Day of the Dragonstar Read online

  “Where did it come from?” asked Kolenkhov. “That’s what keeps eating at me. What is it?”

  Kemp looked up at his friend, trying to push the troubled thoughts from his mind. “I’ve been thinking about it,” he said slowly. “Labate figures that it could have been in solar orbit for a long time, right? Why not for about a hundred and sixty million years?”

  “That’s impossible. What kind of civilization could have built a ship, or anything for that matter, that could last that long?”

  “It’s not impossible,” said Phineas. “Artifact One is a completely self-sufficient world. It could be equipped with servomechanisms and systems that are self-repairing. It could be robot-ship that is capable of existing indefinitely. As for the dinosaurs, the answer seems rather obvious—it’s some kind of ‘specimen ship’ that visited our world back during the Jurassic. The alien crew, whoever they were, probably outfitted the interior of the ship with the suitable atmosphere, and then picked up samples of Earth Iife-forms. It would seem probable that the ship is capable of creating a variety of planetary environments, depending upon what world the aliens visited.”

  “Big-game hunters of the galaxy,” said Kolenkhov. “Incredible. But you might be right . . .”

  “The big question remains, though: Who were the aliens who built that ship, and what happened to them?”

  “You mean why didn’t the ship ever leave our solar system after picking up the animals? Why is it still here after hundreds of millions of years?”

  “Yes. As perfect-seeming as Artifact One might appear to us, something must have gone wrong. Either with the crew or with their interstellar drive. A plague perhaps, which could have wiped out the crew? Some kind of equipment failure?”

  “Maybe this isn’t the time to be worrying about it, my friend.”

  “You’re right,” said Kemp. “I’ve got to answer to the Joint Directors for this fiasco. Six more people killed and time is running out.”

  “Running out for what?”

  “The closer that thing gets to the sun, the faster it is accelerating. The closer it comes to us, the more chance that the Chinese or the Third World will detect its presence. I don’t have to tell you how bad it would be if either of them got their hands on that ship.”

  “What do you have in mind?” Kolenkhov asked.

  I don’t see where we have much choice. Whether or not the Heinlein does make contact—we have to send another ship out there, Gregor. We’ve got to intercept that ship and bring it into our own backyard, and we’ve got to do it fast.”

  “What about Fratz and Bracken?”

  “I don’t know. If I keep them out there, waiting for something that might not happen, it seems to serve no purpose. But if another ship is dispatched to intercept them, they could help the new crew get things operational.”

  “If you’re asking me for my opinion,” said the large Russian, “I would let them stay there. Just in case . . . You never know.”

  Kemp shook his head in thought. “I have to think about it for a while. Everyone is kind of in a state of shock right now. It’s probably not a good time to ask for rational observation or advice. Nobody could have predicted anything like this . . .”

  Neither man spoke for a moment. The silence that hung in the Mission Control Center was a heavy cloak which threatened to suffocate everyone. The Communications Chief, Alterman, broke the silence. “Colonel-Kemp . . . I’ve got a message from the Joint Directors. They would Iike to see you at once. Executive Conference Room in Admins.”

  Kemp grinned ironically. “Well, I can’t say I haven’t expected this . . .”

  Gregor Kolenkhov stood up and put his large, beefy hand on Kemp’s shoulder. “Listen, my friend. It might not help matters, but you can tell them that all of us are behind you a hundred percent.”

  Smiling, Kemp shook his head. “Thank you, Gregor. I hate to admit it, but I’m feeling pretty isolated right about now.”

  Kolenkhov picked up the feelings beneath the words and his expression changed from cheeriness to a grim embarrassment. “About Becky . . . I don’t know what to say . . . except that perhaps we have no confirmation that she was . . . was lost.”

  Kemp shook his head. “I . . . I shouldn’t let my emotions get in the way, Gregor. I’m sorry.”

  “Phineas, please, you have nothing to be sorry about. Our lives are not controlled by graphs and computer readouts. It’s okay to feel things, you should know that.”

  Kemp shook his head, knowing that Kolenkhov was correct. The man had inadvertently touched upon one of the greatest problems in Kemp’s life. Becky was constantly bugging him to let himself go, to feel. Now he wondered if it mattered anymore. “All right,” he said finally. “Thank you, Gregor. I suppose I should be getting over to Admins. Take over for me here, would you?”

  “Of course.”

  * * *

  The conference room table was lined with the four Joint Directors and Oscar Rheinhardt of Security. No one else was present. They waited until Kemp had entered the room and took a seat at the end of the table. He felt as though he was on trial.

  Director Pohl cleared his throat before speaking. “We would like to take this opportunity to tell you how shocked and sorry we are to have to meet with you under these-conditions. However, I want to stress at the beginning that we do not hold you responsible for what happened to the Heinlein crew.”

  As the others nodded, Kemp thought to himself that he did not care what the Directors felt—because he held himself responsible for the disaster. That was what counted. But all he said was: “Thank you, sir. I understand completely.”

  Pohl nodded and continued. “The reason for the meeting is obvious, Colonel. What do we do now?”

  Phineas paused for a moment, reflecting on what he had said to Kolenkhov privately. They had been his true feelings on the operation and he saw no reason to veil them when speaking with the lASA Directors.

  “The way I see things, sir, there is nothing we can do . . . except to try again. I suggest that we outfit one of our biggest ships—one of the Outer Planets Class like the Goddard or the Von Braun—and get a team of the best specialists available. We go out there for two reasons: to search for survivors, and to rig Artifact One with some high-thrust engines so that we can steer it out of its present orbit and guide it back to Earth. We can put it into Earth-moon L-5 position, where we can study it indefinitely. I don’t think I have to explain the scientific, as well as political, importance that alien ship represents.”

  Everyone at the table nodded thoughtfully. Chris Alvarez looked at Kemp, then spoke. “Is this suggestion of yours feasible, Colonel? Do we have the equipment and the know-how to pull it off?”

  “Once we have assembled our personnel, we can run a variety of feasibility-scenarios through the computers. Then we would have a few optimal probability models to choose from. I’m convinced that we can handle it. Now that we know what we are up against.”

  Several of the other Directors discussed Kemp’s plan among themselves, as though he were not present. He could not detect anything negative in their considerations. Everyone seemed to be of the same basic belief—that they had no choice but to continue to deal with Artifact One. There was simply no way that humankind could ignore the presence of such an incredible discovery.

  “Time is our worst enemy at this point,” said one of the Russian Joint Directors. “You must begin assembling a crew for the second mission immediately. How long would it take?”

  “Under normal conditions, I would not launch a Deep-Space ship the size of the Goddard without at least two weeks of preparation, but we don’t have that kind of time. We must launch within seventy-two hours to ensure that we intercept with enough time to outfit Artifact One and revise its flight path.”

  “Is it possible to mobilize in that short a time?” asked Nelson

  “I’m going to
need a lot of help,” said Kemp.

  “You’ll get that,” said Alvarez.

  “What about Security?” asked Phineas. “How are we going to cover the kind of activity that will be going on around here? Copernicus Base will be turned upside down in the rush to get that ship and crew ready.”

  Oscar Rheinhardt cleared his throat. “I’ve been giving that some thought, Phineas. That’s why I’ve been invited to attend this little get-together. The official line of the Heinlein mission was a preliminary survey of a large rogue asteroid on a close approach with the Earth. I can prepare a statement for the media and for the general staff on Copernicus that should satisfy even the most curious.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, I’ll get together with Professor Labate, and have him concoct some data on the rogue asteroid. We will say that there is a possibility of close flyby with the moon, and that we are sending another ship out there to either divert the course of the thing, or rig it with some H-bombs and blow it to hell and back.”

  Kemp shook his head, “It sounds a bit shaky to me, but I don’t suppose we have much choice. There may be some level of panic among the general population if they think there’s any chance of their colony being perturbed by a gigantic piece of rock.”

  “We will try to downplay the dangerous aspects of the possibility, saying that as long as we act quickly, there will be little cause for alarm. That should cover the need for triple-shift-preparation on the launch.”

  “All right, Oscar, I suppose I should not try to tell you how to handle that end of things.” Kemp laughed shortly. “I’m going to have enough problems, I think.”

  There followed a lengthy discussion of how the mission should be coordinated and what responsibilities for launch preparations would be handled by whom. Kemp was frequently asked for his advice, and gradually a well-formed, concise plan was hammered out. The selection of specific crew members was held off until the other items had been dealt with, but finally the subject was reached. Phineas had several people in mind, and it was agreed that if Copernicus and Tsiolkovskii did not have the right specialist for the right job, then they would be summoned from Earth on the next shuttle.

  “There is only one more thing,” said Phineas, “that I have not discussed with you.” He looked at the small group of Joint Directors, waiting for the right dramatic moment.

  “And what is that?” asked Chris Alvarez.

  “I thought you would have expected it, or perhaps even asked me about the possibility,” said Phineas. “But since the subject has not come up, I think I should clarify my position on the matter.”

  “And what is that, Colonel?” Nelson Pohl tapped his briar pipe into a large glass ashtray.

  “It has been agreed that I should be responsible for the selection of the officer to be placed in charge of the second mission . . . and I have been thinking about who would be the right person for the job.” Phineas paused and cleared his throat. “And I think that the best person for the job is Colonel Phineas Kemp.”

  THE MAN WAITED.

  Though it was the quietest time of the evening in this part of the large lunar colony, the man could hear the occasional clatter of footsteps. So far, one of his fellow colonists had actually used the stairs by which he waited. But there was nothing unusual about finding a man in a stairwell, having a smoke. Smoking was not permitted in the corridors. The stairwells, however, had drafts and therefore, though still legally off-limits to lit cigarettes, it was general knowledge that if you didn’t have a private compartment to poison your lungs in right on hand, you could use the nearest stairwell.

  The man let the cigarette burn in his hand. He despised cigarettes. Smoking them, however, was a good reason to loiter here like this, waiting for his contact.

  The cigarette burned down to the filter. The man stubbed it out in a tiny portable box, which also held the ashes.

  He took out another, sighed, and lit it.

  “Bring one for me?”

  Startled, the man spun around. The Quartermaster was regarding him from just above. He gave the man a smirk, and joined him.

  Feeling guilt as heavy as ever, the man handed over the documents in his briefcase. The Quartermaster began to thumb through them after accepting a cigarette.

  Another secret meeting, thought the man, only hours after the Joint Directors meeting. Out in the depths of space, the alien vessel hurtled on down the gravity well towards the sun, while the Heinlein and its abruptly depleted crew hung nearby, watching and waiting. At Copernicus Base, all necessary personnel had been put on triple-shift status as preparation for the launch of the Goddard got into full swing.

  The man wished he did not know what he knew.

  But then . . . well, there was Jimmy to think of, wasn’t there? He was quite high in the command hierarchy of Copernicus Base. With more than thirty years of service in the IASA, he was beyond reproach and suspicion. Yet he was the most highly valued espionage agent for the Third World Confederation.

  More than ten years ago he’d been approached by the TWC with an offer that was difficult to refuse. The agent’s son was employed as a Reclamation Engineer in East Africa; he would be assassinated if the agent did not comply with TWC demands. All very simple. Direct and straightforward—two attributes which were not hallmarks of the Third World confederation—and yet it worked perfectly in this particular instance. For ten years, the lASA official had served as a leak-proof pipeline to the Intelligence Division of Ramadas Khan Base.

  The second member of the meeting was, on the surface, a Quartermaster for Ramadas Khan Base. Each month the TWC Quartermaster checked through Security at Copernicus to receive vital supplies carried to the moon in lASA shuttles. It had been more than a decade since the TWC technology had been outstripped by the, Copernicus and Tsiolkovskii Space Programs. Without logistical and economic support from the IASA, Ramadas Khan would be as empty as a ghost town.

  Each month the Quartermaster met with an lASA official concerned with him, under the auspices of the Lunar Free Trade Treaty. Later however, he would meet with his more important contact, from whom he received other vital supplies. It was a simple fact of life that governments did not live by bread alone.

  “What do you have to tell me?” the Quartermaster asked. The man was of a dark complexion. He wore a self-satisfied smile on his handsome features.

  “There have been few developments since the Snipe was destroyed by the alien ship,” the lASA official said quickly.

  “Have you heard from your son lately? I understand he is doing well . . . for now.”

  Dammit. The guy knew something was up. Perhaps he had another informant, only on a lower level. “All right, there has been something new.” Reluctantly, the IASA official explained the disastrous voyage and discovery of the Heinlein, and the resultant plans of the Joint Directors to launch a larger Ship to intercept Artifact One.

  “Do you feel they can do it?”

  “Definitely.”

  “When do they plan to launch?”

  “Within fifty-six hours.”

  “Of course, you must understand that my government will want one of our people on board that ship.” It was not a question. The TWC Quartermaster grinned unctuously.

  “Yes. I understand.”

  “Can you arrange that?”

  “l don’t know. Security clearance will be very tough.”

  “But you can arrange it, can’t you?” Again, there was no suggestion of a question.

  “I . . . think so.”

  “That is good. Good for you. Good for us. And of course good for your son, who is doing such a nice job in the Republic of East Africa.”

  The lASA official did not speak for a moment. “You know, I’ve always hated this. You people have never made it easy for me to be sympathetic to your causes. I don’t mean the threats and the reprisals. That’s part of being adul
ts in an adult world. It’s just that you all seem to be such a bunch of humorless, cold-hearted bastards.”

  “You do not seem to object to our humorless, cold-hearted money,” said the Quartermaster, frowning . “You look at us through the distortions of your own culture, and therefore you do not understand the motivations that fuel us. That is the way it has always been. You should know better than most that we have suffered greatly within the last two decades. Our ancestors who fought and schemed so hard to bring our people to greatness would be very displeased with us now. Do you know how terrible a feeling it is to achieve the pinnacle of global power—only to have it snatched away by forces beyond your control? My people are accustomed to suffering. It is a part of a long, bloody heritage. But we will not tolerate humiliation.”

  “Since when is oil depletion viewed as a humiliating tactic? Even back in the eighties, your leaders knew that their stranglehold on the world economy would be short-lived. It is now time to pay the piper.”

  The Quartermaster flung his half-smoked cigarette down and stepped on it angrily. “Don’t get wise with me! I am not here to argue political and economic ideologies. I am here because the survival of the Confederation depends on people like me.”

  “And me, unfortunately. If you didn’t have a flock of scared stool pigeons puking their guts out every time you rang the bell, your wonderful Confederation would be back in their mud-huts and desert tents where you belong.”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere. My people are quite proud of the simple beginnings from which we have come. The fact you and your governments fail to accept is that things will never be so simple again.”

  “I see . . . Once you’ve had a taste of the good life, there is no returning to the Garden of Eden.”

  “You could phrase it like that. You with your penchant for simplistic Western fables. Nevertheless, my people have learned quickly the ways of the world. This latest discovery will be the key to our own renaissance. The governments that control the power of the ship coming toward us can control their own future. My people are destined for that power. We mean to have it by any means.”