Herbert, Frank - Destination Void 1 Destination Void.pdf

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Herbert Destination Void
1965
Revised 1978
starry background, the other half reflecting silver from the distant sun.
A nervous cough sounded from the darkness behind him and he sup-
pressed a sympathetic repetition of that sound. Others were not as self-
controlled.
By the time the coughing spasms had subsided, the Earthling had begun
to make its turn. The movement was impossible, but there was no denying
what they all saw. The ship turned through one hundred and eighty degrees
and reversed, heading directly back down its outward track.
"Any clue at all on how they did that?" he asked.
"No, Sir. Nothing."
"I want you to go through the message capsule again," he said. "We're
missing something."
"Yes, Sir." It was a sigh of resignation.
Someone else spoke from the darkness: "Get ready for the capsule
launching . . ."
Yes, they'd all seen this enough to anticipate the sequence.
The capsule was a silver needle that looped from the Earthling's stern. It
held to the ship's blind spot (who knew what weapons such a ship might
produce?) until it was lost among the stars.
From beneath their view a flame darted -- the laser relay with its de-
struct message. A purple glow touched the ship's bulbous nose. It held for
no more than three heartbeats before the ship exploded in a blinding orange
blossom.
"That Flattery model is sure as hell reliable," someone said.
Nervous laughter went around the room, but he ignored it, concentrating
on the viewer. Why the hell did they always think it was the Flattery
model? It could be anyone on the crew.
Their view closed on the swollen blossom with the collapsing speed of
time-lapse which made the explosion's orange light wink out too rapidly.
Presently, the movement slowed and their view moved into the spreading
Tim! someone said.
A woman's voice far to the rear of the room could be heard repeating:
"Shit ... shit ... shit ..." until someone silenced her.
The view blanked out and he leaned back, feeling the ache between his
shoulders. He knew he would have to identify that woman and have her
transferred. No mistaking the near hysteria in her voice. Some harsh cathar-
sis was indicated. He shut down the holopack's controls, flicked the switch
for the room lights, then stood and turned in the blinking brilliance.
"They're clones," he said, keeping his voice cold. "They are not human;
they are clones, as is indicated by their uniform middle name of 'Lon.'
They are property! Anybody who forgets that is going off Moonbase in the
next shuttle. That sign on my door says 'Morgan Hempstead, Director.'
There will be no more emotional outbursts in this room as long as I am
Director."
which he had cut it. His heart was beating too fast and he could feel his
hands trembling.
Fluorescent red letters eight centimeters high spelled out a warning on
the panel in front of him. The warning seemed a mockery after what he
had just done.
"ORGANIC MENTAL CORE -- TO BE REMOVED ONLY BY LIFE-
SYSTEMS ENGINEER."
Bickel felt an extra sense of quiet in the ship. Something (not someone,
he thought) was gone. It was as though the molecular stillness of outer
space had invaded the Earthling's concentric hulls and spread through to the
heart of this egg-shaped chunk of metal hurtling toward Tau Ceti.
His two companions were wrapped in this silence, Bickel saw. They
were afraid to break the quiet moment of shame and guilt and anger ... and
relief.
"What else could we do?" Bickel demanded. He held up the severed
tube, glared at it.
Raja Lon Flattery, their psychiatrist-chaplain, cleared his throat, said:
"Easy, John. We share the blame equally."
Bickel turned his glare on Flattery, noted the man's quizzical expression,
calculated and penetrating, the narrow, haughty face that somehow focused
a sense of terrible superiority within remote brown eyes and upraked black
eyebrows.
"You know what you can do with your blame!" Bickel growled, but
Flattery's words destroyed his anger, made him feel defeated.
Bickel swung his attention to Timberlake -- Gerrill Lon Timberlake,
life-systems engineer, the man who should have taken responsibility for
this dirty business.
Timberlake, a quick and nervous scarecrow of a man with skin almost
the color of his brown hair, stared at the metal deck near his feet, avoiding
Bickel's eyes.

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