Act of God (21 page)

"I merely obeyed my superior. Am I to be punished for that?"

"It is a good thing you have the habit of obeying your superior, Comrade Baratynsky. Your new superior, who runs the Bakunin power station in Okhotsk, is said to be an exacting man. You may leave." Baratynsky walked out, glad the orders weren't for execution, but with his grandiose dreams crumbling. Now Chekhov turned to Ryabkin.

"Comrade, you have done well, but you understand that your bureau is now under something of a cloud, since it was formerly the charge of Nekrasov. Your headquarters and principal offices are now being occupied by units of Marshal Petrovich's new elite guard. You and all your officers are to consider yourselves under temporary arrest until a thorough investigation can sort out the traitors. See to it." Ryabkin, who had not said a word during the meeting, nodded and left, well aware of how thin was the thread from which his life dangled.

After a few comments and a brief discussion, Chekhov dismissed the rest. "This matter will occupy us for some time to come, but the crisis is past. Be ready to be summoned to another extraordinary session at any time, though." They all left except for Petrovich and his aide. The two men sat back in their chairs and lit cigarettes.

"How many would-be Stalins does this make, Petrovich?" Chekhov asked.

The massive general shrugged. "Five or six since I made brigadier. This one came closest, though. He was the most dangerous."

"Very true. He might have pulled it off. I hate to think of the consequences. The man is utterly mad." He knocked an ash into the tray before him. "Not that his plan was all bad, mind you. It was a good one. But he refused to admit that the West would retaliate. His grasp of reality ended there."

Petrovich nodded. "He was right about space, too. That's where we must beat them."

"That sounds odd coming from an old foot-slogger like you."

"I recognize military reality. We are simply not going to do it with men and tanks and artillery. Not with ICBMs either. But out there, we can grasp the lead. They are rich, but this is costing them too much and they are too corrupt. It's our one chance." The Marshal lit a second cigarette from the coal of the first.

"I'm inclined to agree," Chekhov said. "I like his idea of a Minister of Science and Technology right here on the Politburo, to coordinate all our efforts in that area and keep the rest of us informed. Not that swine Baratynsky, though. I think I'll put Tarkovsky in the post, if I can pry him away from his rockets and get him here to Moscow."

They were interrupted by the arrival of a messenger. The young man saluted, clearly awed by the power of the men before him. "Highest priority message for Deputy Premier Nekrasov from Tsiolkovsky Space Center. His orders were to bring these to him no matter where he might be." The boy's voice trailed off on a note of uncertainty.

Petrovich smiled sourly. "Well, he won't be accepting any messages where he is now, son. Give it to the Premier."

Chekhov scanned the message. "A good thing this arrived now and not two hours ago. I must go to my office." He got up and left, trailed by two of the black-uniformed men. Until the KGB investigation was finished, he would go nowhere without a guard of these men.

In the office, the communications specialist on duty looked up as Chekhov entered. "Get me Tsiolkovsky Center," he ordered. When he had the Center on the line he dictated his orders, then he dismissed the communications man. When he was alone, Chekhov crossed to the Red Phone which was, on this side of the Atlantic, indeed red. He flipped it on and waited for the President of the United States to answer.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

PIONYER I,
INTERPLANETARY SPACE

Korsakov decoded the message and stared at it in disbelief. It said: "Project Ivan the Terrible cancelled. Do not, repeat do not jettison icebergs. Allow on-site inspection by Americans. Further instructions will follow shortly. Signed: Premier Chekhov."

Kaminsky read the decoded message over Korsakov s shoulder. "Chekhov?" he said, a lifetime of political changes encapsulated in his upraised eyebrows.

"They want me to let the Americans aboard my
ship!
" Korsakov fumed.

"It isn't your choice, though," Kaminsky said. "Better signal them. They'll be in shooting range soon." Korsakov notified
Pionyer
II
and began calculating a course that would bring the four ships together without disaster. Then they received a signal from the Americans, on their own frequency. "Where did they get our frequency?" snarled Korsakov.

"From Moscow, obviously," Kaminsky said. "While we've been up here playing hound-and-hares with the Americans, there must have been some high-level conversations going on down there."

Then a delightful female voice, devoid of accent, spoke in Russian from one of the American craft. "This is U.S. Interplanetary Probe 2. Request permission to board your ships in accordance with the provisions of the Geneva convention on mutual inspection of space vessels suspected of carrying mass destruction weapons. You are also invited to inspect our ships, should you wish to do so."

Korsakov turned to face Kaminsky. "I wonder if she's as pretty as her voice."

"I heard that," said the voice.

"Stand by to receive course-matching data," Korsakov said.

Another voice came across the radio, this time speaking terribly accented Russian. "This is U.S. Ship 1, and I already have the figures we need. Just stand by to be boarded."

"What kind of barbarous accent was that?" Kaminsky asked.

"Brooklyn," said the woman's voice.

Several hours later, the airlock hatch of
Pionyer I
swung open and the Americans entered the Russian ship. Korsakov saw Hoerter, whom he recognized, turn to a wild-bearded, wild-eyed man next to him. "Told you it was Korsakov," Hoerter said. The Russian crew came forward and shook hands with the American party, then they all had to listen while Korsakov made the pro forma protest that the Americans should ever even suspect a Soviet space vessel of carrying weapons, and what about all those rockets and heavy-duty lasers on the American ships, anyway?

"Perfectly legal," said Hoerter. "The convention bans weapons of mass destruction. Now, we all know that the real weapons out here are those icebergs you're towing."

"I know nothing of the sort," said Korsakov, whose English was excellent. "And you will have a difficult time convincing an international court that ice is a weapon. Especially—" he smiled, "if you intend to do any real deep-space work. You'll be transporting a lot of ice, you know."

Hoerter smiled back frostily. "As long as everybody knows what's going on, there's no problem." The Americans conducted their inspection of both Russian ships and then, according to agreement, invited the Russians to do the same. Korsakov longed mightily to get a look inside the American ships, but his instructions said he was not to. "We trust you," he said with heavy, Slavic irony.

Korsakov and Kaminsky escorted the Americans into the airlock separating the two vessels when the inspection was over. He nodded to Kaminksy and the Second Pilot shut the door on the Russian side. "This is the one place on my ship where there are no microphones," Korsakov said. The lean-faced American who had been introduced as Colonel Taggart closed the American hatch and they all shut down their recording systems. For the first time in mankind's history, people would speak together as sensible space dwellers, wondering what the maniac Earth people have been up to.

"What has been going on down there?" Korsakov said.

"We don't have the whole story either," Sam said, "but it seems that the lunatics were in charge for a while. We came within an inch of a space bombardment followed by a nuclear exchange. It looks as if a lid has been clamped on the situation for the moment."

"The nutcases were on your team," said Hoerter.

"This time," said the peculiar man named Ciano.

"This time," Korsakov repeated. They reopened the doors and went back into their ships. The marines Taggart and Flower were to ride back the rest of the way aboard
Pionyer I
in accordance with instructions received from both governments. An American shuttle would pick them up at Space Station
Volga
. They were to be kept isolated and not allowed to see the rest of the station.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

TOKYO

Sam Taggart, now a full colonel, sat on the wooden porch and listened to the rain falling on the beautiful Japanese garden. He felt completely at peace—nobody seemed to want to kill him. He was a bit of a national hero these days, having taken part in the celebrated joint U.S.-Russian deep-space mission to a comet. He was even allowed, in fact encouraged to talk about it, as long as he stuck to the official version. For one thing, there had never been any Project Ivan the Terrible, nor any Project Bountyhunter. What he had taken part in, it seemed, was Project Argonaut. He had even gotten off a quip to the press about returning with the "golden fleece," waving at a huge pressroom-screen picture of the beautiful, gleaming icebergs parked in their cradles at Volga.

The project, according to the official version, had been the brainchild of those two architects of East-West accord, the President of the United States and the Premier of the U.S.S.R., and had been kept secret because of the Soviet Union's well-known policy of keeping space projects under wraps until successful completion.

Laine broke into his thoughts as she put a fresh pot of tea on the tray next to him and sat by his side. She smelled fresh from the bath and her hair was pinned up. She wore an after-bath kimono that was part of an elaborate wedding present from Goro Kuroda. They were ending their two-month honeymoon in Japan. "What have you been thinking?" she asked.

"About how things change. When we met, I was about to join the ranks of the unemployed and you were a hopeless refugee. We looked like life's prize losers. Now—" he waved a hand toward the garden and the future, "all sorts of things opening up for us; offers of jobs and positions everywhere."

"Which will you pick?" she asked, although she was sure which he would choose.

Shortly after their wedding, Sam and Laine had been asked to come to the office of General Hart, Secretary of Space Defense. Chambers, now also a general, was there. "Sam," Hart said, "your temporary assignment from CIA to this department expires at the end of this month." Sam said nothing, but waited for him to continue. "Take all the time you need to think about this, but the Space Marine Corps is now a permanent part of the service. General Chambers has agreed to serve as the first Commandant. There's a hell of a lot of work to be done, Sam, and quite frankly, you've demonstrated a rare ability for leadership under very difficult, even unprecedented conditions."

"I'd like you to be my number two man, Sam," said Chambers.

Sam knew better than to jump. "You probably know that I've been offered a Deputy Directorship in the Agency."

"You'll never get back into space that way,"

Chambers said. He knew which of Sam's buttons to push.

"On that subject," Sam pressed on, "would my duties be in space, at least for a large part of the time? I might as well tell you now that I'm not interested in a job on the ground while the rest of the Service is in space." Damn, it felt good to have people courting him for his services.

"We're asking you because of your proven abilities in space," Chambers said. "If we wanted a desk-bound bureaucrat we sure as hell could've found one with better qualifications than you."

"Point well taken," Sam said. "My duties?"

"The marines have to be trained where they'll be working. There'll be preliminary training and sorting on the ground, of course, but the rest will be in orbit, on the lunar base and on interplanetary ships."

Hart broke in. "We would also like to invite Dr. Tammsalu, ah, Major Tammsalu-Taggart, to accept a permanent appointment with this Department as a staff scientist in the Astrophysics Branch. Dr. Ciano has already agreed to serve as my senior science adviser with a reserve rank of brigadier, although his main interests these days seem to be in the private sector. If you accept, Dr. Taggart, you'll be named his deputy with the option of remaining on active duty or going on reserve status."

Laine smiled very slightly. "Let me think about it. My husband and I must, of course, talk this over."

"Of course," Chambers took up the baton, "it's no longer practical to regard space as merely a place for a tour of duty. It's going to be a place to live. That means provisions for married personnel such as living quarters, family allowances—hell, we're already planning schools for people raising families up there."

"In case you were wondering," Hart said, "the other marine vets have already signed up. After all, how often does anyone get a chance for instant seniority in a new service?"

Sam and Laine had laughed about it all the way to the airport. "I was expecting them to force us to sign at gunpoint!"

"They might try it yet. Let's play hard-to-get for a while."

Now, in the garden of the Japanese Inn, it was time to decide. "I know you want to take the Department position," Sam said.

"And I know you don't want to work at a desk for any salary. Shall we take them up on it?"

Sam reached into his kimono and drew out a piece of hotel stationery. "I've already written up a message. We can send it from the hotel desk."

She took another slip of paper from her own kimono. "Let's see how close your wording is to mine." They scanned the two papers.

"Almost identical," Sam said. They sat and sipped tea for a long time, then they went to send their message.

Elsewhere on the same island, Goro Kuroda was emerging from the entrance hallway of the Prime Minister's residence at Nagata-cho. He climbed into his bulletproof limousine and settled himself comfortably. The conference had gone much more smoothly than he had expected.

He had disliked holding back from the Prime Minister, a man whose candor was legendary, but Goro had given his word. If a man was not as good as his word, he was nothing. Besides, it wasn't as though he was holding back something vital to Japan's national interest in space.

What he did tell Prime Minister Isaka was sufficient. It was enough to convince him that he must fight fiercely to invigorate Japan's space program, especially the manned program. The Prime Minister had been completely in agreement that resource-poor Japan vitally needed access to the virtually unlimited resources of the solar system. They were claimed, as yet, by no other nation and all that was needed to gain access to them was technological knowhow, the financial means to apply the technology and, of course, the national will.

Kuroda informed the Prime Minister that the leaders of the Association of Industries for Space Exploration, which he had headed for the last year, were prepared to make major commitments if the government would take the necessary lead role. There was some mention of a new agency to coordinate the industrialization of space, an excellent place to start. It was this kind of business-government cooperation, almost unknown in the West, which gave Japan a great advantage in such an ambitious venture.

Now relaxing in his limousine, Kuroda reflected upon his brief trip to Space Station Midway for the in situ testing of the water separation system for
Bountyhunter
1 and 2. Or, rather,
Argo
1 and 2. It had been enjoyable, but in the future he would have little time to indulge himself. His son and daughter had gone with him into space; they would be going back.

MOSCOW

The immense ballroom glittered as it had in the days of the Tsars. Premier Chekhov was throwing a Kremlin party for the crews of
Pionyer
I and II. Most of the Politburo members were present, along with the ranking members of the Ministry for Science and Technology. Just about everybody who really counted in the U.S.S.R. was there. That made it a small party by Western standards. Korsakov got the Lenin medal first, along with a bearhug from the Premier. The rest of the crew followed. The Premier proposed a toast in honor of the daring crew who had paved the way to the rest of the Solar System. He said nothing about any American involvement. Tarkovsky, the new Minister for Science and Technology, possibly soon to occupy a place on the Politburo, was handed the microphone.

Tarkovsky spoke glowingly if somewhat inebriatedly of the U.S.S.R.'s future in space. He spoke of the construction of permanent Lunar settlements, of the building of a catapult system utilizing solar energy on the Moon to fling material to yet another project, the L-5 colony program. He spoke of industrial solar power satellites and a series of manned flights to Mars. He even spoke of terra-forming Venus by first seeding its extremely dense atmosphere with microorganisms for the dissociation of carbon dioxide. Most of these projects were incredibly ambitious for the limited resources of the financially-distressed Soviet Union, but just now they enjoyed a lead over the rest of the world in a propulsion system for interplanetary travel and they fully intended to take advantage of that lead. They would fully realize the dream of Constantin Tsiolkovsky. This was one race they could not afford to lose.

PARIS

The second extraordinary session of the European Space Agency (ESA) was convened, like the first, at its headquarters in Paris. It was to last for two days. This was the third day and no end in sight. It might last weeks. Everybody complained, but there are far worse things than extra days spent in Paris.

The first executive session had been held two weeks earlier, and it had been decided that the program was in need of a dramatic shoring up. The secret U.S.-U,S.S.K. mission had stunned everybody. Well, if the Americans wanted to play games like that, so could the Europeans.

The real fun began at the second meeting. Each of the contributing nations wanted a maximum share of the benefits with a minimum participation in the financing, The countries that had been contributing the lion's share to the budget wanted to see their generosity reflected in the awarding of contracts. The countries making smaller contributions wanted a more equitable distribution of contracts and benefits.

Over everything hung the specter of ELDO, the European Launcher Development Organization of the sixties, which after several years of expensive efforts had failed to make a successful launch of their giant rocket. It was said that the sections of the rocket, made in different countries, did not even fit together.

By the end of the second week of the proposed two-day meeting, it was decided that contracts would not be awarded in proportion to budgetary contributions but in kind, according to national technological capabilities. The Germans would contribute and build the ion engine, the French would contribute the nuclear powerhouse, etc. Thus, cranking and puffing, but determined not to let the upstart nations gain ascendancy and prestige over them, the Europeans lurched into the race.

DENVER

Ugo was gesturing wildly, spilling wine in the process. "I'm telling you, folks, this is just the beginning! I'll hold down this job for a while, sure. But that's just to make sure that the U.S. gets off to a good start. After that, I'm going into business for myself. Me and Fred, that is."

Sam and Laine were settled into the conversation pit of the little chalet, Fred was sprawled in front of the fire, and Ugo was pacing as usual. "This is the big plan you've been dropping heavy hints about for months?" Sam asked.

"That's right. Me and Ian McNaughton are planning to form a big space exploitation operation, That is, I'll join as senior partner as soon as I resign from the Department in a few years."

"You mean after you've had most of your expensive R and D work paid for by the taxpayers?" Sam demanded.

"Hey!" Ugo said innocently, "I never thought of that. Not a bad idea, though. Thanks, Sam."

"And did you get Mr. Kuroda to go along with you?" Laine asked.

"He's playing cagey, but I'm pretty sure he'll play ball." Ugo had lost none of his sublime confidence.

"I've got our housing assignments arranged," Fred contributed. "Ugo and I are going to have quarters in the VIP section not far from yours. Just think of it: you'll never lack for his company."

Ugo walked over to the picture window that went from floor to ceiling and stared up into the clear Rocky Mountain sky. He flung his arms wide with exuberance, splashing wine over several paintings. "Hey out there!" he shouted happily, "Here we come!"