There was a time in the Twentieth Century when the world was divided between two competing ideologies. For forty years, in a time known as the Cold War, the nations of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization faced the client states of the Soviet Union, with the ever-present threat of nuclear war hanging over both sides. The European continent was split in two, and the boundary that ran between the two rival alliances from the Arctic Ocean to the Mediterranean Sea was known as the Iron Curtain.
Five hundred years later, the ideologies that spawned the Cold War were lost in the depths of history. Mankind had spread out among the stars, and the United Worlds of the Solar System maintained the peace in humanity's home system. Across the depths of interstellar space, however, were the worlds of the Ophiuchius Group, centered on the 70 Ophiuchi star system. Settlers from Earth had reached the 70 Ophiuchi system, and found the remnants of an alien race. The Ophiuchians had died out millenia before, but scattered throughout the system were the technological relics of what was once a mighty interplanetary civilization. The settlers had discovered Ophiuchian science texts, and used them to decipher the aliens' language. Discovery after amazing discovery had been made, and the 70 Ophiuchi system had quickly grown in power.
By the Twenty-fifth Century, the people of the 70 Ophiuchi system had come to see themselves as the heirs of the lost alien race. They adopted the Ophiuchian language, and created an ideology that proclaimed them the next stage in human evolution. Across a distance of sixteen light years, the Ophiuchius Group and the United Worlds of the Solar System faced each other in an interstellar standoff. The people of the Twenty-fifth Century looked back into the past, and named the border between the two powers the Curtain of Space.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Chapter One: Return to Earth
From the infinite reaches of interstellar space, a silvery needle fell into the Solar System. Its presence was detected by a string of automated sentinals standing guard among the frozen worldlets in the system's far outer reaches. Signals were sent out from beacons, skimming through realms of reality far removed from the familiar geometries of Einsteinian spacetime, crossing the light-hours to the silvery object in fractions of time too brief to be detected by any known instrumentality.
Seconds later, one of the beacons received a reply transmitted from the object at a precise frequency. The reply was automatically shunted through the beacon to a receiving station spinning around the Earth in geosynchronous orbit. From there, the signal was sent on a tightbeam transmission to the Department of Space Affairs in the sprawling Armstrong Building, where a string of characters embedded within it allowed it to bypass multiple levels of bureaucracy to arrive at the office of the Secretary of Space Affairs, Ronald Drake.
Drake's chief aide, Marcus Griffin, heard a chime from the communicator on his desk indicating an incoming astrophone message. A viseograph on the wall above the desk lit to reveal the pilot room of an XV-class patrol ship. Seated at the controls were two men Griffin knew well: Rockwell Stapleton Jones IV, invariably known by his nickname Rocky, and Antonio DelPonte, even more invariably known by his nickname Winky. Both wore standard shipboard duty attire: soft caps and pale gold short-sleeved shirts bearing the winged-planet emblem of the Space Rangers. DelPonte was tall and thin, with dark hair and brown eyes, while Jones was more compact, with light brown hair and blue eyes .
"XV-2 calling Office of Space Affairs," Jones' voice echoed from the speaker grill, "come in, please. This is the XV-2 calling the Office of Space Affairs. Come in."
Griffin strode over to the desk and activated the comm system's response key. "Come in, XV-2," he responded. "State celestial position."
"This is Rocky Jones of the Space Rangers reporting," came the reply. "Celestial meridian fifty-eight degrees, parallel one four six degrees. We're now in second braking ellipse of Earth, requesting landing clearance at approximately sixteen hundred."
Peering at a navigational display on his desk, Griffin reported, "You're dead center on Baker Flight Path, Rocky. Ride her in, we're all clear and waiting for you." The door to the outside corridor opened, and Drake entered at a sedate pace. "Hold it, here's Secretary Drake." Griffin knew that Drake would want to speak with Jones personally. The two were old friends, dating from Jones' time as Drake's co-pilot on one of the Space Rangers' old NXR-class cruisers. Smiling at his superior, Griffin handed over the microphone.
Drake had retired from the Space Rangers ten years before to take the post of Secretary of Space Affairs, and age might have thinned and whitened his hair, but it had not robbed him of his keen intellect, nor softened his physique. His brown eyes were still sharp, and his voice and carriage were still those of a man of thirty. "Welcome home, Rocky," he said warmly as he smiled into the viseograph.
"Thank you, sir," Jones replied. "It's certainly good to be back." Although Drake was no longer Jones' commanding officer, the younger man still sounded like a junior officer reporting at the end of his duty shift. He was not a man who could easily unbend before a superior, even one as close as Ronald Drake. Jones' own copilot, on the other hand, gave Drake an answering smile. Winky DelPonte could be just as serious as any other member of the Space Rangers, but he was more informal by nature than Jones.
"Was it a rough trip?" Drake continued.
"More or less routine, sir," said Jones, though DelPonte's expression spoke volumes about his own opinion of their flight. Leaning over to Jones' microphone, he added, "Much more 'more' than less 'less', Mr. Secretary, believe me."
"I can believe you, Winky," Drake chuckled. "Come in the office when you land, boys. I'll have your leave papers ready."
"Thank you, Mr. Secretary," said a grinning DelPonte.
Jones confined himself to a simple, "Thank you, sir. Out."
* * *
Officially, Rocky Jones' patrol ship was known as the XV-2. Unofficially, and more popularly, it was called the Orbit Jet. As its braking ellipse brought it into the Earth's atmosphere over the Pacific, the ground crew at Tsiolkovsky Spaceport sprang into action. Landing pad 17 became the site of a carefully rehearsed mechanical ballet as the spaceport's public address system barked out orders, emergency vehicles positioned themselves, and the gantry was readied for use.
A brilliant light appeared in the western sky, like a tiny second sun, as the Orbit Jet's retrothrusters fired and its speed began to drop. Men and women in the spaceport's control tower compared the Orbit Jet's passage through the atmosphere with its assigned flight path, and found them to be in perfect alignment. As Griffin had told Jones, the ship was dead center on Flight Path Baker.
Ronald Drake emerged from the entrance of the Armstrong Building to watch the Orbit Jet's final descent. As many times as he had seen a ship come in, he still found it hard to resist the urge to drop everything and rush out to see with his own eyes as it landed. When it was Rocky Jones' ship, "hard to resist" became "impossible to resist". He felt as much as heard the sonic concussion that washed over the neighborhood of the spaceport as the Orbit Jet fell below the speed of sound and its wake caught up with it. The light of the ship's retrothrusters grew until it rivalled the westering sun, and the sound was like a thousand thunderstorms all at once. As Drake and the other observers on the ground, in the control tower, and in the Armstrong Building watched, Jones and DelPonte brought the Orbit Jet down to a perfect landing in the center of landing pad 17. The retrothrusters died, and the silence felt louder than the thunderous roar of the landing had. The Orbit Jet stood like a vast silver tower as the ground crew manning the gantry drove it across the blackened concrete of landing pad 17 until it nestled against the ship's side.
Griffin emerged from the entrance to stand by Drake's side. "Pardon me, sir," he reported, "but a car just drove through number three gate without stopping for identification." At once, Drake's elation was replaced by worry. The government was still reeling from the news that Professor Dominic Newton, the most renowned scientist in the Solar System, had defected to the Ophiuchians. If a saboteur or terrorist penetrated the grounds of the spaceport and carried out an attack under the very nose of the Secretary of Space Affairs, the backlash might bring about its fall.
Seconds later, one of the beacons received a reply transmitted from the object at a precise frequency. The reply was automatically shunted through the beacon to a receiving station spinning around the Earth in geosynchronous orbit. From there, the signal was sent on a tightbeam transmission to the Department of Space Affairs in the sprawling Armstrong Building, where a string of characters embedded within it allowed it to bypass multiple levels of bureaucracy to arrive at the office of the Secretary of Space Affairs, Ronald Drake.
Drake's chief aide, Marcus Griffin, heard a chime from the communicator on his desk indicating an incoming astrophone message. A viseograph on the wall above the desk lit to reveal the pilot room of an XV-class patrol ship. Seated at the controls were two men Griffin knew well: Rockwell Stapleton Jones IV, invariably known by his nickname Rocky, and Antonio DelPonte, even more invariably known by his nickname Winky. Both wore standard shipboard duty attire: soft caps and pale gold short-sleeved shirts bearing the winged-planet emblem of the Space Rangers. DelPonte was tall and thin, with dark hair and brown eyes, while Jones was more compact, with light brown hair and blue eyes .
"XV-2 calling Office of Space Affairs," Jones' voice echoed from the speaker grill, "come in, please. This is the XV-2 calling the Office of Space Affairs. Come in."
Griffin strode over to the desk and activated the comm system's response key. "Come in, XV-2," he responded. "State celestial position."
"This is Rocky Jones of the Space Rangers reporting," came the reply. "Celestial meridian fifty-eight degrees, parallel one four six degrees. We're now in second braking ellipse of Earth, requesting landing clearance at approximately sixteen hundred."
Peering at a navigational display on his desk, Griffin reported, "You're dead center on Baker Flight Path, Rocky. Ride her in, we're all clear and waiting for you." The door to the outside corridor opened, and Drake entered at a sedate pace. "Hold it, here's Secretary Drake." Griffin knew that Drake would want to speak with Jones personally. The two were old friends, dating from Jones' time as Drake's co-pilot on one of the Space Rangers' old NXR-class cruisers. Smiling at his superior, Griffin handed over the microphone.
Drake had retired from the Space Rangers ten years before to take the post of Secretary of Space Affairs, and age might have thinned and whitened his hair, but it had not robbed him of his keen intellect, nor softened his physique. His brown eyes were still sharp, and his voice and carriage were still those of a man of thirty. "Welcome home, Rocky," he said warmly as he smiled into the viseograph.
"Thank you, sir," Jones replied. "It's certainly good to be back." Although Drake was no longer Jones' commanding officer, the younger man still sounded like a junior officer reporting at the end of his duty shift. He was not a man who could easily unbend before a superior, even one as close as Ronald Drake. Jones' own copilot, on the other hand, gave Drake an answering smile. Winky DelPonte could be just as serious as any other member of the Space Rangers, but he was more informal by nature than Jones.
"Was it a rough trip?" Drake continued.
"More or less routine, sir," said Jones, though DelPonte's expression spoke volumes about his own opinion of their flight. Leaning over to Jones' microphone, he added, "Much more 'more' than less 'less', Mr. Secretary, believe me."
"I can believe you, Winky," Drake chuckled. "Come in the office when you land, boys. I'll have your leave papers ready."
"Thank you, Mr. Secretary," said a grinning DelPonte.
Jones confined himself to a simple, "Thank you, sir. Out."
* * *
Officially, Rocky Jones' patrol ship was known as the XV-2. Unofficially, and more popularly, it was called the Orbit Jet. As its braking ellipse brought it into the Earth's atmosphere over the Pacific, the ground crew at Tsiolkovsky Spaceport sprang into action. Landing pad 17 became the site of a carefully rehearsed mechanical ballet as the spaceport's public address system barked out orders, emergency vehicles positioned themselves, and the gantry was readied for use.
A brilliant light appeared in the western sky, like a tiny second sun, as the Orbit Jet's retrothrusters fired and its speed began to drop. Men and women in the spaceport's control tower compared the Orbit Jet's passage through the atmosphere with its assigned flight path, and found them to be in perfect alignment. As Griffin had told Jones, the ship was dead center on Flight Path Baker.
Ronald Drake emerged from the entrance of the Armstrong Building to watch the Orbit Jet's final descent. As many times as he had seen a ship come in, he still found it hard to resist the urge to drop everything and rush out to see with his own eyes as it landed. When it was Rocky Jones' ship, "hard to resist" became "impossible to resist". He felt as much as heard the sonic concussion that washed over the neighborhood of the spaceport as the Orbit Jet fell below the speed of sound and its wake caught up with it. The light of the ship's retrothrusters grew until it rivalled the westering sun, and the sound was like a thousand thunderstorms all at once. As Drake and the other observers on the ground, in the control tower, and in the Armstrong Building watched, Jones and DelPonte brought the Orbit Jet down to a perfect landing in the center of landing pad 17. The retrothrusters died, and the silence felt louder than the thunderous roar of the landing had. The Orbit Jet stood like a vast silver tower as the ground crew manning the gantry drove it across the blackened concrete of landing pad 17 until it nestled against the ship's side.
Griffin emerged from the entrance to stand by Drake's side. "Pardon me, sir," he reported, "but a car just drove through number three gate without stopping for identification." At once, Drake's elation was replaced by worry. The government was still reeling from the news that Professor Dominic Newton, the most renowned scientist in the Solar System, had defected to the Ophiuchians. If a saboteur or terrorist penetrated the grounds of the spaceport and carried out an attack under the very nose of the Secretary of Space Affairs, the backlash might bring about its fall.
Chapter Two: The Newton Declaration
With the Orbit Jet safely landed and its systems shut down, Rocky Jones and Winky DelPonte had changed into their groundside duty uniforms of navy blue and white tunics and peaked caps. At the foot of the gantry, DelPonte glanced up at the ground crew and called, "Okay, lock her up in the barn, boys!" Joining Jones on the ground, he continued their conversation on one of his favorite topics: where to spend their leave. "Hey, what about the seashore, Rocky? I know a place called Paradise Isle." His voice waxed lyrical as he described its manifold delights. "Balmy nights and soft music under a big tropical moon! White sands washed by an emerald sea! How's it sound?"
As usual, Jones refused to allow himself to be swayed by DelPonte's florid speech. "Let's see what Drake has to say about that, hmm?"
DelPonte refused to allow his parade to be rained upon. "But he's already said, leave papers!"
The discussion between the two men continued as they walked the half mile between landing pad 17 and the Armstrong Building. They could of course have taken some form of motorized transport, but the two had been in space for four months, and by unspoken mutual consent, they felt the need to stretch their legs under the familiar tug of natural gravity and feel the afternoon sun warm their faces. DelPonte, still trying to sway Jones' opinion in favor of Paradise Isle, was describing a previous leave he had taken there, which involved an improbable number of beautiful women vying for his attention.
As they neared the Armstrong Building's main entrance, however, DelPonte's description of an accommodating Hungarian beauty on a glass-bottomed tour boat was interrupted when the two of them barely escaped being run down by a speeding ground car. The driver, DelPonte noted automatically, was blonde, and from his brief glimpse of her, very pretty. As the two followed the ground car to the entrance, DelPonte couldn't resist motioning toward the sky and saying, "Hey, you know something? It's safer up there."
Both men watched as the driver left the ground car and hurried up the steps into the Armstrong Building. DelPonte felt that his initial analysis of the situation was confirmed: definitely blonde, and definitely pretty. She was dressed in a fashionable ensemble of a light blue minidress and short burgundy cape, with calf-high black boots. DelPonte, who of necessity was as much a connoisseur of women's fashions as of women themselves, could tell that they were the product of some high-toned boutique in Paris, or Tokyo, or Quito.
Grinning, DelPonte added, "But who wants to be up there? Come on, Skipper!"
As usual, Jones refused to allow himself to be swayed by DelPonte's florid speech. "Let's see what Drake has to say about that, hmm?"
DelPonte refused to allow his parade to be rained upon. "But he's already said, leave papers!"
The discussion between the two men continued as they walked the half mile between landing pad 17 and the Armstrong Building. They could of course have taken some form of motorized transport, but the two had been in space for four months, and by unspoken mutual consent, they felt the need to stretch their legs under the familiar tug of natural gravity and feel the afternoon sun warm their faces. DelPonte, still trying to sway Jones' opinion in favor of Paradise Isle, was describing a previous leave he had taken there, which involved an improbable number of beautiful women vying for his attention.
As they neared the Armstrong Building's main entrance, however, DelPonte's description of an accommodating Hungarian beauty on a glass-bottomed tour boat was interrupted when the two of them barely escaped being run down by a speeding ground car. The driver, DelPonte noted automatically, was blonde, and from his brief glimpse of her, very pretty. As the two followed the ground car to the entrance, DelPonte couldn't resist motioning toward the sky and saying, "Hey, you know something? It's safer up there."
Both men watched as the driver left the ground car and hurried up the steps into the Armstrong Building. DelPonte felt that his initial analysis of the situation was confirmed: definitely blonde, and definitely pretty. She was dressed in a fashionable ensemble of a light blue minidress and short burgundy cape, with calf-high black boots. DelPonte, who of necessity was as much a connoisseur of women's fashions as of women themselves, could tell that they were the product of some high-toned boutique in Paris, or Tokyo, or Quito.
Grinning, DelPonte added, "But who wants to be up there? Come on, Skipper!"
* * *
Back in his office, Ronald Drake had watched in stunned amazement as the unidentified ground car and its fashionably-dressed occupant braved one hair-pin curve after another as it barrelled up the twisting mountain road ascending the Andes to the alpine plateau holding Tsiolkovsky Spaceport. Aircars of course were forbidden within the grounds of the spaceport due to the danger of collision with arriving or departing spacecraft.
Griffin stood by the controls of the spaceport's defence grid, with the car and its driver centered on the viseograph. Every square foot of the spaceport grounds was covered by the most advanced energy weapons available to the Department of Space Affairs. His hand hovered over the button that would destroy the vehicle. "Shall I fire, sir?" Griffin asked.
Drake shook his head. He could tell that the driver was neither saboteur nor terrorist, but simply an impatient -- and reckless -- young woman. Like DelPonte, he had noted her expensive clothing, which was well-matched by her ground car, a centuries-old antique that had been carefully preserved -- presumably by someone else, since the woman's driving suggested that she wasn't worried about maintaining its pristine condition.
The woman was making straight for the Armstrong Building -- straight for him, unless he missed his guess. He said to Griffin, "Meet her down in the lobby and escort her up to my office."
His aide had simply said, "Yes, sir," and left the office. In the few months Griffin had been working for him, he had learned to humor his superior's occasional peculiar notions.
Drake continued to monitor the woman's progress through the spaceport, smiling at her close encounter with Jones and DelPonte. It wasn't long before she entered his office with Griffin at her side.
Although he had been amused by the woman's behavior, it wouldn't do to let her know that. He gave her a severe look and greeted her with the words, "Do you know you're a trespasser? On any foot of that mountain road you could have been destroyed?"
"Yes, Mr. Secretary," the woman insisted, "but I had to take the chance." Reckless, and determined, Drake told himself.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Vena Ray," she answered simply, as though that explained everything. In fact, it explained much. The Ray family was one of the most prominent associated with the ongoing effort to terraform Venus. They had taken on what might well be the most formidable task in the Solar System, and were making a success of it. The Ray family was a large, wealthy one, and there were half a dozen Vena Rays in positions of power and influence throughout the United Worlds. This one, though, was too young to be one of them. He decided he needed more information.
"And your reason for being here?" he queried.
Again, her answer was simple but provocative. "Professor Newton."
"I have no interest in anything that concerns the Professor," Drake stated flatly.
Dominic Newton had been one of Earth's greatest resources in the struggle against the Ophiuchians. He had devoted his life and intellect to understanding the secrets of the ancient alien technology that served as the foundation of the Ophiuchius Group's power. For thirty-five years, as head of the Department of Advanced Studies at the University of Earth, Newton had been able to match the Ophiuchians advance for advance, discovery for discovery. Drake could point to half a dozen devices in his office and say with complete honesty, "If it weren't for Newton, this wouldn't exist". On a mountaintop on the outskirts of Quito, Newton had built an observatory that was unmatched elsewhere in the Solar System, and very possibly in the Ophiuchius Group as well. Using principles that were understood by perhaps half a dozen other humans in the universe, Newton was able to peer into the depths of space and bring back crucial information. More than one of the Ophiuchian plots that had been foiled by the Space Rangers had been uncovered by the Newton Observatory.
Thirty-five years of honored service to the UWSS had ended the month before. Newton had joined a team of other scientists from the Solar System in a cultural exchange program that brought them to the Ophiuchian homeworld for an interstellar scientific conference. The conference had ended in disarray when Newton announced his intention to remain on Ophiuchius Prime and become an Ophiuchian citizen. The reverberations from that announcement were still being felt within the halls of power on Earth, and Drake knew that Newton's actions might yet cause the fall of the Torres administration and the loss of his own position as Secretary of Space Affairs.
"I know," Vena Ray answered. "I know. You believe he's a traitor to the United Worlds of the Solar System."
"Yes," he said with finality. "His own words prove it."
"But, Mr. Secretary," she pleaded, "during our exchange of scientists with the Ophiuchius Group, I was an interpreter. When the rest of us left, I shook hands with the Professor. His eyes tried to tell me something. He gave me this." She held out her hand to him.
Drake shook his head in sadness. It was a medal he himself had awarded to Newton five years before. He read the inscription, "To Professor Newton from Secretary Drake, with profound gratitude and eternal friendship."
Vena Ray's eyes were shining as she appealed to him. "But, Mr. Secretary, why did he leave the medal in my hand? He must have wanted me to bring it to you."
"I don't know." Drake understood what Ray was trying to tell him. By giving her his medal from the Department of Space Affairs, she thought that Newton was sending a message that his defection hadn't been genuine, that he was somehow being coerced by the Ophiuchians. Drake himself wanted with all his heart to believe she was right. Nevertheless, he felt compelled to explain to her: "Professor Newton recorded his decision on film. The Ophiuchians left it at our outpost on Secinnus to be delivered to me. It is proof positive." He turned to Griffin. "Griff, project the Newton Declaration."
"Yes, sir," said Griffin, moving off to operate the library console in Drake's office.
Looking back at Ray, Drake noticed that Rocky Jones and Winky DelPonte had entered the office, and he felt his heart lifting at the sight of them. The problems of interstellar politics receded from his mind, as they always did when Rocky and Winky returned from another successful mission. He excused himself to Ray and joined them. "Mission complete and job well done, boys," he said, beaming as he shook their hands. "Congratulations."
"Thank you, sir," they both answered.
"Now, I have new orders," he continued, picking up two documents from his desk. With a chuckle, he said, "Here are your leave papers. Relax. Stretch out and watch the stars as something mysterious and beautiful, not as places you've been to make friends or fight our enemies. Report back on the 20th."
DelPonte's eyes lit up. "Hey, Rocky, two months leave! How about that?"
"Ready with the Newton Declaration, Mr. Secretary," Griffin reported.
"Thank you, Griff." Turning back to Jones and DelPonte, Drake added, "Enjoy your time off, boys. You've earned it!"
"Thank you, sir!" exclaimed DelPonte. "Come on, Skipper, let's not waste a second of that two months! Paradise Island, here we come!"
Jones, however, didn't seem to share DelPonte's enthusiasm. "Wait a minute, Winky." He turned back to Drake and asked, "Sir, what does Griff mean by 'the Newton Declaration'? Has something happened to Professor Newton?"
With a heavy heart, Drake explained to Jones and DelPonte about Newton's trip to Ophiuchius Prime with the scientific exchange, and about his sudden announcement that he intended to remain among the Ophiuchians. He dreaded seeing their reactions. The younger men of the Space Rangers idolized Professor Newton. Although he had never worn the uniform of the Space Rangers, he was considered as much a part of the organization as they themselves were. He was like the fixed center around which their universe revolved. Hearing that he had defected was like hearing that the Sun had defected.
"I don't believe it, Mr. Secretary!" DelPonte declared. "There's just no way Professor Newton would have joined up with the Ophiuchians! It must be a set-up!"
As Drake had expected, Jones' reaction was less impulsive than his co-pilot's; his first instinct was to find out as much as possible before making up his mind. "As long as we're here," he said to DelPonte, "let's see the Newton Declaration too, huh?"
Drake escorted Ray into his office and seated himself beside her in a chair facing the output screen from the library console. "Whenever you're ready, Griff," he told his aide.
Jones and DelPonte followed him in. "Mind if we join you, Mr. Secretary?" Jones asked.
"Please do, Rocky."
As DelPonte closed the door to the outer office, the lights dimmed, and the library screen lit up. There was a legend in the bottom left corner marked, RECEIVED AT SECINNUS STATION 17 APRIL 2454. That disappeared, to be replaced by another legend marked PROFESSOR NEWTON'S DECLARATION. The screen darkened, then lit to show six men standing in a well-equipped laboratory. In the forefront stood Professor Dominic Newton, dressed as usual in a white lab coat and the antiquated clothing he affected. Flanking him were two high-ranking members of the Ophiuchian government that Drake recognized: Darganto and Atlasande, both wearing the elaborate uniforms that were the mark of power among the Ophiuchians. Behind them stood three more Ophiuchian men in plainer uniforms. Newton, who was not a tall man, seemed dwarfed by the towering, uniformed Ophiuchians surrounding him.
For perhaps the sixth time in as many days, Drake listened to Dominic Newton saying the impossible: "Secretary Drake, may I first say this? The decision to remain on Ophiuchius is mine and mine alone. I have been influenced by neither word nor act. These people," and here Newton looked around at the five black-uniformed Ophiuchians surrounding him, "are my friends. Perhaps, thinking singularly, I would not have made such a drastic move, and severed the ties of a lifetime. But I must consider my young ward, Bobby. A long life stands before him, and not by heritage, but by my choice, he can now share in the triumph and the glory of Ophiuchius." Newton paused, and looked over to his left. "Come here, Bobby."
Bobby Matthews' parents, George and Deborah Matthews, had been scientists at the Department of Advanced Studies. Two years before, when Bobby was eight years old, both had died as a result of Ophiuchian sabotage while testing a newly-developed spaceship engine. It had been George Matthews' dying wish that Professor Newton become the boy's legal guardian, and Newton had agreed. Not a week went by without a visit to the Armstrong Building by Professor Newton and Bobby, and the boy had been adopted as a mascot by the Space Rangers. Seeing Bobby's serious face, Drake couldn't help but be reminded of Rocky Jones at that age.
Drake heard DelPonte whisper to Jones, "Newton wanted Bobby to become a Space Ranger! He said it a thousand times!" He might have continued in that vein had Jones not shushed him.
On the library screen, Newton had been joined by Bobby, who, despite his youth, was nearly as tall as his guardian. As he usually was, Bobby was dressed in a replica of a Space Ranger uniform; it seemed terribly out of place among the black-clad Ophiuchians. "Mr. Secretary," Newton continued, "you've heard my wish, my declaration." Turning to the boy, he said, "Bobby, say good-bye to our friends."
Bobby looked out of the library screen and said, "Good-bye, Mr. Secretary, and please, sir, say hello to Rocky Jones, to Winky, and to the rest of the Space Rangers."
The library screen went dark, and the lights came back up in Drake's office. Drake turned to Ray, Jones, and DelPonte and added, "A detailed letter made the breach complete. He surrendered all his property, even the Newton Observatory."
There was a long pause while the other three pondered what they had seen and heard. Finally, Jones said slowly, "I'm sorry, sir, but I just can't believe it. Professor Newton was either drugged or forced to make that declaration by a threat on Bobby's life."
"That's true, Mr. Secretary," Ray added, "he's their prisoner."
"With your permission, sir," said Jones, "I'd like to find out." He handed his leave papers to DelPonte, who solemnly tore up both sets.
"Oh well," said DelPonte, "another day, another moon, maybe."
Chapter Three: Flight Plan
As he stood near the door to Secretary Drake's office, Marcus Griffin listened as Drake discussed the defection of Professor Newton with Rocky Jones, Winky DelPonte, and Vena Ray. He grew increasingly alarmed at what he heard.
A few seconds' work by Jones at the library console brought up a star map of the region of space between the Solar System and 70 Ophiuchi. Joining him, Drake said, "After the scientific conference ended," (he tactfully avoided saying "after Newton's defection"), "they asked us to close our embassy. You won't be welcome, either."
"Yes, I understand, sir," Jones replied. "But it could happen that we were lost in space and forced to land, couldn't it?" Griffin was amused to see that Jones didn't so much as crack a smile as he calmly proposed his subterfuge. "I'm sure they're not prepared to invite open warfare by imprisoning a couple of Space Rangers."
"They will be soon," DelPonte pointed out, "with Professor Newton on their side, huh, Rocky?"
"It's a gamble," Drake declared.
"But worth the chance, sir," Jones insisted.
Griffin didn't wait to hear any more. Silently, he left Drake's office, closing the door behind him, then made his way across the outer office and activated the astrophone on his desk. With the ease of long practice, he shifted from the standard frequencies used by the Department of Space Affairs to one that was known only to himself. His desktop calculator hummed as it worked out a set of coordinates in extrasolar space, which he fed into the astrophone's directional antenna.
"Griff to W-O-X. Griff to W-O-X. Come in."
Six light years from the Sun, there was a red dwarf star known as Barnard's Star. There were no planets or moons worthy of the name orbiting Barnard's; instead, a few clouds of dust and a handful of comets made up the Barnard's system. Nevertheless, Barnard's was located in a strategic position: it was the place where the region of space claimed by the UWSS came closest to the region claimed by the Ophiuchians. Beyond Barnard's were the stars that made up the Ophiuchius Group: 61 Cygni, Ross 154, Wolf 1061, Altair, 36 Ophiuchi, and 70 Ophiuchi itself. It was the region beyond Barnard's Star that the people of Earth meant when they talked about the Curtain of Space.
Barnard's Star was host to Space Station RV-3, which served as Earth's eyes and ears beyond the Curtain of Space. Unknown to Earth's political and military leaders, Barnard's Star was also host to an Ophiuchian scout ship that Griffin knew only by the code designation W-O-X. W-O-X served as a necessary relay point between the Solar System and the Ophiuchius Group, since the two systems lay outside of astrophone range of each other.
There came an answer over the comm system, in Terran Standard but with an unmistakeable Ophiuchian accent. "W-O-X to Griff. Come in, Griff."
"Beam urgent message to Ophiuchius," Griffin said. "Drake now believes Professor Newton prisoner. Rocky Jones may attempt rescue flight."
"We'll get it through, Griff," said the Ophiuchian voice. "Any further orders, Griff?"
"Stand by," said Griffin. "If rescue flight is attempted by Rocky Jones, will inform you of blast-off time and refueling station. You are to destroy his Orbit Jet before it reaches your zone, and the blame placed on you. Out."
Replacing the microphone, Griffin reset the astrophone to standard frequencies, then hurried back to Secretary Drake's office, easing open the door a crack and listening. He could hear Drake remind the others, "This is the curtain that separates our league of planets from the Ophiuchius Group. From that point on, they're able to jam our messages. After you pass that point, you'll be without a communication link. You'll be on your own, Rocky. It'll be dangerous."
"I understand, sir," Jones replied. "We'll make it, though. Now, where will our refuel station be?"
"That's up to you," said Drake.
"May I suggest Space Station RV-5? That's stretching the first hop, and there'll be very little traffic there."
"Great," Drake agreed. "And in the interest of secrecy I'll declare the area out of bounds except to commercial craft. Now, for your crew."
"So that those on the other planet can't claim invasion," said Jones, "Winky and I should go it alone. We'll disable our ship, land, search for Professor Newton and Bobby, and try to bring them back with us."
Vena Ray spoke up. "Please, Mr. Secretary, can't I go?"
"Out of the question," Jones immediately declared.
"Why?" asked Ray. "Would that make it an invasion?"
"No," said Jones, "but it's not a picnic, either."
"That's fine with me," Ray responded. "I don't like picnics."
Frowning, Jones said, "What I mean is, a flight like this is no place for a girl."
"I am not a girl!" After a moment, Ray added, "Well, yes I am, but I'm not a girl in the way you mean I'm a girl. I can take care of myself, Rocky Jones. I can be a real help to you. Please, Mr. Secretary, I know these people. I speak their language, and I know their country. For your information, Mr. Rocky Jones, I'm also licensed as a navigator."
"Miss Ray would be extremely valuable as an interpreter," Drake pointed out. "We mustn't pass up any chance to make the mission a success."
Griffin found himself grinning. Earth's society had reacted to the matriarchal government of Ophiuchius by becoming rather suspicious of strong women, and Griffin knew that Jones had particularly strong objections to them. He could hear the lack of enthusiasm in Jones' voice as he said, "Planetary conditions will be ideal at 0230. If you'll state my crew, sir, I'll prepare for blast-off."
"Winky will go," said Drake, "and Vena Ray will be signed on as auxiliary Space Ranger."
"Very good, sir," said Jones, sounding even more unhappy. "Ranger Ray, prepare to stand inspection at 0200."
"Very good, sir," Ray said coolly, and Griffin didn't doubt that she had deliberately echoed Jones' response to Drake.
A few seconds' work by Jones at the library console brought up a star map of the region of space between the Solar System and 70 Ophiuchi. Joining him, Drake said, "After the scientific conference ended," (he tactfully avoided saying "after Newton's defection"), "they asked us to close our embassy. You won't be welcome, either."
"Yes, I understand, sir," Jones replied. "But it could happen that we were lost in space and forced to land, couldn't it?" Griffin was amused to see that Jones didn't so much as crack a smile as he calmly proposed his subterfuge. "I'm sure they're not prepared to invite open warfare by imprisoning a couple of Space Rangers."
"They will be soon," DelPonte pointed out, "with Professor Newton on their side, huh, Rocky?"
"It's a gamble," Drake declared.
"But worth the chance, sir," Jones insisted.
Griffin didn't wait to hear any more. Silently, he left Drake's office, closing the door behind him, then made his way across the outer office and activated the astrophone on his desk. With the ease of long practice, he shifted from the standard frequencies used by the Department of Space Affairs to one that was known only to himself. His desktop calculator hummed as it worked out a set of coordinates in extrasolar space, which he fed into the astrophone's directional antenna.
"Griff to W-O-X. Griff to W-O-X. Come in."
Six light years from the Sun, there was a red dwarf star known as Barnard's Star. There were no planets or moons worthy of the name orbiting Barnard's; instead, a few clouds of dust and a handful of comets made up the Barnard's system. Nevertheless, Barnard's was located in a strategic position: it was the place where the region of space claimed by the UWSS came closest to the region claimed by the Ophiuchians. Beyond Barnard's were the stars that made up the Ophiuchius Group: 61 Cygni, Ross 154, Wolf 1061, Altair, 36 Ophiuchi, and 70 Ophiuchi itself. It was the region beyond Barnard's Star that the people of Earth meant when they talked about the Curtain of Space.
Barnard's Star was host to Space Station RV-3, which served as Earth's eyes and ears beyond the Curtain of Space. Unknown to Earth's political and military leaders, Barnard's Star was also host to an Ophiuchian scout ship that Griffin knew only by the code designation W-O-X. W-O-X served as a necessary relay point between the Solar System and the Ophiuchius Group, since the two systems lay outside of astrophone range of each other.
There came an answer over the comm system, in Terran Standard but with an unmistakeable Ophiuchian accent. "W-O-X to Griff. Come in, Griff."
"Beam urgent message to Ophiuchius," Griffin said. "Drake now believes Professor Newton prisoner. Rocky Jones may attempt rescue flight."
"We'll get it through, Griff," said the Ophiuchian voice. "Any further orders, Griff?"
"Stand by," said Griffin. "If rescue flight is attempted by Rocky Jones, will inform you of blast-off time and refueling station. You are to destroy his Orbit Jet before it reaches your zone, and the blame placed on you. Out."
Replacing the microphone, Griffin reset the astrophone to standard frequencies, then hurried back to Secretary Drake's office, easing open the door a crack and listening. He could hear Drake remind the others, "This is the curtain that separates our league of planets from the Ophiuchius Group. From that point on, they're able to jam our messages. After you pass that point, you'll be without a communication link. You'll be on your own, Rocky. It'll be dangerous."
"I understand, sir," Jones replied. "We'll make it, though. Now, where will our refuel station be?"
"That's up to you," said Drake.
"May I suggest Space Station RV-5? That's stretching the first hop, and there'll be very little traffic there."
"Great," Drake agreed. "And in the interest of secrecy I'll declare the area out of bounds except to commercial craft. Now, for your crew."
"So that those on the other planet can't claim invasion," said Jones, "Winky and I should go it alone. We'll disable our ship, land, search for Professor Newton and Bobby, and try to bring them back with us."
Vena Ray spoke up. "Please, Mr. Secretary, can't I go?"
"Out of the question," Jones immediately declared.
"Why?" asked Ray. "Would that make it an invasion?"
"No," said Jones, "but it's not a picnic, either."
"That's fine with me," Ray responded. "I don't like picnics."
Frowning, Jones said, "What I mean is, a flight like this is no place for a girl."
"I am not a girl!" After a moment, Ray added, "Well, yes I am, but I'm not a girl in the way you mean I'm a girl. I can take care of myself, Rocky Jones. I can be a real help to you. Please, Mr. Secretary, I know these people. I speak their language, and I know their country. For your information, Mr. Rocky Jones, I'm also licensed as a navigator."
"Miss Ray would be extremely valuable as an interpreter," Drake pointed out. "We mustn't pass up any chance to make the mission a success."
Griffin found himself grinning. Earth's society had reacted to the matriarchal government of Ophiuchius by becoming rather suspicious of strong women, and Griffin knew that Jones had particularly strong objections to them. He could hear the lack of enthusiasm in Jones' voice as he said, "Planetary conditions will be ideal at 0230. If you'll state my crew, sir, I'll prepare for blast-off."
"Winky will go," said Drake, "and Vena Ray will be signed on as auxiliary Space Ranger."
"Very good, sir," said Jones, sounding even more unhappy. "Ranger Ray, prepare to stand inspection at 0200."
"Very good, sir," Ray said coolly, and Griffin didn't doubt that she had deliberately echoed Jones' response to Drake.
Chapter Four: Blast-off!
It was a dark, moonless night at Tsiolkovsky Spaceport as Secretary Drake escorted Rocky Jones, Winky DelPonte, and Vena Ray across the pitted concrete apron of landing pad 17. The spaceport was lit by bank after bank of floodlights, and Drake could hear the faint hum of each as he passed beneath it. He could smell the chemical tang of spaceship fuel, with a metallic overlay of ozone. The Orbit Jet stood upright on the landing pad, while the gantry was backed away against the maintenance hanger.
Jones and DelPonte were dressed in a fresh set of blue and white Space Ranger uniforms, while Ray was dressed in another one of her colorful cape and minidress outfits, this one in contrasting shades of green. As they reached the foot of the gantry, Jones told DelPonte and Ray, "Take positions on platform." DelPonte saluted, and he and Ray began the long climb up the gantry.
Jones turned to Drake, who told him, "Do your best to bring back Professor Newton, but please, Rocky, no unnecessary chances."
"Yes, sir," Jones answered. "I understand, sir. We wouldn't dare, because we have a girl aboard."
Mustering his patience, Drake said, "It isn't that. We don't want to lose any of you, any more than Professor Newton or Bobby."
"I'm sorry, sir," said Jones, who didn't sound sorry at all. Drake sighed to himself, and reflected that Jones was in for a surprise. The antifeminist sentiment that was growing on Earth was unknown among the Venusian colonists, and the Ray family in particular was known for its independent women. He didn't think Jones' attitude would survive prolonged contact with Vena Ray.
Jones turned away from Drake and called up to the ground crew, "Move in the boarding platform!" There was a growling hum as the gantry's motors woke to life, and it began its slow, ponderous journey from the maintenance hanger to the Orbit Jet. The four huge tires followed their blackened tracks across the concrete until the gantry was once against nestled against the great silver ship's side. Another order from Jones set the blast-off synchoniser into operation. The low-pitched beeping of the synchroniser sounded, indicating that the Orbit Jet's two main engines were undergoing their powering-up sequence. As the beeping rose in pitch, Jones saluted Drake, who returned the salute, and watched as Jones turned and strode over to the foot of the gantry, quickly climbing the ladder to the boarding platform.
With a smile, Drake turned and headed back to the Armstrong Building.
Jones and DelPonte were dressed in a fresh set of blue and white Space Ranger uniforms, while Ray was dressed in another one of her colorful cape and minidress outfits, this one in contrasting shades of green. As they reached the foot of the gantry, Jones told DelPonte and Ray, "Take positions on platform." DelPonte saluted, and he and Ray began the long climb up the gantry.
Jones turned to Drake, who told him, "Do your best to bring back Professor Newton, but please, Rocky, no unnecessary chances."
"Yes, sir," Jones answered. "I understand, sir. We wouldn't dare, because we have a girl aboard."
Mustering his patience, Drake said, "It isn't that. We don't want to lose any of you, any more than Professor Newton or Bobby."
"I'm sorry, sir," said Jones, who didn't sound sorry at all. Drake sighed to himself, and reflected that Jones was in for a surprise. The antifeminist sentiment that was growing on Earth was unknown among the Venusian colonists, and the Ray family in particular was known for its independent women. He didn't think Jones' attitude would survive prolonged contact with Vena Ray.
Jones turned away from Drake and called up to the ground crew, "Move in the boarding platform!" There was a growling hum as the gantry's motors woke to life, and it began its slow, ponderous journey from the maintenance hanger to the Orbit Jet. The four huge tires followed their blackened tracks across the concrete until the gantry was once against nestled against the great silver ship's side. Another order from Jones set the blast-off synchoniser into operation. The low-pitched beeping of the synchroniser sounded, indicating that the Orbit Jet's two main engines were undergoing their powering-up sequence. As the beeping rose in pitch, Jones saluted Drake, who returned the salute, and watched as Jones turned and strode over to the foot of the gantry, quickly climbing the ladder to the boarding platform.
With a smile, Drake turned and headed back to the Armstrong Building.
* * *
Marcus Griffin, watching from Drake's outer office, activated his astrophone and shifted the frequency. "Griff to W-O-X. Griff to W-O-X. Come in."
Once more, he heard the accented voice of the commander of the Ophiuchian ship. "W-O-X to Griff. Come in, Griff."
"Rocky Jones blasting off at 0230," Griffin reported. "Refuel space station is RV-5. Area declared out of bounds, making it ideal for attack without interference."
"We'll be waiting for him, Griff," said the Ophiuchian. "Over."
* * *
Vena Ray had traveled in space more times than she could count. Her duties as a linguist had taken her to Mercury, Mars, the Moon, the Asteroid Belt, and among the moons of Jupiter and Saturn. She was as familiar as any person alive with the various classes of commercial spaceship. She had flown in the swept-wing spaceplanes that traveled from the surface of the Earth to the orbiting space stations; the bulbous moon shuttles that made the regular run from the space stations to the surface of the Moon; the fragile-looking interplanetary liners that traveled among the worlds of the Solar System. She had even crossed interstellar space in the superluminal ship that the University of Earth had chartered for the scientific exchange with Ophiuchius Prime.
Her return trip to the 70 Ophiuchi system, though, was going to be a new experience for her. This time, she would be traveling as a member of the crew of a Space Ranger vessel. The Space Rangers were the law-enforcement arm of the Department of Space Affairs, enforcing the rule of law among the worlds of the UWSS. Consequently, their ships had to be more versatile than commercial vessels. The Orbit Jet could land and take off from the surface of a planet, cross interplanetary space, and even use superluminal travel to reach the worlds circling other suns.
Her return trip to the 70 Ophiuchi system, though, was going to be a new experience for her. This time, she would be traveling as a member of the crew of a Space Ranger vessel. The Space Rangers were the law-enforcement arm of the Department of Space Affairs, enforcing the rule of law among the worlds of the UWSS. Consequently, their ships had to be more versatile than commercial vessels. The Orbit Jet could land and take off from the surface of a planet, cross interplanetary space, and even use superluminal travel to reach the worlds circling other suns.
As soon as the boarding platform had carried them from the hanger to the Orbit Jet, Winky DelPonte led Ray to the ship's airlock and showed her how to work the controls, keeping up a steady stream of chatter as he did so. Unlike Rocky Jones, DelPonte didn't seem the least bit upset at the idea of having a woman on board. Of course, Ray was perfectly well aware that DelPonte liked her because she was a pretty girl. That was all right with her; she knew she was a pretty girl, and she much preferred DelPonte's hopeful gallantry to Jones' disapproving hostility.
Once throught the airlock door, Ray found that she and DelPonte were in a cylindrical room that seemed to be resting on its side. A series of controls and mechanisms marched up one of the curved walls until it reached the ceiling, and a ladder seemed to be set into the surface of another wall, leading up to an oval hatch in the ceiling.
"This is the engine room, also called C section. Don't let the screwy-looking set-up throw you, Miss Ray," DelPonte assured her with a smile. "It looks cock-eyed because we're still on the ground, and gravity points that way." He pointed to the floor beneath their feet. "After we blast off and we're up in free-fall, we switch on the good ol' artificial gravity, and that flat wall there becomes the floor." It took a moment for Ray to get it, but by tilting her head to the right she could see what he meant. What was now a ladder would become part of the floor, and instead of being in the ceiling, the oval hatch would be an ordinary doorway leading to the next section of the ship.
"I understand," she told him.
His grin widened. "I figured it wouldn't take you long to get it, Miss Ray. You're one smart cookie, I could tell that right off the bat. Now, if you'll follow me up this ladder, I'll show you to your station." So saying, he climbed the ladder, swiftly but, she noted, carefully. She followed more slowly, but equally carefully. When he reached the top of the ladder, the oval hatch slid aside, and he climbed up through it.
The next room was quite a bit smaller than the engine room. Near the hatch were three chairs, contoured to fit a reclining person. Ray could see that they were fixed to the flat wall that would become the floor under artificial gravity, and that they were designed to swing around on a pivot. Fixed near the ceiling on the flat wall was the navigator's station. The ladder continued up the flat wall to another oval hatch set in the ceiling.
"You'll be lying in one of these blast chairs during blast-off and free-fall," DelPonte explained. "Once we're in free-fall, the chairs swing over so they're horizontal to the new floor when the artificial gravity cuts in. Up there," he pointed to the hatch in the ceiling, "is the pilot room, the A section. Me and Rocky will be up there when we blast off." There came a sudden, loud beeping noise that slowly rose in pitch. "Secure for blast-off, Vena," said DelPonte, and she climbed into one of the blast chairs.
"They should turn off that noise," she remarked. "It gives me the creeps."
DelPonte's smile turned sardonic. "Say, have you been aboard a spaceship before?"
"Sure, on an interplanetary express. It's about as exciting as a streetcar. I've never flown in a Space Ranger ship before." She found herself grinning back. "The Orbit Jet is different, believe me."
"Well, that 'noise' is our blast-off synchroniser. When those two sounds get together, whoosh!" He gestured upward with his hand. "We'll be up there!"
The hatch leading down to the engine room slid open, and Rocky Jones climbed up into the navigation room. He ignored Ray and DelPonte completely, continuing to climb the ladder up into the pilot room. DelPonte gave a small sigh, then gestured up towards the navigation station. "There's your navigating table, Navigator. Have fun."
She said coolly, "Once this trip is over you two will be mighty glad I came along!"
DelPonte gave her another grin, then climbed the ladder up to the pilot room, disappearing as the hatch slid shut behind him.
* * *
As the blast-off synchoniser continued to rise in pitch, Winky DelPonte climbed up through the pilot room and seated himself at the co-pilot position, to the left of Rocky Jones. As he stowed away his peaked cap and belted himself in, Rocky asked, "How's the new crew member, our glamour-girl navigator?"
"Not a thing to worry about, Rock," DelPonte assured him. "I hate to admit it, but she sure knows her stuff." He was sure that the Skipper could tell from his tone of voice that he didn't hate admitting it at all.
The synchoniser approached the ready point. "All right, you ready, Winky?" asked Jones.
"Ready, sir," DelPonte answered. The two men adjusted their chairs to the blast-off positions and lay back. The synchoniser suddenly cut off, and there was a sound like thunder. DelPonte felt the familiar accelleration of blast-off push him down into his chair as the Orbit Jet lifted off from landing pad 17. DelPonte felt like he weighed six hundred pounds, for the simple reason that he did weigh six hundred pounds. Even inside the soundproofed pilot room, he could hear the Orbit Jet's twin engines blasting away for all they were worth. As always, he kept his eyes on the control panels, watching the Orbit Jet's altitude and accelleration increase. In less than ten minutes, they would have reached the speed of five miles per second and an altitude of a thousand miles, which would leave them orbiting the Earth in free-fall.
Blast-off was DelPonte's least favorite part of space flight. The rest of the time, he and Jones were at the controls, but during blast-off the high accelleration left them both almost helpless in their blast chairs. There was always a small part of DelPonte that was afraid something would go wrong with the Orbit Jet, and they would just keep accellerating for days until they ran out of fuel. It always came as a relief when they passed the three-hundred mile mark, because at that point the Orbit Jet's engines began to throttle back, and they could start to move around again.
There it was! The control light showing initial accelleration went out, and the engine thrust gage began to back down. Thirty seconds later, the Orbit Jet's accelleration had dropped to 1.5 gravities, and his and Jones' chairs rose automatically from their blast-off positions until the two men could reach the controls. As the Orbit Jet gained altitude, their accelleration continued to drop. As they entered the exosphere, their accelleration would fall below half a gravity, and they would switch on the Orbit Jet's artificial gravity.
One more result of the falling accelleration was that they both had enough breath to talk. Jones usually didn't take advantage of the opportunity, but he did now. "Winky," he said, "you know I've never questioned an order from Drake before, but I just can't see where it helps having a girl on board on a dangerous mission like this."
"Well, she speaks the Ophiuchians' language, Rocky," he pointed out, "and that's what we'll need if we make a successful landing there."
"I'd rather have an extra pair of fists," said Jones gruffly. "Anybody understands that language."
"Not a thing to worry about, Rock," DelPonte assured him. "I hate to admit it, but she sure knows her stuff." He was sure that the Skipper could tell from his tone of voice that he didn't hate admitting it at all.
The synchoniser approached the ready point. "All right, you ready, Winky?" asked Jones.
"Ready, sir," DelPonte answered. The two men adjusted their chairs to the blast-off positions and lay back. The synchoniser suddenly cut off, and there was a sound like thunder. DelPonte felt the familiar accelleration of blast-off push him down into his chair as the Orbit Jet lifted off from landing pad 17. DelPonte felt like he weighed six hundred pounds, for the simple reason that he did weigh six hundred pounds. Even inside the soundproofed pilot room, he could hear the Orbit Jet's twin engines blasting away for all they were worth. As always, he kept his eyes on the control panels, watching the Orbit Jet's altitude and accelleration increase. In less than ten minutes, they would have reached the speed of five miles per second and an altitude of a thousand miles, which would leave them orbiting the Earth in free-fall.
Blast-off was DelPonte's least favorite part of space flight. The rest of the time, he and Jones were at the controls, but during blast-off the high accelleration left them both almost helpless in their blast chairs. There was always a small part of DelPonte that was afraid something would go wrong with the Orbit Jet, and they would just keep accellerating for days until they ran out of fuel. It always came as a relief when they passed the three-hundred mile mark, because at that point the Orbit Jet's engines began to throttle back, and they could start to move around again.
There it was! The control light showing initial accelleration went out, and the engine thrust gage began to back down. Thirty seconds later, the Orbit Jet's accelleration had dropped to 1.5 gravities, and his and Jones' chairs rose automatically from their blast-off positions until the two men could reach the controls. As the Orbit Jet gained altitude, their accelleration continued to drop. As they entered the exosphere, their accelleration would fall below half a gravity, and they would switch on the Orbit Jet's artificial gravity.
One more result of the falling accelleration was that they both had enough breath to talk. Jones usually didn't take advantage of the opportunity, but he did now. "Winky," he said, "you know I've never questioned an order from Drake before, but I just can't see where it helps having a girl on board on a dangerous mission like this."
"Well, she speaks the Ophiuchians' language, Rocky," he pointed out, "and that's what we'll need if we make a successful landing there."
"I'd rather have an extra pair of fists," said Jones gruffly. "Anybody understands that language."
"Aw, give her a break, Rocky, she's a good kid."
Jones chose not to respond to DelPonte's assertion. Instead, he observed, "We're entering the exosphere. Switch on the artificial gravity."
"Artificial gravity, sir," DelPonte acknowledged as he slid over the lever that charged up the gravity plates. As always, there was an odd sensation as the direction of "down" flipped around from the tail section of the Orbit Jet to the flat section of hull beneath their chairs. DelPonte uttered the traditional Space Ranger invocation to the gravity plates. "Go to work, Gravin' Gerty, and don't lose your grip."
Jones immediately set to work comparing their current course and speed to those outlined in the mission profile. After a minute's work, he ordred, "Correct drift point one by point four."
"One by four, sir," said DelPonte as he did so.
The hatch opened, and Vena Ray entered from the navigation room. Looking back at her, DelPonte was glad to see that she had come through the blast-off without a problem. "Pardon me, sir," she said to Jones, "but we've entered the exosphere."
"Oh, really?" Jones answered blandly.
"And may I suggest a drift correction? Point one by point four."
Impressed, DelPonte said, "Good charting, Vena."
"Thanks, Winky," she said with a smile. Turning back to Jones, she said, "Awaiting orders, sir."
"You're a little late," was Jones' response.
"What should I do, sir?" said Ray, clearly determined to take her auxiliary Space Ranger role seriously.
"Return to quarters," was Jones' answer. "And knit me a sweater."
Ray's voice dropped into the subarctic range. "Sorry, sir, I don't know how to knit. But if I did, I'd make you a muffler . . . and maybe tie it real tight around your neck." She turned away, paused a moment to add a sarcastic "Sir," and left the control room.
Winky shook his head. Skipper, he silently addressed Jones, sometimes you can be a real jerk.
Chapter Five: Battle in Space
The Orbit Jet continued to accellerate until it passed escape velocity. As it pulled out of the Earth's gravity well, Jones and DelPonte aimed it out of the ecliptic, in the general direction of the Ophiuchius Group. They would be cruising through the Solar System for nine days before the Orbit Jet made it far enough out of the Sun's gravity well for them to engage the ship's superluminal drive.
DelPonte found that having a new face on board, particularly a pretty female face, took a great deal of the tedium out of space travel. He and Rocky maintained the usual eight hours on, eight hours off duty shifts in the pilot room. He talked with Vena Ray whenever he happened to find her awake during his off duty shifts. She talked about growing up on Venus, and about the ongoing efforts to bring that planet's climate into a range that humans would find comfortable. She told him stories about various members of her famous family, especially her great-uncle Cyrus, who was its current head. He in turn told her about growing up in Naples, and about attending the Ranger Academy in Houston.
"I've always wondered why the Academy is in Houston, when the spaceport and headquarters are in Quito," Ray remarked.
"Oh, that's because Houston is where the American astronauts used to train back in the old days. When the United Worlds set up the Space Rangers, the Americans offered to let us use the old astronaut training center there." DelPonte grinned. "It's kind of neat, really. It makes the cadets feel like they're part of history. It's like they're on their way to the Moon with Neil Armstrong."
The days slipped by until the gage dispaying spacial curvature sank below a particular level and an indicator light went on showing that it was safe to engage the superluminal drive. DelPonte went back to the navigation room to warn Vena Ray to strap herself in again. After a thirty-second countdown, Rocky Jones slid down the switches that sent the Orbit Jet into the superluminal continuum. As always, DelPonte felt as though his body was being elongated, until he would have sworn that his head was at least thirty feet away from his feet. The feeling persisted for several seconds, then there was a snap as the superluminal controls reset themselves, and DelPonte's body was back to normal. DelPonte activated the pilot room viseograph, and focused on the space directly behind them. He took a reading on the bright star centered in the crosshairs, then ran the results through the computer. The bright star was actually Earth's sun, and its apparent magnitude had fallen significantly. The Orbit Jet was now three trillion miles, half a light-year, from the Solar System.
Standard operating procedure among the Space Rangers was to allow a full twenty-four hours to pass before making use of the superluminal drive again. The delay allowed the drive to recharge itself, and also allowed the crew to retune the drive's systems, which were always randomized after each superluminal jump.
Exactly twenty-four hours after their first jump, Jones slid the switches down again. Again there was a few seconds of disorientation, followed by the snap of the controls resetting themselves, and the Orbit Jet had moved another three trillion miles through interstellar space.
In two weeks' time, the Orbit Jet had skipped across seven light years of interstellar space, bringing the ship within visual range of Space Station RV-5. Unlike the RV-3 station in the Barnard's system, RV-5 had no star to call its own. Instead, it had been established at a point in space exactly midway between the Solar System and Wolf 1061, a star system that was claimed by the Ophiuchius Group.
The Orbit Jet had come out of its last superluminal jump less than a million miles from RV-5. Jones and DelPonte had picked up the station's recognition signal and were accellerating toward it when Vena Ray rushed into the pilot room and announced, "Rocky, I mean, sir, an object is approaching from two o'clock."
Rocky Jones looked back at her and said, "Are you positive, or is this merely woman's intuition?"
Ray glared at him. "I said, and I repeat, there's an object approaching us very rapidly."
"She was right before, Rocky," DelPonte reminded him.
Jones leaned forward and activated the viseograph, focused on the area of space forward and to the right of them. DelPonte was not surprised to find that Ray had been correct. There was another spaceship visible, and it was clearly approaching them, as Ray had put it, very rapidly.
"Quick, Winky," Jones ordered, "get Drake on astrophone."
"What can I do, Rocky?" Ray asked.
"Nothing," he answered curtly, "just stay out of the way."
"XV-2 calling Office of Space Affairs," DelPonte spoke into the astrophone, "come in, Office of Space Affairs." There was no response. DelPonte repeated his call, adding, "acknowledge, Office of Space Affairs, we're under attack, enemy unknown." He continued calling, then told Jones, "It's a cold channel, Rocky."
"All right," said Jones grimly, "we'll make a fight of it. Prepare to return fire."
"Please, Rocky," Ray asked again, "what can I do?"
"Secure to your blast chair, and stay there. That's an order."
Ray turned and left the pilot room. DelPonte kept the viseograph centered on the unknown ship as it continued to approach. There was a bright flash from the unknown ship, and DelPonte saw a missile streak through space towards them. DelPonte felt himself being pressed back in his chair as Jones goosed their acceleration. The missile slid off the screen, then a shudder ran through the Orbit Jet and an alarm went off.
Peering at a readout, DelPonte reported, "We took a hit aft, sir." He silenced the alarm, and refocused the viseograph on the enemy ship, which was now swinging around for another run. DelPonte felt himself being shoved forwards and back as Jones maneuvered the Orbit Jet to avoid their unknown attacker. There was another sudden acceleration pressing DelPonte back in his seat, and when he looked up he could see the other ship's stern in the viewscreen. The Skipper had managed to maneuver them into attack position.
"Ready, Winky?"
"Ready, sir."
"Steady . . . steady . . . closing target . . . steady . . . " chanted Jones as he brought the other ship within weapons range. The ship drifted into the crosshairs of the targeting system.
"On it, Winky! Fire one!" Jones ordered.
DelPonte launched one of the Orbit Jet's missiles, and watched as it closed the gap with the enemy ship and exploded. As the light of the explosion dimmed, he could see that the other ship's engine had been wrecked, leaving it drifting helplessly through space.
"That takes care of them, whoever it was," said Jones.
Suddenly, there was a flare of light from the unknown ship, sliding down the visible spectrum from blue to green to yellow to orange to red, and then fading from view. When the light was gone, so was the other ship. DelPonte recognized the sight of a ship activating its superluminal drive and jumping away. "Jumpin' Jupiter!" he exclaimed. "I can't believe they were willing to risk a jump with their engines messed up like that!"
"Whoever was flying that ship didn't intend to let himself be captured," Jones remarked quietly. "They'll either escape back to their base, or suffer a system failure and be lost forever." After a momentary pause, he continued, "Level off to free-fall while I check for damage."
"Aye aye, sir," said DelPonte as he killed the Orbit Jet's acceleration. Jones rose from his seat and went aft.
As Jones made his way through the navigation room, he paused to ask Vena Ray if she was all right. Ray, still strapped into her blast chair, said, "Yes, but what happened, Rocky? What is it?" Before he could formulate a response, Jones was distracted by a current of air rushing past him. After three years of flying the Orbit Jet, he knew the ship as well as he knew his own name, and the air current going past him shouldn't have been there. The hatch between the navigation room and the engine room had been jarred open by the explosion, and air was blowing through it. He hurried into the engine room, where he heard the one sound every spaceman hopes he never hears: the whistle of air escaping through a hull breach.
In every room of every spacecraft flown by human beings is an emergency kit for dealing with air leaks. The kit includes a set of small compressed air cylinders that feed into balloons. Jones pressed a switch on the engine room's emergency air leak kit and a balloon about six inches in diameter quickly inflated and detached itself. It whirled through the engine room, eventually coming to rest against one of the outer walls. Jones followed it, then shook his head in anger. The balloon flattened itself against a long, thin line in the wall, then popped. Their unknown attacker's missile hadn't just left a pinhole leak in the Orbit Jet's hull; a narrow piece of shrapnel had sliced open a section of the hull, at least two feet in length. The patches in the emergency kit weren't going to be enough to seal this breach. It would take a repair team from RV-5 to deal with this, and they were still two hours away from the station. All they could do was seal off the engine room, and with the hatch jammed open he would have to use the emergency seal. Jones hurried from the engine room to the pilot room.
After sealing off the engine room, he resumed his seat in the pilot's chair and belted himself in.
"C section?" said DelPonte as he observed Jones. "I guess we were lucky at that."
"Yeah, I had to seal it off before we were sapped of oxygen," said Jones. "With any luck, though, we should be able to limp in to the space station." He suddenly thought of his newest crew member, and with a grin he said, "Say, call Vena forward. Let's see how she likes being a Space Ranger now." Being attacked by an unknown enemy and damaged might turn out to have a silver lining after all, if it convinced Vena Ray that a Space Ranger ship was no place for a girl.
DelPonte unbuckled himself from the co-pilot's chair and went aft, saying, "Hey, Vena, Rocky says you . . . ", then trailed off. Jones turned around, and through the open hatchway he could see DelPonte standing in the middle of the navigation room. He was alone.
Vena Ray watched with growing anger as Rocky Jones rushed past her on his way to the pilot room, again without saying a word to her. She knew perfectly well that her warning had probably saved all their lives, and yet he still treated her like some kind of intruder. Well, if the high and mighty Captain Rocky Jones of the Space Rangers wouldn't deign to inform a member of his crew what had happened to the ship, she would find out for herself. Unstrapping herself from the blast chair, she entered the engine room. There was a high-pitched whistling sound coming from the lefthand wall. As she came near, she could feel the air rushing past her through a dark line in the wall.
An air leak!
She turned and ran towards the hatch to the navigation room, but a metal cover slid down over it shutting her in. Pressing the hatch release did no good. She began pounding on the cover and calling out "Rocky! Winky!" She felt a wave of dizziness pass through her. Anoxia, she thought. She felt her skin growing puffy, and a sharp pain stabbed at her eyes and ears. She shut her eyes tight and held her hands over her ears. Soon, she thought, there won't be enough oxygen to keep me conscious . . .
There was another wave of dizziness, and she felt herself falling to the floor.
Rocky Jones looked on from the pilot room as DelPonte rushed to the far end of the navigation room and pounded on the hatch cover. He turned and called, "Rocky, it's Vena! She's sealed in!"
Jones quickly unbuckled himself from his chair and hurried into the navigation room. "I hope we're not too late," he muttered as he pounded on the hatch cover. It didn't budge. "It's jammed," he said. "I'll have to cut it open." Turning to DelPonte, he ordered, "Prepare for shock therapy, set up the regeneration unit. And Winky, get out the oxygen helmets. Once I cut through, the ship will be dry of air. Hurry!"
As DelPonte returned to the pilot room, Jones opened a storage compartment and pulled out a cutting torch. Switching it on, he began cutting his way through the hatch cover. The whistle of escaping air filled his ears as the cut in the hatch cover grew. How much time did Ray have left before oxygen deprivation caused irreversible brain damage? Ten minutes? Less? It hadn't been more than thirty seconds after sealing the engine room that he had decided to call her up to the pilot room and taunt her about the danger she was in. His impulse might yet save her life, but he was ashamed now to have given in to it.
None of this should have been happening! None of it would have happened if he hadn't been unforgiveably sloppy. If this had been a normal mission, he would have had DelPonte manning the proximity detector as a matter of course, and he wouldn't have wasted valuable seconds questioning whether he had actually seen anything if he reported an approaching ship. And he should have at least stopped in the navigation room long enough to tell Ray, "There's a hull breach in the engine room, I'm going to have to seal it off." He couldn't blame her for going to have a look for herself; he would have done the same thing himself in the circumstances.
For someone who was supposed to be in a position of leadership, he had been making some very bad decisions lately, and a member of his crew might yet pay with her life for his mistakes.
He could feel his exposed skin react to the falling air pressure, and he blinked rapidly as his eyes began to hurt. There! Jones switched off the cutting torch and set it down, then kicked in the section of hatch cover he had cut out. The clang it made as it fell to the deck was faint; the air was almost gone. Vena Ray was lying on the floor in the middle of the engine room. He ran in, lifted her up, and carried her back into the navigation room. DelPonte stood beside a blast chair in an oxygen helmet, and he held another in each hand. He handed one to Jones, then slipped the other over Ray's head and twisted open the oxygen hose. Jones did the same with his own helmet, and felt it seal itself against his shoulders as a cold blast of pure, sweet oxygen surrounded his face.
Switching on the helmet radio, he said, "Take charge of her, Winky. I think she'll be all right. She helped save our lives, we've got to save hers. I'll get us to the space station as soon as possible." He went forward to the pilot room and belted himself into his blast chair. The signal locator was still tuned to the station's frequency, and he brought the station up on the viseograph. Turning the Orbit Jet, he boosted towards the station. His battle with the unknown ship had brought him within half a million miles of the station, and he could see it on the screen, a slowly rotating metal wheel.
RV-5 had been built a century earlier, before artificial gravity had been perfected. It had been designed to rotate to provide the sensation of gravity. At its hub was a counterrotating spacedock. Jones jacked the radio to his helmet, and called the station. "XV-2 calling Space Station RV-5. Come in, RV-5."
"RV-5 to XV-2," came the familiar voice of Jeremy Clark, the station's commander. "Glad to hear from you. Rocky, this is Space Ranger Clark."
"Clark, am I glad to see you," Jones answered. "I've got a crippled ship."
"If you were to land in more than one piece, I'd certainly be surprised," said Clark. "Hold on, I'll see if the magnetic couple can pick you up."
In the screen, Jones could see one of the station's docking ports shift position as it zeroed in on the Orbit Jet's own recognition signal. It swung around on its arm until it was aimed directly at the ship. "We've got you, Rocky," Clark radiod. "Relax and we'll pull you in."
"Thanks, Clark." Jones killed the ship's accelleration once more. The Orbit Jet was now under the magnetic control of Space Station RV-5. Clark's people would be able to bring the ship in and dock it with the station.
"What happened to you out there?" Clark asked. "Forget to dodge a meteor?"
"We were attacked by an unknown ship," Jones answered grimly. "It jumped away after we damaged its engine, so we have no way of knowing who it was or what it was after."
As Vena Ray returned to consciousness, she could feel the shadow of pain clinging to her eyes and ears. Her memory gathered itself together, and she felt a wave of panic pass through her. Trapped in the engine room with the air whistling out of the ship! With a jolt, she opened her eyes.
She was back in her blast chair in the navigation room. Her skin still felt strangely puffy, but she was breathing normally. Her head, she realized, was encased in a transparent helmet. Winky DelPonte was standing next to her, also wearing a transparent helmet. There was a black case sitting on the shelf next to her, and DelPonte was replacing a set of medical instruments within it.
"Winky? What happened?"
He turned to look at her, and smiled. He touched a control on top of his helmet, and she heard a staticky click near her right ear, followed by his voice. "Hey, Vena, it's good to see you coming around. Rocky cut through into the engine room and brought you back here. I've been checking you over. You started going into shock, but I've treated you, and you're fine now. A hundred percent. You'll have to wear that oxygen helmet until we reach Space Station RV-5, because all the air's leaked out into space. Rocky says they've got a magnetic lock on us, so we shouldn't be out here for more than an hour."
"What happened to the other ship? Did it attack us?"
"Yeah, that hull breach in the engine room came from a missile that hit us, but there wasn't any other damage, and our own engines came through it just fine. We disabled the other ship with one of our missiles, but I guess they didn't want to surrender, because they jumped away afterwards."
"Do you know who it was?"
DelPonte tried to scratch his head, but found his hand impeded by the helmet. He rolled his eyes briefly, then said, "Not for certain, but I'll lay you any odds you want that it was the Ophiuchians who were behind it."
"The Ophiuchians? But how would they know where to find us?"
DelPonte's face became grave. Ray didn't think she had ever seen him frown before. "That's a pretty darn good question, Vena. They shouldn't have known where to find us. There's something screwy going on here."
She was silent for a moment before asking, "Winky, do you think Rocky will be angry at me for getting trapped in the engine room?"
DelPonte shrugged. "He didn't seem angry to me. Did he warn you that he was gonna seal off the engine room?"
"No. He didn't say anything to me at all."
He nodded. "In that case, he's probably angrier at himself than he is at you. He should've warned you, that's standard procedure when sealing off part of the ship. And don't forget, if it hadn't been for you warning us about the other ship, we'd've all been in trouble. Don't worry about it."
Another thought occurred to her. "Winky, if all the air is gone from the ship, why aren't we in full spacesuits?"
"Don't need 'em. People seem to think that when you're in a vacuum, you blow up like a balloon popping, but it ain't so. Human skin makes a pretty good spacesuit by itself. Sure, we'd run into trouble if we had to spend a few days like this, but like I said, we'll be docking with the space station in an hour, so we'll be all right. Hey, you think you can get up and about? I'm sure the Skipper'll be glad to see you're okay."
"Are you sure he won't be angry?"
DelPonte grinned. "Tell you what. If he is, I'll be there to act as referee."
The Orbit Jet was less than ten thousand miles from the station when Jones was joined in the pilot room by Ray and DelPonte. His navigator appeared to have made a full recovery. "Oh, Vena. Gee, I'm glad to see you up and around."
"Thank you, sir. I'm sorry I caused so much trouble."
"That's all right," he assured her. "Could have happened to anyone."
"Thank you, sir," she said with a smile. "And I'm going to make up for it, to prove that I can be as -- that a girl can be as --"
"Vena," he interrupted her, "I've been thinking it over. There's an express that's stopped at the space station, and, well, it might be best if --"
Ray interrupted him in turn. "If I were to be on it?"
"Yes, Vena. You see, what's happened so far could be called routine for a Space Ranger, so it's really no place for a . . . " He found himself stumbling to a halt. With an effort, he finished, "Well, what I mean is, it's best if you go back to Earth."
"Say it," Ray glared at him. "It's no place for a girl. Now listen to me, Rocky Jones. In the first place, I was the one who spotted the enemy ship. Remember?"
"Now, Vena --" DelPonte began.
"Go ahead," she told him, "be the referee. Don't count me out." She turned back to Jones, and in a fury she continued, "I can say what I think about you in thirty-seven different languages. I'll start with the Martian. You're nothing but a big babalak! On Neptune they'd call you --"
As Ray's voice cut out, Jones looked up at her. DelPonte had evidently decided that his role as referee required him to switch off her helmet radio. He waited while she ran down, then surreptitiously switched her back on. "-- and in conclusion, Rocky Jones, I meant every single word I said!" And having said her piece, she turned and left the pilot room.
"You'll never get her on the express to Earth, Rocky," DelPonte advised him. "And you know? I've got a feeling that she's gonna come in mighty handy when we make that forced landing on Ophiuchius."
Rocky Jones found himself hoping that DelPonte was right.
DelPonte found that having a new face on board, particularly a pretty female face, took a great deal of the tedium out of space travel. He and Rocky maintained the usual eight hours on, eight hours off duty shifts in the pilot room. He talked with Vena Ray whenever he happened to find her awake during his off duty shifts. She talked about growing up on Venus, and about the ongoing efforts to bring that planet's climate into a range that humans would find comfortable. She told him stories about various members of her famous family, especially her great-uncle Cyrus, who was its current head. He in turn told her about growing up in Naples, and about attending the Ranger Academy in Houston.
"I've always wondered why the Academy is in Houston, when the spaceport and headquarters are in Quito," Ray remarked.
"Oh, that's because Houston is where the American astronauts used to train back in the old days. When the United Worlds set up the Space Rangers, the Americans offered to let us use the old astronaut training center there." DelPonte grinned. "It's kind of neat, really. It makes the cadets feel like they're part of history. It's like they're on their way to the Moon with Neil Armstrong."
The days slipped by until the gage dispaying spacial curvature sank below a particular level and an indicator light went on showing that it was safe to engage the superluminal drive. DelPonte went back to the navigation room to warn Vena Ray to strap herself in again. After a thirty-second countdown, Rocky Jones slid down the switches that sent the Orbit Jet into the superluminal continuum. As always, DelPonte felt as though his body was being elongated, until he would have sworn that his head was at least thirty feet away from his feet. The feeling persisted for several seconds, then there was a snap as the superluminal controls reset themselves, and DelPonte's body was back to normal. DelPonte activated the pilot room viseograph, and focused on the space directly behind them. He took a reading on the bright star centered in the crosshairs, then ran the results through the computer. The bright star was actually Earth's sun, and its apparent magnitude had fallen significantly. The Orbit Jet was now three trillion miles, half a light-year, from the Solar System.
Standard operating procedure among the Space Rangers was to allow a full twenty-four hours to pass before making use of the superluminal drive again. The delay allowed the drive to recharge itself, and also allowed the crew to retune the drive's systems, which were always randomized after each superluminal jump.
Exactly twenty-four hours after their first jump, Jones slid the switches down again. Again there was a few seconds of disorientation, followed by the snap of the controls resetting themselves, and the Orbit Jet had moved another three trillion miles through interstellar space.
In two weeks' time, the Orbit Jet had skipped across seven light years of interstellar space, bringing the ship within visual range of Space Station RV-5. Unlike the RV-3 station in the Barnard's system, RV-5 had no star to call its own. Instead, it had been established at a point in space exactly midway between the Solar System and Wolf 1061, a star system that was claimed by the Ophiuchius Group.
The Orbit Jet had come out of its last superluminal jump less than a million miles from RV-5. Jones and DelPonte had picked up the station's recognition signal and were accellerating toward it when Vena Ray rushed into the pilot room and announced, "Rocky, I mean, sir, an object is approaching from two o'clock."
Rocky Jones looked back at her and said, "Are you positive, or is this merely woman's intuition?"
Ray glared at him. "I said, and I repeat, there's an object approaching us very rapidly."
"She was right before, Rocky," DelPonte reminded him.
Jones leaned forward and activated the viseograph, focused on the area of space forward and to the right of them. DelPonte was not surprised to find that Ray had been correct. There was another spaceship visible, and it was clearly approaching them, as Ray had put it, very rapidly.
"Quick, Winky," Jones ordered, "get Drake on astrophone."
"What can I do, Rocky?" Ray asked.
"Nothing," he answered curtly, "just stay out of the way."
"XV-2 calling Office of Space Affairs," DelPonte spoke into the astrophone, "come in, Office of Space Affairs." There was no response. DelPonte repeated his call, adding, "acknowledge, Office of Space Affairs, we're under attack, enemy unknown." He continued calling, then told Jones, "It's a cold channel, Rocky."
"All right," said Jones grimly, "we'll make a fight of it. Prepare to return fire."
"Please, Rocky," Ray asked again, "what can I do?"
"Secure to your blast chair, and stay there. That's an order."
Ray turned and left the pilot room. DelPonte kept the viseograph centered on the unknown ship as it continued to approach. There was a bright flash from the unknown ship, and DelPonte saw a missile streak through space towards them. DelPonte felt himself being pressed back in his chair as Jones goosed their acceleration. The missile slid off the screen, then a shudder ran through the Orbit Jet and an alarm went off.
Peering at a readout, DelPonte reported, "We took a hit aft, sir." He silenced the alarm, and refocused the viseograph on the enemy ship, which was now swinging around for another run. DelPonte felt himself being shoved forwards and back as Jones maneuvered the Orbit Jet to avoid their unknown attacker. There was another sudden acceleration pressing DelPonte back in his seat, and when he looked up he could see the other ship's stern in the viewscreen. The Skipper had managed to maneuver them into attack position.
"Ready, Winky?"
"Ready, sir."
"Steady . . . steady . . . closing target . . . steady . . . " chanted Jones as he brought the other ship within weapons range. The ship drifted into the crosshairs of the targeting system.
"On it, Winky! Fire one!" Jones ordered.
DelPonte launched one of the Orbit Jet's missiles, and watched as it closed the gap with the enemy ship and exploded. As the light of the explosion dimmed, he could see that the other ship's engine had been wrecked, leaving it drifting helplessly through space.
"That takes care of them, whoever it was," said Jones.
Suddenly, there was a flare of light from the unknown ship, sliding down the visible spectrum from blue to green to yellow to orange to red, and then fading from view. When the light was gone, so was the other ship. DelPonte recognized the sight of a ship activating its superluminal drive and jumping away. "Jumpin' Jupiter!" he exclaimed. "I can't believe they were willing to risk a jump with their engines messed up like that!"
"Whoever was flying that ship didn't intend to let himself be captured," Jones remarked quietly. "They'll either escape back to their base, or suffer a system failure and be lost forever." After a momentary pause, he continued, "Level off to free-fall while I check for damage."
"Aye aye, sir," said DelPonte as he killed the Orbit Jet's acceleration. Jones rose from his seat and went aft.
* * *
As Jones made his way through the navigation room, he paused to ask Vena Ray if she was all right. Ray, still strapped into her blast chair, said, "Yes, but what happened, Rocky? What is it?" Before he could formulate a response, Jones was distracted by a current of air rushing past him. After three years of flying the Orbit Jet, he knew the ship as well as he knew his own name, and the air current going past him shouldn't have been there. The hatch between the navigation room and the engine room had been jarred open by the explosion, and air was blowing through it. He hurried into the engine room, where he heard the one sound every spaceman hopes he never hears: the whistle of air escaping through a hull breach.
In every room of every spacecraft flown by human beings is an emergency kit for dealing with air leaks. The kit includes a set of small compressed air cylinders that feed into balloons. Jones pressed a switch on the engine room's emergency air leak kit and a balloon about six inches in diameter quickly inflated and detached itself. It whirled through the engine room, eventually coming to rest against one of the outer walls. Jones followed it, then shook his head in anger. The balloon flattened itself against a long, thin line in the wall, then popped. Their unknown attacker's missile hadn't just left a pinhole leak in the Orbit Jet's hull; a narrow piece of shrapnel had sliced open a section of the hull, at least two feet in length. The patches in the emergency kit weren't going to be enough to seal this breach. It would take a repair team from RV-5 to deal with this, and they were still two hours away from the station. All they could do was seal off the engine room, and with the hatch jammed open he would have to use the emergency seal. Jones hurried from the engine room to the pilot room.
After sealing off the engine room, he resumed his seat in the pilot's chair and belted himself in.
"C section?" said DelPonte as he observed Jones. "I guess we were lucky at that."
"Yeah, I had to seal it off before we were sapped of oxygen," said Jones. "With any luck, though, we should be able to limp in to the space station." He suddenly thought of his newest crew member, and with a grin he said, "Say, call Vena forward. Let's see how she likes being a Space Ranger now." Being attacked by an unknown enemy and damaged might turn out to have a silver lining after all, if it convinced Vena Ray that a Space Ranger ship was no place for a girl.
DelPonte unbuckled himself from the co-pilot's chair and went aft, saying, "Hey, Vena, Rocky says you . . . ", then trailed off. Jones turned around, and through the open hatchway he could see DelPonte standing in the middle of the navigation room. He was alone.
* * *
Vena Ray watched with growing anger as Rocky Jones rushed past her on his way to the pilot room, again without saying a word to her. She knew perfectly well that her warning had probably saved all their lives, and yet he still treated her like some kind of intruder. Well, if the high and mighty Captain Rocky Jones of the Space Rangers wouldn't deign to inform a member of his crew what had happened to the ship, she would find out for herself. Unstrapping herself from the blast chair, she entered the engine room. There was a high-pitched whistling sound coming from the lefthand wall. As she came near, she could feel the air rushing past her through a dark line in the wall.
An air leak!
She turned and ran towards the hatch to the navigation room, but a metal cover slid down over it shutting her in. Pressing the hatch release did no good. She began pounding on the cover and calling out "Rocky! Winky!" She felt a wave of dizziness pass through her. Anoxia, she thought. She felt her skin growing puffy, and a sharp pain stabbed at her eyes and ears. She shut her eyes tight and held her hands over her ears. Soon, she thought, there won't be enough oxygen to keep me conscious . . .
There was another wave of dizziness, and she felt herself falling to the floor.
* * *
Rocky Jones looked on from the pilot room as DelPonte rushed to the far end of the navigation room and pounded on the hatch cover. He turned and called, "Rocky, it's Vena! She's sealed in!"
Jones quickly unbuckled himself from his chair and hurried into the navigation room. "I hope we're not too late," he muttered as he pounded on the hatch cover. It didn't budge. "It's jammed," he said. "I'll have to cut it open." Turning to DelPonte, he ordered, "Prepare for shock therapy, set up the regeneration unit. And Winky, get out the oxygen helmets. Once I cut through, the ship will be dry of air. Hurry!"
As DelPonte returned to the pilot room, Jones opened a storage compartment and pulled out a cutting torch. Switching it on, he began cutting his way through the hatch cover. The whistle of escaping air filled his ears as the cut in the hatch cover grew. How much time did Ray have left before oxygen deprivation caused irreversible brain damage? Ten minutes? Less? It hadn't been more than thirty seconds after sealing the engine room that he had decided to call her up to the pilot room and taunt her about the danger she was in. His impulse might yet save her life, but he was ashamed now to have given in to it.
None of this should have been happening! None of it would have happened if he hadn't been unforgiveably sloppy. If this had been a normal mission, he would have had DelPonte manning the proximity detector as a matter of course, and he wouldn't have wasted valuable seconds questioning whether he had actually seen anything if he reported an approaching ship. And he should have at least stopped in the navigation room long enough to tell Ray, "There's a hull breach in the engine room, I'm going to have to seal it off." He couldn't blame her for going to have a look for herself; he would have done the same thing himself in the circumstances.
For someone who was supposed to be in a position of leadership, he had been making some very bad decisions lately, and a member of his crew might yet pay with her life for his mistakes.
He could feel his exposed skin react to the falling air pressure, and he blinked rapidly as his eyes began to hurt. There! Jones switched off the cutting torch and set it down, then kicked in the section of hatch cover he had cut out. The clang it made as it fell to the deck was faint; the air was almost gone. Vena Ray was lying on the floor in the middle of the engine room. He ran in, lifted her up, and carried her back into the navigation room. DelPonte stood beside a blast chair in an oxygen helmet, and he held another in each hand. He handed one to Jones, then slipped the other over Ray's head and twisted open the oxygen hose. Jones did the same with his own helmet, and felt it seal itself against his shoulders as a cold blast of pure, sweet oxygen surrounded his face.
Switching on the helmet radio, he said, "Take charge of her, Winky. I think she'll be all right. She helped save our lives, we've got to save hers. I'll get us to the space station as soon as possible." He went forward to the pilot room and belted himself into his blast chair. The signal locator was still tuned to the station's frequency, and he brought the station up on the viseograph. Turning the Orbit Jet, he boosted towards the station. His battle with the unknown ship had brought him within half a million miles of the station, and he could see it on the screen, a slowly rotating metal wheel.
RV-5 had been built a century earlier, before artificial gravity had been perfected. It had been designed to rotate to provide the sensation of gravity. At its hub was a counterrotating spacedock. Jones jacked the radio to his helmet, and called the station. "XV-2 calling Space Station RV-5. Come in, RV-5."
"RV-5 to XV-2," came the familiar voice of Jeremy Clark, the station's commander. "Glad to hear from you. Rocky, this is Space Ranger Clark."
"Clark, am I glad to see you," Jones answered. "I've got a crippled ship."
"If you were to land in more than one piece, I'd certainly be surprised," said Clark. "Hold on, I'll see if the magnetic couple can pick you up."
In the screen, Jones could see one of the station's docking ports shift position as it zeroed in on the Orbit Jet's own recognition signal. It swung around on its arm until it was aimed directly at the ship. "We've got you, Rocky," Clark radiod. "Relax and we'll pull you in."
"Thanks, Clark." Jones killed the ship's accelleration once more. The Orbit Jet was now under the magnetic control of Space Station RV-5. Clark's people would be able to bring the ship in and dock it with the station.
"What happened to you out there?" Clark asked. "Forget to dodge a meteor?"
"We were attacked by an unknown ship," Jones answered grimly. "It jumped away after we damaged its engine, so we have no way of knowing who it was or what it was after."
* * *
As Vena Ray returned to consciousness, she could feel the shadow of pain clinging to her eyes and ears. Her memory gathered itself together, and she felt a wave of panic pass through her. Trapped in the engine room with the air whistling out of the ship! With a jolt, she opened her eyes.
She was back in her blast chair in the navigation room. Her skin still felt strangely puffy, but she was breathing normally. Her head, she realized, was encased in a transparent helmet. Winky DelPonte was standing next to her, also wearing a transparent helmet. There was a black case sitting on the shelf next to her, and DelPonte was replacing a set of medical instruments within it.
"Winky? What happened?"
He turned to look at her, and smiled. He touched a control on top of his helmet, and she heard a staticky click near her right ear, followed by his voice. "Hey, Vena, it's good to see you coming around. Rocky cut through into the engine room and brought you back here. I've been checking you over. You started going into shock, but I've treated you, and you're fine now. A hundred percent. You'll have to wear that oxygen helmet until we reach Space Station RV-5, because all the air's leaked out into space. Rocky says they've got a magnetic lock on us, so we shouldn't be out here for more than an hour."
"What happened to the other ship? Did it attack us?"
"Yeah, that hull breach in the engine room came from a missile that hit us, but there wasn't any other damage, and our own engines came through it just fine. We disabled the other ship with one of our missiles, but I guess they didn't want to surrender, because they jumped away afterwards."
"Do you know who it was?"
DelPonte tried to scratch his head, but found his hand impeded by the helmet. He rolled his eyes briefly, then said, "Not for certain, but I'll lay you any odds you want that it was the Ophiuchians who were behind it."
"The Ophiuchians? But how would they know where to find us?"
DelPonte's face became grave. Ray didn't think she had ever seen him frown before. "That's a pretty darn good question, Vena. They shouldn't have known where to find us. There's something screwy going on here."
She was silent for a moment before asking, "Winky, do you think Rocky will be angry at me for getting trapped in the engine room?"
DelPonte shrugged. "He didn't seem angry to me. Did he warn you that he was gonna seal off the engine room?"
"No. He didn't say anything to me at all."
He nodded. "In that case, he's probably angrier at himself than he is at you. He should've warned you, that's standard procedure when sealing off part of the ship. And don't forget, if it hadn't been for you warning us about the other ship, we'd've all been in trouble. Don't worry about it."
Another thought occurred to her. "Winky, if all the air is gone from the ship, why aren't we in full spacesuits?"
"Don't need 'em. People seem to think that when you're in a vacuum, you blow up like a balloon popping, but it ain't so. Human skin makes a pretty good spacesuit by itself. Sure, we'd run into trouble if we had to spend a few days like this, but like I said, we'll be docking with the space station in an hour, so we'll be all right. Hey, you think you can get up and about? I'm sure the Skipper'll be glad to see you're okay."
"Are you sure he won't be angry?"
DelPonte grinned. "Tell you what. If he is, I'll be there to act as referee."
* * *
The Orbit Jet was less than ten thousand miles from the station when Jones was joined in the pilot room by Ray and DelPonte. His navigator appeared to have made a full recovery. "Oh, Vena. Gee, I'm glad to see you up and around."
"Thank you, sir. I'm sorry I caused so much trouble."
"That's all right," he assured her. "Could have happened to anyone."
"Thank you, sir," she said with a smile. "And I'm going to make up for it, to prove that I can be as -- that a girl can be as --"
"Vena," he interrupted her, "I've been thinking it over. There's an express that's stopped at the space station, and, well, it might be best if --"
Ray interrupted him in turn. "If I were to be on it?"
"Yes, Vena. You see, what's happened so far could be called routine for a Space Ranger, so it's really no place for a . . . " He found himself stumbling to a halt. With an effort, he finished, "Well, what I mean is, it's best if you go back to Earth."
"Say it," Ray glared at him. "It's no place for a girl. Now listen to me, Rocky Jones. In the first place, I was the one who spotted the enemy ship. Remember?"
"Now, Vena --" DelPonte began.
"Go ahead," she told him, "be the referee. Don't count me out." She turned back to Jones, and in a fury she continued, "I can say what I think about you in thirty-seven different languages. I'll start with the Martian. You're nothing but a big babalak! On Neptune they'd call you --"
As Ray's voice cut out, Jones looked up at her. DelPonte had evidently decided that his role as referee required him to switch off her helmet radio. He waited while she ran down, then surreptitiously switched her back on. "-- and in conclusion, Rocky Jones, I meant every single word I said!" And having said her piece, she turned and left the pilot room.
"You'll never get her on the express to Earth, Rocky," DelPonte advised him. "And you know? I've got a feeling that she's gonna come in mighty handy when we make that forced landing on Ophiuchius."
Rocky Jones found himself hoping that DelPonte was right.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Chapter Six: The Ophiuchius Formation
Inevitably, Vena Ray found herself comparing the first leg of her journey on the Orbit Jet with her other experience of interstellar travel on the Montevideo. That had been a superluminal freighter chartered by the University of Earth to transport the scientists of the Exchange from the Solar System to the 70 Ophiuchi system. In addition to the six-man crew, the Montevideo had carried 16 of the UWSS's most eminent scientists, along with their families, and Ray herself. Eight of the Montevideo's cargo holds had been converted into living quarters for her passengers, and Ray had found herself sharing a cabin with Professor Newton and his ward, Bobby Matthews.
Like Newton, the other fifteen scientists had been top specialists in their fields, which had the ironic effect of reducing their technical discussions to almost nothing, since none of them had more than a basic understanding of the others' fields of expertise. Ray herself, for example, spent much of her time socializing with Fatima Parvati, the Venusian microbiologist, and her family, talking about Venusian popular entertainment and politics. Bobby had often accompanied her, since the two Parvati children were nearly the same age he was, and the three of them spent much of the trip playing games on Bobby's computer.
The Montevideo had made a two-day refueling stop at Space Station RV-3 in the Barnards system, and Ray had spent much of the time exploring it with the Parvatis and Bobby. It dated back to the 24th century, when the growing power of the Ophiuchius Group made it prudent for the UWSS to build a series of outposts along the Ophiuchian frontier. RV-3, being closest to the 70 Ophiuchi system itself, had become the Space Rangers' main outpost, and it showed. RV-3 had originally been a wheel-type space station, built to rotate to simulate gravity in its outer rim, but it had since been equipped with artificial gravity and its rotation halted. Its original wheel shape had disappeared within a maze of newer construction as it expanded to accommodate rising commerce between the UWSS and the Ophiuchius Group.
Now Ray found herself looking at RV-3's sister station RV-5, and the differences were instructive. RV-5 was off the beaten path, and as a result had undergone little modification since its initial contruction. The Space Rangers hadn't deemed it necessary to ugrade the station to artificial gravity, and it still relied on simulated rotational gravity. The docking port ran out from the station's hub, and was designed to rotate opposite the station's spin, remaining motionless with respect to incoming ships.
Ray was lying in her crash chair when the door to the pilot room opened and Winky DelPonte entered. He switched on his helmet radio and said with his usual grin, "Hey, Vena, we're about to dock with the space station, so we'll be switching off the artificial gravity in a minute. After that, I'll come back and help guide you in through the forward airlock."
"Thanks, Winky," Ray replied, returning his smile. He switched off his radio and disappeared back into the pilot room, and less than a minute later her weight slowly dropped until it felt like she was floating in the ocean, barely in contact with the crash chair. There was a faint jar, and Winky came back again, this time weaving back and forth as he walked.
"I've got magnets clipped to my boots," he explained. "Standard way to walk around a ship in zero gravity." Pulling a slim gray package out of one pocket, he added, "I've got a set here for you, too." She clipped the magnets onto her shoes, unstrapped herself from the crash chair, and let Winky lead her slowly into the pilot room. She found herself crouching down as she walked, lowering her center of gravity to improve her control over her movements.
In the pilot room, Winky pressed a control next to the hatch, sealing it closed. "Hatch secure, Skipper," he announced.
Rocky Jones was standing next to the forward airlock, to the left of the pilot station. "Unsealing forward airlock," he announced, and pressed a sequence of three switches before manually undogging the airlock door and swinging it open. Winky guided Ray across the pilot room and into the airlock, where they were joined by Jones. He dogged the inner airlock door shut, then leaned past Ray to jack his helmet radio to a control panel by the outer airlock door. "XV-2 to Space Station RV-5. Forward airlock secure."
A voice came over Ray's own helmet radio. "Space Station RV-5 to XV-2, acknowledged. Beginning airlock cycle." The next moment, it felt as though a hurricane was blowing through the airlock as air began to rush in to fill the vacuum. The puffy feeling of her skin died away, and for the first time since losing consciousness in the engine room, she heard sounds coming from beyond her oxygen helmet. There was an odd echoing quality as the voice from the station announced, "Space Station RV-5 to XV-2, airlock cycle complete," because it was coming from the speaker grill of the airlock control panel as well as her helmet radio. She reached up and switched off her helmet radio as Jones and Winky did the same to theirs. Then the outer airlock door opened, and for the first time in twenty-three days she saw a new face.
It was a man with dark hair and a bony face, and he smiled at the sight of the three of them. Ray followed the other two out of the airlock, then stood aside to allow the new man to reseal the airlock door. Rocky Jones and Winky switched off the flow of oxygen to their helmets and lifted them off their heads, and Ray did the same. She shook her hair free, and inhaled deeply, glad to be able to breathe without the helmet.
Jones and Winky both saluted the new man, and he returned their salutes before turning to Ray and smiling at her. "Welcome to Space Station RV-5, Miss Ray," he said as he extended a hand. "I'm Jeremy Clark, the station commander."
Ray smiled back as she shifted the helmet to her arm and took his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ranger Clark. After the trip I've had, it's a pleasure to meet anyone."
"You can stow your helmet in that locker, there," he said with a gesture. "Then, I'll be pleased to escort you and the crew of the Orbit Jet to my quarters. I'm sure you'll be happy to have something like normal weight again."
The trip to Clark's quarters was more complicated than Ray thought it would be. First, the four of them magnet-walked to the boom that led from the docking port back to the hub of Space Station RV-5. There they boarded a sort of trolley that took them across the boom to the hub. At the end of the boom was a huge metal wall that was rotating clockwise, with a set of four openings at the rim. The trolley followed a set of tracks next to the wall until it was moving at the same speed, then entered one of the openings. The trolley moved along a tunnel until it came to a round hole in the floor, paused above it, then descended into it. Ray felt dizzy at first, like being in a carnival ride, but as the trolley descended, the dizziness grew less, and she felt the first tug of returning weight pressing her to her seat. It half a minute for the trolley to drop all the way down to the outer rim of Space Station RV-5. At the bottom of the shaft was a brightly lit room with an unattended control station. Ray could tell that her weight was back to normal.
The four of them alighted from the trolley. Jones frowned at the control station, saying, "Why isn't anyone on duty here, sir?"
"Orders from Earth," Clark told him. "We want to keep your presence here known to as few people as possible. You'll all be staying in my private quarters while the Orbit Jet is being repaired."
"Say, Commander," DelPonte interjected, "they don't think there's a spy in the Space Rangers, do they?"
"At this point, Winky, we can't rule anything out," Clark responded. "Somebody leaked your flight plans to that attacking ship, and only a handful of people had that information. Also, we've got the Dartmouth in from Wolf 1061, with several Ophiuchian nationals on board. We certainly have no intention of letting them know you're here."
"I understand, sir," said Jones. "Please, lead the way."
Commander Clark did so, and the three members of the Orbit Jet's crew followed him down a deserted corridor that led to an airtight hatch that looked similar to those on the ship. Ray knew that every room on the space station was airtight in case of an accidental air leak. The hatch opened, and the four entered Clark's quarters.
The Space Rangers had been Bobby Matthews' favorite topic of conversation back on the Montevideo, and from him Ray had learned that command staff on RV-Class space stations served four years shifts. It was a long time to spend sitting in a metal can, so the Space Rangers were generous when it came to transporting personal effects. Clark's quarters had occupied four rooms, and the largest of them, the living room, had a comfortable sofa, three chairs, an entertainment console, a patterned carpet on the floor, and several paintings on the walls. There were also two cots stacked against one of the walls.
"Miss Ray," said Clark, "you'll be sleeping in my bedroom, there. Rocky and Winky, you'll be sleeping in here."
DelPonte grinned and gave one of his trademark winks. "All the comforts of home, eh, Commander?"
Clark smiled back, and Ray found herself doing so as well. DelPonte's good humor at being hidden away in Clark's quarters made the inconvenience seem much more bearable.
"Sir," Jones asked, "how long will it be before the Orbit Jet is spaceworthy again?"
"Based on your report, Rocky," Clark answered, "I think we're looking at forty-eight hours, tops."
So, two days cooped up in Clark's quarters. Well, Ray told herself, you volunteered, and now you get to live the glamorous life of a Space Ranger.
Ronald Drake, Secretary of Space Affairs for the United Worlds of the Solar System, knew that he shouldn't keep watching the clock on the wall of his office. There was plenty to keep him occupied, but he found it nearly impossible to keep from dwelling on the mission of the Orbit Jet. No news, as the ancient proverb had it, was good news. If everything was going according to plan, Jeremy Clark would let him know in the course of his daily report at 1400 hours, and not a second before. Only a disaster would cause Clark to call in early. Nevertheless, Drake fretted, and found his eyes drifting back to the clock.
At 1400 hours exactly, the speaker on his desk crackled to life. "Space Station RV-5 to Earth Headquarters, Office of Space Affairs. Space Station RV-5 to Earth Headquarters, Office of Space Affairs." From its position at the extreme limit of astrophone range, Space Station RV-5 was unable to transmit a visual signal. Voice contact was all that Drake could expect.
Pressing the contact on his own comm unit, Drake answered, "Secretary Drake speaking. Come in, RV-5."
"This is Clark, Mr. Secretary," was the immediate response. "I'm ready with the report on flight codename Haystack."
"Anxious to have it, Clark. Send it over the scrambler." Operation Haystack, as the mission to rescue Professor Newton had been codenamed, was far too sensitive to allow uncoded transmissions. Rising from the communications desk, Drake strode over to the scrambler. Using the latest encryption techniques, Clark's report had been converted to a series of binary signals, and added to a stream of randomly generated numbers. Only the scrambler in the Office of Space Affairs was capable of sorting out Clark's signal.
"Ready here, sir," came Clark's voice from the comm desk.
"Procede, Clark."
A tape fed out of scrambler, and Drake anxiously scanned it. Despite his concentration, Drake was aware of Griffin entering the office. "A late report on Rocky Jones' mission to Ophiuchius," Drake explained, looking up.
The tape feeding from the scrambler slowed, then stopped. "That's it, sir," came Clark's voice.
"Thanks, Clark. Over and out."
Drake read to Griffin from the tape. "Damage to Orbit Jet repaired on space station. Area thoroughly searched but no trace of attacking ship nor clue to identity."
"Who did it, sir?" Griffin inquired. "Any idea?"
Drake felt a fresh wave of anxiety wash over him as the uncertainty of the whole situation darkened his mind. "Griff, I'd give up our claim to Aquarius to find out who it was."
"A tough order, sir," said Griffin. "A sudden attack out of space by an unidentified ship. Could it be space pirates, sir?"
Drake shook his head. Space pirates preferred to prey on commercial ships. Launching an attack on a fully-armed Space Ranger vessel would be an excellent way for a ship full of pirates to find their careers as freebooters, and their lives, coming to an abrupt end. Looking back down at the tape, he continued to read. "The blast-off from space island was successful at 0814. Rocky Jones, Winky, and Vena Ray aboard. In daily communication Rocky Jones reports flight without incident. Yesterday's message garbled, and now out of contact. Must assume that Rocky is through the Curtain and flying in the Ophiuchius Formation."
Drake handed the tape to Griffin, then turned away. What was going on out there beyond RV-5? Drake would know no peace of mind until he heard again from the Orbit Jet.
When does a ship enter a stellar system? More than one interstellar war had turned on the question.
It would have been convenient for the human race if the borders of stellar systems were as clear-cut as the boundary between land and sea. Unfortunately, a stellar system simply became more diffuse the further you went from the primary star. It could be argued, and had been argued, that a stellar system reached out as far as the primary star's gravity well. Even a snowflake drifting two light years from Earth's sun, twelve trillion miles away, could be considered part of the Solar System if it was travelling in an orbit around the sun, however many tens of millions of years that orbit might take. Does that snowflake's orbit mark the outer boundary of the Solar System?
The Ophiuchians had arrived at their own means of settling the question. They had built a chain of space stations at the extreme gravitational edge of the 70 Ophiuchi system, three light years from 70 Ophiuchi A and B. As far as the Ophiuchians were concerned, these stations, known as the Ophiuchius Formation, marked the outer edge of their system, and any ship passing within the thirty-six trillion mile wide bubble of space they guarded was violating Ophiuchian sovereignty, and could be expected to pay whatever price the Ophiuchians chose to set.
From Rocky Jones' point of view, the question of where to enter the Ophiuchius Formation was a simple one. Since the Orbit Jet was supposed to be suffering a navigational malfunction that left it incapable of determining its position, it could just as easily come out of superluminal drive right on the doorstep of one of the Ophiuchian space stations. That would make it harder for the Ophiuchians to claim that the Orbit Jet was trying to sneak into their system, and place him on the moral high ground. Vena Ray had agreed that this would give them their best chance of making it to Ophiuchius Prime alive and with some freedom of action.
With a snap, the Orbit Jet's superluminal drive reset itself, and the ship appeared in normal space. Rocky Jones shook off the effects, and began scanning the surrounding space for the homing beacon sent out by the stations of the Ophiuchius Formation. He was immediately rewarded with a strong signal, indicating that they had appeared within a light minute of an Ophiuchian station. "Winky," he announced, "we've just entered the Ophiuchius Formation. They should be spotting us any minute."
As always happened when they were in a tense situation, DelPonte's jaunty attitude submerged itself beneath his Space Ranger training, and he was all business. "Well, then, we better be on the alert, Rocky."
Jones nodded, his attention fixed on the ship's instruments. "Right you are, Winky."
Eighteen trillion miles from the Orbit Jet, the worlds of the 70 Ophiuchi system orbited their two suns. 63 million miles out from 70 Ophiuchi A was Ophiuchius Prime, the ruling world of the Ophiuchius Group. Somewhat smaller than Earth, with a thinner atmosphere, Ophiuchius Prime was nevertheless the most Earthlike world within twenty light years of Earth itself, and so attracted many settlers from the Solar System during the days of subluminal travel in the 21st and 22nd centuries.
With the discovery of the Old Ophiuchian relics, Ophiuchius Prime became the most important world in human space with the exception of Earth itself. Four centuries after the arrival of the first subluminal starship, Ophiuchius Prime had a population of 250 million people in cities and towns scattered across the face of the planet. The largest of these was Ophiuchius City, which straddled the banks of the Serpens River. Perched on an outcropping of rock that sat north of the river was the Gray Observatory, part of the research complex known as the Ophiuchian Academy of Sciences. It was here that the greatest astronomical discoveries of the last century had been made, and it was here that the Ophiuchians had imprisoned Professor Dominic Newton.
Professor Newton studied a sheet of paper, a printout of the latest series of tests that had been run on an experimental alloy. The alloy had originally been developed by one of the teams at the Department of Advanced Studies back at the University of Earth. The first task the Ophiuchians had assigned Newton had been to recreate the team's work here in a heavily guarded laboratory within the Gray Observatory. Newton shook his head, crumpled the printout, and let it drop to the floor, where it joined several predecessors.
He couldn't concentrate on the work. Partly it was due to the stubborn streak within him that rebelled at the idea of aiding his captors, and partly it was due to the approach of the noon hour. For one hour of the 140 that made up the Ophiuchian week, his captors would allow him to enjoy the company of the only person in the entire Ophiuchius Group for whom he felt any affection.
Newton wandered over to a window set in the southern wall of his laboratory, and his face lit up. There, accompanied by the vile Marshal Darganto, was his young ward, Bobby Matthews. Both chanced to be looking up at the window, and Newton waved at Bobby. The boy's face broke into a smile and he waved back. He started to race to the observatory's front entrance, but Darganto seized him roughly by the arm and forced him to walk.
As the pair disappeared around the corner of the observatory, Newton frowned. The Ophiuchians had adopted many customs from the literally inhuman beings who had once occupied the 70 Ophiuchi system, and their method of raising children was one of them. The Old Ophiuchians hadn't had families in the human sense of the word, being more akin to social insects than to mammals, and their human successors had eliminated the institution from their own society. They looked down on the love that existed between Bobby and himself, and Newton feared that they would try to remake Bobby in their own inhuman image.
It wasn't long before Newton heard Darganto's heavy tread outside the guarded door of the laboratory. The door opened, revealing Darganto, Bobby, and the guard, whose name Newton had never learned.
"Bobby," Newton exclaimed, "it's good to see you," and he felt a combination of joy and relief as the boy rushed into his arms.
Darganto interrupted their reunion. He was a tall, dark-haired man with a thin mustache, and his black uniform glittered from the many medals and honors that decorated it. He spoke the professor's name as he retrieved one of the crumpled sheets of paper from the floor.
Reluctantly, Newton looked away from Bobby. "Yes?"
Darganto held up the paper. "The results of your experiment?"
Nervously, Newton said, "Oh, well, I haven't got them yet."
"Why not?" the uniformed man demanded. "You've had more than enough time."
"Yes, I know, but, er, activating chemicals and alloys, it's a long and tedious task. It's like trying to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear." And make of that simile what you can, Newton added to himself. "But don't worry, Darganto, I'm not one to give up."
"Professor Newton, you're using the same formula as on Earth?"
"Exactly. Oh, but tomorrow! Tomorrow I'll --"
"And the same materials, too!" Seemingly from nowhere, rage appeared on Darganto's face. With a violent sweep of his hand, he knocked Newton's experimental apparatus off the lab table. He seized Newton by the coat and hauled the smaller man up off the floor, snarling, "You upset me, Professor Newton, and I find you won't cooperate. You know what that means."
Newton knew. It meant losing Bobby, standing by helplessly as the boy was taken away to one of the Ophiuchians' nursery factories, to be fashioned into a member of the Ophiuchian worker-drone class. Inside of a year, there would be nothing left of his original personality; he would be nothing more than a mindless biological machine.
With horror, Newton saw Bobby run over and grab Darganto's arm, shouting, "Let go of him! Leave him alone!"
Releasing Newton, Darganto smashed his arm into Bobby's face, sending the boy reeling across the room to collide with a wall. "Bobby!" Newton exclaimed in alarm.
Darganto picked Newton up again, carried him across the laboratory, and thurst him into a chair. "Professor Newton," he said, his voice deceptively calm, "you've been granted an extraordinary privilege. Bobby has been near you, and allowed a weekly visit. Proudly I say my own son does not know my face, as Bobby will not long remember yours." He turned to face the guarded door. "Drapax!"
The guard entered. "Dovako Bobby demar danto bak," ordered Darganto in the harsh Ophiuchian tongue.
The guard, Drapax, bent down and effortlessly picked up the stunned boy. "No," Bobby managed to gasp out, "I won't go! Professor Newton!"
"Bobby!" Newton cried out, nearly in tears.
"Let me down!" Bobby managed to call out.
"Demar danto bak!" Darganto barked again.
"Darganto!" Newton pleaded.
"Yes, Professor Newton?" said the towering Ophiuchian.
Newton felt himself collapsing under the weight of his despair. "I pledge my complete cooperation."
"I thought you'd finally see it my way," said Darganto with a smirk.
At a gesture from the Marshal, the guard let Bobby fall to the floor. Bobby struggled to his feet, and threw himself into Newton's arms. As Darganto left, Newton saw Bobby glare in hatred at the Ophiuchian leader.
Twelve hours had passed since the Orbit Jet dropped out of superluminal drive on the doorstep of the Ophiuchius Formation. The good news, Antonio DelPonte thought, was that the Ophiuchians hadn't disintegrated them. The bad news was that they hadn't reacted at all. No Ophiuchian ships had come out to inspect them, and no Ophiuchian voice had come in over the astrophone. Spookland, DelPonte told himself.
He had joined Vena Ray back in B section. "Say, Vena, you're our resident expert on the Ophiuchians. What's the big idea? Why aren't they talking?"
Ray rested her chin on her hands as she considered the question. "Well, Winky, I think I understand what's going on. One thing to keep in mind about the Ophiuchians is that they hate surprises, and Rocky gave them a great big one by dropping the Orbit Jet into their laps. We're not attacking them, and we're not trying to hide. We're just sitting here out in plain sight. An attack they'd be prepared to deal with, and an attempt at evasion, too, but not this. They need to make up their minds about what to do about us, and with tensions so high between the two governments, they want to take their time about it. We probably represent a buck that's been passed all the way up the chain of command, maybe even to the Suzerain herself. Once they've worked out a plan for dealing with us, you can bet we'll be hearing from them, one way or the other."
"So, what do you think they'll decide to do?"
"It all depends on Cleolanthe."
"Queen Cleolanthe?"
"Officially, her title is Suzerain, which is how they translate the original Old Ophiuchian word for leader. They've adopted as much of the culture of the Old Ophiuchians as they can, including their matriarchal hereditary monarchy. For the Old Ophiuchians, that made a lot of sense, since they were apparently descended from insects with a hive mentality. But however much the Ophiuchians try to deny it, they're still human beings, and humans don't make very good hive insects. There's always a disconnect between the Old Ophiuchian culture they've adopted and their human biology, however much they try to paper over the cracks. So their ruler is a human woman who tries to act like the queen of a beehive or a termite mound. When it works well, the result resembles the court of Queen Elizabeth the First of England. When it works badly, it's more like the court of Mary Queen of Scots. Cleolanthe just succeeded to the Suzerainty a year and a half ago, and she's starting to look more like a Mary than an Elizabeth."
"So, is that good or bad for us?"
Ray shook her head. "Winky, I honestly don't know."
DelPonte was still turning Ray's words over in his mind when he joined Jones in the pilot room. "How's she going, Rock?"
Rocky indicated the communication controls. "Look, Winky."
The signal detector showed a steady pulse, one that DelPonte recognized. "Ah, the Ophiuchian beam's picked us up, huh? But still no challenge?"
"Not a word," said Jones with a frown. "I don't like it."
As he resumed the silent vigil in the pilot room, DelPonte said, "This is spookland for sure."
But it did not remain spookland for long. Within five minutes of belting himself into his seat, DelPonte was startled by the sudden crackle of the astrophone. There was the steady beeping of a carrier wave, and a male voice spoke in the harsh syllables of the Ophiuchian language: "Choko viktun sparkano, choko vik. Sparkano ono fian."
"Ah," DelPonte smiled, "that must be their challenge now."
Jones pressed the intercom to the B section. "Space Ranger Ray, forward please."
The hatch slid open, and Ray entered the pilot room. Jones told her, "Vena, translate incoming message."
The astrophone was still delivering its Ophiuchian message: "Choko viktun sparkano."
"It's a repeat to identify, and state destination," Ray reported. "Shall I answer in Ophiuchian, sir?"
"No, not yet. They'll know the universal distress signal, helipso. That's all I want them to know at the moment." DelPonte found himself nodding in agreement. There was no reason to let the Ophiuchians know that the Orbit Jet carried someone who could understand their language. It was better to let them think they had the advantage over the Earth ship.
Switching on the astrophone's transmitter, Jones said, "Helipso, helipso. Rocky Jones on the Earth ship XV-2, in distress. Helipso."
The repeated Ophiuchian challenge ended. In its place was a feminine voice speaking English. "Come in, XV-2, and declare nature of emergency."
Before Jones could respond, Ray put a warning hand on his shoulder. Jones cut out the astrophone transmitter. "What is it, Vena?"
"Rocky, I recognize that voice! That's not just some low-level astrophone operator you're talking to. That's Cleolanthe herself, the Suzerain of Ophiuchius!"
Eight main thoroughfares divide Ophiuchius City into eight wedge-shaped segments. The eight broad avenues all converge upon Darak Govornox, Government Square, a wide plaza paved with white granite blocks. At the center of Government Square rises the imposing bulk of Analka Vainda Govornox, Government Headquarters, the nerve center of the Ophiuchius Group. Not far from the colonnaded throne room is the building's main communication center. From here, the Suzerain herself could instantly communicate with any of her subjects within the Ophiuchius Group.
Cleolanthe, Suzerain of Ophiuchius, stood beside an astrophone station within the communications center and listened to the signals being transmitted from Guardian Station Blue, three light years distant in the depths of interstellar space. The signals carried the voice of Commander Rockwell Stapleton Jones IV of Earth's Space Rangers.
For weeks, ever since receiving a warning message from Marcus Griffin, Cleolanthe and her advisors had been expecting the arrival of Jones' ship, the Orbit Jet, as it carried out its pathetic attempt to rescue Professor Dominic Newton and Bobby Matthews. Orders had been issued to the Guardian Stations of the Ophiuchius Formation to keep watch for the Orbit Jet, and report back when it was observed.
Cleolanthe admired the boldness with which Commander Jones had made his appearance in the 70 Ophiuchi system. Cleolanthe had expected an attempt at stealth, but instead the Orbit Jet had appeared just ten million miles from Guardian Station Blue, and then sat motionless, as if daring the Ophiuchians to act against it. It was boldness that had given the Suzerain and her advisors pause, and for twelve hours they had mapped out the appropriate strategy for dealing with Jones' arrival.
"Helipso, helipso," had come the voice from the astrophone receiver. "Rocky Jones on the Earth ship XV-2, in distress. Helipso."
Cleolanthe motioned the astrophone operator from his seat, and took his place. Activating the transmitter switch, she answered in English, "Come in, XV-2, and declare nature of emergency."
There was a long pause before the answer came back: "Starboard control rocket's conked out. Request permission to land and repair."
As Griffin had warned, the Space Rangers had come to the 70 Ophiuchi system with a story of mechanical failure, and a request for assistance. This placed the Ophiuchians in a delicate position. By treaty with the United Worlds of the Solar System, no ship in distress could be refused assistance, even if it was found to be trespassing through the space claimed by a foreign power. There had been too many cases of disabled Ophiuchian ships calling upon the UWSS for assistance for the Ophiuchians to lightly abrogate that treaty provision. Still, it wouldn't hurt to remind the impetuous Space Ranger that his life lay in Cleolanthe's hands. "Do you know you've transgressed the Ophiuchian boundary?" she told him. "We could disintegrate you with no questions asked."
"My apologies, it was unavoidable," came back Jones' answer. "I now ask that you recognize Article VII of our treaty."
Marshal Darganto had joined Cleolanthe in the communications room. "Rocky Jones?" he asked quietly, and Cleolanthe nodded.
"May I speak to someone in authority?" the voice of Jones continued.
"I am Cleolanthe, the Suzerain of Ophiuchius," she declared. The thought of the shock Jones must be experiencing as he realized he was addressing the supreme ruler of the Ophiuchius Group filled her with joy. Let the Space Ranger know the stakes he was playing for. "Yes," she continued, "I will respect the treaty. You have my permission to land. Ellipse our planet. We will then assign approach path and clearance. Ventendo untol."
"Ventendo untol," Jones answered, and the signal from Guardian Station Blue cut off.
Cleolanthe smiled confidently at Darganto. "Fortunately," she said, "Griff prepared us for Rocky Jones' arrival. Now . . . to prepare Professor Newton and the boy."
Winky DelPonte was faintly surprised to hear Rocky Jones echo Queen Cleolanthe's Ophiuchian parting words.
"I guess that means 'Roger and out'," said DelPonte.
"You catch on fast, Winky," Ray said with an approving smile. "It does."
"Winky," said Jones, "go aft and knock out one of the starboard rockets. Do enough damage so we'll have at least a week to find Professor Newton and Bobby while you make repairs."
DelPonte winced, as much at the thought of deliberately damaging the Orbit Jet as it the prospect of a week's repairs. "Aw, Rocky, all that work! Couldn't we just pretend?"
"Orders are orders," Jones insisted. "We've got to stay there a week. Go on, now, beat it."
DelPonte unbelted from his seat and beat it. Of all the assignments he had been given in his career as a Space Ranger, smashing up his own ship was hands down the most bizarre.
Like Newton, the other fifteen scientists had been top specialists in their fields, which had the ironic effect of reducing their technical discussions to almost nothing, since none of them had more than a basic understanding of the others' fields of expertise. Ray herself, for example, spent much of her time socializing with Fatima Parvati, the Venusian microbiologist, and her family, talking about Venusian popular entertainment and politics. Bobby had often accompanied her, since the two Parvati children were nearly the same age he was, and the three of them spent much of the trip playing games on Bobby's computer.
The Montevideo had made a two-day refueling stop at Space Station RV-3 in the Barnards system, and Ray had spent much of the time exploring it with the Parvatis and Bobby. It dated back to the 24th century, when the growing power of the Ophiuchius Group made it prudent for the UWSS to build a series of outposts along the Ophiuchian frontier. RV-3, being closest to the 70 Ophiuchi system itself, had become the Space Rangers' main outpost, and it showed. RV-3 had originally been a wheel-type space station, built to rotate to simulate gravity in its outer rim, but it had since been equipped with artificial gravity and its rotation halted. Its original wheel shape had disappeared within a maze of newer construction as it expanded to accommodate rising commerce between the UWSS and the Ophiuchius Group.
Now Ray found herself looking at RV-3's sister station RV-5, and the differences were instructive. RV-5 was off the beaten path, and as a result had undergone little modification since its initial contruction. The Space Rangers hadn't deemed it necessary to ugrade the station to artificial gravity, and it still relied on simulated rotational gravity. The docking port ran out from the station's hub, and was designed to rotate opposite the station's spin, remaining motionless with respect to incoming ships.
Ray was lying in her crash chair when the door to the pilot room opened and Winky DelPonte entered. He switched on his helmet radio and said with his usual grin, "Hey, Vena, we're about to dock with the space station, so we'll be switching off the artificial gravity in a minute. After that, I'll come back and help guide you in through the forward airlock."
"Thanks, Winky," Ray replied, returning his smile. He switched off his radio and disappeared back into the pilot room, and less than a minute later her weight slowly dropped until it felt like she was floating in the ocean, barely in contact with the crash chair. There was a faint jar, and Winky came back again, this time weaving back and forth as he walked.
"I've got magnets clipped to my boots," he explained. "Standard way to walk around a ship in zero gravity." Pulling a slim gray package out of one pocket, he added, "I've got a set here for you, too." She clipped the magnets onto her shoes, unstrapped herself from the crash chair, and let Winky lead her slowly into the pilot room. She found herself crouching down as she walked, lowering her center of gravity to improve her control over her movements.
In the pilot room, Winky pressed a control next to the hatch, sealing it closed. "Hatch secure, Skipper," he announced.
Rocky Jones was standing next to the forward airlock, to the left of the pilot station. "Unsealing forward airlock," he announced, and pressed a sequence of three switches before manually undogging the airlock door and swinging it open. Winky guided Ray across the pilot room and into the airlock, where they were joined by Jones. He dogged the inner airlock door shut, then leaned past Ray to jack his helmet radio to a control panel by the outer airlock door. "XV-2 to Space Station RV-5. Forward airlock secure."
A voice came over Ray's own helmet radio. "Space Station RV-5 to XV-2, acknowledged. Beginning airlock cycle." The next moment, it felt as though a hurricane was blowing through the airlock as air began to rush in to fill the vacuum. The puffy feeling of her skin died away, and for the first time since losing consciousness in the engine room, she heard sounds coming from beyond her oxygen helmet. There was an odd echoing quality as the voice from the station announced, "Space Station RV-5 to XV-2, airlock cycle complete," because it was coming from the speaker grill of the airlock control panel as well as her helmet radio. She reached up and switched off her helmet radio as Jones and Winky did the same to theirs. Then the outer airlock door opened, and for the first time in twenty-three days she saw a new face.
It was a man with dark hair and a bony face, and he smiled at the sight of the three of them. Ray followed the other two out of the airlock, then stood aside to allow the new man to reseal the airlock door. Rocky Jones and Winky switched off the flow of oxygen to their helmets and lifted them off their heads, and Ray did the same. She shook her hair free, and inhaled deeply, glad to be able to breathe without the helmet.
Jones and Winky both saluted the new man, and he returned their salutes before turning to Ray and smiling at her. "Welcome to Space Station RV-5, Miss Ray," he said as he extended a hand. "I'm Jeremy Clark, the station commander."
Ray smiled back as she shifted the helmet to her arm and took his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ranger Clark. After the trip I've had, it's a pleasure to meet anyone."
"You can stow your helmet in that locker, there," he said with a gesture. "Then, I'll be pleased to escort you and the crew of the Orbit Jet to my quarters. I'm sure you'll be happy to have something like normal weight again."
The trip to Clark's quarters was more complicated than Ray thought it would be. First, the four of them magnet-walked to the boom that led from the docking port back to the hub of Space Station RV-5. There they boarded a sort of trolley that took them across the boom to the hub. At the end of the boom was a huge metal wall that was rotating clockwise, with a set of four openings at the rim. The trolley followed a set of tracks next to the wall until it was moving at the same speed, then entered one of the openings. The trolley moved along a tunnel until it came to a round hole in the floor, paused above it, then descended into it. Ray felt dizzy at first, like being in a carnival ride, but as the trolley descended, the dizziness grew less, and she felt the first tug of returning weight pressing her to her seat. It half a minute for the trolley to drop all the way down to the outer rim of Space Station RV-5. At the bottom of the shaft was a brightly lit room with an unattended control station. Ray could tell that her weight was back to normal.
The four of them alighted from the trolley. Jones frowned at the control station, saying, "Why isn't anyone on duty here, sir?"
"Orders from Earth," Clark told him. "We want to keep your presence here known to as few people as possible. You'll all be staying in my private quarters while the Orbit Jet is being repaired."
"Say, Commander," DelPonte interjected, "they don't think there's a spy in the Space Rangers, do they?"
"At this point, Winky, we can't rule anything out," Clark responded. "Somebody leaked your flight plans to that attacking ship, and only a handful of people had that information. Also, we've got the Dartmouth in from Wolf 1061, with several Ophiuchian nationals on board. We certainly have no intention of letting them know you're here."
"I understand, sir," said Jones. "Please, lead the way."
Commander Clark did so, and the three members of the Orbit Jet's crew followed him down a deserted corridor that led to an airtight hatch that looked similar to those on the ship. Ray knew that every room on the space station was airtight in case of an accidental air leak. The hatch opened, and the four entered Clark's quarters.
The Space Rangers had been Bobby Matthews' favorite topic of conversation back on the Montevideo, and from him Ray had learned that command staff on RV-Class space stations served four years shifts. It was a long time to spend sitting in a metal can, so the Space Rangers were generous when it came to transporting personal effects. Clark's quarters had occupied four rooms, and the largest of them, the living room, had a comfortable sofa, three chairs, an entertainment console, a patterned carpet on the floor, and several paintings on the walls. There were also two cots stacked against one of the walls.
"Miss Ray," said Clark, "you'll be sleeping in my bedroom, there. Rocky and Winky, you'll be sleeping in here."
DelPonte grinned and gave one of his trademark winks. "All the comforts of home, eh, Commander?"
Clark smiled back, and Ray found herself doing so as well. DelPonte's good humor at being hidden away in Clark's quarters made the inconvenience seem much more bearable.
"Sir," Jones asked, "how long will it be before the Orbit Jet is spaceworthy again?"
"Based on your report, Rocky," Clark answered, "I think we're looking at forty-eight hours, tops."
So, two days cooped up in Clark's quarters. Well, Ray told herself, you volunteered, and now you get to live the glamorous life of a Space Ranger.
* * *
Ronald Drake, Secretary of Space Affairs for the United Worlds of the Solar System, knew that he shouldn't keep watching the clock on the wall of his office. There was plenty to keep him occupied, but he found it nearly impossible to keep from dwelling on the mission of the Orbit Jet. No news, as the ancient proverb had it, was good news. If everything was going according to plan, Jeremy Clark would let him know in the course of his daily report at 1400 hours, and not a second before. Only a disaster would cause Clark to call in early. Nevertheless, Drake fretted, and found his eyes drifting back to the clock.
At 1400 hours exactly, the speaker on his desk crackled to life. "Space Station RV-5 to Earth Headquarters, Office of Space Affairs. Space Station RV-5 to Earth Headquarters, Office of Space Affairs." From its position at the extreme limit of astrophone range, Space Station RV-5 was unable to transmit a visual signal. Voice contact was all that Drake could expect.
Pressing the contact on his own comm unit, Drake answered, "Secretary Drake speaking. Come in, RV-5."
"This is Clark, Mr. Secretary," was the immediate response. "I'm ready with the report on flight codename Haystack."
"Anxious to have it, Clark. Send it over the scrambler." Operation Haystack, as the mission to rescue Professor Newton had been codenamed, was far too sensitive to allow uncoded transmissions. Rising from the communications desk, Drake strode over to the scrambler. Using the latest encryption techniques, Clark's report had been converted to a series of binary signals, and added to a stream of randomly generated numbers. Only the scrambler in the Office of Space Affairs was capable of sorting out Clark's signal.
"Ready here, sir," came Clark's voice from the comm desk.
"Procede, Clark."
A tape fed out of scrambler, and Drake anxiously scanned it. Despite his concentration, Drake was aware of Griffin entering the office. "A late report on Rocky Jones' mission to Ophiuchius," Drake explained, looking up.
The tape feeding from the scrambler slowed, then stopped. "That's it, sir," came Clark's voice.
"Thanks, Clark. Over and out."
Drake read to Griffin from the tape. "Damage to Orbit Jet repaired on space station. Area thoroughly searched but no trace of attacking ship nor clue to identity."
"Who did it, sir?" Griffin inquired. "Any idea?"
Drake felt a fresh wave of anxiety wash over him as the uncertainty of the whole situation darkened his mind. "Griff, I'd give up our claim to Aquarius to find out who it was."
"A tough order, sir," said Griffin. "A sudden attack out of space by an unidentified ship. Could it be space pirates, sir?"
Drake shook his head. Space pirates preferred to prey on commercial ships. Launching an attack on a fully-armed Space Ranger vessel would be an excellent way for a ship full of pirates to find their careers as freebooters, and their lives, coming to an abrupt end. Looking back down at the tape, he continued to read. "The blast-off from space island was successful at 0814. Rocky Jones, Winky, and Vena Ray aboard. In daily communication Rocky Jones reports flight without incident. Yesterday's message garbled, and now out of contact. Must assume that Rocky is through the Curtain and flying in the Ophiuchius Formation."
Drake handed the tape to Griffin, then turned away. What was going on out there beyond RV-5? Drake would know no peace of mind until he heard again from the Orbit Jet.
* * *
When does a ship enter a stellar system? More than one interstellar war had turned on the question.
It would have been convenient for the human race if the borders of stellar systems were as clear-cut as the boundary between land and sea. Unfortunately, a stellar system simply became more diffuse the further you went from the primary star. It could be argued, and had been argued, that a stellar system reached out as far as the primary star's gravity well. Even a snowflake drifting two light years from Earth's sun, twelve trillion miles away, could be considered part of the Solar System if it was travelling in an orbit around the sun, however many tens of millions of years that orbit might take. Does that snowflake's orbit mark the outer boundary of the Solar System?
The Ophiuchians had arrived at their own means of settling the question. They had built a chain of space stations at the extreme gravitational edge of the 70 Ophiuchi system, three light years from 70 Ophiuchi A and B. As far as the Ophiuchians were concerned, these stations, known as the Ophiuchius Formation, marked the outer edge of their system, and any ship passing within the thirty-six trillion mile wide bubble of space they guarded was violating Ophiuchian sovereignty, and could be expected to pay whatever price the Ophiuchians chose to set.
From Rocky Jones' point of view, the question of where to enter the Ophiuchius Formation was a simple one. Since the Orbit Jet was supposed to be suffering a navigational malfunction that left it incapable of determining its position, it could just as easily come out of superluminal drive right on the doorstep of one of the Ophiuchian space stations. That would make it harder for the Ophiuchians to claim that the Orbit Jet was trying to sneak into their system, and place him on the moral high ground. Vena Ray had agreed that this would give them their best chance of making it to Ophiuchius Prime alive and with some freedom of action.
With a snap, the Orbit Jet's superluminal drive reset itself, and the ship appeared in normal space. Rocky Jones shook off the effects, and began scanning the surrounding space for the homing beacon sent out by the stations of the Ophiuchius Formation. He was immediately rewarded with a strong signal, indicating that they had appeared within a light minute of an Ophiuchian station. "Winky," he announced, "we've just entered the Ophiuchius Formation. They should be spotting us any minute."
As always happened when they were in a tense situation, DelPonte's jaunty attitude submerged itself beneath his Space Ranger training, and he was all business. "Well, then, we better be on the alert, Rocky."
Jones nodded, his attention fixed on the ship's instruments. "Right you are, Winky."
* * *
Eighteen trillion miles from the Orbit Jet, the worlds of the 70 Ophiuchi system orbited their two suns. 63 million miles out from 70 Ophiuchi A was Ophiuchius Prime, the ruling world of the Ophiuchius Group. Somewhat smaller than Earth, with a thinner atmosphere, Ophiuchius Prime was nevertheless the most Earthlike world within twenty light years of Earth itself, and so attracted many settlers from the Solar System during the days of subluminal travel in the 21st and 22nd centuries.
With the discovery of the Old Ophiuchian relics, Ophiuchius Prime became the most important world in human space with the exception of Earth itself. Four centuries after the arrival of the first subluminal starship, Ophiuchius Prime had a population of 250 million people in cities and towns scattered across the face of the planet. The largest of these was Ophiuchius City, which straddled the banks of the Serpens River. Perched on an outcropping of rock that sat north of the river was the Gray Observatory, part of the research complex known as the Ophiuchian Academy of Sciences. It was here that the greatest astronomical discoveries of the last century had been made, and it was here that the Ophiuchians had imprisoned Professor Dominic Newton.
Professor Newton studied a sheet of paper, a printout of the latest series of tests that had been run on an experimental alloy. The alloy had originally been developed by one of the teams at the Department of Advanced Studies back at the University of Earth. The first task the Ophiuchians had assigned Newton had been to recreate the team's work here in a heavily guarded laboratory within the Gray Observatory. Newton shook his head, crumpled the printout, and let it drop to the floor, where it joined several predecessors.
He couldn't concentrate on the work. Partly it was due to the stubborn streak within him that rebelled at the idea of aiding his captors, and partly it was due to the approach of the noon hour. For one hour of the 140 that made up the Ophiuchian week, his captors would allow him to enjoy the company of the only person in the entire Ophiuchius Group for whom he felt any affection.
Newton wandered over to a window set in the southern wall of his laboratory, and his face lit up. There, accompanied by the vile Marshal Darganto, was his young ward, Bobby Matthews. Both chanced to be looking up at the window, and Newton waved at Bobby. The boy's face broke into a smile and he waved back. He started to race to the observatory's front entrance, but Darganto seized him roughly by the arm and forced him to walk.
As the pair disappeared around the corner of the observatory, Newton frowned. The Ophiuchians had adopted many customs from the literally inhuman beings who had once occupied the 70 Ophiuchi system, and their method of raising children was one of them. The Old Ophiuchians hadn't had families in the human sense of the word, being more akin to social insects than to mammals, and their human successors had eliminated the institution from their own society. They looked down on the love that existed between Bobby and himself, and Newton feared that they would try to remake Bobby in their own inhuman image.
It wasn't long before Newton heard Darganto's heavy tread outside the guarded door of the laboratory. The door opened, revealing Darganto, Bobby, and the guard, whose name Newton had never learned.
"Bobby," Newton exclaimed, "it's good to see you," and he felt a combination of joy and relief as the boy rushed into his arms.
Darganto interrupted their reunion. He was a tall, dark-haired man with a thin mustache, and his black uniform glittered from the many medals and honors that decorated it. He spoke the professor's name as he retrieved one of the crumpled sheets of paper from the floor.
Reluctantly, Newton looked away from Bobby. "Yes?"
Darganto held up the paper. "The results of your experiment?"
Nervously, Newton said, "Oh, well, I haven't got them yet."
"Why not?" the uniformed man demanded. "You've had more than enough time."
"Yes, I know, but, er, activating chemicals and alloys, it's a long and tedious task. It's like trying to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear." And make of that simile what you can, Newton added to himself. "But don't worry, Darganto, I'm not one to give up."
"Professor Newton, you're using the same formula as on Earth?"
"Exactly. Oh, but tomorrow! Tomorrow I'll --"
"And the same materials, too!" Seemingly from nowhere, rage appeared on Darganto's face. With a violent sweep of his hand, he knocked Newton's experimental apparatus off the lab table. He seized Newton by the coat and hauled the smaller man up off the floor, snarling, "You upset me, Professor Newton, and I find you won't cooperate. You know what that means."
Newton knew. It meant losing Bobby, standing by helplessly as the boy was taken away to one of the Ophiuchians' nursery factories, to be fashioned into a member of the Ophiuchian worker-drone class. Inside of a year, there would be nothing left of his original personality; he would be nothing more than a mindless biological machine.
With horror, Newton saw Bobby run over and grab Darganto's arm, shouting, "Let go of him! Leave him alone!"
Releasing Newton, Darganto smashed his arm into Bobby's face, sending the boy reeling across the room to collide with a wall. "Bobby!" Newton exclaimed in alarm.
Darganto picked Newton up again, carried him across the laboratory, and thurst him into a chair. "Professor Newton," he said, his voice deceptively calm, "you've been granted an extraordinary privilege. Bobby has been near you, and allowed a weekly visit. Proudly I say my own son does not know my face, as Bobby will not long remember yours." He turned to face the guarded door. "Drapax!"
The guard entered. "Dovako Bobby demar danto bak," ordered Darganto in the harsh Ophiuchian tongue.
The guard, Drapax, bent down and effortlessly picked up the stunned boy. "No," Bobby managed to gasp out, "I won't go! Professor Newton!"
"Bobby!" Newton cried out, nearly in tears.
"Let me down!" Bobby managed to call out.
"Demar danto bak!" Darganto barked again.
"Darganto!" Newton pleaded.
"Yes, Professor Newton?" said the towering Ophiuchian.
Newton felt himself collapsing under the weight of his despair. "I pledge my complete cooperation."
"I thought you'd finally see it my way," said Darganto with a smirk.
At a gesture from the Marshal, the guard let Bobby fall to the floor. Bobby struggled to his feet, and threw himself into Newton's arms. As Darganto left, Newton saw Bobby glare in hatred at the Ophiuchian leader.
* * *
Twelve hours had passed since the Orbit Jet dropped out of superluminal drive on the doorstep of the Ophiuchius Formation. The good news, Antonio DelPonte thought, was that the Ophiuchians hadn't disintegrated them. The bad news was that they hadn't reacted at all. No Ophiuchian ships had come out to inspect them, and no Ophiuchian voice had come in over the astrophone. Spookland, DelPonte told himself.
He had joined Vena Ray back in B section. "Say, Vena, you're our resident expert on the Ophiuchians. What's the big idea? Why aren't they talking?"
Ray rested her chin on her hands as she considered the question. "Well, Winky, I think I understand what's going on. One thing to keep in mind about the Ophiuchians is that they hate surprises, and Rocky gave them a great big one by dropping the Orbit Jet into their laps. We're not attacking them, and we're not trying to hide. We're just sitting here out in plain sight. An attack they'd be prepared to deal with, and an attempt at evasion, too, but not this. They need to make up their minds about what to do about us, and with tensions so high between the two governments, they want to take their time about it. We probably represent a buck that's been passed all the way up the chain of command, maybe even to the Suzerain herself. Once they've worked out a plan for dealing with us, you can bet we'll be hearing from them, one way or the other."
"So, what do you think they'll decide to do?"
"It all depends on Cleolanthe."
"Queen Cleolanthe?"
"Officially, her title is Suzerain, which is how they translate the original Old Ophiuchian word for leader. They've adopted as much of the culture of the Old Ophiuchians as they can, including their matriarchal hereditary monarchy. For the Old Ophiuchians, that made a lot of sense, since they were apparently descended from insects with a hive mentality. But however much the Ophiuchians try to deny it, they're still human beings, and humans don't make very good hive insects. There's always a disconnect between the Old Ophiuchian culture they've adopted and their human biology, however much they try to paper over the cracks. So their ruler is a human woman who tries to act like the queen of a beehive or a termite mound. When it works well, the result resembles the court of Queen Elizabeth the First of England. When it works badly, it's more like the court of Mary Queen of Scots. Cleolanthe just succeeded to the Suzerainty a year and a half ago, and she's starting to look more like a Mary than an Elizabeth."
"So, is that good or bad for us?"
Ray shook her head. "Winky, I honestly don't know."
DelPonte was still turning Ray's words over in his mind when he joined Jones in the pilot room. "How's she going, Rock?"
Rocky indicated the communication controls. "Look, Winky."
The signal detector showed a steady pulse, one that DelPonte recognized. "Ah, the Ophiuchian beam's picked us up, huh? But still no challenge?"
"Not a word," said Jones with a frown. "I don't like it."
As he resumed the silent vigil in the pilot room, DelPonte said, "This is spookland for sure."
But it did not remain spookland for long. Within five minutes of belting himself into his seat, DelPonte was startled by the sudden crackle of the astrophone. There was the steady beeping of a carrier wave, and a male voice spoke in the harsh syllables of the Ophiuchian language: "Choko viktun sparkano, choko vik. Sparkano ono fian."
"Ah," DelPonte smiled, "that must be their challenge now."
Jones pressed the intercom to the B section. "Space Ranger Ray, forward please."
The hatch slid open, and Ray entered the pilot room. Jones told her, "Vena, translate incoming message."
The astrophone was still delivering its Ophiuchian message: "Choko viktun sparkano."
"It's a repeat to identify, and state destination," Ray reported. "Shall I answer in Ophiuchian, sir?"
"No, not yet. They'll know the universal distress signal, helipso. That's all I want them to know at the moment." DelPonte found himself nodding in agreement. There was no reason to let the Ophiuchians know that the Orbit Jet carried someone who could understand their language. It was better to let them think they had the advantage over the Earth ship.
Switching on the astrophone's transmitter, Jones said, "Helipso, helipso. Rocky Jones on the Earth ship XV-2, in distress. Helipso."
The repeated Ophiuchian challenge ended. In its place was a feminine voice speaking English. "Come in, XV-2, and declare nature of emergency."
Before Jones could respond, Ray put a warning hand on his shoulder. Jones cut out the astrophone transmitter. "What is it, Vena?"
"Rocky, I recognize that voice! That's not just some low-level astrophone operator you're talking to. That's Cleolanthe herself, the Suzerain of Ophiuchius!"
* * *
Eight main thoroughfares divide Ophiuchius City into eight wedge-shaped segments. The eight broad avenues all converge upon Darak Govornox, Government Square, a wide plaza paved with white granite blocks. At the center of Government Square rises the imposing bulk of Analka Vainda Govornox, Government Headquarters, the nerve center of the Ophiuchius Group. Not far from the colonnaded throne room is the building's main communication center. From here, the Suzerain herself could instantly communicate with any of her subjects within the Ophiuchius Group.
Cleolanthe, Suzerain of Ophiuchius, stood beside an astrophone station within the communications center and listened to the signals being transmitted from Guardian Station Blue, three light years distant in the depths of interstellar space. The signals carried the voice of Commander Rockwell Stapleton Jones IV of Earth's Space Rangers.
For weeks, ever since receiving a warning message from Marcus Griffin, Cleolanthe and her advisors had been expecting the arrival of Jones' ship, the Orbit Jet, as it carried out its pathetic attempt to rescue Professor Dominic Newton and Bobby Matthews. Orders had been issued to the Guardian Stations of the Ophiuchius Formation to keep watch for the Orbit Jet, and report back when it was observed.
Cleolanthe admired the boldness with which Commander Jones had made his appearance in the 70 Ophiuchi system. Cleolanthe had expected an attempt at stealth, but instead the Orbit Jet had appeared just ten million miles from Guardian Station Blue, and then sat motionless, as if daring the Ophiuchians to act against it. It was boldness that had given the Suzerain and her advisors pause, and for twelve hours they had mapped out the appropriate strategy for dealing with Jones' arrival.
"Helipso, helipso," had come the voice from the astrophone receiver. "Rocky Jones on the Earth ship XV-2, in distress. Helipso."
Cleolanthe motioned the astrophone operator from his seat, and took his place. Activating the transmitter switch, she answered in English, "Come in, XV-2, and declare nature of emergency."
There was a long pause before the answer came back: "Starboard control rocket's conked out. Request permission to land and repair."
As Griffin had warned, the Space Rangers had come to the 70 Ophiuchi system with a story of mechanical failure, and a request for assistance. This placed the Ophiuchians in a delicate position. By treaty with the United Worlds of the Solar System, no ship in distress could be refused assistance, even if it was found to be trespassing through the space claimed by a foreign power. There had been too many cases of disabled Ophiuchian ships calling upon the UWSS for assistance for the Ophiuchians to lightly abrogate that treaty provision. Still, it wouldn't hurt to remind the impetuous Space Ranger that his life lay in Cleolanthe's hands. "Do you know you've transgressed the Ophiuchian boundary?" she told him. "We could disintegrate you with no questions asked."
"My apologies, it was unavoidable," came back Jones' answer. "I now ask that you recognize Article VII of our treaty."
Marshal Darganto had joined Cleolanthe in the communications room. "Rocky Jones?" he asked quietly, and Cleolanthe nodded.
"May I speak to someone in authority?" the voice of Jones continued.
"I am Cleolanthe, the Suzerain of Ophiuchius," she declared. The thought of the shock Jones must be experiencing as he realized he was addressing the supreme ruler of the Ophiuchius Group filled her with joy. Let the Space Ranger know the stakes he was playing for. "Yes," she continued, "I will respect the treaty. You have my permission to land. Ellipse our planet. We will then assign approach path and clearance. Ventendo untol."
"Ventendo untol," Jones answered, and the signal from Guardian Station Blue cut off.
Cleolanthe smiled confidently at Darganto. "Fortunately," she said, "Griff prepared us for Rocky Jones' arrival. Now . . . to prepare Professor Newton and the boy."
* * *
Winky DelPonte was faintly surprised to hear Rocky Jones echo Queen Cleolanthe's Ophiuchian parting words.
"I guess that means 'Roger and out'," said DelPonte.
"You catch on fast, Winky," Ray said with an approving smile. "It does."
"Winky," said Jones, "go aft and knock out one of the starboard rockets. Do enough damage so we'll have at least a week to find Professor Newton and Bobby while you make repairs."
DelPonte winced, as much at the thought of deliberately damaging the Orbit Jet as it the prospect of a week's repairs. "Aw, Rocky, all that work! Couldn't we just pretend?"
"Orders are orders," Jones insisted. "We've got to stay there a week. Go on, now, beat it."
DelPonte unbelted from his seat and beat it. Of all the assignments he had been given in his career as a Space Ranger, smashing up his own ship was hands down the most bizarre.
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