Day of the Dragonstar Read online

  Ignoring him, Melendez watched the hull of the giant ship rise up to meet them. He could see that its metallic surface was burnished and scored from the abrasions of countless particles and micro-meteorites. How long had this thing been drifting through space?

  As the Snipe approached a flat area, Melendez noted movement on the hull.

  “Copernicus. Something’s moving down there. One of those little domes. Peeling back . . .”

  There was a pause. Then: “We have it on the VOR. Cancel touchdown. Repeat, cancel touchdown and get out of there.”

  As Melendez reached for the proper key on his control panel, a brief burst of light flashed beyond the viewport.

  The blister on the alien ship’s hull had disappeared, replaced by an array of parabolic dishes, which immediately converged their beams to intersect with the oncoming Snipe.

  The beams of intense energy, from the array wrapped the prospecting ship in a ring of dancing fire. The heat of contact vaporized the outer hull instantly. Decompression blew out Melendez’s ears before he could even scream.

  The explosion swept him into blindness, then nothingness.

  In the black silence of space, there remained a small cloud of debris. Metal fragments. Ash-like swirls of particles. The cloud retained a vague orbit around the gigantic vessel, dissipating gradually into space.

  MINUTES FROM lASA

  JOINT CHIEFS OF STAFF MEETING

  August 5, 2077

  (Partial) SUBJECT: ARTIFACT ONE

  CLASSIFIED—TOP SECRET

  FOR GOVERNMENTAL EXECUTIVE

  USE ONLY

  (Excerpt) FAX SHEET SUPPLIED BY

  DR. ANDRE LABATE

  RELEVANT INFORMATION

  Semi-major axis of orbit:

  35.33 Astronomical Units

  (highly eccentric perihelion

  24 million kilometers)

  Orbital period: 210 years

  Stability of orbit: unknown,

  although backward integrations

  for a hundred thousand

  years suggest very high stability

  Axial rotation period: 360 seconds

  Electromagnetic activity: undifferentiated

  First Order of Business: Colonel Phineas Kemp exonerated from blame for deaths of miners Charles O’Hara and Peter Melendez. General agreement that SP2 double A destroyed by automatic, unmanned defense system accidently triggered. Still no response from within object (code name, Artifact One).

  Second Order of Business: Discussion of security measures (see attached complete report from Security Chief Oscar Rheinhardt).

  Third Order of Business: Announcement of plans to intercept Artifact One with a Deep-Space Probeship as soon as possible. Crew of eight to be launched within thirty-six hours, with three objectives:

  1. Neutralize defensive systems of Artifact One.

  2. Gain access to ship’s interior.

  3. Analyze and determine feasibility of attaching

  continuous mpulse engines to craft to guide it back

  to a geo-lunar synchronous orbit for further intensive study.

  Fourth Order of Business: Selection of crew complement. Duties and suitable individuals selected.

  Mission Command Pilot:

  Douglas Fratz, Lt. Colonel, IASA

  Back-up Astrophysicist/Navigations Specialist:

  Michael Bracken; Lt. Captain, IASA

  Tactical Engineer:

  Ian Coopersmith, Captain, IASA

  Assistant Tactical Engineer:

  Thomas Valdone, Lieutenant, IASA

  Weapons Specialist:

  Dr. Gerald Pohl, US Army

  Exobiologist:

  Dr. Amos Hagar; civilian

  Communications Officer:

  Alan Huff, Lieutenant, IASA

  Biomedical-Specialist::

  Dr. Rebecca Thalberg, IASA

  “No,” said Kemp, “I won’t have it!”

  “You were outvoted, dear love,” said Becky, smugly walking ahead of him. She had to go back to her apartment to get ready for the trip, then to her laboratory to select the equipment she needed. She could use this spot of adventure. Get away from the drab sterile Copernicus hallways like the one she walked in now. Get away from Phineas Kemp, and at the same time prove herself to him. Clearly that was what was necessary in this war of love in which they were involved. She couldn’t convince him to play her way, with warmth and vulnerability, intimacy, and sharing. She had to show him that she was his equal in the things that counted to Phineas Kemp, namely ambition, strength of will, and accomplishment.

  Kemp grabbed her arm. “Wait. Will you talk for one minute? There’s still time to change your mind.”

  She swung around to face him. “I’m going, Phineas, and there’s nothing that you can do to stop me! I’m the best-suited person on the moon for that position. And I want it!”

  She paused for a moment, a. bit surprised at Kemp’s expression. It wasn’t stern or demanding. It was actually soft, almost pleading. Since those poor miners had been killed, he’d been like a rock. Hardly a word from him. He hadn’t touched her, and he’d repulsed any efforts she’d made to comfort him, damn him. He didn’t seem to care much that two lives had been lost—only that his plans had been fouled. Becky could understand his preoccupation. What she couldn’t understand was why it seemed to obsess his every waking and sleeping moment, and why he wouldn’t let her share some of the burden. He was a self-sufficient bastard, and he’d rather die than show anyone that he felt human emotions in times of military stress. Even his lover.

  Now, though, there was something like hurt in his attitude. Hurt—and extreme worry. “Look, Becky. I love you. This has been rough for me. If I had to fret about your safety . . . I mean, this could be a very dangerous mission and . . .” She was astonished. She swept back her hair and stared straight at him disbelievingly. Was he actually showing honest emotion? Had she managed to tug it out of him? “Well, if I’m thinking about your welfare all the time . . .” He glanced away from her. “ . . . I just wouldn’t be able to fulfill my duties here at Copernicus properly.”

  She blinked and dropped her mouth a bit with vexation. Then she spun about and began walking again, faster this time. He was in excellent physical condition, and it only took a moment for him to catch up with her. “Hey! What did I say?”

  “Phineas, I accept the fact that you care more about this blasted job of yours than you care about me. Just don’t shove it in my face. You won’t have to worry about me.” She turned on him quickly, frowning. “I’ll just make sure I don’t make the mistake of that Snipecrew and follow the more stupid of your orders. My number one exercise of that resolution will be to ignore your demand that I don’t go on the mission.”

  He cringed a bit as though he had been slapped. Stunned, he took a step back. Then his face hardened: his neck muscles tensed. “Very well, Becky. I . . . I’m sorry to try and persuade you against doing what you want. I’ll see you before you leave.” He turned around and began to walk away. “Maybe.”

  “Phineas. I didn’t mean to phrase it that way.”

  He ignored her, and continued walking, his footsteps echoing softly in the corridor.

  Becky sighed shallowly. Men! They refuse to open up, and when you desperately try to get some emotion out of them with a jab, they reel and then run away from you! Why the hell had she gotten involved with Phineas Kemp, surely one of the worst of the Iot! For two years she’d been seeing him, and it had always been this way, never improving. Why? Why? Because he was handsome and strong? He was that, certainly. Something melted inside of her when she looked at him. Because he was good in bed? Yes, that too. The best she’d had as far as endurance and technique went. Because he reminded her of her father? Very much so. And at least Phineas never slapped her around.

  Bec
ause of all those reasons, and because she respected him for his competence. Trusted him. He never lied. Maybe it was because he lacked the imagination, but still it was a sight better than a lot of men she had known whose egos and relationships were propped upon an elaborate structure of dissembling and self-delusion. But above all, there was a part of her that helplessly surrendered to him, immersed itself deeply in his being when he was around. It was deep and it was love, no question. He said he loved her too, and perhaps he did in his way. But he refused to surrender to her, give himself to her as she did to him.

  So, she figured if she gave him a taste of his own medicine, showed him she was fully as competent as he, competed with him (oh how he relished competition), they might at least be able to begin to discuss things on equal terms. God, how condescending he was sometimes . . .

  Oh, dammit! Don’t even think about the self-righteous jerk, Becky told herself. Do what you want to do, she thought as she reached the lift which would take her to her apartment.

  She did want to go on the mission, and not only to prove herself. Indeed, she felt a sense of awe about the thing. As a specialist in biology and space medicine, extraterrestrial life had always been one of her consuming interests. To think that she was going to have the opportunity to actually examine evidence of it!

  She concentrated on this as she entered the lift, struggling very hard not to think of Colonel Phineas Kemp.

  For the first time in their relationship, she wanted to think of herself first, herself as the most important person in her life. It was difficult to do that when you were in love with someone, she knew, but there always comes a time when you have to stop thinking about the other person to the exclusion of your own happiness. Just how happy was Phineas Kemp making her anyway?

  A tough question to answer.

  She reached her apartment level, left the lift, and walked slowly down the corridor to her door. Palming the lock and entering the small living space, Becky paused to look around the room. A picture of Phineas on the dresser portrayed him in his best media-image—waving to the the cameras as he emerged from an orbital lander, holding his helmet jauntily under his left arm, an award-winning smile on comely face. It was the Phineas Kemp that the world knew well; Becky wished there was a more personal, warmer side to Colonel Kemp that she alone knew.

  She had grown up with a father who had Iittle time for his children. He worked on Seventh Avenue in Manhattan’s garment district, spending sixty to seventy hours a week building his financial empire. He built it and died of a heart attack by the age of fifty-six, and Becky often mused that the most important thing he had ever said to her was “Pass the salt” when they were seated together at the dinner table. It is often said that people choose mates in relationships that are close to the templates of their most influential parent. Could it be that Becky’s father, by his very indifference to her, had influenced her more than her overly protective mother?

  An interesting thought, that.

  Becky had always been more of a cool thinker, respectful of the rational idea, the empirical approach to problem solving. She prided herself in being of the scientific bent all through school, but she secretly feared that she was suppressing her emotional side. In fact, when she really analyzed herself objectively, she suspected that she was a closet romanticist, that she really needed someone to be sweet and sappy with. She wanted someone who remembered anniversaries and silly little things, someone who sent her flowers for no reason at all, someone who gave from the heart without being asked first.

  And it wasn’t that Phineas Kemp was not capable of those kinds of things. No, it was simply that they never occurred to him. Becky knew that he would normally try to give her anything she asked for; she was simply tired of having to go through the motions of asking.

  What happened to spontaneity? To pleasant surprise?

  Her decision to go on the Heinlein had been a bit of spontaneity, hadn’t it? And if it wasn’t pleasant for Phineas, it had at least been a surprise.

  She smiled at this last thought, then began wondering why she had pushed so hard for the mission slot. Was it because she wanted to prove something to herself? Or maybe prove something to Phineas? Perhaps the real reason was something more subconscious—a means of drawing Phineas out of his official shell, of making him demonstrate some concern for her . . .

  Well, he had certainly done that, although not in the way she had really wanted. She wanted support from him, some sign of belief in who she was, not merely as a desirable woman, but as a person of self-worth and professional ability.

  As she lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, she began wondering about the mission itself for the first time. She had not really considered how dangerous the exploratory journey might be. It was funny how the mind worked—placing emotional and psychological needs in the highest priorities, and in the process, forgetting about the real physical dangers.

  What did she really expect to gain from the Heinlein mission? Becky sighed to herself and rolled over to stare at the blank face of the bulkhead.

  IT TOOK ALL of Ian Coopersmith’s professional training to stay calm, to continue concentrating on the problem before him and not the immensity and majesty of the thing called Artifact One. There it was now in the viewscreen, Iending part of its reflected light to the dimness of the lASA Heinlein’s control room. Scattered about him, either in their flight positions or simply strapped down to observe, were the other members of the expedition, the lights from the screen and the control boards playing over their intent features in odd patterns. He’d come to know them all in the days of the journey. Traveling in space tended to do that with a group. You learned your insignificance real quick against the backdrop of the universe, and you let more of your defensive barriers down to others, if only for the company that as so vital.

  Coopersmith stared down again at his operations panel, wanting to check his figures again, but knowing they were right. A trace of the old neuroticism again, huh chappie? he asked himself.

  In this situation, who could blame him?

  Lieutenant Huff leaned over and said in his usual mild voice, “Channel clear, sir.”

  “Right. Thanks.” Coopersmith cleared his voice, and snapped on his headphone mike. “Copernicus Base. This is the Heinlein. Coopersmith here.”

  He glanced over his shoulders and gave a wink of reassurance to the others. That was important at this point, and Coopersmith tried to maintain a spirit of bonhomie with everyone to try and relax them. All except two remained expressionless. Doctor Hagar was frowning with intense concentration, as though it was his will power alone that made this expedition possible. He’d said almost as much once, allowing that if it weren’t for his efforts amidst the public in the past years, the space program might have been extremely curtailed. The bounds of the man’s egotism never failed to astound Coopersmith. He studied science the way a person obsessed with genealogy might study his family tree, and with the assumption that he was indeed at the uppermost branches of intelligent development. Doctor Thalberg smiled pleasantly at him, which was a welcome relief. He could use that kind of space medicine anytime.

  “Affirmative, Heinlein,” came a voice, deep and crackling, from the speaker grille. “What is it, Captain?”

  “We are prepared to start the disarming operation. Request check on telemetered data. Do you get a good make on the visual?”

  “One moment, Heinlein.”

  Coopersmith waited along with the others in silence.

  Waiting, thought Coopersmith. There was a lot of that in Deep Space.

  They’d waited awhile to get here. The IASA Planetary Probeship Heinlein had hurtled through the light-shot darkness of space on a course here that formed a great, quasi-linear trajectory. Powered by high-thrust, continuous-impulse Lukodyanov engines, the ship had made a continuous-thrust hyperbolic transfer to rendezvous.

  The Heinlein, by IASA standards, w
as a moderately large ship—more than a hundred meters in length. Since it was a Deep-Space vessel which would never fly in any planet’s atmosphere, no thought had been given to aerodynamic design. The control section, located at the bow, resembled the head of a mako shark, but without the smoothed edges. Below the forward viewport yawned a large ram-scoop, which enforced the shark image. Trailing off behind the control section was a thinner, rectilinear fuselage which contained flier cells, crew quarters, equipment hold, launch bays for planetary probes and lander, life-support modules, and the energy converters. Beyond the fuselage, at the aft end, were the engines—large conical funnels in four groups of three. All along the hull, ungainly superstructure dishes and radio-receiving parabolas were placed. In terms of sophistication, the Heinlein made the old LEM modules of the first moon landings look like the Wright Brothers’ gas-powered kite.

  As grand a vessel as the Heinlein was, it was dwarfed into insignificance alongside the alien cylinder. So immense was Artifact One, that if viewed from a distance, the Heinlein alongside appeared no larger than a dust-mote trying to attach itself to the alien hull.

  As they waited, Commander Douglas Fratz just gazed at the ship, shaking his head slowly. “My God, those engines . . . Can you imagine the thrust they must have in them?” His voice was surprisingly soft for his build, which was large and muscular. He wore his reddish-blond hair long although it was beginning to thin at an early age. He sported a neatly trimmed beard that Iooked like a chin strap to keep on his hair. He’d accompanied Colonel Phineas Kemp on the first manned probe to Pluto, earning a commendation for his service during the long, arduous journey.