The Black Hole (20 page)

Surprisingly, it was Booth who objected. "Hang on, now, Dan. If Reinhardt's engines can generate enough power to hold him steady here for we-don't-know-how long, I figure he's got enough to pull away from this spot without any trouble at all."

"So?" Pizer was watching Booth warily. The reporter was apt to go overboard if it could mean a better story. Such enthusiasm was commendable. It had also been known to get people dead.

"So why not," Booth continued excitedly, "take this ship
and
Reinhardt back home?"

"Easier said than done." But Holland couldn't help considering the thought.

"Not all that much easier." Now that he had broached the possibility, Booth rambled on as if he were proposing the most natural solution in the world.

"We've got two scientific whizzes to figure his computer setup and reprogram the robots. The programming can't be all that complicated; it's twenty years behind the times. Alex and Kate are not. If Reinhardt's managed to arrange things so that he can run this ship all by himself, the five of us plus Vincent ought to be able to do likewise without working up a mental sweat. And while Kate and Alex are working on navigation and cybernetics, three of us are left to take care of Reinhardt and his steel dog."

He paused for breath, then rushed on. "Think of it! Reinhardt won't mind in the long run. Not once he's been besieged for information on his new drive system and the null-
g
field. He'll thank us for dragging him back home. The government will be delirious because they'll have the
Cygnus
back and can use it to recoup their colossal investment, even if they just turn it into a museum. The established research institutes will have two decades of new data to pore through. See," he concluded brightly, "everybody eventually benefits. Even Reinhardt."

"He'd disagree with you, Harry."

Booth frowned at Durant. "He would today, sure, but not once we're back on Earth. Not if he's been telling us the truth. And if he hasn't been, it's our duty to take him back. He can face acclamation or trial, it's all the same to me. We—we could be heroes."

"We could also be dead," Holland pointed out.

Durant turned away from them. "I don't believe what I'm hearing. Leaving aside the fact that Reinhardt is considering the greatest experiment in the history of modern astrophysics, he'd never consent to relinquishing his authority over the
Cygnus
. Never."

"You can believe you're hearing
this
, Alex," Holland said firmly. "My job is to get you all off this ship alive. That's my responsibility and that's what I intend to do—the greatest experiment in the history of modern astrophysics notwithstanding. Once we're safely away, we'll see about monitoring any crazy schemes Reinhardt has in mind."

He turned to the reporter. "As for your suggestion, Harry, I suggest you cool it. Don't bait the bull."

"I've done that plenty of times." Booth spoke proudly. "And I'm still hanging around."

"We're all aware of your accomplishments and your heroic, investigative-reporter background," Holland replied soothingly, "but don't push that man. That's an order. You're not operating alone now. I have to think of everyone. You ought to, too. I don't want to see any of us left behind."

Booth glared at him momentarily. Then he seemed to think things through and relaxed, nodding agreement.
We still have time
, he told himself. He was certain that he could eventually convince Holland that his, Harry Booth's, plan was best for all concerned.

If he could convince Holland, then Pizer would automatically go along.

McCrae could be persuaded. Durant . . . Alex would be a problem. His judgment was blinded by Reinhardt's visions. But he was only one man, and more inclined to fight with his intellect than with a weapon. Weapons were likely to be important in the upcoming discussions, Booth knew.

Not only would they return as heroes, he would be reporting the greatest story in a hundred years.

GHOST SHIP CYGNUS RETURNS
! . . . reported by Harrison G. Booth. No . . .
HARRISON G. BOOTH REPORTS
. . . return of the ghost ship
Cygnus
.

That sounded better. He returned his attention to the viewport, much pleased with himself.

Reinhardt entered the pressurized cylinder, Maximillian following close behind. Ahead, the probe ship could be seen locking into the
Cygnus
's reception terminal.
Soon it will all begin
, Reinhardt mused.
The culmination of my life's work. The answer to one of science's greatest mysteries will be revealed
.

The possibility he might die did not concern him. If it had, he would have returned to Earth long ago. He feared only ignorance, not death. The latter he knew for what it was: a cessation of the flow of certain fluids, the degradation of internal electric impulses which conveyed stimuli, and the eventual dissolution of various organic molecular structures into dust.

He shook his head sadly. He could not fathom other men's fear of dying. Why, how could they be so concerned with existing, when for the most part their existence was a waste? They contributed nothing, achieved nothing, merely took up space. Everything they did, every action of their meager lives, was geared toward inefficient utilization of their environment for petty personal ends. Yet they continued to insist their way of life constituted a civilization.

The cylinder moved toward the probe terminal.

Vincent drifted silently alongside Bob. Both machines traveled as slowly as possible so as to minimize the noise produced by their repellers. Bob's tended to grind from time to time.

Vincent was going to see the evidence that would confirm Bob's incredible revelation. The older robot had insisted, so that no doubt would be left in the minds of Vincent's human crewmates.

They slowed to a halt by a closed door. Bob repeated the admonition for silence, then activated the door. It slid back soundlessly. They drifted into a large room. Bob reclosed the door behind them.

They were gazing into a roughly circular chamber lit by many-colored lights. Deeper lights, powerful precision lasers, were firing down at a cylindrical platform. The platform turned slowly as the lights played upon it. Several humanoid robots were working at nearby consoles or over the round table.

When they moved, Vincent caught a glimpse of their stations, computer consoles of the most intricate design. As the platform-table continued to revolve, the watching robots had a clear view of what rested atop it.

Several humanoid shapes lay within indentations in the platform. Their heads were the same as those of the humanoids operating the instrumentation, but the bodies lying in the indentations were not. Vincent's sensors informed him that they were not, as he had hoped, superb replicas of human forms. They
were
human forms. What lay behind the mirrored faceplates that covered each skull, he preferred not to speculate on.

Lasers flashed at regular intervals, and other devices functioned. All were conducted by the robed, face-plated shapes at the consoles. It was a compact symphony of remote surgery, advanced cybernetics and complete moral dessication.

"These poor creatures are what's left of the original human crew," Bob whispered as softly as he could. "They are kept alive by a technique of Reinhardt's I don't pretend to understand."

"They are humans, then?"

"More robot now than human, Vincent." The old robot sounded forlorn. "There was nothing a mere B.O.B. unit like myself could have done. Reinhardt had constructed Maximillian as a therapeutic research project, or so he told the other humans. With Maximillian's aid, he was able to take over the ship. He and Maximillian had secretly reprogrammed the other robots to help him. They were not responsible . . . he'd altered their circuitry and memories radically. This altered programming did not manifest itself until the time he'd chosen for the takeover, when then: secret, special programming was keyed by a selected phrase spoken only by Reinhardt.

"Those humans who survived—you see what's left of them working around the ship. Occasionally some die, despite the best efforts of Reinhardt's programmed surgeons. Some die from natural causes, I'm sure, but I believe others experience a flash of reality and kill themselves."

"Only a flash? Couldn't some of them," Vincent asked hopefully, "still retain enough to be returned to a normal state?"

"I doubt it," Bob said sadly. "Their brains have been altered to do Reinhardt's bidding. They retain no individual will, react to nothing save the task they are assigned to. When I was able to isolate myself with one, I tried to communicate. None has ever responded to me."

"How come you weren't reprogrammed by Reinhardt along with all the other robots?"

"It was through no cleverness of my own. But for an accident of circumstance, I would be as obedient as any you have encountered. You see, I was lying dormant in the back of the maintenance area when Reinhardt reprogrammed the robots in my section of the ship. My task was originally performed by humans, so I may not have been on any of his lists. I was reac-tivated several days after the humans had been killed . . . or brought here to be altered. By that time Reinhardt was in complete command of the
Cygnus
. He was too occupied with other tasks to consider that he might have missed one potentially uncooperative robot. I have taken care not to draw attention to my independent nature.

"Regardless, he would have been right not to be concerned. A single unreprogrammed mechanical or two could be no threat to him. Not with the sentries already under his command and Maximillian to do his bidding."

There was no aura of vengeance to Bob's words. Such extreme memory-emotions were denied mechanicals. But Vincent thought he could detect a certain dissatisfaction.

"There must be something . . ." he began.

The door opened behind them. Two sentry robots stood there. A rapid display of lights raced across their external monitoring units as they reacted to the presence of Vincent and Bob in the restricted area.

"They must know I've told you," Bob said hurriedly. "Your presence alongside me is enough. We're done for."

"Get down."

Bob cut his repellers and fell almost to the deck as the sentries' weapons rose to firing position. Before either could shoot, Vincent's own lasers flared several times. Both sentries were knocked back into the anteroom, clear of the surgery. They spewed droplets of liquid metal and sparking internal modules.

Oblivious to anything not directly affecting their designated task, the humanoid surgeons continued operating. Vincent led Bob through the now open door, closed it quickly behind them. They concealed the two punctured metal shapes as best they could, then started up the corridor.

Perhaps when this new information was laid before him, Captain Holland would initiate action somewhat more compelling than conversation.

Durant paced the dining room, ignoring the food and the view outside.
How to make them believe?
he thought frantically.
How to show them the importance of Reinhardt and what he proposed to attempt?
So far Dan and Harry had offered nothing against the commander except groundless suspicions. He
had
to convince them!

"What's wrong with you people?" His frustration poured out. "The man has given us our lives—or have you already forgotten that his generosity is enabling us to repair the
Palomino?
Or that once he was sure we meant him no harm"—and he glared accusingly at Booth—"he's been a perfect host? More than that, he's offered to let us take back to Earth details of his fantastic accomplishments and discoveries, knowing he can never be certain we'll see he receives proper credit for them."

Holland looked sympathetic, but still said what had to be said. "That doesn't obviate the fact that he's technically a pirate operating a stolen ship, Alex."

"We don't know that!" Durant slammed a fist on the table, rattling crystalware and spilling gravy on the immaculate imitation-lace tablecloth. "He says the others abandoned ship and tried to return home. They may still be on their way, if they had trouble with their supralight engines."

"I think we have enough evidence to believe otherwise, Alex."

"Circumstantial, Dan! Only circumstantial. I've seen no reason to think that—"

Holland interrupted him. "I've seen enough to make me worry. Both about the actual fate of the missing crew and about Reinhardt's state of mind."

"Don't be so blasted superior. Men like Reinhardt are a special breed. They push back the frontiers of human knowledge. Sure, that can be a little unsettling at times."

Holland gave him a long look. "You mean, one set of rules for those pushing back the frontiers and another for those of us who simply want to live with them?"

"Don't put words in my mouth. Where would we be without men like Reinhardt?"

"Healthier," said Pizer. "I'm not anti-research, Alex. You know that. Only against uncontrolled research. Like uncontrolled fusion. You can get burned both ways."

"Reinhardt says he's checked everything."

"Charlie doesn't mean that," Holland explained. "Science needs a system of checks and balances just like law. Here, Reinhardt is both." He shook his head slowly. "In my book, that's research without control. It's Reinhardt's other activities that worry me most, not this intended suicidal plunge into the black hole."