The Black Hole (14 page)

"Once left to myself," Reinhardt was telling them, "I had a great deal of time to explore ideas that previous endeavors, such as overseeing the construction of the
Cygnus
, had forbidden me. My isolation provided the time, and the
Cygnus
's laboratories the means, for much extensive research. So I became obsessed with repairing the engines because all the experts were convinced they could not be repaired, and tremendously frustrated when I was eventually forced to agree with them." He smiled meaningfully, his hands conducting his words.

"That is, they could not be made to function in the accepted sense, in the way they had been designed to function. So I was forced to experiment with concepts that had lain long dormant in the back of my mind.

"Frank McCrae helped, until he died. Then I worked on alone with the computers, with all the power of the
Cygnus
's vast mental resources to aid me. The result was the achievement of one of man's greatest dreams, a dream attainable only in free space. I have discovered how to isolate and draw usable power from the reaction of matter and anti-matter."

Their expressions revealed their shock, and he was pleased.

"Yes, I know many scientists consider such an accomplishment beyond the power of our physics, consider it impossible. They were correct. It is impossible . . . without the assistance of a stabilizing field analogous to the one that bends gravity around the
Cygnus
and keeps us from being sucked into the black hole. So we see at work again the marvelous serendipity of science, where one discovery leads to another far greater."

He turned to face McCrae. "It was in the mining of an asteroid for sufficient mass to power the new engines that your father was killed."

He moved to a long viewport, halted there and gestured below it. They moved to look.

Below was the largest open area they had yet encountered on the
Cygnus
. Four large, sealed, massive shapes glowed faintly with their individual auroras. They were the ship's supralight engines, but different now. They had been altered. Reinhardt's mechanical workers had done an admirable job.

"I could give you the output of those engines in ergs, or gigawatts, or any other set of measures you chose. I will simply tell you, without exaggeration or boastfulness, that there is enough energy capacity down there to supply all of Earth."

His listeners seemed impressed, so he forged ahead. "The seemingly insoluble problem with matter-antimatter energy production on a practical scale was never in the releasing of the energy but in the finding of a means to contain the reaction safely so it would not spread. My null-
g
field provided that. It was all very simple, really. First it is demonstrated that such a field is possible. Then the engines are modified to generate a variation of said field. They produce enough initial power to maintain this field within themselves and contain the matter-anti-matter reaction. This new source of power in turn produces a far more powerful field which surrounds the ship and enables it to hold its position against the attractive force of the black hole. You see, one discovery thus complements the other."

"This is the realization of the dream," McCrae murmured aloud. "It's the breakthrough to colonizing the galaxy. One such engine could power a colony ship three times the size of the
Cygnus!
"

Durant was almost beyond words. "You'll . . . you'll go down as one of the greatest space scientists of all time, sir. No . . . as one of the greatest
scientists
of all time."

"I have never doubted that." Reinhardt's air of self-satisfaction filled the room.

"You said that you wanted us to carry your discoveries home to Earth," Durant went on excitedly. "Does that include your work on matter-antimatter and gravity? Do you mean to turn this technology over to us?"

Reinhardt nodded. "It's high time others learned of their mistakes and my triumphs. I will accept vindication
in absentia
. You, my friends, will serve as the instrument of that vindication. Now that I know who you are and what you stand for, I can trust you to do what is right."

Durant had turned away, was once more drinking in the unique modifications of the power complex below their station. "You should come back with us and enjoy the fruits of your success. Doesn't it mean anything to you, the chance to confront your critics in person with your magnificent achievements?"

"I have already told you that such personal adoration is not necessary. You do not understand me at all, Dr. Durant. For me, the accomplishment itself is glory enough. To win the race is the vital thing, not the broadcasting of it to the losers."

"You've done plenty of broadcasting of your beliefs and accomplishments in your time."

Reinhardt looked sharply at Booth, then relaxed and smiled. Now that he had been able to display his considerable achievements, he was past being baited.

"All means to an end, Mr. Booth. I said what I felt it was necessary to say, performed the actions I felt were required, all for the sake of getting this vessel built and on its way. Such gestures as I may have made to the media were only to assist in realizing that estimable scientific end, not for personal ego gratification."

Exercising unusual restraint, or perhaps caution, the reporter offered no reply.

"There is too much at stake here for me to think of returning to Earth now," the scientist continued. "Even if I wished to accept your invitation, Dr. Durant, I could not. I stand on the brink of my greatest achievement." He pointed to the massive engines below.

"All this is but a means to a still greater end, Dr. Durant. Once I thought this ship was the ultimate of my accomplishments. Then I believed that of my discoveries in energy generation and gravity-field mechanics. Now I find all are only steps, steps leading to another, unimaginable beginning."

"The beginning of what?" Durant was gaping at him.

Reinhardt had pushed his visitors' curiosity to the limit. Just when they thought they had him sized and catalogued, he shocked them with some new revelation, with still further miracles. Durant was no wide-eyed student. He had a vivid scientific imagination and was well versed in theoretical as well as practical physical prognostication, but Reinhardt had long since exceeded his capacity for wonder.

What, he thought dazedly, could be more important or impressive than the gravity-field nullifier or the discovery of a means to power every home and factory on Earth? Of only one thing was he still certain: Hans Reinhardt was not exaggerating. If anything, he had chosen to understate the importance of the discoveries he had thus far revealed to them.

"You'll learn all that in due time, Doctor." Reinhardt smiled condescendingly at his fellow scientist. "Be patient. It is not good to learn too much at one time. The mind loses the ability to place things in proper perspective."

"The gospel according to Saint Reinhardt," Booth muttered.

"I indeed preach a new gospel, Mr. Booth," the scientist admitted proudly. "The gospel of a new physics, which will offer man a new way to look at his Universe. I am no mad prophet. I preach only what I have learned. My sermons are founded on hard facts that can be independently confirmed. There is no dealing in superstition here."

Again it was McCrae who forestalled a potentially violent confrontation by stepping verbally between the two men. "I'd like some proof of your power source. Something to show that what we're seeing are more than just some carefully gimmicked standard supradrive engines."

"And so you shall, my dear. You will have all the proof you wish. All the computer storage banks are open to your perusal. So are the engines themselves. As you will see, the readouts and monitoring instrumentation are practically unchanged. So you will know the figures they offer you are genuine." He looked around the room with the attitude of a proud father.

"When you examine the output of a single engine, you will be more amazed than you can imagine. Come along, and I'll explain as we walk. Please feel free to ask any questions you like. I enjoy being able to provide answers. That has been the driving force of my entire life, you see. To be the one in the position to provide the answers." He glanced back at Durant.

"Perhaps as we walk I will also explain the beginning I was referring to, the next question I have chosen to answer."

Durant and McCrae flanked the scientist as they strolled off toward a bend in the room. Booth pretended to examine the master power console, but watched as they moved farther from his position.

"A new source of energy for mankind," McCrae was saying speculatively. "This could revolutionize much more than deep-space travel. It could free the peoples of Earth from dependence on conventional sources of power forever."

"Precisely," agreed the pleased Reinhardt. "I call it the
Cygnus
Process, after my ship."

As the others moved on, Booth remained standing by the quietly humming instruments monitoring the engines below. His companions disappeared around the bend in the room.

Booth looked around. The mechanicals manning the instruments ignored him. He turned and hurried away, moving in the opposite direction from the one taken by his host and friends. At the moment he was not worried about Reinhardt's missing him as much as he was about the possibility he might encounter some of the
Cygnus
's metal sentries. The good doctor was obviously absorbed in detailing the marvels of the ship and in soaking up the compliments McCrae and Durant would be providing him in turn.

Booth had had enough of scientific wonders for a while. There were one or two things bothering him that he preferred to check on away from Reinhardt's scrutiny. The time had come for a little investigative reporting. And if it got him into trouble, well, his curiosity had placed him in awkward positions before. He had always somehow managed to extricate himself. So if explanations didn't work with Reinhardt, he suspected that flattery or humility, or both, would. He had been following his suspicions and hunches on a professional basis for years, and he was damned if he was going to stop now.

Holland had located an air-car terminal and had chosen one likely to transport him back toward the reception area and the waiting
Palomino
. It responded to his programming, carried him smoothly forward. If he had guessed wrong, he could always backtrack and switch to another car.

An intersection loomed ahead, several corridors converging. He stared intently at the nearing nexus, trying to recall if they had passed this hub previously or if one of the side corridors seemed more familiar than the one he was traveling down now.

They did not, but the intersection itself suddenly grabbed his interest. Six of the humanoid, dark-cloaked mechanicals hove into view. That in itself was nothing unique; he had become familiar with the appearance and design of most of the robots aboard. But their movements, and particularly the object they conveyed between them, caused him to frown.

The flat platform resembled a hospital-style gurney, less festooned with instrumentation but definitely similar in construction. The analogy was enhanced by the covered, somewhat irregular shape lying on the platform. Its silhouette was exceptionally human, more so even than that of the six mechanicals surrounding it.

They crossed through the intersection and vanished up one of the corridors. Holland knew he had to act quickly before the vehicle carried him past the nexus. If he traveled too far before stopping, he likely would not find the right corridor when he backtracked. His hands worked rapidly at the programming unit. The car slowed, came to a silent halt just beyond the intersection. Holland leaned back and stared. The odd procession was just turning a far corner.

He hesitated briefly. Reinhardt didn't know he was here, doubtless still believed he was back in Maintenance and Stores with Charlie and Vincent, working to procure the necessary replacement parts for the
Palomino
's regeneration system under the watchful optics of Maximillian. No sentry or other machine had challenged his progress thus far. It was reasonable to assume that Reinhardt's instructions regarding the treatment of the new visitors as guests had filtered through the ship's mechanical crew. It was therefore possible he could go anywhere he wished without being confronted.

No doubt he was wasting valuable time anyway. His fancies were running away with him. But the object on the platform had looked
so
manlike. So did the humanoid robots escorting it, but if the thing on the gurney was a non-functioning mechanical, then why the concealing cloth? And why six escorts when one or two would have been sufficient to guide the ailing, cloaked machine to repair?

Such imponderables gave rise to flighty speculations that no doubt were nothing more than that, but he wouldn't feel comfortable until he knew for certain.

Holland did his best to lock the controls of the little car so that it would remain where he left it, awaiting his return. Then he hurried after the departed group. He turned the corner around which they had disappeared and was confronted by a long, bare corridor. A single closed door was nearby.

Careful, now
, he told himself. He knew these machines of Reinhardt's were personally programmed by him and realized they might have been imbued with personalities akin to Maximillian's.
They haven't bothered you yet, but they may not appreciate being interrupted or spied upon, and Reinhardt's not around to countermand any violent impulses you might trigger
. So . . .
watch it
.

He tried the door, ready to run, fight or talk fast, as the occasion demanded. It opened easily. The long room inside was deserted. That is, the people were absent but their memories lay thick.

"Crew quarters," Holland muttered softly to himself as he walked through the room. Bunks were stacked three high. They had the appearance of having been moved and rearranged. He wondered at the cramped space. On a ship the size of the
Cygnus
, the crew's living quarters should have been more spacious. Even the
Palomino
offered more privacy.