The Rings of Tantalus [Expendables 2]

by Richard Avery

  He reported back to the Santa Maria. “I’ve had enough of being a yo-yo. I’m going to torch my way in. If the metal is titanium it should not take too long.”

  Cautiously, he made his way to the nearest air-lock—if, indeed, that was what they were. He took care not to pass near any of the metal rods. It was almost certain that there were no living creatures on the ship. But it was still possible that the rods could discharge some sort of energy.

  “Why not burn through one of the port-holes?” suggested Kwango. “It would probably be easier.”

  Conrad was professionally shocked. “Suppose we were in S.A. on the Santa Maria and somebody torched through to the nav deck. We’d all be dead of explosive decompression. We have a fail-safe on our air-lock. I assume these people have one on theirs.”

  Kwango chuckled. “Boss, you are a real white man.”

  “I’m a trespasser,” retorted Conrad primly. “I’m just trying to be as careful as I can.”

  The nearest hexagon was about one hundred and fifty metres from where Conrad had first touched down. He examined it carefully, and was none the wiser. It had to be an air-lock; but there was no way of knowing.

  He unhooked the laser torch from his belt and set it at maximum power. “If ‘t’were done,” he quoted to himself, “t’were best done quickly.” He had forgotten the reference, but he thought it was Shakespeare and—vaguely—Macbeth.

  “How’s that again, Boss?” asked Kwango.

  “Nothing. I was talking to myself. Cancel statement.”

  Kwango did his impersonation of Matthew. “Decision noted. Execution proceeds.”

  From the way the laser torch sliced through the metal, it looked as if Conrad had been right about titanium. He cut a circular hole almost a metre in diameter. He needed it that big to get through without damaging his life-support systems.

  As soon as the torch burned through the metal, Conrad braced himself. He had suspected that the lock might be filled with air. In which case, he would have been blasted away from the vessel as it rushed out.

  He was right about it being an air-lock. He was wrong about it containing any air.

  When there remained only two or three millimetres of metal left to be torched before he completed the full circle, Conrad killed the laser and returned the torch to his belt. Expertly, he tapped the section. It fell inside the lock. He adjusted his jets, switched on his head light, and went in after it.

  The lock was not greatly dissimilar from the Santa Maria’s air-lock. It was a cubiform chamber; and Conrad was mystified as to why it should have a hexagonal exterior panel. Perhaps the hexagon had some emotive / intellectual / religious / philosophical / scientific significance for the people who designed it.

  There was a problem, and it was a nasty one. The airlock contained a control panel—as did the air-lock of the Santa Maria. But Conrad could not interpret the symbols. The problem was: should he torch his way through the panel that gave access to the vessel’s interior, or should he pull out—having satisfied himself beyond any reasonable doubt that the vessel was derelict? -

  Indira’s voice came over the radio. “Are you all right, James?”

  “Yes. I’m in one of the air-locks. I’m afraid I am going to have to cut through into the main section of the ship> after all.”

  “Why not leave it and come back? You have proved that the thing is dead.”

  “All we know is that nobody has responded,” he said. “We can’t continue the Tantalus mission until we are sure there can be no interference from upstairs. I hate to have to do it, but I think I’m going to burn through.”

  “Then take care—and come back in one piece.” She managed to laugh. “Kurt will testify that I am no longer hovering over the D.M.W. stud.”

  “That’s right, Boss,” cut in Kwango. “The Lieutenant is only looking pale and interesting.”

  “Fine. I’ll keep you informed,” said Conrad.

  First he played with a series of buttons on what was evidently a control console. Nothing happened. Regretfully, he unhooked his laser torch and went to work once more.

  He torched his way through the inner door much faster than he had managed to burn through the hull metal— which was hardly surprising.

  Again, there was no outward blast of escaping air. He was profoundly grateful. If his action had evacuated the ship, he would have regarded himself as a homicidal—or would it be aliencidal?—vandal.

  He jetted through the opening and found himself in a long, totally black corridor. Obviously, power systems were stone cold dead as, most likely, was everything else.

  He let his headlight play along the corridor in both directions. There seemed to be no end to it.

  “I designate the fat end of this vessel as north and the small end as south,” he reported back. “I am in a long north-south corridor. I am jetting north to see what I can see.”

  He adjusted his jets and began to move. He had gone about two hundred and fifty metres when he came upon an amazing sight.

  The corridor led to a wide railed causeway or ledge that ran round an immense chamber. The chamber contained the twisted and shattered remains of a great deal of intricate machinery. Though he did not recognise the function of the fragmented equipment, Conrad surmised that he was in the engine-room.

  He peered “down” into the well of the chamber—and saw stars.

  He saw stars through a jagged hole, some thirty metres across, in the vessel’s hull. The torn metal edges of the skin were bent inwards as if the hull had been pierced by a missile of some kind. He looked up—and again saw stars.

  There was a corresponding hole directly above—the exit hole. There, the ripped metal plate was bent outwards. But the shape and size of the tear was about the same.

  He held on to the “hand” rail to stop himself drifting, and stayed there, marvelling at the sight for some minutes. He was awed and saddened by what he saw. This fantastic vessel had doubtless travelled through the light-years with a huge complement and/or huge pay-load only to meet with the kind of catastrophe that haunts the dreams of all spacemen.

  Kwango’s voice broke the spell. “Commander, you all right?”

  Conrad shook himself out of his reverie. For ail he knew, the disaster had happened thousands of years ago; but the sense of tragedy was timeless.

  “Yes, I’m all right. This vessel presents no threat. Something—or someone—has punched a bloody great hole —two bloody great holes—through its vitals… I’d like to explore it thoroughly. But if I get drawn into that caper, we are going to lose a lot of precious time. U.N. is paying us to prove Tantalus. Now that I have satisfied myself that this thing is harmless, we’ll get on with our work. If Tantalus doesn’t turn out to be too rough, and if any potential saboteurs don’t start tossing spanners when we are not looking, maybe there will be the opportunity to come upstairs again.”

  Kwango laughed. “Or the horse may talk,” he said obscurely.

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Nothing, Boss. Just a private joke.”

  Conrad glanced once more at the scene of desolation. “Tell the joke, Kurt. I’m in a mood for funnies.”

  “O.K. Boss. Several centuries ago, there was this King Louis of France, which is a country on that offshore island to Britain they call Eurasia. Well, King Louis had heard there was some guy who had the fluence and could make animals speak. Louis didn’t believe this too much, but he had a favourite horse and he thought it would be fun to hear its opinions about this and that. So he had this guy brought to him and said: They tell me you make animals talk. Make my horse talk. How much time do you need?”

  “Now this guy knew he didn’t really have the fluence. But he was afraid the king might get real mad if he confessed. So he said: I need one year, Majesty.”

  “Hokay, said the king. One year it is. If the horse talks you hit the jack-pot. If it doesn’t you are in dead trouble. And how do you like that?”

  “When the king had dismissed him, th
is guy went home and told his buddy about the situation. The buddy was all shook up. He said: Look, friend, I know you can’t do it, and you know you can’t do it. The shit is going to hit the fan. But the guy who was supposed to have the fluence gave a big smile and said: A lot can happen in a year, friend. I may die, or Louis may die—or the horse may talk.”

  Conrad laughed. “I take the point. We have one planetary cycle to prove Tantalus.”

  “That’s it, Boss. And if we don’t get knocked off, let us hope the horse talks.”

  “Get some lager nice and cool. I’m jetting back… And get Matthew to start the resuscitation sequences for Khelad, Uhlmann and Zonis—in that order. Now we know we are not going to be zapped by an alien egg, we had better try to find out which—if any—of our chilled comrades harbours animosity.”

  “Decision noted,” said Kwango. “Execution proceeds.”

  Phase Five ENIGMA VARIATION THE SECOND

  The six Expendables were in the Santa Maria’s saloon. The meal had been excellent, and Conrad has ensured that plenty of wine and spirits were available. He wanted everyone—particularly the three who had recently emerged from suspended animation—to feel relaxed. He noted with relief that Ahmed Khelad, though a Muslim, was not averse to alcohol. If Khelad was the bad boy, booze might relax him sufficiently to make a small mistake.

  “I give you a toast,” said Conrad. “Let us drink to Alexei, who will take—as they say—new heart when we touch down on Tantalus and Lieutenant Smith can operate.”

  “To Alexei!” Everyone drank, and everyone was slightly smashed. But Conrad was not too smashed to notice that Ruth Zonis managed to squirt most of her brandy over her face. There were roars of laughter. Khelad, on the other hand, took his brandy like a spaceman to the manner born. Lisa Uhlmann swallowed hers with ferocious intensity.

  “Ahmed,” Conrad affected surprise, “I thought your religion forbade the taking of liquor.”

  Khelad smiled. “Allah has given me a special dispensation. I shall not be denied my quota of houris in Paradise.”

  “I presume the dispensation is for services rendered—or about to be rendered.”

  “Yes, effendi. For services rendered or about to be rendered.”

  Ahmed Khelad was slender, wiry, good-looking. No doubt, thought Conrad, he could be a big hit with women —when he wanted to be.

  “Some of your fellow Arabs are not as broadminded as you, Ahmed,” said Conrad. “Not only do they stick to the letter of the Koran, but they disapprove of new worlds being opened up for mankind. They think the money should be spent raising their standard of living.”

  Khelad shrugged. “It is a point of view… You must know, Commander, that many of the peoples of Islam are conservative in their ideas. That is not, perhaps, an entirely bad thing.”

  Ruth Zonis was either very pissed or very good at seeming to be very pissed. She tossed her long, black hair and gazed at Khelad with wide expressive eyes. “We know all about the conservative attitudes of the Arabs,” she said thickly. “For centuries your people marked time. They did little or nothing with their land and little or nothing with their culture. Then, when Israel started to turn the desert green, your Islamic friends got all hot and bothered. They tried to push the Israelis into the sea and turn fertile land back into desert.” She laughed. “It was a big mistake. You only outnumbered us ten to one. So there was no real problem.”

  Ahmed gazed at her coolly. “That is ancient history. We have all progressed since then. Ruth, you are beautiful, you are intelligent, and you are a Jewess. I have no quarrel with you. I will drink to the future of Israel. Is that enough to make us friends?”

  Zonis raised her glass also. “It is enough to stop us being enemies.”

  Lisa Uhlmann said: “You are not being very gracious, Ruth. Let us drink also to all Third World countries— which have been used as pawns for too long in the interminable chess game between the U.S.A. and the Soviet Union.”

  Conrad glanced at Lieutenant Smith and Kwango. Indira, one eyebrow raised, was looking at Lisa Uhlmann. Kwango looked benignly at Khelad.

  “My great-great grandfather’s ghost,” said Kwango, “has just reminded me that the Arabs once sold my people into slavery.”

  “That is perfectly true, Kurt,” said Ahmed. “It is also true that Commander Conrad’s ancestors exploited my people, your people, and Lieutenant Smith’s people. Can we not forget the past?”

  Conrad saw that tempers were rising. Should he cool it or not cool it? He decided to cool it. Surely any potential saboteur was not going to allow himself or herself to be exposed by taunting.

  “I’m about to play the heavy,” he said. “All previous statements are cancelled. The message is this: we are all human beings, and our task is to prove Tantalus fit for colonization by human beings, whether they are Israeli, Arab, Negro, Indian or whatever. So the final toast is mankind—may it flourish and prosper… And after you have squirted the last of the brandy, kindly remember that you are all Expendables. We are going to prove this planet. Some of us may die in the process. But we are going to score for stupid old homo sapiens.”

  “I’ll drink to stupid old homo sapiens” said Lieutenant

  Smith. “He may come in assorted colours and sizes, but his blood is always red.”

  Conrad finished his brandy. “Now, I’ll tell you why we have had this extra booze ration. We are going to begin to work good and hard. Khelad, Zonis and Uhlrriann have been out of S.A. long enough to adjust. As you know, while you were still in the cooler, we discovered the existence of this huge derelict vessel and had to use some previous time proving it represented no threat. However the fact that it was holed by something big gives cause for concern. It is remotely possible that the missile originated on Tantalus. The information the robot probe brought back to Earth is not sufficient to preclude this idea. All it told us was that Tantalus is Earth-type, with an Earth-type biosphere based on the carbon cycle and with an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere. The data the probe gave up suggested—but did not prove—that there was no technologically-based civilization. No radio emissions were registered, nor was there any indication of any kind of electric power or atomic energy. The probe could not even determine what substance the rings were made of.

  So we are left with this situation: there is in eccentric orbit one vast disabled star-ship, dirtside there are five enigmatic rings, each about five kilometres in diameter, horizontally placed in a kind of clearing, geometrically related to each other in an exact pentagon on Continent A. Continent B has no rings. Continent C has no rings. The numerous islands and archipelagos have no rings… So, before we touch down on Continent A to investigate the ring system, we are going into low-level orbit. We are going to check and recheck the data given by the probe.

  “Six hours from now, I intend to transfer the Santa Maria from its present one thousand kilometres orbit to an orbit of two hundred and fifty kilometres altitude. The vessel will be skating just above the extreme limits of the atmosphere, so we shall not be able to stay long without further power manoeuvres.

  “I anticipate remaining in the two-fifty slot for about twenty orbits. During that time we will exercise full telemetry and we will also have two people constantly on watch on the nav deck. Three of us are veterans, three of us are newcomers. We will pair appropriately. I will stand watch with Khelad. Lieutenant Smith will stand watch with Ulhmann. Kwango will stand watch with Zonis.”

  There was a brief silence. Then Ahmed Khelad said softly: “Commander, cannot the robots perform the routine task of observation?”

  Conrad met his gaze. “No, Khelad. They will be concerned with telemetry and the safety of the vessel. Also, we need to form our own impression of the world we are about to invade.”

  Phase Six ISRAELI LOGIC

  The Santa Maria had completed twenty-five orbits when Conrad decided that it was time to touch-down. During that time, he had worked the new Expendables hard. Apart from keeping watch and taking strenuous exercise in th
e workout chamber, then had to collate and interpret the data supplied by the magnetometric, infra-red and telephoto search systems. Deliberately and systematically, he irritated them by making them carry out tasks that could have been accomplished faster and more efficiently by the computer or even by the robots. When Uhlmann protested, he piled on the pressure, inventing useless routine checks and going through all the safety drill procedures that had been built in as conditioned reflexes in the basic training programme back on Terra.

  He did not spare himself or Lieutenant Smith or Kwango, since it was necessary to keep the others under continuous surveillance.

  At length, after poring for what seemed like endless hours over magnetometric print-out that the computer would have interpreted in minutes, Ruth Zonis, red-eyed, came to the nav deck while Conrad and Khelad were on watch.

  “May I have a private talk with you, Commander?”

  “Is it likely to take long?” Conrad glanced through the nav deck observation panel. The Santa Maria was passing over nightside. There was little to be seen with the naked eye except the faint glow of moonlight on great oceans, between the whorls of cloud formations. But the infra-red monitor showed a radically different picture.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Conrad turned to Khelad. “How about stretching your legs for five minutes, Ahmed. O.K.?”

  “O.K., Commander.” He smiled at Ruth Zonis. “I hope you are not breaking up, Ruth. It’s a tough programme the Commander has devised for us. Something tells me it may get even harder.”

  “Israelis do not break very easily,” she retorted. “You, of all people, should know that.”