Day of the Dragonstar (8 page)

Incredible, thought Coopersmith. An airlock quite comparable to IASA design.

Although he and Valdone weren’t able to determine how to operate the entrance electronically, the Scanner did allow them access to the mechanical system of the lock. By cutting through the hull with torches at the control-point, they were able to open and close the outer hatch manually. The entire procedure took five hours. Best to work slowly and cautiously, Coopersmith reasoned. Each step in the operation was being fed back to Phineas Kemp at Copernicus.

At last, the large hatch slid open to the right, revealing a flat, featureless platform. Coopersmith entered a chamber which was roughly fifteen cubic meters. The metallic walls had a slightly burnt-blue cast, and were buttressed by support girders. At the opposite end of the chamber, Coopersmith could see the outline of another hatch. Presumably, the other end of the airlock. At a height of approximately five meters, next to the hatch, was a set of three levers, inset in a meter square shadowbox. Coopersmith assumed these to be the controls which operated the interlocking set of hatches.

Floating up to inspect the controls, he wondered why they were so inaccessible. The logical explanation was obvious. The aliens who built this ship were at least several times larger in scale than humans. The thought was an unsettling one. Coopersmith did not dwell on it. He concentrated instead on the immediate task.

“Copernicus, this is lander one,” he said in his British accent. “Coopersmith here. We have successfully entered what appears to be a standard airlock chamber. We’re going to try some experimenting. Stand by, please.”

“Affirmative, lander one. Proceed with caution.” Colonel Kemp had taken over the communications. The man was probably tense as a coiled spring by now. His voice sounded small and very far away.

Coopersmith indicated to Valdone that he was about to touch the controls. “Valdone. Get back out on the hull by the lander. Tell Bracken to be prepared to lift off if we have any trouble.”

Valdone signaled agreement and floated slowly from the airlock, positioning himself on the hull near lander one. The far-away sun glinted off his faceplate as he stared in at Coopersmith.

Exhaling slowIy, Ian Coopersmith studied the three levers, each as large as a cricket bat. They were color-coded. Red. Yellow. Green. God, thought Coopersmith, But there was no way that the alien color system meant the same as the human code. He followed that assumption and tripped the red lever.

Nothing happened.

Coopersmith reached for the next lever. “Negative on the first control, Copernicus. Trying number two, here . . .”

Slowly, soundlessly, the outer hatch slid shut.

“That’s got it, Captain,” said Valdone, floating by the outer hatch, watching it seal Ian off from the outside.

“All right,” said Ian. “Let’s try it backwards, and make sure I’m not sealed in here permanently.

He pushed the lever back to its original position and the hatch began opening again. “Bull’s eye!” said Valdone. “Looks like we’re in business.”

“Okay,” said Coopersmith. “I’m closing it down. Valdone, come inside. Let’s see if we can get the other hatch to work.”

He rethrew the yellow clever and again closed the outer hatch. Trying the green control resulted in no change, but only momentarily. Slowly, the sound of gases rushing into the chamber became audible.

“Copernicus, this is Coopersmith. I’m getting what appears to be pressurization of the first chamber. Stand by.”

Less than a minute passed before an electronic chime sounded in the chamber. Coopersmith presumed it to be a signal indicating the proper pressure.

“Captain, we’ve got an atmosphere in here. Want to run an analysis?” Valdone drifted down to the deck, where they had secured their instrument packs.

“Right, Tom. I’ll notify Copernicus.” He switched over to the patch-in with the lunar base once again. “Colonel, we’ve got an atmosphere in the lock. Valdone’s running a check on the make-up now. Please stand by.”

“Hey. Now that’s really something. Listen to this, Captain. Nitrogen, oxygen, carbon dioxide, trace argon, and a little water vapor. Pressure about a thousand millibars! That’s incredible.”

“Ah, Copernicus. This is Coopersmith. Atmosphere analysis indicates nearly Earth standard mix. Breathable for us anyway. Pressure is close to sea-level averages. Temperature approximately fifteen degrees Centigrade.”

“We copy that, Coopersmith. Exact data will come in from telemetry. Proceed with entry operation.” Jesus! They’d all expected an
alien
atmosphere.

“Roger, Copernicus. Stand by.” Coopersmith shut down the radio link and stared for a moment at the control panel and the large hatch. Thoughts which he had been able to keep from his mind would not leave him now. The full impact of where he was and what he was doing suddenly struck him.

Staring at the blank hatch, Coopersmith’s mind
unhinged
for a brief moment. He saw visions of strange beings standing on the other side of the entrance, waiting to greet the naive Earth folk who had bumbled into their ship like moths into a spider’s web. He thought of London’s Surbiton, where his modest rowhouse lay jammed in with a thousand others like itself, where his wife Leticia and his son Nathaniel lived and worked, knowing that they would only know his company in six-month chunks of time.

Suddenly, Coopersmith was aware of movement to his left. Turning quickly, he saw Thomas Valdone beside him, staring at him. “You okay, Captain?”

“Yes . . . yes, fine, I was . . . just thinking about something.”

Valdone smiled, “Yeah. I know what you mean.” The engineer looked at the flat imposing surface of the hatch. “I’m pretty scared too. l . . . I don’t know, Captain. I’ve grown up loving the stars, And now . . . Well now all I want to do is go back home and be safe. Here, in the thick of excitement. Thomas Valdone! Privileged man! My old man . . . my old man is gonna be real proud of me. My momma too. My wife didn’t want me to go. I kinda wish I’d listened to her.” He sighed. “But still, Captain, if you . . . just let go, you know, accept all this immensity. You kind of lose yourself , and the fear ebbs a little. It becomes awe. Know what I mean?”

“Valdone. I wouldn’t have any other man along with me.”

“Thanks. Well, I guess we better give it a go, huh?”

Coopersmith turned and reached for the third lever, pulling it down. A low humming sounded as the inner lock door slid left. Both men stared into the darkness beyond as though peering into the mouth of some great beast. Valdone produced a powerful light-torch from his utility pack and flicked it on. The broad beam of light pierced the blackness, revealing a four-sided corridor leading away, like a mine shaft. No markings or features showed on the walls except for two parallel rods, attached at frequent. intervals along the surface, that ran into the dark. Also spaced at regular intervals were small struts, protruding from the parallel rods. If you looked at it long enough, you could see that it was a multipurpose ladder, an aid to climbing “up” the long corridor.

Valdone grabbed the first rung. “Wait a minute. Come on back. I’m going to depressurize and bring in some of the others.”

As Valdone worked his way back onto the airlock, Coopersmith reclosed the hatch with the now-familiar controls. As the outer hatch reopened, Ian turned to his assistant.

“You stay here. I’m going back in the lander with Bracken and assemble the others. It’s time to get in there and see what makes this thing tick.”

* * *

An hour later, the entire exploration team was assembled in the first chamber of the Artifact One’s airlock. Commander, Fratz and back-up pilot Bracken remained at their stations aboard the
Heinlein
and lander one, respectively.

“Right, then,” he told the group, after letting them ogle the airlock for a moment. “We’ve got something to breathe inside, believe it or not. Once we close the second lock, we can discard the EVA gear. However, I want everybody to wear LS-rigs in case of an emergency. Stay close together and keep your radios
on
at all times. Keep your sidearms
in
your
holsters. No one is to draw arms without my authorization. Clear?”

It seemed to be. Everybody agreed, either immersed in wonder or obviously touched with anxiety. “Friends,” he announced. “I give you Artifact One!”

The proper levers were manipulated. The chamber pressurized. The inner lock opened. Lanced by the concentrated power of everyone’s electric torches, the dark corridor appeared less forbidding, and much more like the functional access to the ship’s interior it was.

One by one, the members of the team entered the corridor, until the last, Doctor Pohl, a lanky, red-faced man, floated through. He gave the all-clear. Coopersmith closed the interior hatch, instructing all to divest themselves of the cumbersome, Deep-Space environment suits.

Pulling off his helmet, Ian Coopersmith smelled the air. It owned a cool, antiseptic quality which, while not offensive, seemed alien in his nostrils. Perhaps it was merely psychosuggestion that gave it that scent. Still, it seemed odd.

He waited until everyone was ready. They all wore field jumpsuits, backpacks, and emergency life support modules strapped to their chests. The LS units had collapsible face-masks which could supply water and oxygen for several hours.

“Huff, patch me into the
Heinlein
link,” Coopersmith said as he grabbed onto the ladder leading upward into the belly of the alien ship.

“You’re on, Captain.”

“Copernicus, this is Coopersmith. We have entered the airlock assembly without a hitch. There appears to be an access corridor leading up into the main body of Artifact One. We’re going up now. Stand by.”

After receiving the go-ahead from Kemp and his lunar team, Ian led the group upwards. The scraping of their boots on the metallic rungs and their labored breathing penetrated the surrounding hollow silence. The corridor, under the influence of Artifact One’s artificial gravity, appeared to be going straight “up”
—
actually toward the geometric center of the cylinder. The distance they traveled was approximately a hundred meters, ending on a ten by ten-meter platform fronting an entry hatch directly above their heads.

When everyone had gathered on the platform, Coopersmith relayed their progress and position back to Copernicus. Receiving another go-ahead, he ordered Huff and Valdone to open the hatch manually by means of two interlocking gear-wheels. The sound of metal, moving smoothly, filIed the chamber. Instead of sliding into the bulkhead, like the previous ones, this hatch opened vertically. As the hatch parted, a bright seam appeared, as if there was an intense light source immediately beyond it.

Everyone tensed momentarily. The two men paused as Coopersmith held up a cautionary hand.

“Right,” he said, climbing the short ladder leading to the hatch. “Keep your sidearms ready, just in case there’s an unfriendly reception committee. Not likely, that, but we’d best be ready for anything. I’m going in first. Then Valdone. If that goes well, Thalberg, Pohl, and Hagar follow, in
that
order. Huff, you bring up the rear and establish a homing beacon at this hatch just in case there’s a maze of passageways. I want everybody to lock into the beacon. That way nobody gets lost. Also, Huff, I want you to maintain the link through the
Heinlein
back to Copernicus. Everybody got that?”

Coopersmith looked at the party. Pohl’s mouth was ajar. He breathed heavily. Hagar’s fingers twitched nervously. Huff was stolid and alert. Valdone licked his lips expectantly. Thalberg’s eyes were wide and dark.

For the first time Coopersmith realized just how beautiful those eyes were as they looked up toward an unknown future.

He turned back to the hatch. “Here we go.”

THEY STOOD UPON
a small rise of earth which overlooked a sloping meadowland. This faded away to a marshy swamp and, finally, a lagoon. To either side lay the edges of a dense, lushly green forest. Warm and muggy, the air was full of steaming, organic smells. Looking to the horizon, it was hard for Ian Coopersmith to accept what he saw. He read a similar emotion in the faces of the others.

There
was
no horizon.

The tropical Iandscape of jungle, river, and sea stretched endlessly away until it
curved upward
and over them, filling the sky,
becoming
the sky, sixty-five kilometers distant, curving, curving back behind them in an endless roll. The entire interior of the gigantic cylinder ship was a living world of rich loamy soil, swamp, forest.

Light streamed down from a brilliant source. It was so bright and intense that it hurt Coppersmith’s eyes, as though he were staring at the sun. Quickly, he flipped down the sun-shield goggles on his LS helmet.

Running the entire three hundred and twenty-kilometer length of the cylinder, hanging almost magically in the zero-gravity center of the rotating world, burned a thick rod, a seemingly solid column of light and heat which filled the world with artificial day.

A feeling resembling
déja vu
swept Coopersmith. He’d dreamed of standing in a place like this. His vision had been instilled in him by the dreamers who’d planned a space colony fitting this concept on a much smaller scale, filled with cities and parks, not wilderness. This was
alien.
And it was
huge.
Seeing it from the inside made him realize just how large it really was.

The group stood about him silently, almost reverently. Coopersmith knew they were feeling just the way he did.

Without a word, as though speech might somehow break the magic spell of the place, Coopersmith led them down into a reedy meadow, feeling the spongy earth give slightly beneath his boots. Coopersmith studied the odd terrain, feeling twinges of uneasiness, as though the party were violators of some ancient tomb. Mist hung shroudlike over the lagoon. Odd gurgles sounded. Insects thrummed, their buzzings and chirpings cutting through the thick, humid air.

They walked upon rusty-colored, weed-choked earth. Bright green vines crept around frees. Small herb-like growths proliferated. There was no grass. On both sides of the clearing, all the way down to the marshes, walls of forest stood in green shadow. Palm-like cycads squatted in uncounted numbers, their thick-boles and trunks like unstaved barrels, accented with light brown cones. Giant tree ferns exploded with deep green fronds and fresh shoots. An
alien
wood, though Ian Coopersmith. Never seen before by man. Large, black-limbed conifers grew here, along with sparsely needled evergreens
—
primitive pines and spruces, tall proto-firs and cedars, thick cypresses which seemed to reach out like tentacled creatures, unbranching hemlocks black and pencil-thin. Presented before them was a skyline of fiercely stark, immobile life. A jungle of steaming shadows so thick, so densely crowded, that it appeared impossible to clear a path through such a natural barrier.

Forever distant, insects hummed constantly. This forest must
teem
with life, Coopersmith thought. Life amidst the broad leafy boughs of the ginkgoes, amongst the soaring redwoods. This was a world never silent, a world fiercely alive.

Something screamed, piercing the stillness of the air. Like the cawing of a crow, the sound came to them, and then was suddenly choked off, swallowed and lost in the forest’s depths. The cry broke into everyone’s thoughts, pulling them from their private worlds of perception. They were once again aware of one another. Time had been slipping away from them in this strangely timeless place, Coopersmith realized.

He turned and faced the group. “Somebody sure went to a lot of trouble to do all this.”

Nervous smiles. Pohl coughed. Rebecca Thalberg adjusted the straps of her backpack.

“Hard to believe we’re really
seeing
it,” Thomas Valdone said, dropping down to one knee, cupping a handful of loose soil and plant life in his hand. “We’re really
here!”

Amos Hagar, the brash exobiologist and world-famous media personality, stepped forward, smiling. “Captain, this is the most important discovery in the history of mankind! Do you realize what this is! What we’ve found!”

Gazing stoically at the enthusiastic Hagar, Coopersmith said, “I think, so,” very dead-pan. He’d never liked Doctor Hagar. The man used the media to popularize science, true, but in doing so he watered it down, sugared it to make a palatable drink for the public to swallow. Hagar was known for his gushing enthusiasm and unbounded optimism, his high-flying prophecies about contact with alien Iife-forms.

Coopersmith noticed that the others were intently watching Hagar, caught up with his burst of childish wonder, awaiting his next pronouncement. Obviously relishing an audience, even here, Hagar stepped away and prepared to address the group, the smile building on his round face. He gestured wildly, the way some Victorian actor might execute a Shakespearean soliloquy. “Look around you! It’s a lost world . . .
The
Lost
World! Look at those trees!” He pointed towards the forest. “Cycads! Ginkgoes! Smell the air! We are standing in the midst of the
Jurassic
age . . . an exact duplicate of the environment of Earth as it was one hundred and sixty million years ago!”

“How can that be?” asked Rebecca Thalberg, her long dark hair curling beautifully out from the edges of her helmet. “How old is this thing? This . . . ship?”

Hagar spun, almost dancing like a small child in a toyshop. “Anything which can be conceived can be possible. You can’t ask such a question, Doctor Thalberg . . . you must simply accept what undeniably
is!
Look around you!”

Which set off a flurry of comments and questions from the rest of the group. This continued for a few minutes before Coopersmith called them back to order. “All right. Wait a minute. We don’t know any of this for sure. And we aren’t going to know until we start conducting ourselves like a scientific team. Huff . . . set up your communications gear right here near the hatch. Everybody keep your helmet-phones
on.
Doctor Pohl, Doctor Thalberg . . . I think you both have some instruments which can get us some hard data. I think it’s time we started doing that . . .”

All of the team resumed their professional attitudes, except for Hagar. He seemed piqued at having lost his audience.

Ignoring the man, Coopersmith continued delegating duties. “Valdone, you and Hagar will accompany me. Get out the cameras and the recorders. I want everything down on record. And Huff . . . ?”

“Yes sir, Captain.” Alan Huff’s voice came over the helmet-phones crisply. Coopersmith liked Huff. Young, very bright, Huff was extremely dedicated. Although he had not known him as long as he’d known Valdone, he trusted the man’s sincerity and obligation to duty.

“Patch me in to Copernicus. They must be going crazy, wondering what happened to us.”

Huff made the proper radio links, enabling Coopersmith to detail their incredible discoveries to Kemp and staff. Audio and visual signals from the portable camera gear were telemetered back to lunar base. After a pause no doubt caused by astonishment, Kemp cautioned them to stay close together. Alan Huff was ordered to remain with the homing beacon,

Slowly the group of five advanced across the small clearing toward the marshland and the lagoon beyond it. Coopersmith and Valdone carried their .50 caliber sidearms drawn. The others handled the recording and analytical instruments.

The ground became soft under their feet as they traveled. The insect chirpings paused infrequently, as though the world had briefly become aware of their presence and was watching them.

Something moved overhead.

Soaring past the glare from the central rod, a dark shape glided easily over them. A smallish, bat-like thing, it headed toward the lagoon, where it skimmed perilously close to the calm surface of the water.

Hagar followed its flight with his camera, trying to keep it in focus. The first sign of advanced animal Iife, everyone watched it.

“Pterosaur of some sort,” said Doctor Hagar. “Looking for its lunch, probably. Funny. Not quite as I had visualized the species.”

As if on the cue, the first Pterosaur’s appearance heralded the arrival of more silently gliding creatures. The last in this lazy formation tilted its pointed head and peered blankly at the humans below. Its pointed beak slit slightly, and Coopersmith caught a flash of tiny teeth as it emitted a high-pitched screech. It followed the flight path of the others down to the lagoon.

“Incredible,” Valdone whispered. “Just incredible!”

Hagar spoke much louder. “This must have been some kind of . . . of
specimen ship.
An interstellar laboratory. The builders of this ship . . . they must have visited the Earth
so
long ago! A hundred and sixty million years ago. They stopped and picked up samples of Earth’s life forms. No wonder
—”

“But what happened?” interrupted Rebecca. “It’s still
here.”

“Something
happened,” returned Hagar. “I don’t know what. An accident? A malfunction? Maybe a disease wiped out the crew, I don’t know. But the ship never left our system. It’s been here all this time . . . the creatures in it probably developing. Here all this time.
Waiting
for us.”

Valdone laughed. “I wouldn’t exactly say, ‘waiting.’ Looks like it’s been getting along pretty well
without
us.”

“What’s that?” said Coopersmith. He pointed to the left past an extension of the forest where it abutted with the shallows of the swampland ahead. Indistinct movement beyond the fronds and vegetation . . . something slow, as though traveling with stealth. The shapes beyond the forest peninsula ventured into the clearing. Three large creatures, standing on their hindlegs, waddled awkwardly to the water’s edge.

Dinosaurs.

“Jesus,”
said Valdone. “I don’t believe it.”

Coopersmith waved for silence, then spoke in a low voice into his helmet-mike. He checked with Copernicus of the quality of the transmission, reporting briefly also on what was taking place. Four other dinosaurs of the same species appeared at the edge of the swamp, all kneeling down on the shorter forelimbs to drink from the placid, reedy surface.

“Iguanodons,” Hagar said. “Not exactly like we imagined them but close enough. Evolution is taking place amongst these creatures. These are herbivores. Probably harmless as long as one of them doesn’t fall on you.”

Studying the herd of dinosaurs, Ian Coopersmith remembered their pictures in his books as a child, and shook his head. Iguanodons. They were massive creatures. With dark brown hides, thick, fleshy legs and bellies, they stood on their hindlegs and balanced on thick, immobile tails. At least four meters tall, they were. Twice a man’s height, and probably hundreds of times heavier. Their heads were large, making their small eyes appear even smaller. Their throats hung down from their jaws in loose folds of dewlap. Their movements slow and deliberate, the Iguanodons required a long time to properly right themselves on their hindlegs after dropping down to drink.

Quietly, Coopersmith and the group closed to within a hundred meters of the creatures without disturbing them. Then suddenly one of the taller ones, now resting on his back legs and tail, raised his snout as if testing the scented air. Instantly, the Iguanodons’ movements quickened. Acting on a silent signal, the herd began moving away from the swamp, away from the humans and toward the lagoon, where a gentle, sloping beach reached down to touch the waters.

“They’ve smelled us,”
Hagar said. “Strange scent’s going to drive them off.”

No one spoke as they watched the herd attempt to hurry away from the area. It was almost comical to see such massive, ponderous beasts waddling along, their tails and hindquarters wobbling in a swaying, rhythmic motion. The last Iguanodon had struggled to its feet, weaving slightly as it regained a
delicate balance, and started after the others. It had hardly taken a step when the quiet scene was broken by the furious crackling and rustle of foliage from the forests’ edge to the left. A tannish blur of movement broke from the shaded tree-barrier. Something large and quick and almost twice the height of the lumbering Iguanodon.

Quickly, the intruding dinosaur lunged for its waddling prey, pouncing upon its back. For an instant the two creatures hung in their bizarre frieze, balanced, not toppling, the dark, muddy brown hide of the prey in sharp contrast to the attacker. It was a large biped with heavily muscled thighs and large splayed hindclaws. Its long, thick tail, whipped back and forth like a cat’s as it hunched over the Iguanodon, trying to hold its rubbery flesh in tiny foreclaws. The Iguanodon feII forward, slapping into the swampy earth with a muffled thud, emitting a weak, bleating cry like a wounded bird. Now the carnivore, a Gorgosaurus or something closely akin to that class, went for the kill. In a moment so quick Coopersmith could barely follow, its great jaws opened, flashed a razor set of teeth, and snapped viciously into the Iguanodon’s flanks. It stood partially upright firmly digging its curved taloned feet into the bulk of the victim. Then it tipped and jerked its head from side to side. Under the savage attack, the worried flesh of the Iguanodon gave way, and a great bloody flap was torn from its side. The Gorgosaurus raised its head, holding the cattle-sized piece of meat in its teeth, tossed it slightly, and snapped its jaws once more. The entire gobbet of flesh disappeared into its mouth, slipping down slowly, distending the carnivore’s throat as it passed.