[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
years etched into his face and a million agonies flaring from his narrow
little black eyes. Right decision? Those eyes were lamps of torment backfired
by incipient madness.
Something rattled the foundations of the universe.
The snowy landscape glowed a deep, bloody red. The glow faded quickly.
Marescu turned an ashen color. He stumbled to the dome face, caressed it with
shaking fingers. Paul . . . That was damned close. They could have
destabilized one of the test cores. We d have been blown into the next
universe.
Fear had drained Neidermeyer s face too. He mumbled, But nothing happened.
I m complaining anyway. They ought to have better sense. Feeling the breath
of the angel on his neck had snapped his streak of self-pity.
He stared into the darkness outside. A pale new light had begun etching the
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shadows more deeply. One brilliant point of light slid across the screen of
fixed stars, growing more intense.
They re coming in fast.
Hel s surface was screaming under a storm of violet-white light when the dome
polarized. The glass continued to respond to the light beating against it, its
inner surface crawling with an iridescence like that of oil on water.
Doctor Neidermeyer? Mister Marescu? Excuse me a moment.
They turned. Marine Major Gottfried Feuchtmayer stood at the escalator s
head. He was Deputy Chief of Security, and a man who appeared to have just
stepped out of a recruiting commerical. He was the quintessential Marine.
Bet he wakes up looking like that, Marescu muttered.
What is it, Major? Neidermeyer asked.
We need your assistance in the arsenal. We need two devices for shipboard
installation.
Marescu s stomach went fluttery. The butterflies donned Alpine boots and
started dancing. Major . . .
Briefing in Final Process in fifteen minutes, gentlemen. Thank you.
Neidermeyer nodded. The Major descended the escalator.
So, Marescu snapped. They ll never use it, eh? You re a fool, Paul.
Maybe they won t. You don t know . . . Maybe it s a field test of some
kind.
Don t lie to yourself. No more than you already are. The damned bomb doesn t
need testing. I already tested it. They re going to blow up a sun, Paul!
Ion s mouth worked faster and faster. His voice rose toward a squeak. Not
some star, Paul. A sun. Somebody s sun. The goddamned murdering fascists are
going to wipe out a whole solar system.
Calm down, Ion.
Calm down? I can t. I won t! How many lives, Paul? How many lives are going
to be blasted away by those firecrackers we ve given them? They ve made bloody
fools of us, haven t they? They suckered us. Smug little purblind fools that
we are, we made ourselves believe that it would never go that far. But we were
lying to ourselves. We knew. They always use the weapon, no matter how
horrible it is.
Paul did not respond. Marescu was reacting without all the facts. And saying
things everyone else thought but did not say.
For the research staff, service at Hel Station had been a deal with the
devil. Each scientist had traded physical freedom and talent for unlimited
funding and support for a pet line of research. The Station was ultra-secret,
but the knowledge it produced was reshaping modern science. The place seethed
with new discoveries.
All Navy had asked for its money was a weapon capable of making a sun go
nova.
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Navy had its weapon now. The scientists had scrounged around and found a few
Hawking Holes left over from the Big Bang, had pulled a few mega-trillion
quarks out of a linear accelerator which circumscribed Hel itself, had sorted
them, had stacked them in orbital shells around the mini-singularities, and
had installed these cores in a delivery system. The carrier missile would
perish in the fires of a star, but the core itself would sink to the star s
heart before the quark shells collapsed, mixing positives and negatives in a
tremendous energy yield which would ignite a swift and savage helium fusion
process.
Navy had its weapon. And now, apparently, a target for it.
What have you done, Paul?
I don t know, Ion. God help me if you re right.
The passageways were a-crawl with Marines, Marescu swore. I didn t realize
there were so many of the bastards. They been breeding on us? Where s
everybody else? The usual back and forth of technical and scientific staffs
had ceased. Civilians were scarce.
At Final Process they were told to report to the arsenal instead.
They found three civilians waiting outside the scarlet door. The Director,
though, was an R & D admiral in civilian disguise.
This s a farce, Marescu growled at her. Two hundred comic opera
soldiers . . .
Can it, Ion, Paul whispered.
The Director did not bat an eye. They re watching you, Ion. They don t like
your mouth.
Marescu was startled. Ordinarily, even the Eagle did not bite back.
What s going on, Kathe? Neidermeyer asked.
Marescu grinned. Kathe Adler. Kathe the Eagle. It was one of those nasty
little jokes that drift around behind an unpopular superior s back. Admiral
Adler had a thin wedge of a face, an all-time beak of a nose, and a receding
hairline. Never had a birthname fit its bearer so well.
They re taking delivery on the product, Paul. I want you to work with their
science officers. Ion, you ll prepare a test program for their shipboard
computers.
They re going to use it, aren t they? Marescu demanded.
I hope not. We all hope not, Ion.
Shit. I believe that like I believe in the Tooth Fairy. He glanced at Paul.
Neidermeyer was trying to believe. He was like all the science staff. Keeping
himself fed on lies.
Ship s down, Major, a Marine Lieutenant announced.
Very well, Feuchtmayer replied.
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We d better get lined out, the Director said. Paul, pick whomever you want
to help. Ion, you ll have to visit the ship to see what you ll be working
with. I want your preliminary brief as soon as you can write it. Josip, get
with their Weapons officers and draw up the preparatory specs for carrying
mounts and launch systems. Have the people in the shops drop everything else.
Josip asked, We have to build it all here?
From scratch. Orders.
But . . .
Gentlemen, they re in a hurry. I suggest you get started.
They brought the whole ship down? Paul asked. Ships seldom made planetary
landings.
That s right. They don t want to waste time working from orbit. That would
take an extra month.
But . . . That was dangerous business. The ship s crew would stay
crazy-busy balancing her gravity fields with the planet s. If they made one
mistake the vessel would be torn apart. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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years etched into his face and a million agonies flaring from his narrow
little black eyes. Right decision? Those eyes were lamps of torment backfired
by incipient madness.
Something rattled the foundations of the universe.
The snowy landscape glowed a deep, bloody red. The glow faded quickly.
Marescu turned an ashen color. He stumbled to the dome face, caressed it with
shaking fingers. Paul . . . That was damned close. They could have
destabilized one of the test cores. We d have been blown into the next
universe.
Fear had drained Neidermeyer s face too. He mumbled, But nothing happened.
I m complaining anyway. They ought to have better sense. Feeling the breath
of the angel on his neck had snapped his streak of self-pity.
He stared into the darkness outside. A pale new light had begun etching the
Page 54
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
shadows more deeply. One brilliant point of light slid across the screen of
fixed stars, growing more intense.
They re coming in fast.
Hel s surface was screaming under a storm of violet-white light when the dome
polarized. The glass continued to respond to the light beating against it, its
inner surface crawling with an iridescence like that of oil on water.
Doctor Neidermeyer? Mister Marescu? Excuse me a moment.
They turned. Marine Major Gottfried Feuchtmayer stood at the escalator s
head. He was Deputy Chief of Security, and a man who appeared to have just
stepped out of a recruiting commerical. He was the quintessential Marine.
Bet he wakes up looking like that, Marescu muttered.
What is it, Major? Neidermeyer asked.
We need your assistance in the arsenal. We need two devices for shipboard
installation.
Marescu s stomach went fluttery. The butterflies donned Alpine boots and
started dancing. Major . . .
Briefing in Final Process in fifteen minutes, gentlemen. Thank you.
Neidermeyer nodded. The Major descended the escalator.
So, Marescu snapped. They ll never use it, eh? You re a fool, Paul.
Maybe they won t. You don t know . . . Maybe it s a field test of some
kind.
Don t lie to yourself. No more than you already are. The damned bomb doesn t
need testing. I already tested it. They re going to blow up a sun, Paul!
Ion s mouth worked faster and faster. His voice rose toward a squeak. Not
some star, Paul. A sun. Somebody s sun. The goddamned murdering fascists are
going to wipe out a whole solar system.
Calm down, Ion.
Calm down? I can t. I won t! How many lives, Paul? How many lives are going
to be blasted away by those firecrackers we ve given them? They ve made bloody
fools of us, haven t they? They suckered us. Smug little purblind fools that
we are, we made ourselves believe that it would never go that far. But we were
lying to ourselves. We knew. They always use the weapon, no matter how
horrible it is.
Paul did not respond. Marescu was reacting without all the facts. And saying
things everyone else thought but did not say.
For the research staff, service at Hel Station had been a deal with the
devil. Each scientist had traded physical freedom and talent for unlimited
funding and support for a pet line of research. The Station was ultra-secret,
but the knowledge it produced was reshaping modern science. The place seethed
with new discoveries.
All Navy had asked for its money was a weapon capable of making a sun go
nova.
Page 55
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Navy had its weapon now. The scientists had scrounged around and found a few
Hawking Holes left over from the Big Bang, had pulled a few mega-trillion
quarks out of a linear accelerator which circumscribed Hel itself, had sorted
them, had stacked them in orbital shells around the mini-singularities, and
had installed these cores in a delivery system. The carrier missile would
perish in the fires of a star, but the core itself would sink to the star s
heart before the quark shells collapsed, mixing positives and negatives in a
tremendous energy yield which would ignite a swift and savage helium fusion
process.
Navy had its weapon. And now, apparently, a target for it.
What have you done, Paul?
I don t know, Ion. God help me if you re right.
The passageways were a-crawl with Marines, Marescu swore. I didn t realize
there were so many of the bastards. They been breeding on us? Where s
everybody else? The usual back and forth of technical and scientific staffs
had ceased. Civilians were scarce.
At Final Process they were told to report to the arsenal instead.
They found three civilians waiting outside the scarlet door. The Director,
though, was an R & D admiral in civilian disguise.
This s a farce, Marescu growled at her. Two hundred comic opera
soldiers . . .
Can it, Ion, Paul whispered.
The Director did not bat an eye. They re watching you, Ion. They don t like
your mouth.
Marescu was startled. Ordinarily, even the Eagle did not bite back.
What s going on, Kathe? Neidermeyer asked.
Marescu grinned. Kathe Adler. Kathe the Eagle. It was one of those nasty
little jokes that drift around behind an unpopular superior s back. Admiral
Adler had a thin wedge of a face, an all-time beak of a nose, and a receding
hairline. Never had a birthname fit its bearer so well.
They re taking delivery on the product, Paul. I want you to work with their
science officers. Ion, you ll prepare a test program for their shipboard
computers.
They re going to use it, aren t they? Marescu demanded.
I hope not. We all hope not, Ion.
Shit. I believe that like I believe in the Tooth Fairy. He glanced at Paul.
Neidermeyer was trying to believe. He was like all the science staff. Keeping
himself fed on lies.
Ship s down, Major, a Marine Lieutenant announced.
Very well, Feuchtmayer replied.
Page 56
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
We d better get lined out, the Director said. Paul, pick whomever you want
to help. Ion, you ll have to visit the ship to see what you ll be working
with. I want your preliminary brief as soon as you can write it. Josip, get
with their Weapons officers and draw up the preparatory specs for carrying
mounts and launch systems. Have the people in the shops drop everything else.
Josip asked, We have to build it all here?
From scratch. Orders.
But . . .
Gentlemen, they re in a hurry. I suggest you get started.
They brought the whole ship down? Paul asked. Ships seldom made planetary
landings.
That s right. They don t want to waste time working from orbit. That would
take an extra month.
But . . . That was dangerous business. The ship s crew would stay
crazy-busy balancing her gravity fields with the planet s. If they made one
mistake the vessel would be torn apart. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]