I knew that Kramer wouldn't let this chance pass. As Medical Officer he would be well within his rights in calling to my attention the fact that our health would soon begin to suffer. I felt sure he would do so as loudly and publicly as possible at the first opportunity.
My best move was to beat him to the punch by making a general announcement, giving the facts in the best possible light. That might take some of the sting out of anything Kramer said later.
I gave it to them, short and to the point. "Men, we've just suffered a serious loss. All the fresh frozen stores are gone. That doesn't mean we'll be going on short rations; there are plenty of concentrates and vitamins aboard. But it does mean we're going to be suffering from deficiencies in our diet.
"We didn't come out here on a pleasure cruise; we're on a mission that leaves no room for failure. This is just one more fact for us to face. Now let's get on with the job."
I walked into the wardroom, drew a cup of near-coffee, and sat down. The screen showed a Jamaica beach with booming surf. The sound track picked up the crash and hiss of the breakers, and off-screen a gull screamed. Considering the red plague that now covered the Caribbean, I thought it was a poor choice. I dialed a high view of rolling farmland.
Mannion sat at a table across the room with Kirschenbaum. They were hunched over their cups, not talking. I wondered where they stood. Mannion, Communications Officer, was neurotic, but an old Armed Forces man. Discipline meant a lot to him. Kirschenbaum, Power Chief, was a joker, with cold eyes, and smarter than he seemed. The question was whether he was smart enough to realize the stupidity of retreat now.
Kramer walked in, not wasting any time. He stopped a few feet from my table, and said loudly, "Captain, I'd like to know your plans, now that the possibility of continuing is out."
I sipped my near-coffee and looked at the rolling farmland. I didn't answer him. If I could get him mad, I could take him at this game.
Kramer turned red. He didn't like being ignored. The two at the other table were watching.
"Captain," Kramer said loudly. "As Medical Officer I have to know what measures you're taking to protect the health of the men."
This was a little better. He was on the defensive now; explaining why he had a right to question his commander. I wanted him a little hotter, though.
I looked up at him. "Kramer," I said in a clear, not too loud voice, "you're on watch. I don't want to find you hanging around the wardroom making light chitchat until you're properly relieved from duty." I went back to my near-coffee and the farmland. A river was in view now, and beyond it distant mountains.
Kramer tried to control his fury. "Joyce has relieved me, Captain," he snarled, then sweetened his tone. "I felt I'd better take this matter up with you as soon as possible, since it affects the health of every man aboard." He was trying to keep cool, in command of himself.
"I haven't authorized any changes in the duty roster, Major," I said mildly. "Report to your post." I was riding the habit of discipline now, as far as it would carry me. I hoped that disobedience of a direct order, solidly based on regulations, was a little too big a jump for Kramer at the moment. Tomorrow it might be different. But it was essential that I break up the scene he was staging.
He wilted.
"I'll see you at seventeen hundred in the chart room, Kramer," I said as he turned away. Mannion and Kirschenbaum looked at each other, then finished their near-coffee hurriedly and left. I hoped their version of the incident would help deflate Kramer's standing among the malcontents.
I left the wardroom and took the lift up to the Bridge and checked with Clay and his survey team.
"I think I've spotted a slight perturbation in Delta 3, Captain," Clay said. "I'm not sure; we're still pretty far out."
"All right, Clay," I said. "Stay with it."
Clay was one of my most dependable men, dedicated to his work. Unfortunately, he was no man of action. He would have little influence in a showdown.
I was at the Schmidt when I heard the lift open. I turned; Kramer, Fine, Taylor, and a half dozen enlisted crew chiefs crowded out, bunched together. They were all wearing needlers. At least they'd learned that much, I thought.
Kramer moved forward. "We feel that the question of the men's welfare has to be dealt with right away, Captain," he said smoothly.
I looked at him coldly, glanced at the rest of his crew. I said nothing.
"What we're faced with is pretty grim, even if we turn back now," Kramer said. "I can't be responsible for the results if there's any delay." He spoke in an arrogant tone. I looked them over, let the silence build.
"You're in charge of this menagerie?" I said, looking at Kramer. "If so, you've got thirty seconds to send them back to their kennels. We'll go into the matter of unauthorized personnel on the Bridge later. As for you, Major, you can consider yourself under arrest in quarters. Now MOVE."
Kramer was ready to stare me down, but Fine gave me a break by tugging at his sleeve. Kramer shook him loose, snarling. At that the crew chiefs faded back into the lift. Fine and Taylor hesitated, then joined them. Kramer started to shout after them, then got hold of himself. The lift moved down. That left Kramer alone.
He thought about going for his needler. I looked at him through narrowed eyes. He decided to rely on his mouth, as usual. He licked his lips. "All right, I'm under arrest," he said. "But as Medical Officer of this vessel it's my duty to remind you that we can't live without a certain minimum of fresh organic food. We've got to start back now." He was pale, but determined. He couldn't bear the thought of getting bald and toothless from dietary deficiency; the girls would never give him another look.
"We're going on, Kramer," I said. "As long as we have a man aboard still able to move. Teeth or no teeth."
"Deficiency disease is no joke, Captain," Kramer said. "You can get all the symptoms of leprosy, cancer and syphilis just by skipping a few necessary elements in your diet. And we're missing most of them."
"Giving me your opinions is one thing, Kramer," I said. "Mutiny is another."
Clay stood beside the main screen, wide-eyed. I couldn't send Kramer down under his guard. "Let's go, Kramer," I said. "I'm locking you up myself."
We rode down in the lift. The men who had been with Kramer stood awkwardly, silent as we stepped out into the passage. I spotted two chronic troublemakers among them. I thought I might as well call them now as later. "Williams and Nagle," I said, "this officer is under arrest. Escort him to his quarters and lock him in." As they stepped forward hesitantly, Kramer said, "Keep your filthy hooks off me." He started down the passage ahead of them.
If I could get Kramer put away before anybody else started trouble, I might be able to bluff it through. I followed him and his two sheepish guards down past the power section, and the mess. I hoped there would be a crowd there to see their hero Kramer under guard.
I got my wish. Apparently word had gone out of Kramer's arrest, and the corridor was clogged with men. They stood unmoving as we approached. Kramer stopped.
"Clear this passage, you men," I said.
Slowly they began to move back, giving ground reluctantly.
Suddenly Kramer shouted. "That's right, you whiners and complainers, clear the way so the captain can take me back to the missile deck and shoot me. You just want to talk about home; you haven't got the guts to do anything about it."
The moving mass halted, milled. Someone shouted, "Who's he think he is, anyway?"
Kramer whirled toward me. "He thinks he's the man who's going to let you all rot alive, to save his record."
"Williams, Nagle," I said loudly, "clear this passage."
Williams started half-heartedly to shove at the men nearest him. A fist flashed out and snapped his head back. That was a mistake; Williams pulled his needler, and fired a ricochet down the passage.
" 'Bout twelve a' you yellow-bellies git outa my way," he yelled. "I'm comin' through."
Nagle moved close to Williams, and shouted something to him. The noise drowned it. Kramer swung back to me, frantic to regain his sway over the mob.
"Once I'm out of the way, there'll be a general purge," he yelled. The hubbub faded, as men turned to hear him.
"You're all marked men," he raved on. "He's gone mad. He won't let one of you live." Kramer had their eyes now. "Take him now," he shouted, and seized my arm.
He'd rushed it a little. I hit him across the face with the back of my hand. No one jumped to his assistance. I drew my 2mm. "If you ever lay a hand on your commanding officer again, I'll burn you where you stand, Kramer."
Then a voice came from behind me. "You're not killing anybody without a trial, Captain." Joyce stood there with two of the crew chiefs, needler in hand. Fine and Taylor were not in sight.
I pushed Kramer out of my way and walked up to Joyce.
"Hand me that weapon, Junior, butt first," I said. I looked him in the eye with all the glare I had. He stepped back a pace.
"Why don't you jump him?" he called to the crowd.
A squawk-box hummed and spoke.
"Captain Greylorn, please report to the Bridge. Unidentified body on main scope."
Every man stopped in his tracks, listening. The talker continued. "Looks like it's decelerating, Captain."
I holstered my pistol, pushed past Joyce, and trotted for the lift. The mob behind me broke up, talking, as men under long habit ran for action stations.
Clay was operating calmly under pressure. He sat at the main screen and studied the blip, making tiny crayon marks.
"She's too far out for a reliable scanner track, Captain," he said, "but I'm pretty sure she's braking."
If that were true, this might be the break we'd been living for. Only manned or controlled bodies decelerate in deep space.
"How did you spot it, Clay?" I asked. Picking up a tiny mass like this was a delicate job, even when you knew its coordinates.
"Just happened to catch my eye, Captain," he said. "I always make a general check every watch of the whole forward quadrant. I noticed a blip where I didn't remember seeing one before."
"You have quite an eye, Clay," I said. "How about getting this object in the beam."
"We're trying now, Captain," he said. "That's a mighty small field, though."
Ryan called from the radar board, "I think I'm getting an echo at 15,000, sir. It's pretty weak."
Miller, quiet and meticulous, delicately tuned the beam control. "Give me your fix, Mike," he said. "I can't find it."
Ryan called out his figures, in seconds of arc to three places.
"You're right on it, Ryan," Miller called a minute later. "I got it. Now pray it don't get away when I boost it."
Clay stepped over behind Miller. "Take it a few mags at a time," he said calmly.
I watched Miller's screen. A tiny point near the center of the screen swelled to a speck, and jumped nearly off the screen to the left. Miller centered it again, and switched to a higher power. This time it jumped less, and resolved into two tiny dots.
Step by step the magnification was increased as ring after ring of the lens antenna was thrown into play. Each time the centering operation was more delicate. The image grew until it filled a quarter of the screen. We stared at it in fascination.
It showed up in stark silhouette, in the electronic "light" of the radar scope. Two tiny, perfect discs, joined by a fine filament. As we watched, their relative position slowly shifted, one moving across, half occluding the other.
As the image drifted, Miller worked with infinite care at his console to hold it on center, in sharp focus.
"Wish you'd give me an orbit on this thing, Mike," he said, "so I could lock onto it."
"It ain't got no orbit, man," Ryan said. "I'm trackin' it, but I don't understand it. That rock is on a closing curve with us, and slowin' down fast."
"What's the velocity, Ryan?" I asked.
"Averagin' about 1,000 relative, Captain, but slowin' fast."
"All right, we'll hold our course," I said.
I keyed for a general announcement.
"This is the Captain," I said. "General Quarters. Man action stations and prepare for possible contact within one hour. Missile Section. Arm Number One Battery and stand by."
Then I added, "We don't know what we've got here, but it's not a natural body. Could be anything from a torpedo on up."
I went back to the Beam screen. The image was clear, but without detail. The two discs slowly drew apart, then closed again.
"I'd guess that movement is due to revolution of two spheres around a common center," Clay said.
"I agree with you," I said. "Try to get me a reading on the mass of the object."
I wondered whether Kramer had been locked up as I had ordered, but at this moment it seemed unimportant. If this was, as I hoped, a contact with our colony, all our troubles were over.
The object—I hesitated to call it a ship—approached steadily, still decelerating. Now Clay picked it up on the televideo, as it paralleled our course forty-five hundred miles out.
"Captain, it appears the body will match speeds with us at about two hundred miles, at his present rate of deceleration," Clay said.
"Hold everything you've got on him, and watch closely for anything that might be a missile," I said.
Clay worked steadily over his chart table. Finally he turned to me. "Captain, I get a figure of over a hundred million tons mass; and calibrating the scope images gives us a length of nearly two miles."
I let that sink in. I had a strong and very empty feeling that this ship, if ship it were, was not an envoy from any human colony.
The talker hummed and spoke. "Captain, I'm getting a very short wave transmission from a point out on the starboard bow. Does that sound like your torpedo?" It was Mannion.
"That's it, Mannion," I said. "Can you make anything of it?"
"No, sir," he answered. "I'm taping it, so I can go to work on it."
Mannion was our language and code man. I hoped he was good.
"What does it sound like?" I asked. "Tune me in."
After a moment a high hum came from the speaker. Through it I could hear harsh chopping consonants, a whining intonation. I doubted that Mannion would be able to make anything of that garbage.
Our bogie closed steadily. At four hundred twenty-five miles he reversed relative directions, and began matching our speed, moving closer to our course. There was no doubt he planned to parallel us.
I made a brief announcement to all hands describing the status of the action. Clay worked over his televideo, trying to clear the image. I watched as the blob on the screen swelled and flickered. Suddenly it flashed into clear, stark definition. Against a background of sparkling black, the twin spheres gleamed faintly in reflected starlight.
There were no visible surface features; the iodine-colored forms and their connecting shaft had an ancient and alien look.
We held our course steadily, watching the stranger maneuver. Even at this distance it looked huge.
"Captain," Clay said, "I've been making a few rough calculations. The two spheres are about eight hundred yards in diameter, and at the rate the structure is rotating, it's pulling about six gravities."
That settled the question of human origin of the ship. No human crew would choose to work under six gees.
Now, paralleling us at just over two hundred miles, the giant ship spun along, at rest relative to us. It was visible now through the direct observation panel, without magnification.
I left Clay in charge on the Bridge, and I went down to the Com Section.
Joyce sat at his board, reading instruments and keying controls. So he was back on the job. Mannion sat, head bent, monitoring his recorder. The room was filled with the keening staccato of the alien transmission.
"Getting anything on video?" I asked. Joyce shook his head. "Nothing, Captain. I've checked the whole spectrum, and this is all I get. It's coming in on about a dozen different frequencies; no FM."
"Any progress, Mannion?" I said.
He took off his headset. "It's the same thing, repeated over and over, just a short phrase. I'd have better luck if they'd vary it a little."
"Try sending," I said.
Joyce tuned the clatter down to a faint clicking, and switched his transmitter on. "You're on, Captain," he said.
"This is Captain Greylorn, ACV/Galahad; kindly identify yourself." I repeated this slowly, half a dozen times. It occurred to me that this was the first known time in history a human being had addressed a nonhuman intelligence. The last was a guess, but I couldn't interpret our guest's purposeful maneuverings as other than intelligent.
I checked with the Bridge; no change. Suddenly the clatter stopped, leaving only the carrier hum.
"Can't you tune that whine out, Joyce?" I asked.
"No, sir," he replied. "That's a very noisy transmission. Sounds like maybe their equipment is on the blink."
We listened to the hum, waiting. Then the clatter began again.
"This is different," Mannion said. "It's longer."
I went back to the Bridge and waited for the next move from the stranger, or for word from Mannion. Every half hour I transmitted a call identifying us, in Standard, of course. I didn't know why, but somehow I had a faint hope they might understand some of it.
I stayed on the Bridge when the watch changed. I had some food sent up, and slept a few hours on the OD's bunk.
Fine replaced Kramer on his watch when it rolled around. Apparently Kramer was out of circulation. At this point I did not feel inclined to pursue the point.
We had been at General Quarters for twenty-one hours when the squawk box hummed.
"Captain, this is Mannion. I've busted it . . ."
"I'll be right there," I said, and left at a run.
Mannion was writing as I entered Com Section. He stopped his recorder and offered me a sheet. "This is what I've got so far, Captain," he said.
I read: INVADER; THE MANCJI PRESENCE OPENS COMMUNICATION.
"That's a highly distorted version of early Standard, Captain," Mannion said. "After I taped it, I compensated it to take out the rise-and-fall tone, and then filtered out the static. There were a few sound substitutions to figure out, but I finally caught on. It still doesn't make much sense, but that's what it says. I don't know what 'Mancji' means, but that's what it's saying."
"I wonder what we're invading," I said. "And what is the 'Mancji Presence'?"
"They just repeat that over and over," Mannion said. "They don't answer our call."
"Try translating into old Standard, adding their sound changes, and then feeding their own rise-and-fall routine to it," I said. "Maybe that will get a response."
I waited while Mannion worked out the message, then taped it on top of their whining tone pattern. "Put plenty of horsepower behind it," I said. "If their receivers are as shaky as their transmitter, they might not be hearing us."
We sent for five minutes, then tuned them back in and waited. There was a long silence from their side; then they came back with a long spluttering sing-song.
Mannion worked over it for several minutes. "Here's what I get," he said:
THAT WHICH SWIMS IN THE MANCJI SEA; WE ARE AWARE THAT YOU HAVE THIS TRADE TONGUE. YOU RANGE FAR. IT IS OUR WHIM TO INDULGE YOU; WE ARE AMUSED THAT YOU PRESUME HERE; WE ACKNOWLEDGE YOUR INSOLENT DEMANDS.
"It looks like we're in somebody's back yard," I said. "They acknowledge our insolent demands, but they don't answer them." I thought a moment. "Send this," I said. "We'll out-strut them."
"The mighty warship Galahad rejects your jurisdiction. Tell us the nature of your distress and we may choose to offer aid."
Mannion raised an eyebrow. "That ought to rock them," he said.
"They were eager to talk to us," I said. "That means they want something, in my opinion. And all the big talk sounds like a bluff of our own is our best line."
"Why do you want to antagonize them, Captain?" Joyce asked. "That ship is over a thousand times the size of this one."
"Joyce, I suggest you let me forget you're around," I said.
The Mancji whine was added to my message, and it went out. Moments later this came back:
MANCJI HONOR DICTATES YOUR SAFE CONDUCT; TALK IS WEARYING; WE FIND IT CONVENIENT TO SOLICIT A TRANSFER OF ELECTROSTATIC FORCE.
"What the devil does that mean?" I said. "Tell them to loosen up and explain themselves."
Mannion wrote out a straight query, and sent it. Again we waited for a reply.
It came, in a long windy paragraph stating that the Mancji found electrostatic baths amusing, and that "crystallization" had drained their tanks. They wanted a flow of electrons from us to replenish their supply.
"This sounds like a simple electric current they're talking about, Captain," Mannion said. "They want a battery charge."
"They seem to have power to burn," I said. "Why don't they generate their own juice? Ask them; and find out where they learned Standard."
Mannion sent again; the reply was slow in coming back. Finally we got it:
THE MANCJI DO NOT EMPLOY MASSIVE GENERATION-PIECE WHERE ACCUMULATOR-PIECE IS SUFFICIENT. THIS SIMPLE TRADE SPEECH IS OF OLD KNOWLEDGE. WE SELECT IT FROM SYMBOLS WE ARE PLEASED TO SENSE EMPATTERNED ON YOUR HULL.
That made some sort of sense, but I was intrigued by the reference to Standard as a trade language. I wanted to know where they had learned it. I couldn't help the hope I started building on the idea that this giant knew our colony; the fact that they were using an antique version of the language, out of use for several centuries might mean they'd gotten it from Omega.
I sent another query, but the reply was abrupt and told nothing except that Standard was of "old knowledge."
Then Mannion entered a long technical exchange, getting the details of the kind of electric energy they wanted.
"We can give them what they want, no sweat, Captain," he said after half an hour's talk. "They want DC; 100 volt, 50 amp will do."
"Ask them to describe themselves," I directed. I was beginning to get an idea.
Mannion sent, got his reply. "They're molluscoid, Captain," he said. He looked shocked. "They weigh about two tons each."
"Ask them what they eat," I said.
I turned to Joyce as Mannion worked over the message. "Get Kramer up here, on the double," I ordered.
Kramer came in five minutes later, looking drawn and rumpled. He stared at me sullenly.
"I'm releasing you from arrest temporarily on your own recognizance, Major," I said. "I want you to study the reply to our last transmission, and tell me what you can do about it."
"Why me?" Kramer said. "I don't know what's going on." I didn't answer him.
There was a long, tense, half-hour wait before Mannion copied out the reply that came in a stuttering nasal. He handed it to me.
The message was a recital of the indifference of the Mancji to biological processes of ingestion.
I told Kramer to write out a list of our dietary needs. I passed it to Mannion. "Ask them if they have fresh sources of these substances aboard."
The reply was quick; they did.
"Tell them we will exchange electric power for a supply of these foods. Tell them we want samples of half a dozen of the natural substances."
Again Mannion coded and sent, received and translated, sent again.
"They agree, Captain," he said at last. "They want us to fire a power lead out about a mile; they'll come in close and shoot us a specimen case with a flare on it. Then we can each check the other's merchandise."
"All right," I said. "We can use a ground-service cable; rig a pilot light on it, and kick it out, as soon as they get in close."
"We'll have to splice a couple of extra lengths to it," Mannion said.
"Go to it, Mannion," I said. "And send two of your men out to make the pick-up." This wasn't a communications job, but I wanted a reliable man handling it.
I returned to the Bridge and keyed for Bourdon, directed him to arm two of his penetration missiles, lock them onto the stranger, and switch over to my control. With the firing key in my hand, I stood at the side-scan screen and watched for any signs of treachery. The ship moved in, came to rest filling the screen.
Mannion's men reported out. I saw the red dot of our power lead move away, then a yellow point glowed on the side of the vast iodine-colored wall looming across the screen.
Nothing else emerged from the alien ship. The red pilot light drifted across the face of the sphere. Mannion reported six thousand feet of cable out before the light disappeared abruptly.
"Captain," Mannion reported, "they're drawing power."
"OK," I said. "Let them have a sample, then shut down."
I waited, watching carefully, until Mannion reported their canister inside.
"Kramer," I said. "Run me a fast check on the samples in that container."
Kramer was recovering his swagger. "You'll have to be a little more specific," he said. "Just what kind of analysis do you have in mind? Do you want a full . . ."
"I just want to know one thing, Kramer," I said. "Can we assimilate these substances, yes or no? If you don't feel like cooperating, I'll have you lashed to your bunk, and injected with them. You claim you're a Medical Officer; let's see you act like one." I turned my back on him.
Mannion called. "They say the juice we fed them was 'amusing,' Captain. I guess that means it's OK."
"I'll let you know in a few minutes how their samples pan out," I said.
Kramer took half an hour before reporting back. "I ran a simple check such as I normally use in a routine mess inspection," he began. He couldn't help trying to take the center of the stage to go into his Wise Doctor and Helpless Patient routine.
"Yes or no," I said.
"Yes, we can assimilate most of it," he said angrily. "There were six samples. Two were gelatinous substances, non-nutritive. Three were vegetable-like, bulky and fibrous, one with a high iodine content; the other was a very normal meaty specimen."
"Which should we take?" I said. "Remember your teeth when you answer."
"The high protein, the meaty one," he said. "Marked 'Six'."
I keyed for Mannion. "Tell them that in return for one thousand KWH we require three thousand kilos of sample six," I said.
Mannion reported back. "They agreed in a hurry, Captain. They seem to feel pretty good about the deal. They want to chat, now that they've got a bargain. I'm still taping a long tirade."
"Good," I said. "Better get ready to send about six men with an auxiliary pusher to bring home the bacon. You can start feeding them the juice again."
I turned to Kramer. He was staring at the screen. "Report yourself back to arrest in quarters, Kramer," I said. "I'll take your services today into account at your court-martial."
Kramer looked up, with a nasty grin. "I don't know what kind of talking oysters you're trafficking with, but I'd laugh like hell if they vaporized your precious tub as soon as they're through with you." He walked out.
Mannion called in again from communications. "Here's their last, Captain," he said. "They say we're lucky they had a good supply of this protein aboard. It's one of their most amusing foods. It's a creature they discovered in the wild state and it's very rare. The wild ones have died out, and only their domesticated herds exist."
"OK, we're lucky," I said. "It better be good or we'll step up the amperage and burn their batteries for them."
"Here's more," Mannion said. "They say it will take a few hours to prepare the cargo. They want us to be amused."
I didn't like the delay, but it would take us about ten hours to deliver the juice to them at the trickle rate they wanted. Since the sample was OK, I was assuming the rest would be too. We settled down to wait.
I left Clay in charge on the Bridge and made a tour of the ship. The meeting with the alien had apparently driven the mood of mutiny into the background. The men were quiet and busy. I went to my cabin and slept for a few hours.
I was awakened by a call from Clay telling me that the alien had released his cargo for us. Mannion's crew was out making the pick-up. Before they had maneuvered the bulky cylinder to the cargo hatch, the alien released our power lead.
I called Kramer and told him to meet the incoming crew and open and inspect the cargo. If it was the same as the sample, I thought, we had made a terrific trade. Discipline would recover if the men felt we still had our luck.
Then Mannion called again. "Captain," he said excitedly, "I think there may be trouble coming. Will you come down, sir?"
"I'll go to the Bridge, Mannion," I said. "Keep talking."
I turned my talker down low and listened to Mannion as I ran for the lift.
"They're transmitting again, Captain," he told me. "They tell us to watch for a display of Mancji power. They ran out some kind of antenna. I'm getting a loud static at the top of my short wave receptivity."
I ran the lift up and as I stepped onto the Bridge I said, "Clay, stand by to fire."
As soon as the pick-up crew was reported in, I keyed the course corrections to curve us off sharply from the alien. I didn't know what he had, but I liked the idea of putting space between us. My P-missiles were still armed and locked.
Mannion called, "Captain, they say our fright is amusing, and quite justified."
I watched the starboard screens for the first sign of an attack. Suddenly the entire screen array went white, then blanked. Miller, who had been at the scanner searching over the alien ship at close range, reeled out of his seat, clutching at his eyes. "My God, I'm blinded," he shouted.
Mannion called, "Captain, my receivers blew. I think every tube in the shack exploded!"
I jumped to the direct viewer. The alien hung there, turning away from us in a leisurely curve. There was no sign of whatever had blown us off the air. I held my key, but didn't press it. I told Clay to take Miller down to sick bay. He was moaning and in severe pain.
Kramer reported in from the cargo deck. The canister was inside now, coating up with frost. I told him to wait, then sent Chilcote, my demolition man, in to open it. Maybe it was booby-trapped. I stood by at the DVP and waited for other signs of Mancji power to hit us.
Apparently they were satisfied with one blast of whatever it was; they were dwindling away with no further signs of life.
After half an hour of tense alertness, I ordered the missiles disarmed.
I keyed for General. "Men, this is the captain," I said. "It looks as though our first contact with an alien race has been successfully completed. He is now at a distance of three hundred and moving off fast. Our screens are blown, but there's no real damage. And we have a supply of fresh food aboard; now let's get back to business. The colony can't be far off."
That may have been rushing it some, but if the food supply we'd gotten was a dud, we were finished anyway.
We watched the direct-view screen till the ship was lost, then followed on radar.
"It's moving right along, Captain," Ryan said, "accelerating at about two gees."
"Good riddance," Clay said. "I don't like dealing with armed maniacs."
"They were screwballs, all right," I said, "but they couldn't have happened along at a better time. I only wish we had been in a position to squeeze a few answers out of them."
"Yes, sir," Clay said. "Now that the whole thing's over, I'm beginning to think of a lot of questions myself."
The talker hummed. I heard what sounded like hoarse breathing. I glanced at the indicator light. It was cargo deck.
I keyed. "If you have a report, Chilcote, go ahead," I said.
Suddenly someone was shouting into the talker, incoherently. I caught words, cursing. Then Chilcote's voice. "Captain," he said. "Captain, please come quick." There was a loud clatter, more noise, then only the hum of the talker.
"Take over, Clay," I said, and started back to the cargo deck at a dead run.
Men crowded the corridor, asking questions. I forced my way through, found Kramer surrounded by men, shouting.
"Break this up," I shouted. "Kramer, what's your report?"
Chilcote walked past me, pale as chalk.
"Get hold of yourself, and make your report, Kramer," I said. "What started this riot?"
Kramer stopped shouting, and stood looking at me, panting. The crowded men fell silent.
"I gave you a job to do, Major," I said, "opening a cargo can. Now you take it from there."
"Yeah, Captain," he said. "We got it open. No wires, no traps. We hauled the load out of the can onto the floor. It was one big frozen mass, wrapped up in some kind of netting. Then we pulled the covering off."
"All right, go ahead," I said.
"That load of fresh meat your star-born pals gave us consists of about six families of human beings; men, women, and children." Kramer was talking for the crowd now, shouting. "Those last should be pretty tender when you ration out our ounce a week, Captain."
The men were yelling, wide-eyed, open-mouthed, as I thrust through to the cargo lock. The door stood ajar and wisps of white vapor curled out into the passage.
I stepped through the door. It was bitter cold in the lock. Near the outer hatch the bulky canister, rimed with white frost, lay in a pool of melting ice. Before it lay the half-shrouded bulk that it had contained. I walked closer.
They were frozen together into one solid mass. Kramer was right. They were as human as I. Human corpses, stripped, packed together, frozen. I pulled back the lightly frosted covering and studied the glazed white bodies.
Kramer called suddenly from the door. "You found your colonists, Captain. Now that your curiosity is satisfied, we can go back where we belong. Out here man is a variety of cattle. We're lucky they didn't know we were the same variety, or we'd be in their food lockers now ourselves. Now let's get started back. The men won't take no for an answer."
I leaned closer, studying the corpses. "Come here, Kramer," I called. "I want to show you something."
"I've seen all there is to see in there," Kramer said. "We don't want to waste time; we want to change course now, right now."
I walked back to the door, and as Kramer stepped back, to let me precede him out the door, I hit him in the mouth with all my strength. His head snapped back against the frosted wall. Then he fell out into the passage.
I stepped over him. "Pick this up and put it in the brig," I ordered. The men in the corridor fell back, muttering. As they hauled Kramer upright I stepped through them and kept going, not running but wasting no time, toward the Bridge. One wrong move on my part now and all their misery and fear would break loose in a riot, the first act of which would be to tear me limb from limb.
I traveled ahead of the shock. Kramer had provided the diversion I had needed. Now I heard the sound of gathering violence growing behind me.
I was none too quick. A needler flashed at the end of the corridor just as the lift door closed. I heard the tiny projectiles ricochet off the lift shaft.
I rode up, stepped onto the Bridge and locked the lift. I keyed for Bourdon, and to my relief got a quick response. The panic hadn't penetrated to Missile Section yet.
"Bourdon, arm all batteries and lock onto that Mancji ship," I ordered. "On the triple."
I turned to Clay. "I'll take over, Clay," I said. "Alter course to intercept our late companion at two and one-half gees."
Clay looked startled, but said only, "Aye, sir."
I keyed for a general announcement. "This is the captain," I said. "Action station, all hands in loose acceleration harness. We're going after Big Brother. You're in action against the enemy now, and from this point on I'm remembering. You men have been having a big time letting off steam; that's over now. All sections report."
One by one the sections reported in, all but Med and Admin. Well, I could spare them for the present. The pressure was building now, as we blasted around in a hairpin curve, our acceleration picking up fast.
I ordered Ryan to lock his radar on target, and switch over to autopilot control. Then I called Power Section.
"I'm taking over all power control from the Bridge," I said. "All personnel out of the power chamber and control chamber."
The men were still under control, but that might not last long. I had to have the ship's power, control, and armament entirely under my personal disposition for a few hours at least.
Missile Section reported all missiles armed and locked on target. I acknowledged and ordered the section evacuated. Then I turned to Clay and Ryan. Both were plenty nervous now; they didn't know what was brewing.
"Lieutenant Clay," I said, "report to your quarters; Ryan, you, too. I congratulate both of you on a soldierly performance these last few hours."
They left without comment. I was aware that they didn't want to be too closely identified with the captain when things broke loose.
I keyed for a video check of the interior of the lift as it started back up. It was empty. I locked it up.
Now we were steady on course, and had reached our full two and a half gees. I could hardly stand under that acceleration, but I had one more job to do before I could take a break.
Dragging my feet, I unlocked the lift and rode it down. I was braced for violence as the door opened, but I was lucky. There was no one in the corridor. I could hear shouts in the distance. I dragged myself along to Power Section and pushed inside. A quick check of control settings showed everything as I had ordered it. Back in the passage, I slammed the leaded vault door to and threw in the combination lock. Now only I could open it without blasting.
Control Section was next. It, too, was empty, all in order. I locked it, and started across to Missiles. Two men appeared at the end of the passage, having as hard a time as I was. I entered the cross corridor just in time to escape a volley of needler shots. The mutiny was in the open now, for sure.
I kept going, hearing more shouting. I was sure the men I had seen were heading for Power and Control. They'd get a surprise. I hoped I could beat them to the draw at Missiles, too.
As I came out in B Corridor, twenty feet from Missiles, I saw that I had cut it a bit fine. Three men, crawling, were frantically striving against the high-gee field to reach the door before me. Their faces were running with sweat, purple with exertion.
I had a slight lead; it was too late to make a check inside before locking up. The best I could hope for was to lock the door before they reached it.
I drew my Browning and started for the door. They saw me, and one reached for his needler.
"Don't try it," I called. I concentrated on the door, reached it, swung it closed, and as I threw in the lock a needler cracked. I whirled and fired. The man in the rear had stopped and aimed as the other two came on. He folded. The other two kept coming.
I was tired. I wanted a rest. "You're too late," I said. "No one but the captain goes in there now." I stopped talking, panting. I had to rest. The two came on. I wondered why they struggled so desperately after they were beaten. My thinking was slowing down.
I suddenly realized they might be holding me for the crowd to arrive. I shuffled backwards toward the cross corridor. I barely made it. Two men on a shuttle cart whirled around the corner a hundred feet aft. I lurched into my shelter in a hail of needler fire. One of the tiny slugs stung through my calf and ricocheted down the passage.
I called to the two I had raced, "Tell your boys if they ever want to open that door, just see the captain."
I hesitated, considering whether or not to make a general statement.
"What the hell," I decided. "They all know there's a mutiny now. It won't hurt to get in a little life insurance."
I keyed my talker. "This is the captain," I said. "This ship is now in a state of mutiny. I call on all loyal members of the Armed Forces to resist the mutineers actively, and to support their commander. Your ship is in action against an armed enemy. I assure you this mutiny will fail, and those who took part in it will be treated as traitors to their Service, their homes, and their own families who now rely on them.
"We are accelerating at two and one-half gravities, locked on a collision course with the Mancji ship. The mutineers cannot enter the Bridge, Power, Control, or Missile Sections since only I have the combination. Thus they're doomed to failure.
"I am now returning to the Bridge to direct the attack and destruction of the enemy. If I fail to reach the Bridge, we will collide with the enemy in less than three hours, and our batteries will blow."
Now my problem was to make good my remark about returning to the Bridge. The shuttle had not followed me, presumably fearing ambush. I took advantage of their hesitation to cross back to A Corridor at my best speed. I paused once to send a hail of needles ricocheting down the corridor behind me, and I heard a yelp from around the corner. Those needles had a fantastic velocity, and bounced around for a long time.
At the corridor, I lay down on the floor for a rest and risked a quick look. A group of three men were bunched around the Control Section door, packing smashite in the hairline crack around it. That wouldn't do them any good, but it did occupy their attention.
I faded back into the cross passage, and keyed the talker. I had to give them a chance.
"This is the captain," I said. "All personnel not at their action stations are warned for the last time to report there immediately. Any man found away from his post from this point on is in open mutiny and can expect the death penalty. This is the last warning."
The men in the corridor had heard, but a glance showed they paid no attention to what they considered an idle threat. They didn't know how near I was.
I drew my needler, set it for continuous fire, pushed into the corridor, aimed, and fired. I shot to kill. All three sprawled away from the door, riddled, as the metal walls rang with the cloud of needles.
I looked both ways, then rose, with effort, and went to the bodies. I recognized them as members of Kirschenbaum's Power Section crew. I keyed again as I moved on toward the lift at the end of the corridor, glancing back as I went.
"Corley, MacWilliams, and Reardon have been shot for mutiny in the face of the enemy," I said. "Let's hope they're the last to insist on my enforcing the death penalty."
Behind me, at the far end of the corridor, men appeared again. I flattened myself in a doorway, sprayed needles toward them, and hoped for the best. I heard the singing of a swarm past me, but felt no hits. The mutineers offered a bigger target, and I thought I saw someone fall. As they all moved back out of sight, I made another break for the lift.
I was grateful they hadn't had time to organize. I kept an eye to the rear, and sent a hail of needles back every time a man showed himself. They ducked out to fire every few seconds, but not very effectively. I had an advantage over them; I was fighting for the success of the mission and for my life, with no one to look to for help; they were each one of a mob, none eager to be a target, each willing to let the other man take the risk.
I was getting pretty tired. I was grateful for the extra stamina and wind that daily calisthenics in a high-gee field had given me; without that I would have collapsed before now; but I was almost ready to drop. I had my eyes fixed on the lift door; each step, inch by inch, was an almost unbearable effort.
With only a few feet to go, my knees gave; I went down on all fours. Another batch of needles sang around me, and vivid pain seared my left arm. It helped. The pain cleared my head, spurred me. I rose and stumbled against the door.
Now the combination. I fought a numbing desire to faint as I pressed the lock control; three, five, two, five . . .
I twisted around as I heard a sound. The shuttle was coming toward me, men lying flat on it, protected by the bumper plate. I leaned against the lift door, and loosed a stream of needles against the side of the corridor, banking them toward the shuttle. Two men rolled off the shuttle in a splatter of blood. Another screamed, and a hand waved above the bumper. I needled it.
I wondered how many were on the shuttle. It kept coming. The closer it came, the more effective my bank shots were. I wondered why it failed to return my fire. Then a hand rose in an arc and a choke bomb dropped in a short curve to the floor. It rolled to my feet, just starting to spew. I kicked it back. The shuttle stopped, backed away from the bomb. A jet of brown gas was playing from it now. I aimed my needler, and sent it spinning back further. Then I turned to my lock.
Now a clank of metal against metal sounded behind me; from the side passage a man in clumsy radiation armor moved out. The suit was self-powered and needle-proof. I sent a concentrated blast at the head, as the figure awkwardly tottered toward me, ungainly in the multi-gee field. The needles hit, snapped the head back. The suited figure hesitated, arms spread, stepped back and fell with a thunderous crash. I had managed to knock him off balance, maybe stun him.
I struggled to remember where I was in the code sequence. I went on, keyed the rest. I pushed; nothing. I must have lost count. I started again.
I heard the armored man coming on again. The needler trick wouldn't work twice. I kept working. I had almost completed the sequence when I felt the powered grip of the suited man on my arm. I twisted, jammed the needler against his hand, and fired. The arm flew back, and even through the suit I heard his wrist snap. My own hand was numb from the recoil. The other arm of the suit swept down and struck my wounded arm. I staggered away from the door, dazed with the pain.
I sidestepped in time to miss another ponderous blow. Under two and a half gees, the man in the suit was having a hard time, even with power-assisted controls. I felt that I was fighting a machine instead of a man.
As he stepped toward me again, I aimed at his foot. A concentrated stream of needles hit, like a metallic fire hose, knocked the foot aside, toppled the man again. I staggered back to my door.
But now I realized I couldn't risk opening it; even if I got in, I couldn't keep my suited assailant from crowding in with me. Already he was up, lurching toward me. I had to draw him away from the door.
The shuttle sat unmoving. The mob kept its distance. I wondered why no one was shooting. I guess they had realized that if I were killed there would be no way to enter the vital control areas of the ship; they had to take me alive.
I made it past the clumsy armored man and started down the corridor toward the shuttle. I moved as slowly as I could while still eluding him. He lumbered after me. I reached the shuttle; a glance showed no one alive there. Two men lay across it. I pulled myself on it and threw in the forward lever. The shuttle rolled smoothly past the armored man, striking him a glancing blow that sent him down again. Those falls, in the multi-gee field, were bone-crushing. He didn't get up.
I reached the door again, rolled off the shuttle, and reached for the combination. I wished now I'd coded a shorter one. I started again; heard a noise behind me. As I turned, a heavy weight crushed me against the door.
I was held rigid, my chest against the combination key. The pressure was cracking my ribs and still it increased. I twisted my head, gasping. The shuttle held me pinned to the door. The man I had assumed out of action was alive enough to hold the lever down with savage strength. I tried to shout, to remind him that without me to open the doors, they were powerless to save the ship. I couldn't speak. I tasted blood in my mouth, and tried to breathe. I couldn't. I passed out.