Alan E. Nourse (4 page)

The
Colonel's voice was puzzled.
"0800, day after tomorrow.
What's the matter, son?
Something wrong?"

"No—"
Tuck gritted his teeth in the face of the lie.
"Nothing
wrong.
I
've
just changed my mind, that's all.
I
've decided to go with you."

Chapter
3
The
Land
of
Incredible
Colé

n
alarm
bell clanged in Tuck's ears, and he sat bolt \\ upright, staring out
into the darkness. Then he felt his heart jump as the pilot's deep voice rang
out over the public address system: "All hands, muster in landing
quarters! Prepare ship for landing! Landing scheduled for 0900 hours—"

Tuck
snapped on the cabin wall lamp, and checked his wrist watch. It seemed as if he
had barely gotten to sleep; actually, he had slept a full eight-hour period,
and his watch read five minutes to eight.

In
an hour they would be landing! Excitedly, Tuck dressed, and then threw open the
oval-shaped lock to his father's sleeping quarters. "Come on, Dad! We're
going down in an hour!"

Colonel
Benedict was half
dressed,
his eyes still blurry from
interrupted sleep. "So I hear," he said dryly, rubbing his ear.
"I was wondering why they had those speakers built so close to the heads
of the bunks."

Tuck
took a deep breath, and lifted his feet experimentally.
"
We re
decelerating lots faster, too.
I've been
feeling like I was sliding out onto the floor for the past six hours."

The Colonel chuckled. "You get used to
it, after a while. Let's go forward. The orders for landing are very
strict—we'll have to strap down, and prepare for a good jolting."
Carefully he packed some gear into a footlocker near his bunk. "We won't
be needing
these magnetic boots any more—and you might as
well store your wrist watch out of harm's way, too. It won't do you any good,
once we land. An hour on Titan is only forty minutes long."

Tuck
stored his own gear in the footlocker, and together they started up the
corridor. There was a breath of excitement throughout the ship. Crewmen were
moving swiftly from chamber to chamber, checking the thousand details that must
be checked prior to landing operations. Far down in the rear of the ship the
engines were whining, and every so often the ship shuddered as the forward and
belly jets took hold. Tuck and the Colonel reached the landing bunks, and
settled back in the deep, spongy seats, strapping belts tightly around their
shoulders and hips as they waited for the landing hour to approach. The tedious
journey was nearly at an end.

It
had been a long trip out. Even with the powerful atomic engines to accelerate
the ship, the journey had taken over two months. For many it might have been
dull, but for Tuck it had been wonderful—two long months to become reacquainted
with his father, two months to talk, to plan, two months to get used to the
idea of once more being father and son. There had been no trouble about the
scholarship. The Institute had promised to hold it open for Tuck when he returned,
and the journey seemed almost like an incredible vacation trip.

But
the time was not spent loafing. Crates of information tapes and microfilm
spools had come aboard" the rocket before they left, and both Tuck and his
father had spent hours every day listening and reading—data and reports on the
planet Saturn, studying about her major and minor satellites, reading up on the
founding of the colony on Titan, about the working of the mines. Tuck had
found the study a little tiresome; he would much rather have spent his time
with the pilot and navigator of the ship, and he often managed, on one pretext
or another, to turn up in the control room. There he would settle down on the
nearest stool, and spend hours listening to the navigator hold forth
enthusiastically on the problems of celestial navigation.

But
there were many other times when Tuck and his father had sat up in the great
plexiglass
bay in the nose of the ship, staring out at the
black, diamond-studded expanse of space through which the ship sped. They
talked of many things, watching Saturn, a tiny dot far in the distance,
gradually become bigger, day by day, watching the strange,
disklike
rings as the planet rotated, one day so far on edge that they were all but
invisible, another day surrounding the planet like a halo. Tuck made a game of
counting the tiny bright dots circling the planet, the moons of Saturn,
considering this an acceptable measure of how close they were coming.

"Hey!" he cried
out one day.
"I
can
see another!"

"Where?"
The Colonel had peered in the direction Tuck
was pointing. "I can't see any that we didn't see yesterday."

"Sure you can—away
out, just a little tiny one."

"Right
you are! That would be Phoebe, the baby of the lot. Looks like we've counted
all nine moons now—"

"I
wonder," said Tuck, "why they picked Titan." The Colonel looked
up, and drew out his pipe.
"For what?"

"For the mining colony.
What was wrong with
Japetus
,
for instance?
Or Rhea?
They're almost as large as
Titan. Why is Titan the only moon of Saturn with a mining colony?"

"Probably because it's richest, among
other things.
The ore from the Titan mines is very rich—comparatively speaking. Of course,
that doesn't mean much, since ruthenium ore is almost as poor in the metal as
uranium ore is in uranium. Probably they could have mined Rhea, or Tethys, or
any of the other moons, except
Japetus
—"

"Why
not
Japetus
?
It's big enough."

The Colonel chuckled. "You'll also
notice that it's half gone. They've never landed on
Japetus
—the
Geiger counters wouldn't let them. The whole moon is radioactive, too hot to
toy around with. But when the moons were explored, the explorers spotted a
tremendous vein of ruthenium ore running close to the surface on Titan, so they
chose that as a likely starting place. And then, Titan is the largest of the
nine, the closest to Earth-size of all Saturn's satellites. It's probably as
ideal for establishing a permanent colony as any. That's not to say that
any
of them are particularly cozy. Maybe you can't blame people too much for
making trouble when they get out there."

Tuck nodded, his conscience giving him a
sudden sharp jab. Half a dozen times he had almost blurted out to his father
the whole story of the booby trap in the apartment, and then at the last moment
held off. It disturbed him greatly; he had always been straightforward with dad
before, and he knew how hurt the Colonel would be. Sometimes Tuck almost
wondered if it had really happened, if he had not made up the whole thing to
give himself an excuse to come, but then he would smell that acrid smoke again,
see in his mind's eye the sputtering, evil-smelling bomb, stripped of its
explosive power, burning in the washbasin. Yet he couldn't bring himself to
reveal it, until one day the Colonel had made the overture himself.

It
was during one of the observation sessions, near the end of the third week out.
It seemed that the Colonel had been watching him that afternoon with far more
interest than he watched the stars, and Tuck was becoming increasingly nervous.
Finally the Colonel said, "When are you going to tell me about it,
son?"

Tuck
started,
his eyes wide. "What do you mean?"

A
smile touched the Colonel's lips. "You know what I mean.
Your sudden decision to come along with me.
Something
happened to change your mind. I was hoping
you'd tell me—"

"Aw, Dad—you wouldn't have let me come,
and I
had
to come, after what I found!" Almost
tearfully

Tuck
blurted out the whole story—his worry, the spurious return address, the bomb
in the envelope. When he had finished, the Colonel sat still for a long, long
time. Then he said, "I wish you'd told me this before."

"I couldn't, Dad, I
just couldn't—"

"I
know. Sometimes it's the hardest thing in the world." He stared into the
darkness. "That puts a different complexion on things, all right. And it
begins to make things add up." The Colonel's eyes were grave. "You
remember that call I got the evening you came home?"

Tuck nodded unhappily.

"We'd
had men checking the invoices on supplies that have been coming out to the
Titan colony. We suspected that there had been some funny business-extra
supplies, misplaced consignments, 'lost' invoices —but there had never been a
double Security Commission
check
before—"

"You mean there's been
smuggling?"

The
Colonel nodded.
"Food, equipment—tremendous quantities
over their quota."

Tuck's
eyes widened. "But I thought Security controlled shipments very
carefully."

"They're
supposed to. But this has been going on for years. All neatly hidden behind
such a screen of confusion and inefficiency and red tape that even regular FBI
checks couldn't spot it." He shook his head and knocked out his pipe.
"Yes, you should have told me about the booby trap—it's bad. The leader of
the colony, a man named Anson
Torm
, knows we're coming.
According to the reports, he's one of the biggest troublemakers. And he'll
probably be out to meet us when we land." He looked up at Tuck, his eyes
filled with concern. "You bit off a mouthful, son. It looks like we're in
trouble—real trouble. I only hope it wasn't too big a mouthful."

a
    
o
    
a
    
a
    
a

For a moment
Tuck
lay still, almost stunned by the terrific jolt. The ship shook from stem to
stern,
then
settled down on its tail in the shallow,
rocky crater where supply ships had been landing for over a hundred and fifty
years. Carefully Tuck stripped away the straps, examining himself for bruises,
and moved forward into the observation bay. Slowly he walked to the great
plexiglass
window and stared out, hardly daring to breathe.

The
sky was dark blue, the darkest, coldest, most hostile blue Tuck had ever seen
in his life. The stars stood out like brilliant gems against that blue, and
hanging low near the horizon was the huge, luminous globe of Saturn, six times
the size of Earth's moon, her rings forming a razor-sharp line around her
silvery middle. She was tilted slightly, so that she looked like a huge,
off-center top, hanging in the sky. But it wasn't the immense, luminous beauty
of Saturn that made Tuck gasp. It was the utter, unbroken desolation of Titan
that sent a chill down his back. The surface of the planetoid looked utterly
dead.

If
there had been a howling wind swirling around the ship, it wouldn't have been
so bad. But there was no sound, no motion. The ship's silvery nose
rose
high above the ground, but on three sides of her were
huge black crags jutting up sheer and barren against the cold blue sky. The
ground was covered with a blanket of glistening white, covering the jagged rocks,
giving way to crevices that sliced deep into the black crater floor. As far as
Tuck's eyes could see there was no change, no difference—only the endless
succession of jagged rocks, sheer cliffs, and vast gorges, reflecting the pale
bluish sunlight from their harsh faces.

"It looks so
cold," Tuck murmured.

"It is cold," replied the Colonel,
at his elbow. "It's incredibly cold. There aren't words to describe how
horribly cold it is, and the cold goes right down to the core of the
planetoid."

"But
what temperature is it out there? That looks like fresh-fallen snow—"

"Well—it
is
snow, in a way. And it might have been fresh-fallen ten million years
ago—we don't have any way of telling. Part of it is water vapor, frozen before
it ever became water. Part of it is carbon dioxide, and part is frozen ammonia.
And the atmosphere is almost all methane, with a little ammonia and
cyanogen
mixed in. It's more than 250° below zero out
there—"

Tuck
stared, hardly believing his eyes. "Is the whole planet like this?"
He pointed to the ragged, impossible tumult of rocks and crevices.
"It's—amazing."

"The
geologists have had a field day studying the surface. They say some of those
crevices go down for miles. They're probably volcanic in origin, judging from
the type of rock. Or maybe there were Titan-quakes, millions of years
ago."

Tuck shook his head, still scanning the
jagged horizon. "Gee," he said suddenly. "What?"

"Suppose a ship crashed out here
somewhere. It would be lost for good."

The Colonel nodded.
"It happened, once."

"You're kidding!"
Tuck looked horrified.

"No
such thing. Back in the days before the colony, it happened. Exploratory ship,
instruments fouled. It crashed out in that wilderness, somewhere, and they
never found it.
Probably smashed to smithereens on the rocks.
They're more careful, nowadays—"

The
navigator popped into the room.
"Something for you to
see, Colonel."
He handed the Colonel a pair of binoculars.
"Over there to the left."

The
Colonel stared through the binoculars for a moment. "Well, well," he
murmured, handing Tuck the glasses. "See what you see."

At
first Tuck saw the same picture he had seen before—great black rocks, gorges,
sheer cliffs. Then his eyes caught something moving, far in the distance,
something that looked like a small black bug, crawling up through one of the
gorges, slowly but steadily moving toward the ship. Tuck blinked, stared
closer,
then
looked up in alarm. "That's a
half-track, or I'll eat my shirt."

"That
won't be necessary. It's a half-track, all right.
Looks as if
we're going to have visitors."
He took the glasses again, scanning
the horizon. "I'd hoped to see the colony from here, but that ridge
obscures it. It's only about five miles away."

"But why don't they fly over here,
instead of driving that clumsy thing?" Tuck took the glasses again, and
found the little machine crossing a level stretch of white, then disappearing
behind the nearest ridge of rock.

"Half-track
is smarter, in the long run. It doesn't go very fast, but it gets here. The
colony probably has some jets, but they're not much good for anything but
exploration on this terrain. The half-track has power, and it's heavy, and it
can easily be sealed against the atmosphere."

"But
what about the colony?"

"It's sealed, too.
Plexiglass
dome.
Not very big, either, considering that there are five
hundred people living in the colony, including wives and children.
And
most of the mine shafts open right up inside the dome."

Quite
suddenly the creeping half-track appeared, lumbering over the ridge of rocks
surrounding the ship, making its way slowly, carefully, down into the shallow
center of the crater where the ship stood. It was a strange-looking vehicle,
with fat pillow tires eighteen inches thick in front, and heavy caterpillar
treads on the back to drive it. It was exactly what they called it, a
half-tractor, and it wasn't nearly so small as it had looked. The whole top
part was sealed in with a clear plastic bubble, rounding out over the top where
a single figure sat, guiding the car in its path. Tuck squinted, but the dull
bluish sunlight reflected from the plastic, and he could not get a clear view.

The pilot stuck his head in the door.
"Shall I let him aboard? We ran the crane out when we first landed—"

"Better
let him come. If we're to have a welcoming committee, we might as well get
things off to a good start. This may be one of Anson
Torm's
men."

Tuck
frowned, watching the half-track move down near the ship and grind to a halt.
"Don't you think we'd better have guns ready?" he asked. "You
never can tell—"

"I'll
leave that up to the crewmen. I want to make arrangements for living quarters
in the colony, and see what I can find out at the start about the trouble we've
been hearing about. Probably it would be best to be as friendly as
possible."

The
dome of the half-track suddenly sprang open, and a curious-looking figure
struggled out, clumsy in the great padded pressure suit that covered his body.
A heavy transparent dome covered the man's head, and he stopped momentarily
when he reached the ground to seal the half-track up tightly again. Then he
moved toward the ship, and in a moment Tuck heard the crane winches hum with
the unaccustomed strain as the man was hauled up to the space-lock.

Moments later the lock opened, and a man
walked in, his transparent helmet thrown back, his body still clad in the
thickly padded space suit. Tuck stared at the man, hardly believing what he
saw. He was huge, over six feet tall. Even without the suit he would have
looked like a powerfully built man. His hair was thick and sandy, and his
cheeks were pale; shaggy brown eyebrows jutted out over ice-blue eyes.

For
a long moment the stranger stared coldly at the Colonel and Tuck; then his eyes
flashed, and he looked straight at the Colonel. "My name is Anson
Torm
," he said, in a rich bass voice. "What's
yours?"

"Benedict—Robert Benedict.
This is my son, Tuck." The Colonel
stepped forward, offering his hand. "Take off the suit, and make yourself
comfortable. You'll roast if you wear that thing in here."

Very
briefly the man's eyes flickered over Tuck's face; then he looked back at the
Colonel, ignoring the hand. "The supply ship isn't due to arrive for four
months yet," he said finally, not making a move.

"This isn't a supply
ship."

"Then what is
it?"

The
Colonel smiled. "Call it an informal check on production in the mines, if
you like," he said.

Anson
Torm's
face
darkened. "So you're the trouble shooter that Security was going to
send?"

"I'm
representing the Earth Security Commission, yes."

Slowly
the big man began to peel off his pressure suit. His clothing was coarse, with
a multitude of patches and careful repairs, and his heavy face was wrinkled
with worry and strain. But there was something arresting about the man's face,
something that brought a flicker of warmth to Tuck's mind. Anson
Torm
looked like a powerful man, and not only in terms of
physical strength. There was a light of pride in his eyes, a curious air of
fierce bravery about him that the coarsest of clothing could not diminish. He
stepped from the suit like a man completely in command of himself and of all
those around him, and when he turned to the Colonel, it was as if he were
meeting the Security Commission President on his own grounds. "All
right—I'm representing the interests of the Titan colonists," he said. "I
suggest that we go where we can talk, and without delay. I also suggest that
you, sir, talk more sensibly than the last few representatives of Earth
Security—"

The Colonel's eyebrows went up in surprise.
"You mean you've talked to Security men before this?"

"Until
my tongue froze," Anson
Torm
replied coldly.
"You must remember that I've lived in this colony for a very long time.
This time, I think it would be wise for us to reach an understanding, and reach
it fast. Because if your ship leaves Titan without an agreement that meets
with the satisfaction of the Titan colonists, I am
afraid
Earth has received her last cargo of ruthenium."

The
Colonel's eyes widened. "You mean your people are refusing to work the
mines?"

"Not at all," said the Titan
leader. He looked at the Colonel, and his voice was heavy with weariness.
"I mean that there will be no mines left for my people to work."