CHAPTER
2
THEY WENT OUT TOGETHER INTO THE CORRIDOR AND ALONG IT
and down an elevator tube to a tunnel with a moving floorway.
They stepped onto the gently rolling strip, which carried them
forward onto a slightly faster strip, and then to a faster, and so
Fon until they were flashing down the tunnel surrounded by air
pumped at a hundred and twenty miles an hour in the same
direction they traveled, so that they would not he blown off
their feet. In a few minutes they came to the end, and air and
strips decelerated so that they slowed and stepped at last into
what looked like an ordinary office, but which was deep in the
heart of a mountain. -This, the memory returned to Jim, in
case the Transmission Section blew up on one of its attempts
to transmit. The statistical chance was always there. Perhaps,
this time...?
Mollen had cleared them with the officer of the duty guard
~and they were moving on through other rooms to the suiting
room, where Jim and Mary climbed into the unbelievably bar-
rel-bodied space suits that were actually small spaceships in
~themselves and in which-if they who wore them were un-
and still would not take their x-pills-they might drift
in space, living on recycled air and nourishments until they
went mad, or died of natural causes.
--Or were found and brought back. The one-in-a-million
claance. Jim, now fully inside his suit, locked it closed.
"All set?" It was Mollen's voice coming at him over the
aud circuit of the suit. Through the transparent window of the
headpiece he saw the older man watching him.
"All set, General." He looked over at Mary and saw her
already suited and waiting. For a moment it struck Jim that
she might have been trying to suit up fast to show she was
something more than a weekend warrior, and he felt a tinge of
sympathy toward her. With the putting on of his own suit, the
old feeling of sureness had begun to flow back into him, and
he felt released. "Let's go, Ca-lain."
"Stick with -'Mary,"' she said, "and I'll stick with
'Jim.'"
"Good luck," said Mollen. Together, Jim and Mary
clumped across the room, waited for the tons-heavy explosion
door to swing open, then clumped through.
On the floor of the vast cavern that was the takeoff area,
five two-man ships sat like gray-white darts, waiting. Red
"manned" lights glowed by each sealed pon on the first four
they passed. Jim read their names as he stumped on forward
toward the open port of the lead ship, his ship, the AndFriend.
The other four ships were the Swallow, the Fair Maid. the
Lela and the Fourth Helen. He knew their pilots and gunners
well. The Swallow and the Fourth Helen were ships from his
own command. They and the other two were good ships han-
dled by good people. The best.
Jim led the way aboard AndFriend and fitted himself into
the forward seat facing the controls. Through his suit's rece~
tors, he heard Mary sliding into the gunner's seat, behind and
to the left of him. Already, in spite of the efficiency of the
suit, he thought he could smell the faint, enclosed stink of his
own sweat; and, responding to the habit of many missions, his
brain began to clear and come alive. He plugged his suit into
the controls.
"Report," he said One by one, in order, the Sw~ the
Fair Maid, the Lela and the Fourth Helen replied. "-Trans-
mission Section," said Jim, "this is Wander Section, ready and
waiting for transmission."
"Acknowledged," replied the voice of the Transmission
Section. There followed a short wait, during which as always
Jim was conscious, as if through some extra sense, of the
many4ons weight of the collapsed magnesium alloy of the
ships' hulls bearing down on the specially reinforced concrete
of the takeoff area. "Ready to transmit."
"Acknowledged," said Jim.
"On the count of four, then," said Transmission Section's
calm, disembodied voice. "For Picket Nine, L Sector, Frontier
Area, transmission of Wander Section, five ships. Ready to
phase-shift. Counting now. ..... three ." The unimagin-
able tension that always preceded transmission from one es-
tablished point to another began to build, a gearing-up of
nerves that affected all the men on all the ships alike.
"Two The voice of Transmission Section seemed to
thunder at them along their overwrought nerves. "One..."
“.....Transmit!"
Abruptly, a wave of disorientation and nausea broke
ough them, and was gone. They floated in dark and empty
interstellar space, with the stars of the Frontier area surround-
ing them, and a new voice spoke in their ear.
"Identify your'self," it said. "Identify yourself. This is For-
midable, command ship for Picket Nine Sector, requesting
identification."
"Wander Section. Five ships." Jim did not bother to look at
his instruments to find the space-floating sphere that was For
midable. It was out there somewhere, with twenty ships scat
tered around, up to five and a half light-years away, but all
zeroed in on this reception point where he and the other four
ships had emerged. Had Jim been a Laagi Wing or Picket
Commander, he would not have transmitted into this area with
~twenty ships-no, nor with twice that many. "Confirm trans-
mission notice from Ear~? Five ship section for deep probe
Laagi ter'ritory. Wander Section Leader, speaking."
"Transmission notice confirmed, Wander Section leader,"
crackled back the voice from Picket Nine. "Mission con-
firmed. You will not deship. Repeat, not deship. local Fron-
tier area has been scouted for slipover, and data prepared for
flash transmission to you. You will accept data and leave im-
mediately. Please key to receive data."
'Major-" began the voice of Mary, behind him.
“Shut up," said Jim. He said it casually, without rancor, as
if he was speaking to his regular gunner, Leif Molloy. For a
moment he had forgotten that he was carrying a passenger
instead of a proper gunman. And there was no time to think
about it now. "Acknowledge," he said to Picket Nine. "1~ans-
mit data, please."
He pressed the data key and the hgbt above it sprang into
being and glowed for nearly a full second before going dark
again. That, thought Jim, was a lot of data-at the high-speed
transmission at which such information was pumped into his
ship's computing center. That was one of the reasons the new
mind-units were evolved out of solid-state physics instead of
following up the development of the older, semianimate brain~
such as the one aboard the ancient La Chasse Gailerie. The
semianimate brains-living tissue in a nutrient solution-
could not accept the modern need for sudden high-speed
packing of sixteen hours' worth of data into the space of a
second or so.
Also, such living tissue had to be specially protected
against high accelerations, needed to be fed and trimmed-
and it died on you at the wrong times.
All the time Jim was turning this over with one part of his
mind, the other and larger part of his thinking process was
driving the gloved fingers of his right hand. These moved over
a bank of one hundred and twenty small black buttons, ten
across and twelve down, like the stops on a piano-accordion,
and with the unthinking speed and skill of the trained operator,
he punched them, requesting information out of the body of
data just pumped into his ship's computing center, building up
from this a picture of the situation, and constructing a pattern
of action to be taken as a result.
Evoked by the intricate code set up by combinations of the
black buttons under his fingers, the ghost voice of the mind-
unit whispered in his ear in a code of words and numbers
hardly less intricate.
“...transmit destination area one~ighty ElI Wye, Lag
Sector L 4~ at point 12.5, 13.2, 64.5. Proceeding jumps 10
Eli Wyc, R inclination ~9 degrees Frontier midpoint. Opti-
mum jumps twelve, .03 error correctable on the first shift...',
He worked steadily. The picture began to emerge. It would
not be hard getting in. It was never hard to do that. They
could reach La Chasse Ga1~erie in twelve phase-shift trans-
missions or jumps across some hundred and eighty light-years
of distance, and locate her in the area where she should then t
be, within an hour or so. Then they could-theoretically at
least-surround her, lock on, and try to improve on the ten
light-years of jump it seemed was the practical limit of her
pilot's or her control center's computing possibilities.
With modern phase-shift drive, the problem was not the
ability to jump any required distance, but the ability to com
pute correctly, in a reasonable time. the direction and distance
in which the move should be made. Phase-shifting was an
outgrowth of the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle of physics
that had enunciated the fact that it was possible to establish
Ieitherthe position of an electron, or its speed of movement,
but not both at the same time. When a ship activated a phase
~shift it did not move in the ordinary sense of that word. Effec
tively, for a timeless moment its speed became zero and its
position universal. It was everywhere and no particular place.
Then its position was established at the destination point
which had been calculated for it and its speed became relative
to its position at that point.
The problem with phase-shifting lay in that calculation. of
necessity, it had to take into account the position and current
-moveinent of the ship about to make the jump and the position
and movement of the destination area-this in a galaxy where
I'everything was in relative movement, and only a mathemati
cal fiction, the theoretical center'point of the galaxy fiom
which all distances were marked and measured, was fixed.
The greater the distance, the more involved and time-con-
suming the calculations. The law of diminishing returns would
set in, and the process broke down of its own weight-it took
a lifetime to calculate a single jump to a destination it would
not take quite a lifetime to reach by smaller, more easily cal-
calculation time-factor that made it impractical for the human
and Iaaagi races to go around each others' spatial territory. If
we were all Raoul Penards, thought Jim grimly, with two
hundred and more years of lifr coming, it'd be different.
-The thought chilled him; he did not know why. He put it out
of his mind and went back to the calculations.
The picture grew and completed. Re keyed his voice to the
other ships floating in dark space around him.
'Wander Leader to Wander Section," he said. "Wander
Leader to Wander Section. Prepare to shift into Laagi territory.
Key for calculations pattern for first of twelve shifts. Ac-
knowledge, all ships of Wander Section."
The transmit section of his control board glowed briefly as
the Swallow, the Fair Maid, the Lela and the Fourth Helen
pumped into their own computing centers the situation and
calculations he had worked out with his. Their voices came
back, acknowledging.
"Lock to destination," said Jim. "Dispersal pattern K at
destination. Repeat, pattern K, tight, hundred kilometer inter
val. Hundred kilometer interval." He glanced at the sweep
second hand of the clock before him on his control board.
"Transmit in six seconds. Counting. Five. Four. Three. Two.
One. Transmit-"
Again, the disorientation, and the nausea.
Strange stars were around them. The mind-unit's lights
glowed while it verified their position and adjusted the figures
for the precalculated next jump. After a time it whispered in
Jim's ear again, and-
"Check Ten," whispered Jim. It was the code for "make
next jump immediately."
"Three. Two. One. Transmit-"
Once again the wrench of dislocation. Nausea. Lights
glowed in silence as time passed again-
"Check Ten...
Ten more times they shifted, silent tension reflecting the
waits for calculations while they floated, only lights in the
silent darkness. Then they were there.
In darkness. They were alone amongst the enemy's stars.
None of the other ships registered on the instruments.
"Report," ordered Jim to the universe at large.
"Swallow…” came a whisper in his earphones as from
somewhere unseen a tight beam touched the outside of the
AndFriend, carrying its message to his ears. "Fair Maid...
Lela A slightly longer pause. "Fourth Helen."
Fourth Helen was always a laggard. Jim had beaced her
pilot about it a dozen times. But now was not the hour for
reprimands. They were deep in Laagi territory, and the alien
alert posts would have already picked up the burst of energy
not only from their initial transmit from Picket Nine, which
had been precalculated by the com-ship there over the hours
since La Chasse Gallerie had been discovered-and which
consequently had been able to send them with some accuracy
half the distance to her-but from the succeeding jumps that
had brought them light-years deep into laaagi territory. Com-
munication between the ships of the Section must be held to a
minimum while the aliens were still trying to figure out where
the chain of shifts had landed the intruders.
Shortly, since they must know of the approximate position
of La Chasse Gallerie, and have ships on the way to try to kill
her again, they would put two and two together and expect to
find the intruders in the same area. But for the moment
Wander Section, if it lay low and quiet, could feel it was
safely hidden in the immensities of enemy space.
Jim blocked off outside transmission, and spoke over the
intercom to Mary.
“All right, Mary," he said. "What was it you wanted to say
Frontier?"
There was a slight pause before the other's voice came back.
"Major-"
"Nevermind that," said Jim. "You had it right before,' let's
not go all formal now we're in space. I apologize for the
'Captain,' earlier. What was it you wanted, Mary?"
"All right, Jim," said the voice of Mary. "I won't bother
about military manners either, then." There was a slight grim-
ness to the humor in her voice. "I wanted to say-i'd like to
get in close enough to La Chasse Galierie, so that we can
keep a tight-beam connection with her hull at all times and I
can record everything Penard says from the time of contact
on. It'll be important."
"Don't wonty," said Jim. "We're spread out and searching
on instruments for him now. If Picket Nine did a reasonable
job of calculating his progress, we should have him alongside
in a few minutes. And I'll put you right up next to him. We're
going to surround him with our ships, lock him in the middle
of us with magnetics, and try to shift out as a unit, since he
doesn't seem capable of anything more than regular accelera-
tion on his own."
"You say he'll be along?" said Mary. "Why didn't we go
direcdy to him?"
"And make it absolutely clear to the laaagi he's what we're
after?" answered Jim. "As long as they don't know for sure,
they have to assume we don't even know of his existence. So
we stop ahead in his line of travel-lucky he's just plugging
straight ahead without trying any dodges-and wait for him.
We might even make it lock like an accidental meeting to the
Laagi-" Jim smiled inside the privacy of his suit's headpiece
without much humor. "-But don't bet on it."
"Do you think you can lock on to him without too much
trouble-"
"Depends," answered Jim, "on how fast he starts shooting
at us when he sees us."
"Shooting at us?" There was incredulity in Mary's voice.
"Why should he-oh." Her voice dropped. "I see."
"That's right," said Jim. "We don't look like any human
ship he ever knew about, and he's in territory where he's
going to be expecting aliens, not friends."
"But what're you going to do, to stop him shooting?"
"They dug up the recognition signals of the Sixty Ships
Battle," said Jim. "Just pray he remembers them. And they've
given me a voice signal that my blinker lights can translate
and flash at him in the code he was working under at the time
of the battle. Maybe it'll work, maybe it won't."
"It will," said Mary calmly.
"Oh?" Jim felt harshness in his chest. "'What makes you so
sure?"
"It's my field, Jim. It's my business to know how the aged
react. And one of their common reactions is to forget recent
events and remember the events of long ago. Their childhood.
High points of their early life-and the Sixty Ships Battle will
have been one of those."
"So you think Penard will remember?"
"I thinx so," said Mary.
Jim grinned again, mtrtnlessly, privately in his suit.
"You'd better be right," he said. "It's one order of impossi-
bility to pick him up and take him home. It's another to fight
off the Laagi while we're doing it. To fight Penard at the same
time would be a third order-and that's beyond ordinary mor-
tals.”
“Yes,” said Mary. “...
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