E c tubb, p.10
E C Tubb, page 10
He spoke to the engine room. "Asner, any indication as to cause of movement?"
"No, sir. No registered fluctuations of power. Hydee functioning as anticipated."
More negative data -- but the fact remained that the _Odile_ had moved. Or had been moved.
Varl leaned back and opened the screens to stare at the gray nothingness of hyperspace, the empty void that rested in nonspace beyond the known universe.
He remembered the thought which had struck him back in Polar North: not _beyond -- between!_
A space between actual dimensions in which vessels could travel, or be lost and drift for eons as Kreutzal might now be drifting. A region which could hold its own kind of life.
"Commander?" Enca was coldly formal, her face a mask as she stared from the screen. "Permission to speak?"
"Go ahead."
"I've information which could be relevant to the present situation. Ship's council?"
The _Odile_ was on emergency alert and officers could not be spared for discussion, yet only a fool would refuse to listen to something which could affect the safety of his command.
"We'll use a restricted channel," Varl said. "Five minutes."
The five minutes were used to check the instruments and the condition of the vessel. Nothing was found, not even a small leak that would be expected from an impact with an external object. The reason for the sudden jerks remained a mystery.
Erica spoke from her segment of the divided screen. "I believe the new emissions of Lydon's machine had a contributory effect to what happened. The proximity is too close for it to have been wholly coincidental."
"Why not?" Stacey shook his head. "I was taking a blood sample at the time -- that could have had just a great effect."
"No!"
"Following your line of reasoning, Erica -- yes." Varl cut short the argument. "Asner assures me there was no effect on the hydee from the emissions." He looked at Mboto's face on the screen, at the hand lifted for attention. "Sam?"
"I think Major Borken could be right. No one has said the PEAP affects the hydee, but the main reason for its being aboard is to lure whatever it was that destroyed the _Lewanna_."
"Attacked, not destroyed, but I get your point." Varl paused. "So?"
"The new emissions could have tipped the balance." Mboto paused. "I think that whatever we came out here to find moved the _Odile_."
Whatever it was had moved the ship as a man would casually swat at a fly, throwing it off-flight with the wind created by the passage of his hand.
Varl checked the instruments and the gray mist of hyperspace, and saw nothing he had not noted before. If the enemy was out there it was invisible. If it decided to strike, they would have no warning.
"Suggestions?"
"As I see it we have a choice," Owen said. "If that thing is out there, we can go in and fight or wait to get smeared. I vote for the first option."
"Go in? How?" Machen pursed his lips. "Fire blind, you mean?"
"We could be lucky at that," Stacey said. "Like blasting a gnat out of the air with a rifle."
Owen took him seriously. "Not a rifle. We'll use the multifire cannon and flash lasers to cover the entire area around the ship."
"A shotgun then, better?" Stacey continued the irony. "One loaded with dust."
"Knock it off, Hans." Asner had little sympathy with the doctor. "Owen's right as far as he goes. I don't know about the rest, but I've had enough of acting as a sitting target. Keep it up and I'll want to go home."
"That sounds like a good idea," Stacey said. "If it comes to a vote I'm for it."
"There'll be no voting." Varl looked at the faces on the screen. "And we aren't here to talk about quitting, either. Who agrees with Erica that the PEAP's new emissions drew the thing to the _Odile_?"
"We haven't moved since it was switched off." Mboto lifted a hand. "I agree."
So did the others. Stacey, more reluctant, added the final agreement. "So the bait works. What now?"
"We use it." Varl held their attention. "Man all guns, Owen. Check loading and use reserve crews.
All suited. Battle order."
"Right, Commander!"
"All crew on alert. Battle stations. Erica, you seem sensitive to the new emissions. Stand by the PEAP and activate on order." Varl glanced at his instruments, and the winking telltales. "Ten minutes from now. Mark!"
They had ten minutes to climb into the metal and fabric of protective suits, to check air and radios, seals and equipment; if the hull was penetrated, they would have a second line of defense. The gunners
had ten minutes to take up their stations and check their weapons, and to slip into the routine instilled by harsh training. In those ten minutes, the maintenance crews assembled, the life-support systems were segregated, the essentials were spread out and safeguarded.
The _Odile_ was a world, and without it her crew would die.
In the engine room, Erica stared at the PEAP.
The machine stood quiescent now, the protrusions stilled, the magic sleeping beneath the dust covers. Like a modem wizard, Lydon stood at the side of his creation. "Now?"
"Not yet." Erica glanced at her watch. "Kurt will give the signal."
"And then?" He bit his lip as she shrugged. "And if nothing?"
"We try again. Stand by now. Ready?"
The signal came; he threw the switches and the PEAP hummed again into life.
And then came the waiting.
Held fast in the confines of her turret, Lille Finch felt the touch of invisible eyes and her skin crawled to the caress of ghostly fingers. She felt unclean. In the gray mist of hyperspace filling her sighting screen, she could see the writhing movements of abandonment as hinted bodies performed an ancient ritual.
There were other pictures: men who leered, women who invited, postures, gestures, poses of unmistakable meaning.
An incident in her childhood, which even the psychiatrists had not been able to wholly eradicate, had left her with a revulsion against sex induced by pain and fear. Later she had been soothed with the comforts of an esoteric order but their good intentions had done nothing but aggravate the initial trauma.
They had found the men and treated them but the scars remained; the victim was to be punished over and over for having been a victim.
The old trauma sprang again to full and repulsive life in the realm of her innermost mind. "No!" The plea was sub-vocalized, unheard by ears other than her own. "No, please don't! Don't! Don't! _Mama mia,_ don't! Holy Mother, don't!"
Seated at her gun, staring into the gray mist filled with memories, she felt her hands tighten on the controls, on the trigger which could release death.
Joe Manfield sang as he nursed his laser. A good weapon, sharp, accurate, devastating, it was a sword of fire with which to banish all evil from the world. Retribution would come to the alien monstrosities, and after, bathed in the smoking blood of his victim, he would relish the spoils victory would bring.
He thought of the blonde with the long, lovely legs and the -- but no, she was for the captain. He remembered the small brunette who had given him the eye on more than one occasion -- their watches had clashed and they had never had the chance to be wholly alone, but that would change, he promised himself. Life was nothing without love and nothing was more pleasurable than the act of creation.
Later. Later he would have it all.
Busily he checked his gimbals and sights and switches, the laser a warm and palpitating woman beneath his hands.
At his station in a passage, Arnold Valdemar looked at a wall and in it imagined cracks and ragged fissures and sawtoothed openings. The damage could become real, and when it did he would be busy with paste and plates and rapid-hardening foam, sealing the wall so it would hold in the air. There would be blood on the edges and beyond could lie a trapped and wounded comrade, but his duty was clear --
the sacrifice would have to be made, and he would not shirk from the necessity. Blood and pain and the fury of death, all were part of the vibrant nature of life, and he would be one with it in this work of bringing humanity to the stars. In the wall a woman smiled at him and winked, and then vanished as all ghosts vanish to leave only painful memories of what might have been.
At the controls, Varl checked his instruments. Waiting was always the hard part, but there was nothing to do but wait, to sit and watch and check and recheck and listen to the hum of reports. He could feel the mass and bulk of the ship as if it were an extension of his own body -- he could feel the danger, as he waited for the touch of hot iron, the burn, the sear, the agonizing pain.
How long must he wait?
The PEAP had been operating for almost an hour. When the new emissions had first been projected, the _Odile_ had moved almost at once. Varl had a mental picture of a hand swatting at a fly; darting beyond easy reach, the fly again would attract with its buzz the punishing blow.
How big did that hand have to be to swat a ship the size of his command?
The ship lurched. "Commander!" Machen's voice was high with tension. "The ship! lt -- "
"I know. All stations prepare for attack!"
The enemy had arrived.
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*CHAPTER 16*
THE attack came with a twisting that tore at the stomach, a sickening vertigo, a scream drowned in the sudden pulse of guns.
"All turrets open fire!" Varl snapped the order as he checked the instruments, hands darting to the controls. "Torps -- loose!"
Missiles tipped with atomic warheads blasted from their housings to destroy -- what?
The gray of hyperspace showed nothing, yet again the _Odile_ lurched, plates creaking, lights flickering as the scream of the hydee rose even louder. The sound was impossible; electromagnetic forces did not scream no matter how abused, yet the machine shrieked like an injured horse as the ship shuddered at the sudden impact of blasting radiation.
"Port foreturret out of action." Owen's voice was calm as he made the report. "Port midturret damaged. Radiation burning of port side. Hull penetrated at lower section."
"Air loss from lower port hull compartment seventeen." A new voice, equally calm. "Power lost from sections three and seven."
"Life support lost in compartments twelve through nineteen." The voice held a touch of panic.
"Casualties in compartment fifteen -- my God, I can hear them screaming!"
"Erica! Relieve that woman! Owen, cease firing torps. All turrets concentrate on flash-laser fire.
Maintenance! Get those damned leaks sealed!" Varl fed more power to the hydee, overriding Asner's control. The shriek, rising higher, turned into a cutting edge that slashed at his ears. The sound muted as he snapped shut his helmet. "All crew total seal. Repeat. Total seal."
The battle web replaced the previous communications channel. Small, ghostlike voices whispered from the radio in his helmet, reporting.
"Fire!" Owen said. "All guns keep firing. Fry the bastard before it breaks in!"
A hand swatting a fly -- could it be stung?
Varl concentrated on the controls. In hyperspace a ship was helpless to maneuver, but it seemed as if a new set of rules had been introduced which caused the hydee to scream, the ship to lurch and veer, and the blast of atomic torpedoes to be reflected back to their source.
"Asner! How's the drive?"
"In trouble. Can't you hear it?"
"Engage the enhancer. I want to try something." Varl bared his teeth as the engineer made no answer. "Can you hear me? Damn you, do as I say!"
"Enhancer engaged. Commander, if it goes then we could go with it!"
Varl was aware of the danger -- but there was little choice. His gloved hands tensed; he felt the yielding of the controls, and suddenly his mouth filled with bile. Before him the gray of hyperspace seemed to take on a deeper hue, touched with crimson and blue. The colors took on shape and form. A mountain with cratered volcanoes. Suckers, fringes, mouths, eyes. Beaks, feathers, slimed jelly all dotted with points of furious luminescence. The sky at night compressed into a closed fist. An atom expanded into a universe.
Varl closed his eyes, feeling his mind twist inside his skull as if it were a terrified animal struggling to escape. Sights and scenes beyond his comprehension turned into figments of horror by mental association
-- that was the lure of hyperspace, and its danger.
Yet over his radio he could hear the sound of delighted laughter as someone saw beauty in the mist.
"Keep firing!" Owen roared in anger. "Turret eleven! Keep firing!"
"To hurt that?" The man's voice echoed its disbelief. "You must be crazy!"
Manfield? Lomas? Vorst?
Varl was angry that he had to search for the name. "Obey orders, Manfield! Maintain fire!" he snapped.
"Go to hell!"
Later that defiance would be punished, but for now the need to survive was paramount. As the hydee screamed, the _Odile_ slued, and shuddered as again Varl operated the controls.
"Asner! More power!" If only they could increase the field, twist space, tear free from whatever held them close and forget what had happened to the _Lewanna._ "Asner!"
The speakers remained dead, and Varl jerked his chin to hit the switches set beneath the faceplate.
The new frequency produced no better result, and he guessed that either the engineer was dead or something had blocked radio communication.
"Cole!" He spun in his chair to face the officer. "Cole!"
He rose when there was no response, and almost fell when the _Odile_ jerked. Reaching Cole, he dropped a hand on the suited shoulder, and Cole reared, turning, arms lifting, face ghastly behind the transparent faceplate of his helmet.
Impatiently Varl ripped open his own helmet and smelled the odors wafting about the control room; the stench of burned insulation, seared metal, charred flesh, and the tang of blood.
"Cole!" He gestured at his open helmet and waited until the other had followed his example. "No radio," Varl snapped. "No contact. What's wrong?"
"I don't know." Cole licked his lips with the tip of his tongue. "Every band is dead. Interference, I guess. The battle web is out."
"Switch to emergency." Flare lamps, flashing in turrets and on bulkheads to spell out coded signals, were crude, but they were better than nothing. "Move!"
Cole hesitated. "Can't we duck out?"
"Move, damn you! Move!"
Cole flinched as if he had been struck and turned to his panel. As he reached to touch it he reared, back arched, arms lifted, head thrown back at an impossible angle. As Varl watched, Cole's feet left the deck and he rose to spin on his long axis, his face a mask of horror in the frame of his open helmet. He spun like a top which grew a crimson slime, then shrank to form a beach ball, a football, a tennis ball, a golf ball, a marble -- and suddenly, it was gone.
"Cole!"
The man had vanished. Varl smelled the acrid stench of blood before he slammed shut his helmet.
Back at the controls he fought to lift and turn the ship, feeling the shrieking protest of the hydee, cutting power as he tried a different tactic. They would escape, but not by running. They would escape by leaving the universe that held the threatening monster, by running back into the quiet safety of normal space.
Before him instruments flared red as the accumulated power housed in the hydee began to break free.
A torrent of energy held by invisible forces, trapped by freezing chill, streamed from the coils and crystals of the drive. So much power should not be released so quickly, and Varl fought to check the flow. Escape would be useless without an operational vessel.
Beneath his hands, transmitted by the fabric of the vessel, he felt the pulsing roar of guns as the turrets maintained their fire. The roar was ragged and he sensed gaps in the pattern, but some, at least, were still fighting back.
More red flared from the panel. And more.
"Asner!" Varl slammed his chin against switches. 'Answer man! For God's sake answer!"
The radio remained silent. But, blended with the rolling pulse of the guns, Varl felt other sounds; human screams.
He remembered the _Lewanna_.
He remembered the grotesque travesties of the human shape that had been left alive to crawl and
bleed and slip on the carmine of their fellows.
Glass smashed as he drove a fist through the panel of an emergency fitment.
The _Odile,_ at his insistence, had been fitted with a full set of remote controls. Men could die or go mad or be injured, but finally, for a while at least, one man could run the ship.
The lever Varl gripped would short-circuit the drain channel of the hydee and vent the accumulated energy into the hull. That course was dangerous and destructive, but he had no choice. They had to escape or die -- and Cole had demonstrated the manner of their passing.
With a jerk he threw the lever.
The _Odile_ reared as if alive; a horse pricked with a savage spur, a man goaded in his tender parts.
Metal winked and scintillated with transient shimmers and the gray mist of hyperspace roiled as if stirred with a monstrous spoon.
When the roiling cleared the screens showed -- madness!
Where there should have been the black emptiness of normal space, the cold shine of distant stars, there was instead a riot of color. Varl blinked and narrowed his eyes as he stared at brilliant greens and blues, yellows and flaring reds, orange and puce and lavender and scarlet. The hard white of burning magnesium mingled with the warm glow of ripe peaches, and the cool blue of summer skies mingled with the soft browns of newly turned soil and the delicate tints of autumn leaves. The screens were filled with a plethora of flamboyant hues, as if a million rainbows had joined with the spilled contents of an artist's palette.
And among the colors objects moved: a spire formed of shining crystal, something which could have been a hive, a slowly wheeling snowflake, a pyramid, a ball banded in silver and gold, polyhedrons of endless variation, cones, cubes, an amorphous mass like a sponge.
Had the _Odile_ been thrown into another dimension?
Speculation could wait. Into his radio Varl snapped, "Attention all personnel! Hear me! Attention all personnel! Respond if you can!"
