John Maddox Roberts - Space Angel (21 page)

"I wonder if they all are," said Kelly.

"Let's try a building," said Torwald.

They tried several. Once again, they had to cut their way in. None of the buildings had visible entrances, exits or windows. Inside, they found instruments, power plants, fuel, reactors, repair shops for the ships, but no sign that life had ever been there. There were hangars with maintenance facilities for many types of ship, all of them fully automated.

"I don't get it, Torwald. The ships we found in space were abandoned because of an emergency. But this place? It's like somebody built it and forgot about it."

"I know, Kelly I—" Torwald cut off short as a distant roar sounded. They ran to the AC where the others were gathered. K'Stin and B'Shant sprang to the weapons.

"It comes from above!" said K'Stin. "North and 95 degrees." They all searched the northern sky. "I can see it on infrared," K'Stin exclaimed "a bright light, swiftly descending."

By then the others could see it, a bright point of light, roaring louder as it neared the ground.

"Get this thing off the ground and head north at low speed," ordered Torwald.

"Is that a ship landing, Tor?" The skipper's voice came through the AC speaker.

"Looks like it, Skipper. I'd be willing to bet it's from one of the formations in orbit."

"Most likely. I hope we haven't attracted notice."

"Not likely. With all the firepower around here, there'd be no reason to bring a ship out of orbit. I'll bet it's just routine maintenance. If so, that ship's getting orders from somewhere. See if you can get a bearing on a transmission. It could save us years of searching this planet."

"Good idea. I'll get right on it."

"Meanwhile, we'll go check out this ship. Torwald out." He turned to his search party. "How far, Finn?"

"About twenty kilometers due north. We'll be there in a few minutes."

They sped toward the spot where they had lost sight of the descending light only to find a huge depression filled with housed machinery of incomprehensible function. When they arrived, the ship had already set down, one of the small, round variety. But that was not what attracted their attention. The ship sat on a metallic apron, and around it bustled machines, most of them rolling on soft tires, attaching cables and hoses to fixtures in the hull of the vessel. The majority of the items being attached rose from the apron itself. The machines operated smoothly, efficiently, in almost complete silence.

"It's spooky, Finn," Kelly said. "They don't make any sound."

"They must be self-servicing, repairing and maintaining each other long after their designers have forgotten them, or died off."

"It is unseemly that mere machines should possess such longevity." K'Stin's bearing reflected disgust and frustration—emotions normally foreign to Vivers. After a few minutes, the wheeled machines pulled away from the ship and the apron slowly began to sink. The ship gradually disappeared into a well, and when its nose had cleared the rim, a cover slid out and closed over it.

"Drydock!" Torwald yelped. Suddenly a beep sounded from the AC transceiver.

"I've got a fix on the control center," the skipper announced. "It's on the other side of the planet. Return to the ship."

Back aboard ship, the skipper briefed them on the latest findings. "This planet is covered with ancient mining operations." She hit a switch, and the main bridge screen displayed a panorama of an abandoned open-pit mine. "This is a detail of one of the pictures we took from orbit. There's nothing to judge scale by here, but that pit's six kilometers across. No sign of mining equipment, and it's ancient. See the erosion around the rim. Sergei says on this planet that means the pit was excavated at least twenty tousand years ago. And the planet's covered with 'em. What do you make of that, Homer?"

"I think I may have an explanation. An ancient poem comes to mind."

"Let's hear it," said Ham. "Always liked poetry, myself."

"I fear that some of the nuances would escape you. It is in a sixteen-tone language, and the proper effects are achieved by speaking words in pairs, each unit of each pair being enunciated in eight of the tones, the other in the other eight."

Bert coughed, fought to suppress a laugh. "A subtle form, true. Perhaps a translation then?"

"A recitation would take some years."

"Give us a summation of the pertinent verses," Michelle urged. "The suspense is killing me."

"Long ago, there lived a great and powerful race, masters of many star systems. They engaged in a war with another species—over what disagreement the poet knows not. The first race was far less numerous than the other and sought to compensate by raising great fleets of warships that required no living beings to be operated. They refined this practice to such a degree that, not only were the fleets self-operating, they were also self-constructing."

"Self-constructing?" The skipper arched an eyebrow.

"Yes. Even so. In the van would go the construction vessels. They would land on a suitable world and locate mineral deposits, their machines would gather raw materials. They would then build factories, which would produce warships, their necessary support apparatus, and more construction vessels. When all was completed and in readiness, the construction vessels and ancillary machinery would move on, leaving behind a world turned into a gigantic military base, awaiting orders to attack. The poet says that these facilities continued to be constructed long after the war was over, even after the races themselves had vanished into oblivion. It is said that the Center is dotted with such bellicose relics, but in all my long lifetime, this is the first evidence I have seen to indicate that the poem was based on true events."

"Thousands of years," the skipper said, "and it's still operational."

The control center was disappointingly small. To control a whole planetful of spaceports and all the fleets in orbit, the crew had expected something the size of the major Earth spaceport. Instead they found a low dome about thirty paces around. Torwald, the tallest of the standard humans, could see over it easily.

Place me on the dome.

K'Stin was the only one whose reach was long enough, and he gently set Sphere on the center of the dome. Instead of rolling off, Sphere stuck to the dome as if glued. Time passed.

I am ready. Return me to the ship.

They started involuntarily. Sphere's communications had been so infrequent in recent months that they had grown unaccustomed to the sudden intrusions of its mental thrusts.

"Maybe this is it, Tor."

"I hope so, Skipper. I'm beginning to miss the fleshpots of civilization."

K'Stin returned with Sphere and positioned it on the mess table. Around the mess, the crew waited attentively. The being held in its power their return to human-controlled space. Without its help, they would be lost, drifting helplessly among the stars like the derelicts they had encountered. If it had at last found a means of accomplishing its mission, they felt they might be able to return with some of the wealth they had found. There was a good deal of tension in the air as they awaited its decision.

I think I may have found a decoy sufficient to distract the Guardian.

There was a general releasing of long-held breath.

The vessels of this facility are fully functional.

"All of them?" the skipper was aghast.

That is correct. In addition to those on and in orbit around this world, others are on or orbit the worlds, and satellites of this system. All have been well maintained since their construction.

"How many?" asked Torwald.

Seven million, eight hundred thousand, four hundred twenty-two. This figure includes warships, cargo carriers, and tenders.

"Can you get them all launched?" the Skipper asked.

1 have begun the launch sequence. The command instrumentation has been cleared of its former data and reprogramed with my instructions. When the

fleets are in space, I shall convert their engines to

the power system that now moves this ship.

"And then?"

Then we go to the Core Star.

Kelly, Torwald, Nancy, and Michelle sat in the navigator's bubble, downing coffee. Homer sat on one of the gun controls, sipping a mixture of prussic acid and turpentine which seemed to be making him a bit tipsy. With Homer, though, it was hard to tell.

"This is most exhilarating. Like an old epic. In all my wide experience, no race has ever attempted a feat as heroic as diving into the Core Star with nearly eight million ships, to do battle with the Guardian."

The others favored him with looks of little enthusiasm. Finally, Michelle spoke. "In our experience, nobody's dived into
any
star and survived."

"One hopes that Sphere will be able to cope with this difficulty," said Homer.

"One hopes, indeed." Torwald snorted. "I, for one, have my doubts about that talking football's ability to preserve us from frying."

Homer's visible antennae quivered. "It does seem to have some extraordinary capabilities, though." The crustacean extruded a siphon and sipped delicately at the turpentine.

"Nearly eight million!" Kelly's voice was a hoarse whisper. "That'll be a sight." He turned to Michelle. "How many ships do you think the human worlds could get into space at one time?"

"I once saw nearly four thousand in mass formation. That was before the Li Po invasion. Of course, not many of those returned."

"And this is just one installation," said Nancy. "Do you think humans will ever achieve such power, Tor?"

"Probably. We made it through the last couple of centuries without wiping ourselves out, hard as we tried. There's nothing to stop us from doing this kind of thing, given time and inclination. I do hope we put our efforts to less pointless uses, though."

"So great a quantity of ships is rather unnecessary," said Homer. "Especially as none of them have anything to do."

"Well, they have a job now," Torwald said.

The stars, which had seemed fixed above their heads, began to shift. Nancy was the first to notice. "The skipper's rotating the ship."

The edge of the nameless planet rose into their view, ascending until its full bulk hung over them, a great, baleful globe encircled by the brilliant stellar display of the Center. The rest of the crew began drifting into the bubble. Last of all came the skipper. "We're about to witness a fantastic display. Keep your eyes on the planet."

They watched. Nothing happened for a few minutes, then a tiny, brilliant white dot shone against the featureless yellow. Immediately dozens of other dots appeared, then hundreds, then thousands, and still they increased, until the whole hemisphere was alight, covering the face of the planet in a web of diamonds as spectacular as the stellar backdrop.

"Three million ships from this planet. A million and a half from this hemisphere alone. All lifting off at once." The skipper was awed and said nothing more.

"Such a massive departure will alter the orbit of this planet forever," Bert mused. As the dots lengthened into fiery trails, the planet became almost painful to look at.

"Where do they all rendezvous?" Finn asked.

"They'll mass in a parking orbit near the biggest orbiting station, the one in the 'most distant orbit from the planet—look, the off-planet fleets are moving now."

Flashes from locations in space near the planet were adding to the dazzling visual effects.

"We'll pick up the rest from the other planets as we leave the system. Those are already heading for rendezvous along our path."

"Then what?" Kelly asked.

"Then Sphere jumps the whole mess into his brand of hyper and we all go pay the Guardian a visit."

The bridge was quiet. Kelly was standing watch with the skipper, his eyes restlessly moving from one screen to another. He was fascinated by the sight of the massed fleets.
Space Angel
had rendezvoused with the last divisions and was waiting for Sphere to finish programing the ships. From the bubble, only a few of the nearer vessels could be discerned, but the telescopic screens could scan hundreds of thousands at once.

Torwald entered, carrying several coffee cups. Kelly felt that he would be happy if he never saw so much as a single coffee bean as long as he lived. The other crew members, Navy veterans all, seemed to require the stuff to live. Torwald handed a cup to the skipper, who sat with her feet propped on a console while she brooded over the sight of the incredible fleet.

"Your cup,
Grand Admiral Gertie HaLevy! How does it feel?"

"It feels like I'm a passenger, Tor, just like the rest of you." She growled the words around her cigar, her chin sunk nearly into her jacket

"Must be discouraging."

"Biggest fleet in the galaxy out there, and I'm not even in control of this little tramp freighter." She snorted disgustedly. "Grand Admiral my—" Her words cut off as the images on the screen flickered, distorted, seemed to lengthen, then disappeared. The screens and instruments went into the familiar convulsions brought on by Sphere's hyperdrive.

"Last leg of the trip in, folks," Torwald announced.