Complete Fiction (Jerry eBooks)

by Fox B. Holden

  Back to double. Now times twelve.

  Six was screaming. Seven started humming, and Cragin felt his clothes beginning to stick to his back. By himself, he’d never had more than seven comps to fly on, and had never taken the risk of flying past breakdown. That was suicide. The SP-15 had been fitted with ten as he had ordered. According to the books, if you tried to use more than that, the circuits in One would burn up. Nobody, except Fowler Griffin and his daughter, had ever tried past seven except himself. The risk wasn’t worth what you got out of it, and listening to a bunch of comps getting ready to blow themselves to hell didn’t net you anything but a bad heart.

  Eight came on. One began to glow. Cragin knew he either had to break communications silence or kick himself clear into eternity.

  His thumb slipped on the mike switch. His fingers felt like wet sticks, and the mike was cold and greasy to his touch.

  “Calling you Starwasp calling you. This is Cragin, Space Intelligence on a CB. On your track at 900,000 your six o’clock level. Let me hear you, Miss Griffin.”

  There wasn’t any answer and he tried again. Nine was humming. “I’ve orders to burn you up if you refuse to acknowledge. Ack please.” He tried to keep his voice flat and machine-like so he wouldn’t give himself away, but he sounded like an hysterical schoolgirl compared to the voice that answered him. It was that of a woman; a woman who might have died and shriveled in the deserts a hundred years ago.

  “FOLLOW me, Patrolman, if you have the courage. Turn back if you’d rather be safe to choke your life away on the sterile place you call home. There’s a lot of room beyond the Barrier, but little for men who worship merely their own perfection and stay blind to problems “which they cannot solve. Or go ahead and burn me up if you think it will be of some help to you.”

  “Starwasp!” He felt like a rank recruit. But Nine was beginning to shrill. She was goading him, challenging his courage, daring him to burn her when she knew that by so doing he’d defeat his own purpose. “You contraband? I’ll give you ten seconds to answer.” He was being ridiculous; had mishandled the whole thing. What the hell was the matter with him? She was stalling him, making a fool of him, until his comptometers couldn’t take it any more.

  “There is more that is contraband where I’m going than you dream of.”

  “Where you bound?”

  “The X ecliptic. Before he died, Powder Griffin found it. He found the single machine-planet that circles within it. I expect to join him there.”

  “Miss Griffin . . .”

  “I’ve told you enough. Among the people of Earth there’s too much apathy already; my story would only make it worse. Follow me if you want to, burn me up or turn back otherwise. But make up your mind.”

  “It’s made up!” Cragin barked back.

  “I—” He wondered what she meant by the machine-planet and by the X ecliptic. That was what Kirkholland had said something about. And he wondered about the other things she said. Earth was a sterile place . . .

  “Since I only have ten comptometers, I—”

  “That’s all I have,” came back.

  And, in the last analysis, he would be safe just to choke his life away. . . .

  “My ten is beginning to hum already—”

  “So is mine.”

  And maybe the people of Earth were stuck on themselves just a little. . . .

  “OK, I’ll follow.”

  “You’ll have to now!”

  And they were apathetic, just sitting back, waiting, telling themselves that all had been done that was possible to do. Because they had done it.

  “Velocity needle’s going crazy—”

  She didn’t answer again, and Ten was screaming so he couldn’t have heard her if she had. Maybe two minutes until it broke up in his face.

  The needle went wild. It hit—just where the original Griffin flight-plan had ended—light-speed squared! And then it fell off. And Ten cut out, and so did Nine, Eight, Seven . . . Six—Five. Four hummed evenly. And Cragin knew that he’d never forget that impossible series of critical speeds for what remained of his life. Wherever they were, it was within seconds of the absolute . . . a second Barrier, Cragin thought, which existed simply because men didn’t know how to devise a way to go any further. But—

  “You’re in X ecliptic now,” Lin Griffin’s voice told him. But it was a different voice than it had been before. There was something new in it. Something Cragin couldn’t find a word for. “Within it, you’ll find flight conditions very similar to those of ordinary Deep Space. In a few minutes, you’ll be able to pick up the machine-planet in your electroscopes. That’s where we’re going. Unless you want to turn back. You can, now that you know how the warp pattern works.”

  “Trying to shake me?” His hands weren’t slippery any more. “I won’t shake. You’re taking me straight to the boss or I’m placing you under arrest. I remind you that the Patrol’s jurisdiction extends to wherever is space one of its ships may fly. Acknowledge please.”

  He felt a sudden, uncomfortable warmth in his cheeks when she laughed. It was a light, almost merry thing. She was doing it again!

  “Wherever I am, I rule, is that it?”

  “In effect, yes. And—”

  “There is no head man, no leader of a giant smuggling ring where I’m going, Patrolman. Just—” Her voice tapered off; the laugh was gone. “I will be easy to follow,” she said.

  The planet toward which they flew—Cragin could see it easily now in the electroscopes, although he could see no other and the ’scope seemed to draw what stars there were no nearer—was hardly half the size of the moon of earth. It glowed, somehow radiating a pale phosphorescence of its own, and its surface seemed entirely without configuration. Completely smooth, unmarked even by stray chunks of hurtling cosmic waste. It was in a definite orbit, yet around—nothing. It circled in an ecliptic described in three dimensions; they were no longer flying a tight rope, and the comps were quiet. Yet it was an ecliptic that men had never found. Except for Powder Griffin. As though reading his thoughts, his daughter spoke.

  “You wonder where its center is. It has a center. What did you say your name was? Cragin. It has a center, Cragin. Around which it has revolved for untold millenia. Only by accident, while he was searching for an almost negligible mass error in one of his computations, did my father discover that this ecliptic must exist, and must contain at least one revolving body. He found it. He determined its orbit. He found that the solar system itself is the center of the machine planet’s orbit. It has neither aphelion nor perihelion, nor does its ecliptic ever shift. It is always perfect.”

  “I could almost believe you lady if you told me somebody had made it. But you’ll never—”

  “Somebody did.”

  “You mean your father—”

  “My father discovered its presence, Cragin. I helped him with the latter stages of his calculations; accompanied him out here. He discovered its presence and he discovered its function. And they—”

  “Function? You mean it’s a mine of some sort? Water crystal?”

  “No, Cragin. It wasn’t built to serve men. It rules them. For want of a better term, call it a control point. Because the machine-planet has absolute control over the axial rotation and orbital revolution of every planet in the solar system; over the heat emitted from its sun; over the physical laws which are peculiar to each of its planets. Father was trying to learn how to use it. He thought if he could discover how it worked he could readjust Earth, replenish the sun, remake—”

  “I don’t believe you, Lin Griffin. It’s a ruse—”

  “I will show you the mark where he died. They killed him, and let me go, half-crazed as I was, to keep men forever in fear of passing through the Barrier. I think they underestimate us psychologically, and that is why—”

  “They? Who?” Cragin cut in, disbelief still welling in his brain, edging the tone of his voice.

  “The—Owners, I call them, Cragin. They told us they own the uni
verse.”

  III

  IT WAS as gray as the sand-blown skies of Earth in every direction; once past its artificial veil of luminescence, the machine-planet was a colder, more sterile thing than the widest valley on the dark side of the moon. His mind refused to believe what it knew to be true—that the surface of the sphere was hard, unyielding metal, worked in some gigantic factory on some impossible world to an almost frictionless smoothness. After he touched down, Cragin had to keep his forward jets checked in at almost ten times their normal landing thrust to bring the SP-15 to a skittering halt.

  Quickly he donned magnetic boots, space helmet and suit, and buckled two short-barreled Krell guns around his waist. They were loose in his holsters as he clattered toward the opening airlock of the Starwasp. He opened up the suit’s intercom.

  “Just keep your hands at your sides.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m here to do a job, not play Junior SP-man. If you want to help me, I can use you. If not, just keep out of my way.”

  “Miss Griffin, I—” But Cragin let the words trail off because he knew that for the first time in his life, he was out of his element True, he was in an unknown Space on an unknown sphere, as he’d been too many times before to count—but this was somehow different. And Lin Griffin knew more answers than he did. He thought about showing her the small white rectangle of enamelite that Kirkholland had given him, but it would make him more the fool. She knew what he was; she had not defied his authority. She had not actually tried to evade him. She had simply talked him into something and he didn’t know what it was. Believing her was his fault.

  He followed her about a quarter mile over the smooth metal plain until she stopped before a ragged mar that had been forcefully seared into its surface by a dis-torch. Cragin saw what it was; it was a cross. The girl paused a moment.

  He had never seen anyone bow their head to pray before. He stood silent.

  Finally all she said was, “Someday I’ll make them tell me what they did with him.”

  “All right. Let’s get on with it. Where to now?”

  “Not far.”

  It was only a hundred yards further that they stopped; this time the sear in the hard metal was shapeless, not as deep as the one before and obviously more hastily made. She fumbled in the pocket of her suit, and by instinct, Cragin’s hands fell lightly over the butts of his guns. She produced a small, circular thing, pushed a catch on its side, and placed it near the ragged burn.

  “A vibrokey,” she said matter of factly. “Something father devised. You can find anything with it, once you know the object’s vibration pattern. And you can open anything with it. It experiments with all possible combinations of magnitudes and speeds of vibrations, until it simply hits the particular pattern needed. Without it I would never have found the burns I left, and without it we wouldn’t get in. Father said it could shake a whole building down . . .”

  Within seconds a panel less than a meter square slid back, and he and the girl were beneath it. Then it was closing. There was a passageway of some sort with a totally invisible source of illumination. Almost like what he’d run across beneath the abandoned gold mines on Venus, except. . . .

  “Now we have to move quickly,” Lin interrupted his thoughts. “We have very little time. They know we’re here.”

  “I didn’t hear—”

  “THEY know. Down this way.” There was another burn, this time on the wall of the long, gently twisting tube. It hurt his eyes; it was like walking down a huge, brightly-polished gun barrel, except that it was not quite straight, and it was hard to tell just when it turned.

  “Can you do what your father failed to do?” Cragin said. He asked only to hear his own voice; it gave him at least a finger-hold on reality.

  “Perhaps, if there is time. I did not waste those weeks in the hospital.”

  A panel telescoped silently into itself. It opened on a cylindrical chamber that had seemingly been made of a single sheet of metal, so flawlessly had the banks of control boards which it contained been built into it. The soft green-blue glow with which the chamber was suffused was generated by an ingredient of the metal itself.

  Circling the room at about shoulder height was a continuous row of what were obviously telescreens; below and above them were the banks of machines which were constructed according to an electro-mechanical concept with which Cragin was totally unfamiliar. According to Earth standards, it was so much junk, a distorted caricature of scientific equipment.

  And in the center of the chamber, just at eye level, was what Cragin knew must be the “brain” of the entire assembly. A cylinder within a cylinder, its inner workings thoroughly screened by a shifting yet motionless opalescence through which he could not see. What lied in the heart of the thing would be as completely beyond his knowledge as were the visible machines over which it was master.

  The girl watched him as his eyes remained fixed on it. “It’s the power source, as far as we could determine. For everything.”

  “For the entire planet.”

  “For the entire solar system.”

  “Sure, but not today.”

  “Not only for today, but for all time. Gravity, warp, everything. If you don’t believe me, try explaining the difference between Space as it exists inside and outside the Barrier sometime. Those—” she gestured toward the upper row’s of machines, “control the power. When you know how to manipulate them, you can move any body within the system at will—in any direction, at any speed. The sun itself, if you want to.”

  “All right, I’ll admit it’s smooth,” Cragin said. His hands went to his hips, resting just an inch or so above the butts of his Krells.

  “You’re a fantastic man, Cragin.”

  “I—” and he laughed a little. “The trouble is, Miss Griffin, you people just never know when to quit. The average Patrol officer may not have much imagination; police never were supposed to have. It’s true if you spin a good enough yarn to begin with, you might get away with it. But if you take it too far—well, it’s sort of like overacting a part. The audience just doesn’t believe it any more. You might almost have convinced me, I’ll admit. But as it is—”

  His words were falling uselessly about him. Lin Griffin had begun her work near the largest of the telescreens. In a moment she had made it come alive, and in a moment more Cragin was watching the entire system. She made another adjustment, and he was watching Earth alone. A second later, he was watching Earth, Venus and Mercury in their stolid journeys around the sun.

  Something that sounded very much like a comptometer was whining somewhere, and he watched as the girl began working a three dimensional orbit plot.

  Cragin didn’t interrupt. He knew that had he been sure that she was trying desperately to bluff out a well-staged fake, he would have stopped the whole performance but there was something in the way she had turned from him, had simply started at her work.

  “I could take a chance now,” she said suddenly. “Do you think I should take a chance, Cragin?” She looked full at him. Whatever she was talking about, he knew she was not kidding.

  “Chance? I’m just a dumb cop, remember?”

  “I think I could move it. I think Eve uncovered the secret of at least Earth’s orbit and axis control. It’s the balance resultants that worry me . . . and if I were wrong—”

  “According to you, Earth is a dead duck anyway, princess. So go ahead and make a mistake. You fast-talked me into tailing you here. Or I fast-talked myself. But according to your story, you can move the whole damn system and make it grow little men with big ears right from this cozy little spot. O.K. I’m watching.”

  The look in her eyes said she thought of him as something only a little more than a Venusian crag lizard, and then as her hand moved toward a console of circuit stabilizers, the look changed. Her hand stopped where it was.

  “You haven’t been any help so far. I brought you because there was no getting rid of you. But Patrolman, right now we’ve got trouble. Do you
r duty or something—”

  The voice simply said,

  “You did not obey.”

  Cragin spun around, the Krell barrels coming level. But he found himself completely helpless to press their switches. The mind that had spoken within his own had taken control.

  WHAT Cragin saw was like a man. The similarity continued beyond the shape and size of body; it went further to his dress, and there it stepped backward in time. The wide shoulders supported a cloak of so dark a hue that its outlines seemed to become a part of the space around it; the large, perfectly proportioned body beneath them bore with the same arrogance a uniform of deep scarlet mail which seemed to shimmer although its wearer stood immobile. He wore no space-helmet, nor any weapon that Cragin could see.

  You have tampered with a work of the Owners,” the voice said, “and have thereby broken their law.” His cloak alone moved, as though sheltering a statue in a pre-storm breeze.

  “That takes a death penalty in your book I suppose,” Cragin said.

  “There is another kind?”

  “It’s a cinch you never heard of civilized society. If there’s anything we’ve got, it’s lots of different penalties. But we’ve got our share of death, too. Ask goldilocks here.”

  “Death is nothing new to the people of Earth,” the girl said evenly. “Nor are penalties.”

  “Yet you defied the warning.”

  “Because it might have meant life to us.”

  “Life and death are not yours to direct,” the voice said. “That lies solely with the Owners. That is universal.”

  “By what universal right?” The girl’s voice rose to the pitch of half anger, half contempt.

  “How?” Cragin’s voice was touched with the mixed overtones of curiosity and incredulity.