not a mountain range. Nor was it any kind of natural rock formation.

  “I don’t believe it,” said Zabriski.

  “Phineas,” said Mikaela. “Do you know. what that is?”

  Kemp did not reply for a moment, but continued to stare in amazement at the structure looming ahead of them. It was undeniable now. It was a gigantic wall, perhaps ten or fifteen meters tall, which made the great wall of China look like something made from a child’s block set. A barrier, with buttresses, and towers spaced at even intervals.

  The ornithopter slowed and hovered over the incredible wall, as everyone looked down upon it, and what lay beyond it.

  A city.

  A living city.

  “HELLO, PHINEAS,” Rebecca Thalberg said. “We’ve been expecting you. That’s why we suggested that the saurians bring you here.”

  She was sitting on the floor opposite Ian Coopersmith. All about them, the floor was littered with charts and pictographs: alien symbols. Coopersmith gazed up casually and grinned at the newly arrived party. “Afternoon, Colonel. Have we got an alien culture for you.”

  “Shit on alien cultures,” Kemp said, striding forward, and hauling Becky up from her crouch. “I’m just glad to see you two alive.” He embraced Becky fervently. She responded only as a sister might to a long-lost brother. There was no passion in the hug, no ardor.