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slipped in through the tube, then frowned at the circuits and apparatus bolted
onto the walls of the tiny cabin.
He turned on the screen, punched up the inspection menu and began running
through the tests.
On the bridge an alarm sounded hoarsely and a series of numbers began marching
across the watch operator's screen. The political commander came and looked
over his
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"What does it mean?" he asked.
"We've crossed their detection web, probably the outermost one from Earth."
"Then they know we're here?"
"Not necessarily. We're on the plane of the ecliptic
"Translation?"
"The imaginary plane, the level on which all of the planets in the solar
system ride. Also all of the meteororic debris. We're too far out for them to
have caught any radiation from the ship so we're just another hunk of
spacejunk, a ferrous meteor. Now. The web's alerted to us and more apparatus
will be trained in our direction. Laser, radar, whatever they have. At least
it should work like that.
We'll find out soon. We're recording all their signals. When we get back we'll
have a record of everything. When it's analyzed we'll know a good deal more
about how their setup works."
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When, the political commander thought, not ij~ Nothing wrong with the morale.
But there was another half to this mission. The virus strike. He looked at the
time readout and called through to the scout ship.
"We're entering the red zone now. Less than half an hour to separation. How
are you doing?"
"Just finishing up. As soon as I clear this program I'll join you.
"Good. I want you to...
"Pulsed radar locked onto us!" the watch operator called out. "They know we're
here." An auxiliary screen lit up near his elbow and he pointed to the
readout. "Our reflectors have been launched. So where they had one blip on
their screens before they now have a half dozen all the same, but separating
at different speeds on different courses.
"They won't know which one is the real ship?"
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"Not at the moment. But they know what we've done and they'll start analyzing
course predictions, forward and back in time. They'll spot the real one. But
by the time their computers have worked that out, ours will have initiated
other defenses. It's a good program. Written by the best physicists and
comptechs."
The political commander was less than reassured by the operator's reasoning.
He did not like to think that his life depended on the non-random dispersal of
magnetic charges and electrons that made up the program. Playing an
intellectual game with the enemy computers. He looked out at the tiny sparks
of the stars, the growing disc of the Earth, and tried to imagine the web of
light beams and radio waves surging around them. He could not. He had to take
it on faith that they were there and working at speeds infinitely beyond his
own. A human being could not fight a battle in space. The machines did that.
The crew were just captive spectators. His hands were clenched tightly behind
his back, though he was not aware of it.
There was a series of stiiall thudding sounds, more felt than heard, followed
by an explosion that actually shook the deck beneath his feet.
"We've been hit!" he called out unthinkingly.
"Not yet." The watch operator glanced at his screens. 'All of our remaining
dupes and reflectors have been launched, then the scout ship. Mission
accomplished-but now we have to get out of here. Fusion drive cut... space
drive circuits now energized.
As soon as the gravity fields allow we'll be on our way.
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The political commander's eyes widened at a sudden thought; he turned sharply
about.
"Where's Blakeney?" he called out. But no one on the bridge had heard him.
They were counting the seconds, waiting for the missiles that must have surely
been launched in their direction.
The political commander felt a sudden arrow of despair. He knew where Blakeney
was.
He had been right, absQlutely right! And they called themselves comptechs.
They couldn't write a program to win at tic-tac-toe. Orbital mechanics, fine,
simple trig and geometry and calculus. Child's play. But comparison plane
orientation was apparently well beyond them.
Blakeney watched with satisfaction for less than a second while the cursor on
the computer roved all over the highly amplified image of Earth-then froze on
the great sweep of a circular storm over Europe. He switched on the override
and put his finger on the screen, on the only bit of Australia clear of the
cloud cover of a tropical storm. When the glowing blob of the cursor jumped to
this spot he typed in
POSITIVE IDENTIFICATION and took his finger away. At least the moronic thing
could be counted upon to stay there once orientated.
None too early. The engine note changed as the course shifted, just moments
later.
Good. He followed the program display, then unlocked the launching switch as
they hurtled toward the top of the atmosphere, ready to release manually if
there were any more difficulties.
There were none. At the same instant that zero appeared on the screen the
ejection mechanism thudded heavily. As the ship arced slowly away to avoid the
outer traces of atmosphere, the heavy ceramic container was hurtling toward
Earth. He knew what would be happening next; this thing at least had been well
designed. Layer after layer of ablative material would burn away as it
impacted on the thickening air. It
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logy%20(UC).txt would grow hot-and slow down-with the frozen virus locked
safely into the cryogenic flask inside. Then a layer of ceramic would fall
away to reveal an opening for the air to enter, to impact on a pressure gauge
inside.
At exactly 10,769 meters, in the middle of the jet stream, the explosive
charge would explode releasing the contents of the flask.
The wind would carry the virus across Australia, perhaps to New Zealand as [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]