Day of the Dragonstar Page 6

  “I think what interests IASA most,” said Coopersmith, “is the drive.”

  “Hmm?” returned Fratz.

  “Drive!” Doctor Hagar said, like a teacher talking to a small child. “Interstellar drive! By what method did this ship get here? Obviously, the intelligence that constructed this was also able to figure out how to cheat the speed-of-light barrier. If we get ahold of that”—His voice was excited— “the universe will open up to us. Mankind will spread to distant planets, as we were meant to. A glorious dream, fulfilled.”

  “Yeah,” said Fratz. “The glorious dream that I want to fulfill right now is to complete this mission and get out of here alive. You can spread your seed over the stars as much as you want, Hagar. I just want to keep my ass intact.”

  Coopersmith and Thalberg were the only ones to laugh at that. But inside, Coopersmith agreed entirely with the commander. He had a wife and a family who, he’d long since realized, were a lot more important to him than his job. Coppersmith was a tall, tightly-constructed man of forty-two. His bronze-tan complexion was not born of sunbathing, but of his parentage. His father had been a British factory worker, and his mother a West Indies Black who’d worked as a salesclerk in London. “You’ve more than a touch of the tarbrush in ye, Ian,” his father had once told him. Your mum and me dumped the whole bloody barrel on ye!”

  “Yes, well, that’s what all of this preliminary stuff is about, isn’t it, Commander?” said Coopersmith.

  Using the coordinates and telemetered data from the ill-fated Snipe, Captain Coopersmith had guided Fratz along the hull, delicately scanning the alien surface in search of anything that appeared to resemble an entrance hatch, or perhaps a launch bay. After a careful survey of the ship’s surface, several likely configurations were located, mapped, and more intensely studied.

  If Artifact One possessed more than three hatchways, they were well hidden. Coopersmith would have preferred to enter at one of the ends, but no accessway was immediately apparent. There were, however, hatches in the middle of the cylinder, each of a different size.

  An intense study of the device which had destroyed the Snipe had advised the lASA to equip the Heinlein with a phased array of active screens which should effectively neutralize tile amplified light weapons of the alien ship. After an in-depth survey, Captain Coopersmith selected the best landing and entrance site for the Heinlein’s lander module. The first step, however, was to disarm the geometrically placed blisters which covered the hull.

  Coopersmith and his assistant, Thomas Valdone, had assumed that the defensive blisters were arranged in the observed pattern because each had limited range. To test this theory, dummy probes—small gas-powered rockets—were directed towards the hull. Within twenty meters, a tight beam of light flicked out from the closest blisters. End of rockets. Coopersmith’s theory seemed to test true. And so he devised, a battery of small, shaped thermonuclear warheads with controlled explosive characteristics, protected by energy screens. By computer guidance, each warhead was directed to a defensive blister within range of the selected entrance hatch. The controlled explosions should, theoretically, eliminate the defensive blisters without causing more than superficial damage to the alien ship’s hull, thereby providing a safe work-corridor for the landing module and the EVA team which would be working to open the hatch.

  A risky operation, this, mused Ian Coopersmith. Although all available data indicated that the alien ship was dead in space, and had been so for an indefinite amount of time, there was no guarantee that an extraterrestrial intelligence was not observing them and would interpret the shaped-charge explosions as acts of aggression.

  Colonel Kemp had pointed out, though, that there had been no response from the alien vessel to any human communications attempts. There was no alternative but to attempt entrance by force. Quite simply, it was a risk which had to be taken,

  The warheads were armed. All that was necessary now was word from Copernicus Base.

  It arrived.

  “Affirmative, Captain. Colonel Kemp’s given the go-ahead. Any time you guys are ready.”

  “Launching warheads now. Stand by, Copernicus . . .”

  Coopersmith nodded to Commander Fratz, who keyed in the launch order to the Heinlein’s on-board computer. The ship shuddered slightly as the warheads were hunched. Instantly, tracking instruments displayed their data on the console screens. Small, three-dimensional blips closed in on a schematic representation of the targets. No one spoke save for Coopersmith, who reported the closing distances in a half-whisper: “Trajectories are on-line . . . closing nicely . . . twenty meters and closing . . . ten . . . we have detonation!”

  In the vacuum of space, the explosions on the surface of the alien ship transmitted no sound. They looked like brilliant crimson buds suddenly blossoming. The display grids of the console flickered as the sensors collected new information. Coopersmith could see that the first phase of the operation had been successful. The controlled explosions had obliterated the defensive blisters without seriously affecting the alien’s hull.

  “Copernicus, this is Coopersmith. So far, so good. Scanners indicate no loss of pressure on Artifact One. We are launching a dummy probe. Stand by.”

  Fratz waited for Coopersmith’s nod, then keyed in the launch.

  Heads turned to watch as the small torpedo-shaped probe, equipped with shock-absorbing landing legs, slowly descended toward the surface of the alien ship. No one spoke as it closed within range of the defensive systems. Closer and closer it descended until its automatic devices fired off a short burst of retrofire and the probe settled gently upon the surface, holding fast with magnetic seals,

  “Copernicus, we have a touchdown!” cried Coopersmith, exultant.

  “Affirmative, Captain. Congratulations,” returned the communications man from Copernicus.

  The crew cheered, and Coopersmith swept off his communications helmet, and turned blue eyes upon the company.

  “I do believe that we’re next!” he said.

  * * *

  Ian Coopersmith kept his thick dark hair cut short for moments such as these. Long hair could be rather a problem sometimes in an EVA suit. Coopersmith tried to keep his problems down to bare minimum.

  “Ready, Valdone?”

  The dark Italian turned amused eyes and Sicilian nose toward Coopersmith. “I’ve been ready for this for a long time, Captain.”

  Coopersmith gave him a thumb’s up signal. They donned their helmets and switched on the life-support equipment.

  After a quick jump through the airlock of the Heinlein’s number one lander, which had drifted down from the Probeship and effected a perfect landing near the outlines of what appeared to be an entrance bay, they floated cautiously down to the hull.

  Led by Coopersmith, they carefully walked with magnetic boots across the surface of the alien ship. The lander—which looked to Ian rather like an overfed tarantula—waited patiently behind them

  A historic occasion, thought Coopersmith. Yes indeed. Man’s first physical contact with an extraterrestrial craft. But there was no trumpet fanfare, no live TV coverage to Earth’s billions, no eloquently-rigged speeches for the history books. There would be time for such things later, maybe. History books were not on Coopersmith’s mind as he appraised the contours of the hatch below their feet.

  The outlining seam of the hatch was quite large: approximately ten meters wide and fifteen high. Several small rectangles that measured slightly more than two meters each were on each side of the hatch. Their function or relationship to the larger, seamed configuration was not clear. Coopersmith used a sensory instrument which resembled a fluoroscope: Mark 8 Betatron Scanner, which allowed the user to view the interior of metallic objects of varying degrees of density and opacity.

  Incredible, thought Coopersmith. An airlock quite comparable to IASA design.

  Although he and Valdone weren’t a
ble to determine how to operate the entrance electronically, the Scanner did allow them access to the mechanical system of the lock. By cutting through the hull with torches at the control-point, they were able to open and close the outer hatch manually. The entire procedure took five hours. Best to work slowly and cautiously, Coopersmith reasoned. Each step in the operation was being fed back to Phineas Kemp at Copernicus.

  At last, the large hatch slid open to the right, revealing a flat, featureless platform. Coopersmith entered a chamber which was roughly fifteen cubic meters. The metallic walls had a slightly burnt-blue cast, and were buttressed by support girders. At the opposite end of the chamber, Coopersmith could see the outline of another hatch. Presumably, the other end of the airlock. At a height of approximately five meters, next to the hatch, was a set of three levers, inset in a meter square shadowbox. Coopersmith assumed these to be the controls which operated the interlocking set of hatches.

  Floating up to inspect the controls, he wondered why they were so inaccessible. The logical explanation was obvious. The aliens who built this ship were at least several times larger in scale than humans. The thought was an unsettling one. Coopersmith did not dwell on it. He concentrated instead on the immediate task.

  “Copernicus, this is lander one,” he said in his British accent. “Coopersmith here. We have successfully entered what appears to be a standard airlock chamber. We’re going to try some experimenting. Stand by, please.”

  “Affirmative, lander one. Proceed with caution.” Colonel Kemp had taken over the communications. The man was probably tense as a coiled spring by now. His voice sounded small and very far away.

  Coopersmith indicated to Valdone that he was about to touch the controls. “Valdone. Get back out on the hull by the lander. Tell Bracken to be prepared to lift off if we have any trouble.”

  Valdone signaled agreement and floated slowly from the airlock, positioning himself on the hull near lander one. The far-away sun glinted off his faceplate as he stared in at Coopersmith.

  Exhaling slowIy, Ian Coopersmith studied the three levers, each as large as a cricket bat. They were color-coded. Red. Yellow. Green. God, thought Coopersmith, But there was no way that the alien color system meant the same as the human code. He followed that assumption and tripped the red lever.

  Nothing happened.

  Coopersmith reached for the next lever. “Negative on the first control, Copernicus. Trying number two, here . . .”

  Slowly, soundlessly, the outer hatch slid shut.

  “That’s got it, Captain,” said Valdone, floating by the outer hatch, watching it seal Ian off from the outside.

  “All right,” said Ian. “Let’s try it backwards, and make sure I’m not sealed in here permanently.

  He pushed the lever back to its original position and the hatch began opening again. “Bull’s eye!” said Valdone. “Looks like we’re in business.”

  “Okay,” said Coopersmith. “I’m closing it down. Valdone, come inside. Let’s see if we can get the other hatch to work.”

  He rethrew the yellow clever and again closed the outer hatch. Trying the green control resulted in no change, but only momentarily. Slowly, the sound of gases rushing into the chamber became audible.

  “Copernicus, this is Coopersmith. I’m getting what appears to be pressurization of the first chamber. Stand by.”

  Less than a minute passed before an electronic chime sounded in the chamber. Coopersmith presumed it to be a signal indicating the proper pressure.

  “Captain, we’ve got an atmosphere in here. Want to run an analysis?” Valdone drifted down to the deck, where they had secured their instrument packs.

  “Right, Tom. I’ll notify Copernicus.” He switched over to the patch-in with the lunar base once again. “Colonel, we’ve got an atmosphere in the lock. Valdone’s running a check on the make-up now. Please stand by.”

  “Hey. Now that’s really something. Listen to this, Captain. Nitrogen, oxygen, carbon dioxide, trace argon, and a little water vapor. Pressure about a thousand millibars! That’s incredible.”

  “Ah, Copernicus. This is Coopersmith. Atmosphere analysis indicates nearly Earth standard mix. Breathable for us anyway. Pressure is close to sea-level averages. Temperature approximately fifteen degrees Centigrade.”

  “We copy that, Coopersmith. Exact data will come in from telemetry. Proceed with entry operation.” Jesus! They’d all expected an alien atmosphere.

  “Roger, Copernicus. Stand by.” Coopersmith shut down the radio link and stared for a moment at the control panel and the large hatch. Thoughts which he had been able to keep from his mind would not leave him now. The full impact of where he was and what he was doing suddenly struck him.

  Staring at the blank hatch, Coopersmith’s mind unhinged for a brief moment. He saw visions of strange beings standing on the other side of the entrance, waiting to greet the naive Earth folk who had bumbled into their ship like moths into a spider’s web. He thought of London’s Surbiton, where his modest rowhouse lay jammed in with a thousand others like itself, where his wife Leticia and his son Nathaniel lived and worked, knowing that they would only know his company in six-month chunks of time.

  Suddenly, Coopersmith was aware of movement to his left. Turning quickly, he saw Thomas Valdone beside him, staring at him. “You okay, Captain?”

  “Yes . . . yes, fine, I was . . . just thinking about something.”

  Valdone smiled, “Yeah. I know what you mean.” The engineer looked at the flat imposing surface of the hatch. “I’m pretty scared too. l . . . I don’t know, Captain. I’ve grown up loving the stars, And now . . . Well now all I want to do is go back home and be safe. Here, in the thick of excitement. Thomas Valdone! Privileged man! My old man . . . my old man is gonna be real proud of me. My momma too. My wife didn’t want me to go. I kinda wish I’d listened to her.” He sighed. “But still, Captain, if you . . . just let go, you know, accept all this immensity. You kind of lose yourself , and the fear ebbs a little. It becomes awe. Know what I mean?”

  “Valdone. I wouldn’t have any other man along with me.”

  “Thanks. Well, I guess we better give it a go, huh?”

  Coopersmith turned and reached for the third lever, pulling it down. A low humming sounded as the inner lock door slid left. Both men stared into the darkness beyond as though peering into the mouth of some great beast. Valdone produced a powerful light-torch from his utility pack and flicked it on. The broad beam of light pierced the blackness, revealing a four-sided corridor leading away, like a mine shaft. No markings or features showed on the walls except for two parallel rods, attached at frequent. intervals along the surface, that ran into the dark. Also spaced at regular intervals were small struts, protruding from the parallel rods. If you looked at it long enough, you could see that it was a multipurpose ladder, an aid to climbing “up” the long corridor.

  Valdone grabbed the first rung. “Wait a minute. Come on back. I’m going to depressurize and bring in some of the others.”

  As Valdone worked his way back onto the airlock, Coopersmith reclosed the hatch with the now-familiar controls. As the outer hatch reopened, Ian turned to his assistant.

  “You stay here. I’m going back in the lander with Bracken and assemble the others. It’s time to get in there and see what makes this thing tick.”

  * * *

  An hour later, the entire exploration team was assembled in the first chamber of the Artifact One’s airlock. Commander, Fratz and back-up pilot Bracken remained at their stations aboard the Heinlein and lander one, respectively.

  “Right, then,” he told the group, after letting them ogle the airlock for a moment. “We’ve got something to breathe inside, believe it or not. Once we close the second lock, we can discard the EVA gear. However, I want everybody to wear LS-rigs in case of an emergency. Stay close together and keep your radios on at all times. Keep your sidearms
in your holsters. No one is to draw arms without my authorization. Clear?”

  It seemed to be. Everybody agreed, either immersed in wonder or obviously touched with anxiety. “Friends,” he announced. “I give you Artifact One!”

  The proper levers were manipulated. The chamber pressurized. The inner lock opened. Lanced by the concentrated power of everyone’s electric torches, the dark corridor appeared less forbidding, and much more like the functional access to the ship’s interior it was.

  One by one, the members of the team entered the corridor, until the last, Doctor Pohl, a lanky, red-faced man, floated through. He gave the all-clear. Coopersmith closed the interior hatch, instructing all to divest themselves of the cumbersome, Deep-Space environment suits.

  Pulling off his helmet, Ian Coopersmith smelled the air. It owned a cool, antiseptic quality which, while not offensive, seemed alien in his nostrils. Perhaps it was merely psychosuggestion that gave it that scent. Still, it seemed odd.

  He waited until everyone was ready. They all wore field jumpsuits, backpacks, and emergency life support modules strapped to their chests. The LS units had collapsible face-masks which could supply water and oxygen for several hours.

  “Huff, patch me into the Heinlein link,” Coopersmith said as he grabbed onto the ladder leading upward into the belly of the alien ship.

  “You’re on, Captain.”

  “Copernicus, this is Coopersmith. We have entered the airlock assembly without a hitch. There appears to be an access corridor leading up into the main body of Artifact One. We’re going up now. Stand by.”

  After receiving the go-ahead from Kemp and his lunar team, Ian led the group upwards. The scraping of their boots on the metallic rungs and their labored breathing penetrated the surrounding hollow silence. The corridor, under the influence of Artifact One’s artificial gravity, appeared to be going straight “up”—actually toward the geometric center of the cylinder. The distance they traveled was approximately a hundred meters, ending on a ten by ten-meter platform fronting an entry hatch directly above their heads.