The Black Hole (26 page)

McCrae could feel the strain in the machine carrying her. It would drop half a meter, then struggle back up to its former altitude. The whine from Bob's repellers grew steadily more erratic. They would plunge almost to nothing before picking up fitfully again.

The temperature in the room continued to fall, placing an added burden on the poorly maintained B.O.B. unit. But they were almost to the beckoning doorway.

She stared at the opening with a mixture of hope and horror. If its damaged emergency module suddenly became actuated, the door would slam irrevocably shut. They would be trapped in the dome. She tried to will it to remain open.

Holland blinked against the wind-borne particles, tried to see overhead. The hole in the dome appeared to have widened slightly. The hurricane intensified around them. He could feel the dangerous pull increasing on his body. If he lost his hold, he would be helplessly sucked up and out into the void. Radical decompression by exposure to vacuum was a rotten, messy way to die. Despite the growing numbness in his fingers, he held tight to the railing, continued to pull himself toward the far doorway.

Pizer was ahead of him, nearly to safety. That left only Vincent. The robot should be just behind him.

"Vincent! Are you . . .?"

He had intended to ask if the mechanical was all right, but a quick glance backward was enough to show that Vincent wasn't. He could see external parts beginning to freeze up. Vincent could stand the ultimate cold of empty space, so the frost beginning to coat his shell made no sense. But it was there, no doubt about it.

Vincent's evasive hovering slowed. He came up close to Holland, halted. Then the uprushing gale got hold of him, began to draw him up and back.

Holding on with one hand, Holland reached back with a convulsive swipe, barely securing a grip on one of the robot's outstretched arms. His muscles protesting, he pulled the hovering machine slowly down toward him. They started again for the doorway. If he lost his remaining hold on the rail, they would both vanish through the hole in the dome before Pizer or McCrae knew they were gone.

Programmed only to follow and destroy, the sentries had begun to cross the open area of the dome station. They slowed. As if time had stopped for them, they began spiraling upward slowly, helplessly, toward the roof.

Old Bob and McCrae were already standing in the corridor, beyond the lock door. Pizer was next through, having to fight past the wind rushing down the corridor into the dome.

Like a man swimming upstream, Holland somehow managed to get Vincent and himself into the passageway. Old Bob immediately fired at the control-module housing. The door slammed down. The gale slowed, swirled directionlessly about them. They stamped their feet, tried to warm numbed hands. McCrae wondered about frostbite. She could not feel the tips of her fingers.

It was Pizer who started first down the corridor. "We can't wait here. If those sentries manage to open that door, we'll be blown back into the dome. I couldn't make that crossing again. We've got to get moving, Dan."

Holland examined the panting, chilled group of humans and machines. Vincent was slowly thawing, but the cold had penetrated his metal body deeply. He seemed unable to stagger more than a few centimeters forward before having to stop and rewarm.

"Take Bob and Kate," he told Pizer. "We'll catch up."

McCrae shook her head, spoke tersely. "No way. We can help him along, take some of the load off his repellers the way we did with Bob until his internal heating unit is back to strength."

She put her arms around the robot, the cold metal momentarily taking her breath away. Holland did the same opposite her. Between them, they hurried Vincent along.

Behind them, behind the now sealed door, the ceiling of the hydroponics dome finally burst under the pressure. The air rushed as a body out into space, carrying with it frozen bits of plants, shards of console, circuitry and the remnants of the pursuing sentry robots.

"What happened to you in there?" Holland asked the steadily warming robot.

"Had to . . . divert power from heating unit . . . to repellers, to avoid . . . opposing fire. Chill worse than . . . I thought."

"That wasn't too bright."

"All safe now . . . all alive, aren't . . . we?"

"We'll discuss it later," Holland replied curtly. He was angry. Angry at Vincent for almost getting himself frozen to electronic death, for taking risks that he, Holland, should have been taking.

With Vincent's lights flickering unsteadily but with increasing strength, the little party of survivors staggered down the passageway, fighting to keep their balance as the ship shuddered around them.

Reinhardt glowered helplessly at his instruments and ranted at the storm as the
Cygnus
strove to remain intact under the barrage of meteorites, a great ungainly bird assailed by a swarm of potentially deadly bees.

A glowing, globular wraith bore down on the command tower. Reinhardt saw it, stood transfixed by the inexorable approach of mass destruction. It just missed the tower itself, ripped into the superstructure nearby.

The impact sent humanoids tumbling against one another. Several fell from the upper-level platform to lie still and twisted on the deck. Equipment dropped from secured places on the walls; instrumentation snapped loose or winked out.

"Alert all stations for emergency running. Maximillian, program the probe. We may have to use it." He studied the main screen. A tribute to its designers and builders, it still functioned enough, though the concussion had knocked it askew. Readouts set alongside another, smaller screen offered the only good news. The last of the meteorites had swept past the
Cygnus
. There would be no more collisions.

He tested various controls, demanded information. The four undamaged engines were still pulsing smoothly, as were the two still partially functional. Most of the remaining damage had been to the ship's midsection: heart-rending, but not fatal. He still had ample power and a measure of control. But the readouts were full of warnings of sections so badly battered they might fall at any time.

It did not matter now. It was too late to change mind or direction, even were he so inclined. Both he and the
Cygnus
were committed.

The sudden silence and comparative stability of the deck underfoot was almost as frightening as the storm had been. The little group turned a corner. The corridor beyond was completely blocked by metal wreckage. Holland inspected it closely.

"Can't see through. No telling how dense it is. Even if we had the capability, we don't have the time to burn our way through."

McCrae was still waiting for the ceiling to come crashing down on them. "It's over. The storm is over."

"Is there another way out, Bob? Another way that could take us around toward the probe's dock?"

The mechanical turned, moved to a sealed doorway and extended a portion of one arm. It fit into a matching receptacle set alongside the door. The metal panel slid aside and they found themselves in an alcove directly over the damaged power center.

There was atmosphere in the huge chamber. There had to be or the door wouldn't have opened, no matter how insistent old Bob's electronic entreaties. No doubt Reinhardt's efficient machines had already repaired the outer hull where the large meteorite had entered, repressurized the chamber and gone elsewhere to repair more of the extensive damage.

But the repairs had not been perfect. Mixed in with the stale air was another odor McCrae recognized immediately: augmented hydrogen.

"Dan, this entire complex could go up in flames at any minute."

Holland had also noticed the leakage. He stepped out gingerly onto the maintenance catwalk crossing over the engines and the deck far below. It swayed dangerously under his weight and he moved off.

"Any other way around this, Bob?"

"No, Captain," came the reply. "And we certainly can't go back through Agriculture."

Holland considered a moment. "Okay. Take Kate across." She started to protest. "Now."

Bob extended his arms. Deciding that time was now more important than principle, McCrae grabbed hold. Bob started off across the open space.

"Charlie, you and Vincent are next."

Pizer shook his head. "Too much weight."

Vincent already had his limbs extended. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Mr. Pizer. Besides, there is no significant difference in weight between you and the captain. I'll travel above the catwalk, just in case."

Pizer looked unhappy but took hold of the proffered metal limbs, and they started across, following Bob and McCrae. She looked over a shoulder, saw Holland receding behind her and called out to the other, nearing robot.

"Hurry, Vincent. You've still got to get back for Dan."

With the added burden of the humans, neither machine was making much speed. Holland realized he couldn't wait. A chance spark could ignite the drifting hydrogen mixture and turn the chamber into a shortlived but highly realistic little hell.

He started out onto the catwalk. It swayed as before. Moving cautiously forward, he concentrated on maintaining his balance.

"Hold tight, Mr. Charlie," Vincent was admonishing his passenger. The first officer was shaking with coughs as the air in the engine chamber became saturated with leaking gases.

Old Bob and McCrae reached the platform on the other side. She let go, stepped clear and looked back worriedly.

Holland was halfway across when the catwalk finally gave way. Instinctively lurching forward, he clutched at the falling end and swung toward the far side. McCrae screamed.

He turned his back toward the wall, somehow hung on as he slammed into it. The gas was beginning to affect him as it had Pizer, and he started to cough. Reaching up, he tried climbing the broken walkway, slipped, used all his remaining strength just to hang on.

McCrae and Pizer were trying to see down over the edge of the platform through rising, darker gases. Neither had a thought of running for safety.

"Dan!" McCrae shouted without looking across at Pizer. "I can't see him any more!" She bent over, coughed violently.

"Get 'em out of here, Charlie!" came Holland's muted order from somewhere below. Both ignored it

Vincent started downward. "I think Bob and I can bring him up, Mr. Charlie."

"Go to it, Vincent."

The robots drifted down into the rising gas. McCrae and Pizer managed to open the door leading into the next corridor. Fresh air gusted gently inward, driving back some of the suffocating miasma.

Carrying the dazed Holland carefully between them, the two machines reappeared moments later. They all started up the corridor. Holland was limping, and blood trickled from the gash over his eyes. McCrae tried to support him, working on the wound at the same time. The wonder of it was that he hadn't broken every bone in his back when he had slammed into the wall. But then, she reminded herself, he had always been the resilient type.

Reinhardt had forgotten the damage caused by the meteorite storm, had forgotten the disturbing presence of his only human adversaries. He was standing before the main screen, staring at the burgeoning blackness that expanded to shove fierce radiation to the sides.

Soon they would pass beyond the event horizon. At that moment they would pass beyond the limits of human knowledge. They would then encounter oblivion, or a new Universe. Or perhaps something no man had yet imagined.

"They couldn't stop us," he murmured aloud. "We'll make it. To the Universe beyond. To my Universe . . . and everlasting life."

But Reinhardt was only a genius. He had plotted and gauged, predicted and planned and anticipated as best as any mere genius could. The difficulty came from the fact that he no longer had the full strength of the
Cygnus
behind him—only slightly more than half.

As the calculations had insisted it would, the null-
g
field compacted around the ship. Lacking full power, the field-generation system was weakened. The already incomprehensible gravity it was passing through began to produce noticeable effects.

Instrumentation was shaken. Readouts grew uncertain. The command tower itself began to vibrate under the stress.

"Increase power," he directed Maximillian. "Override the safeties on the starboard engines. We're going to maintain full field strength around us. We're going through."

Within the crippled starboard power center, a bit of metal fell from the ceiling. It struck another below, and a slight spark resulted. Suddenly the vast chamber was filled with flames.

One of the engines, already damaged and unable to cope with heat from without as well as from within, imploded. There was a sudden disruption of the field inside the engine that kept the
Cygnus
Process under control. A minute quantity of matter reacted with an equally minuscule amount of anti-matter before the latter could be field-contained or dispersed spaceward. The resultant explosion blew out the rear section of the center, jolting the entire ship. Material and gas gushed out into the void.

Elsewhere on the ship, Bob and Vincent reeled as the artificial gravity momentarily went berserk. Depending on their position, the three humans were thrown against floor or ceiling or wall. The lights in the corridor winked out.