Phase Five
CRASH!
Accompanied by two robots and armed with a laser rifle, Kwango went dirtside as fast as he could. There was nothing to be seen except the small craters where the vid tripods had been. It looked as if chemical explosives had been used; but, strangely, the soil was steaming hot. He tested for radioactivity. There was some, but it was minimal.
He reported back by radio to the
Santa Maria
. “No sign of the little folk, Boss. It is rather warm where they took out the vids, but there is no radiac worth mentioning. No burn signs, either. Almost certainly, they used conventional explosives—unless their science is radically different from our science.”
“Don’t rule out the possibility,” retorted Conrad drily. “Investigate thoroughly for a radius of one thousand metres and come back. If these people are smart—and I think they are—they will have got the hell out fast. By now, they are probably sitting somewhere about five kilometres away, waiting to see how we react.”
“Can I take the hovercar and make a wider search?”
“No, you cannot. Now that we know for sure there is intelligence—hostile intelligence—on Tantalus, we minimise risks.”
There was a brief silence. Then Kwango said: “How do you know they are people, Commander?”
“In my book,” said Conrad, “people are intelligent creatures who know what they are doing and why they are doing it.”
Kwango laughed. “That definition would include dolphins and robots.”
“Exactly. Now do your sweep and get back. I don’t think you will find anything, but make damn sure you test for the presence of metals as well as radioactivity.”
“You think they may have left souvenirs?”
“If they wanted to get real tough, they might have put down a few proximity mines. Sweat on that. Over and out.”
“Thanks, Boss. It’s the thought that counts. Over and out.”
Fortunately, there were no proximity mines—or none that went off. When he had covered the specified area, Kwango recalled the robots and returned to the
Santa Maria
.
Conrad held his conference in the saloon. “You have heard the descriptions—such as they are—of these creatures. So, at least, when you go dirtside you will know something about one of the dangers that you are likely to encounter. The fact that there are intelligent beings on Tantalus affects the nature of our mission. If these creatures have a sophisticated culture and are present in considerable numbers, it is highly likely that, even if we proved the planet to be fit for colonisation, U.N. would not sanction it.”
“Then why don’t we lift off and go home?” It was Alexei Pushkin speaking. He looked strong and healthy now, showing no signs of his recent trauma.
“Because nothing’s yet proved,” said Conrad patiently, “Orbital survey has yielded no evidence of cities, technology, energy consumption, radio emission—all the things you would associate with an advanced society. There’s the mystery of the rings. But until we have solved it and until we know a great deal more about the creatures that took out the vids, we stay and explore.”
“Commander,” said Lisa Uhlmann, “may I suggest that you contact Terra, give the data already obtained, and await instructions?”
“No, you may not, Uhlmann,” snapped Conrad, “It cost a lot to get us here. We do our work, we investigate the planet, and we don’t lift off until we have all the answers.”
Ahmed Khelad said: “I agree with Commander Conrad. We have a job to do. Let’s do it.”
Conrad became more irritable. “Strangely, Khelad, I don’t need your agreement. I make my own decisions… Incidentally, I want you to design a rather special kind of mine. It has to be simple enough for the robots to be able to manufacture it in quantity. It has to be unaffected by temperature and moisture. It has to be triggered by a pressure of not less than twenty-five kilos, and it has to contain an explosive that will not do too much damage. What I want, basically, is a warning device—a deterrent not a destroyer. Can you do this?” Khelad smiled. “But, of course.”
“Good. There is, however, one small problem. For all I know, you may be our hypothetical saboteur, waiting for just such an opportunity. I know nothing about explosives, but Uhlmann is a chemist. Therefore she will supervise your work and you will explain every step to her. O.K.?”
The Arab shrugged. “I see the necessity, Commander, but I would have preferred to be trusted… It is not without the bounds of possibility that Uhlmann—no offence intended, Lisa—may be the saboteur, if there is one. Have you thought of that, Commander?”
“I have. I am gambling on the probability that you can’t both be out to wreck this mission. She checks you, you check her and Lieutenant Smith checks the four of you. That is the way it has to be.”
Conrad glanced at all of them. “Now, we are all going to have a busy day. I am going to take the chopper and have a look at the rings, Kwango will use the hovercar to survey the terrain within a radius of ten kilometres, the robots—such as can be spared—will construct an electrified defence perimeter. Zonis will go out and collect more bio-specimens, Pushkin will supervise the assembly of exo
-
skeletons and will use one to punch in the support girders for the defence system; and Lieutenant Smith, in my absence, will be in command. Any questions?”
Ruth Zonis said: “What happens if we are attacked while you are away?”
“Unless the safety of the
Santa Maria
is threatened, y
o
u will not retaliate. If the vessel itself is attacked, you will throw everything you have—at the discretion of Lieutenant Smith.”
Conrad took the chopper up to an altitude of three hundred metres and circled slowly round the
Santa Maria
. Down below, three robots, looking like odd, metallic insects, were already at work on the defence perimeter. Sections of exo-skeleton were being lowered from the star-ship’s derrick; and a small human figure—presumably Pushkin—waited dirtside to receive them. Kwango, in the hovercar, was already proceeding cautiously on his reconnaissance. So far, situation normal.
He called Lieutenant Smith. “Chopper to
Santa Maria
. Do you read me?”
“Loud and clear. How does it look from up there, James?”
“Very peaceful. Visibility good. I can just about see the ring system. I’m pushing off to take a closer look in a minute or two. Meanwhile, I’ll just flip round and see if I can spot any of the jokers who took out our vids.”
He brought the chopper down to one hundred and fifty metres and took it spirally out from the star-ship until he was more than a kilometre away.
He reported back. “As far as I can see, our destructive little friends are conspicuous only by their absence… Maybe Kurt will turn up something. Meanwhile, I’m lifting high and I am going to take a good look at the rings… Contingency plans. If I am not back in three hours, do not—repeat, do not—send out any search party. If I do not respond to radio signals confine all activity within perimeter defence. Kwango may use an exo-skeleton for a one-man search at your discretion. But if he does and he does not return you will abort this mission. Understood, Lieutenant?”
“Understood, Commander. Be careful and come back. It will save us all a lot of problems.”
“I will. Over and out.”
Conrad lifted to one thousand metres, then he headed slowly north. It was a fine, sunny morning. The country below looked good. Good and rich. Perfect for colonisation. Unless, of course, it held too many nasty surprises— which seemed quite unlikely.
Conrad thought yet again of the half-glimpsed creatures who had taken out the vids. They had known exactly what to do, and they had accomplished it with rapid efficiency. Then they had melted away. All the signs pointed to a high order of intelligence, which was fascinating on one level and depressing on another. Even if the Expendables could establish a bridgehead on Tantalus, U.N. was hardly likely to sanction a colonisation programme if it was known that the planet already supported a hostile and intelligent life-form. And yet, there remained the enigma of the planet’s total technological “silence”. No cities, no trace of civilisation, no sign of radio emission, industrial complexes, atomics—anything. Only the bloody great mystery of the rings and the equally great mystery of a huge, derelict star-ship.
Conrad’s head ached. It ached, as he well knew, because his neural circuits were overloaded. He was having to worry about too many things—about a possible saboteur, about the nature of the rings, about the derelict star-ship and about creatures with prehensile tails who could lob bombs with deadly accuracy.
He tried to forget his headache and concentrate on his immediate task. The grassland was behind him. He was over the forest. He could see the ring system plainly. It was only about fifteen kilometres ahead.
He decided to move in very slowly and circle the system. It looked formidable. A vast area of the forest must have been cleared before the rings could be constructed.
The rings glistened in the morning sunlight. From this distance, they looked as if they might have been manufactured from copper or bronze. But telemetric investigation had shown that they were not metallic.
He lifted the chopper to three thousand metres, cancelled the forward thrust, hovered and looked down.
There was no sign of movement anywhere. He took a pair of 30 X 50 binoculars and swept the area. As far as could be ascertained, it was completely free of animal life or bird life. As he had passed over the forest, he had seen a number of four-legged creatures—mostly small, but some strangely similar to the terrestrial deer or horse. And the passing of the chopper had disturbed two or three flocks of birds. But here, in the immediate vicinity of the ring system there was only desolation. Not even any plant, life. The ground was bare, as if it had been sterilised.
For a moment or two, Conrad felt that he was looking down at some strange, alien cemetery. Human beings, in bygone ages when there was no shortage of land, had buried their dead in a great variety of ways. In the Stone Age, megaliths had been used as markers for clan chiefs; the Pharaohs had committed the extraordinary extravagance of pyramids; even in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, when cremation and recycling were established procedures, many who could afford the luxury had chosen to have their remains interred in valuable ground and their small achievements commemorated by marble monuments.
Perhaps that was the case on Tantalus. Perhaps Conrad was looking down on the local equivalent of the pyramids. The most spectacular graveyard on the planet.
Suddenly, he experienced intense feelings of uneasiness, apprehension, fear. There was sweat on his forehead, and he did not know why.
He had the sense to report back to the
Santa Maria
. “Conrad speaking. I am over the ring system at three thousand metres. There are no signs of life. But I have begun to experience intense emotional disturbance. I can think of no rational explanation. It is my intention to circle the system, take pix and return. I think—”
The radio went dead. The green light, indicating normal transmission, just winked out. Conrad barely had time to register the fact before the chopper’s atomic engine also died. Then the circuitry on the instrument panel folded.
The chopper began to lose altitude. Conrad had the wit to disengage the vanes from the engine so that they could rotate freely under air pressure. That way, he w
o
uld not fall out of the sky like a stone. The landing would not be soft; but with a bit of luck it would be bearable. In any case, he could always hit the ejector-seat button and come down by parachute.
He glanced down at the rings. Was it his imagination, or were they becoming brighter, glowing almost? They were becoming brighter. Now they were almost luminescent.
He tried the radio again. No use.
The chopper was coming down fast. Too fast. It might survive impact and be salvageable. But flesh and bones were more vulnerable than titanium and steel. Conrad checked his harness, then braced himself and hit the button. He should have been blasted clear. He wasn’t. Nothing happened. He hit the button again. Still nothing happened.
He looked once more at the rings. Goddammit, they were incandescent. The light hurt his eyes.
This is crazy, he thought. All my bloody power system knocked out, and those goddamn things are turning on like search-lights. He tried to swing the chopper into the wind —what there was of it—by manual controls. He partly succeeded, got her tail down a little and slowed the rate of fall. But the ground was still coming up far too fast. Thank God he wasn’t over the forest!
It’s going to be one hell of a bump, he told himself.
With a curious detachment, he tried to estimate his chances of survival. Two to one against, he thought. It seemed reasonable to be mildly pessimistic.
In the last few seconds before impact, he braced himself and tried to remember the orders he had given to cover just such a contingency. He couldn’t remember a thing.
Then the crash came. He heard the fabric of the seat tear and felt a tremendous jarring. Then he was flung upwards and felt something smash into his bio-arm before the world of Tantalus knocked him on the head and brought a merciful oblivion.
The people who had designed the chopper had designed it well. They had used hiduminium and titanium and they had built into it three different systems of shock absorbers. They had planned for survival of the pilot if the motors failed.