The COMPLEAT Collected SFF Works, page 299
Because of the radio time lag, anything they might say would come too late to be useful.
All decisions on procedure in the area of the alien ship were thus the responsibility of Colonel Morrison. Berryman could exercise a little initiative to begin with, but once the situation was evaluated, all major decisions would be taken by the colonel. As a precautionary measure the thrust and attitude of P-One had been modified so as to bring it to a stop fifty miles short of the alien ship.
McCullough wondered what Hollis was making of that.
In the three weeks since he had visited him, the physicist's condition, both physical and mental, had improved enormously. Hollis had spoken to him several times and had said so—without, of course, mentioning the Dirty Annie business. McCullough was well aware that Hollis could not, by any stretch of the imagination, be said to have been cured, but at least his condition had improved to the point where his difficulties, both emotional and physical, no longer impaired his functioning—and that was half the battle.
On the radar screen the target showed as a pulsing blob of light which crept steadily down the distance scale, and in the telescope the Ship grew and spread until it overflowed the field of view. Gradually P-Two's velocity with respect to the other vessel lessened until it hung motionless at a distance of one mile from the Ship.
Like a minnow investigating a sleeping shark, McCullough thought.
Berryman cleared his throat loudly and said, "The—the Ship is broadside on to us. I estimate its length at just under half a mile and its diameter at about one hundred yards. The diameter is uniform throughout its length, like a torpedo, except where it curves inward at nose and stern. Two-thirds of the way toward the stern—I'm assuming it is the stern because the other end contains more transparent material—the hull is encircled by a belt of large, transparent blisters. Twelve of them, I think. The sun is shining directly into one and I can see metallic reflections.
"There is another cluster of transparent domes encircling the nose," he went on, "but these are smaller and flatter—possibly housing the Ship's communications and sensory equipment, while the bigger ones are either weapons or—or ... Maybe Professor Pugh would have some ideas on what they are, because there is nothing visible on the Ship resembling a conventional rocket motor or even a jet orifice ..."
The pilot was dividing his attention between the telescope and the direct vision port. His voice was quiet, controlled and ostentatiously matter-of-fact. But every time he moved, the perspiration beading his forehead was shaken loose and hung suspended away from his face, like the stylized sweat of startlement of a character in a comic strip. Walters' lower lip had disappeared behind his upper teeth and McCullough did not know how he himself looked, but he did not feel at all well.
Berryman went on steadily, "We are beaming signal patterns denoting, we hope, intelligence at them on a wide spread of frequencies and we are igniting flares every fifteen minutes. So far there has been no response. I don't understand this—we're not exactly sneaking up on them. Have I permission to move in?"
To give him credit, Morrison did not warn them to be careful or remind them, again, of the absolute necessity of doing the right thing. Instead he said, "Very well. We will close to one mile and cover you …"
"What with?" said McCullough, in spite of himself.
He had been thinking about Hollis again and the physicist's delusion about a Dirty Annie on P-One. McCullough wondered suddenly if such delusions were contagious, like some kind of psychosomatic head cold ...
"A figure of speech, Doctor. We shall furnish moral support only. And please remember that everything we say is being rebroadcast all over Earth, so keep this channel clear for Captain Berryman."
For the past few minutes McCullough had completely forgotten that everything emanating from P-Two was being relayed through Prometheus Control all over the world. He could just imagine the battery of ground-bound space medics playing back that section of their tape, discussing each word and inflection in the minutest possible detail and muttering among themselves about father figures and archetypal images and basic insecurities. McCullough felt his face beginning to burn, but the two pilots were too busy repositioning their ship to notice it.
For the better part of their arbitrary 'day' they drifted slowly back and forth along the tremendous alien hull. Each pass covered a different strip of its surface, allowing them to chart the various features it contained. When they approached tire transparent domes in what they assumed was the bows, they lit a flare, but there was no reaction, no sign of life of any kind.
Berryman said, "Either there is nobody at home or the watch-keeping officer is asleep or worse. If it wasn't for the fact that the Ship decelerated into a circumsolar orbit, and a very neat one at that, I'd say there was a strong possibility that the Ship is in a derelict or at least distressed condition ..."
"A ship in distress usually signals for help. As loudly and as often as possible."
"If they were telepathic," said McCullough, joining in, "they might expect their distress to be plain for all to hear."
"If they were telepathic they would know that we weren't."
Berryman shot the doctor a brief, sympathetic glance, then went on quickly, "They can't or won't react to the usual methods of attracting attention and their ship appears to be in a powered-down condition. I think it is time we knocked on the nearest airlock door and walked in—politely, of course, and with all due caution.
"I suggest leaving the doctor on watch," Berryman went on, "while Walters and I have a look at the big seal which is passing under us just now. It looks like a cargo lock big enough to take P-Two from here, and there is a smaller lock—for personnel, I expect—set into the large one. I think we could open it. After all, there are only so many ways to open a door ..."
Morrison was silent for so long that they wondered if he was going to wait for instructions from Earth before giving permission. But finally he said, "I agree that we should take some more positive action, but I'm concerned about the possibility of booby traps. Unintentional booby traps in the shape of mechanisms whose operating principles are so alien as to be a danger to you."
"We'll be careful, sir," said Berryman.
"We're only going to open a door," Walters whispered disparagingly to the doctor, but not quietly enough.
"Pandora thought the same thing, Walters, you might remember that! However, you have permission to land on the Ship's hull and open an airlock. Take your time about preparations—there must be no avoidable accidents. And you, Berryman, will remain on watch. I can't risk losing both pilots, Walters and the doctor can go—If they don't mind, that is ..."
Put like that and with countless millions listening, they had, of course, no choice.
But the strange thing was that McCullough did not feel afraid—tense and impatient with all the waiting around, perhaps, but not really afraid. Earlier, when they had been approaching the Ship for the first time, he had been expecting literally anything and he had been more afraid than he had believed it possible for any man to be. Perhaps it had been what some people called a moment of truth. But when the moment of truth spreads itself out over twenty-six hours, there is a considerable dilution of effect.
McCullough launched himself in the wake of the pilot, slowly and carefully so that his magnets would stick to the alien hull rather than bounce off, and a few minutes later they made a gentle, sprawling contact. McCullough detached his wrist magnets and slowly straightened up.
It was only then that it hit him.
This metal plating beneath his feet had been shaped and processed from ore dug out of the earth, but not the Earth. From his position by the airlock the hull looked so enormous that he seemed almost to be standing on a metallic planet complete with a range of beautiful transparent hills. The sun was shining through one of the blister hills, distorted by refraction into a gaudy smear which threw blurred highlights off whatever it was that the blister contained. And this whole vast fabrication was the product of a design staff and engineers who were not of Earth. At no stage in its construction had the people from McDonnell or BAC had a single thing to do with it.
Its reason for being might be as strange and alien as its makers, whoever and whatever they might be, but McCullough felt that its basic purpose could be easily understood by human beings of a certain psychological type—the type who drowned or crashed or fell off mountains trying to climb higher or fly faster or dive deeper than their fellows.
For some reason McCullough felt sure that the aliens had gone to the stars, had come to this star, simply because it was there ...
"When they were giving us all those lectures, Doctor," said Walters, displaying his genius for converting the sublime into the ridiculous, "they forgot Burglary. How does one pick an airlock?"
Chapter Seven
THERE ARE only so many ways for a door to open," Walters said, very seriously for him, "and I'd like you to check me on them. It can be hinged to open inward or out. It can slide open by moving up, down or to either side. It can be mounted on a central pivot, like a butterfly valve, or it can unscrew. Have I left anything out?"
"I don't think so," said McCullough. "But if these people were advanced enough to have molecular engineering, the entrances might iris open and shut ..."
"Unlikely," said Walters. "The door and surround arc ordinary metal, very roughly finished and showing deep scratches and dents. If they were capable of controlling the molecular binding forces of metal to the extent of being able to dilate an opening in an area of solid plating—of making the mental flow like a viscous liquid—they would not have scratches showing on it. These markings could have been made by heavy tools or equipment being moved into the lock chamber. They vary in depth and are of uniform brightness.
"If the Ship was assembled in space the markings could have been made at any time during its construction and still appear fresh and bright. There are an awful lot of them, all over the place ..."
"We would like a more detailed description of mechanisms in the area, if you can see any. I can't see very much with this telescope ..."
The voice coming from P-One sounded strained, with the subtle difference in tone which labeled it for public rather than private consumption. On Earth everyone who could get within earshot of a radio or a simulated mockup on TV, would be hanging on every word—a world record for any single program. Morrison could not help being conscious of those billions of cars. Even Walters seemed to be more frightened by them than what lay inside the Ship.
The pilot took a deep and audible breath, then continued, "Six inches from the rim of the personnel lock, on the side facing aft, there is a lever about two feet long. It is set flush with the skin except at one end where a hemispherical dimple about three inches deep gives access to the handle ..."
He was using the term loosely, McCullough thought as he photographed it, because the handle was not meant for hands. It terminated in a small knob containing two small, conical depressions on opposite sides, and it was the perfect shape for a finger and thumb, or pincers ...
"I'm pulling it from the recess now," Walters said quickly, giving the colonel no time to have second thoughts. "I am doing it very slowly. There was resistance at first, suggesting spring loading, but now it is moving easily. This must mean a powered actuator rather than a direct linkage to the door itself. So far nothing has happened. The lever is now approximately thirty degrees along its angle of travel, approaching forty-five ... Oops!"
A brief, silent hurricane rushed out of the suddenly open airlock, and they were in the center of a globe of fog which dispersed almost as soon as it had formed. McCullough reached forward, gripped the lever and returned it to its recess. Obediently the lock swung closed. He waited a few seconds, then opened and closed it again several times.
"What is happening out there, dammit?" said the colonel furiously, momentarily forgetting the networks and their views on the sort of language suitable for family audiences. "What are you two playing at?"
Walters looked at McCullough before replying, then he said, "This was an idea we discussed during the trip out. Very simply, it involves us leaning over backward in doing all the right things—at least, we hope they are the right things. Here we are assuming that the reactions and motivations of the aliens are similar to our own where defence mechanisms and self-preservation are concerned.
"In the present situation," he went on, "we are entering their ship surreptitiously. It might even be argued that we are breaking and entering or effecting an illegal entry in that we haven't been invited to come in. The flares and radio signals during our approach may not have been noticed—they were not watching or listening, or maybe they are very alien and do not have eyes or ears. But the opening and closing of the airlock should register in a fashion understandable to them somewhere in their control center.
"What we mean is, a burglar doesn't open and close a door, or even a window, several times before entering ..."
"Very well, I take the point. But if a stranger slammed my front door several times to let me know he was there, I might feel, well, irritated ..."
While they were talking, McCullough investigated the open lock, shining his torch around the rim so as to show any possible observer that it was simply a source of light and not a weapon, before directing the beam into the lock chamber. It was unlikely that anyone would be waiting for them inside the lock, their situation might be more analagous to the coal cellar manhole than the front door, but McCullough wanted to establish habits of viewing each simple, innocent act as it might appear to nonhuman eyes and mentalities.
He gripped the rim of the seal with one hand and carefully moved his head and shoulders into the opening. Even though there was no interior lighting, his torch gave him a good view of the lock chamber except where the inward-opening seal blocked his vision on one side.
The basic color scheme was pale gray or pale blue-gray. Walls, ceiling and floor—it was impossible to tell which was which—were covered with disciplined masses of plumbing, grapples and what looked like lashing points for heavy stores, all color coded in vivid greens, blues and reds. The lock chamber was large, about thirty feet wide and ten deep. Set into each wall were seals four or five times the area of the one McCullough was using, and in the center of each there was a small transparent panel. He knew thev were transparent because his Hash showed tantalizing glimpses of other brightly painted shapes on the other side. From what he could see, this area of the Ship was in darkness.
McCullough could imagine the chamber as a transfer point for containers of food and equipment, lashed down to render them immobile until they were distributed about the Ship. Heavy equipment drifting loose in the weightless condition could be a menace to alien life and limb as well as human. But the disposition of lashing points and their support brackets suggested a lack of gravitational influence, whether natural, artificial or due to acceleration, being allowed for in the design. Which might mean that the interior of the Ship remained permanently in the weightless condition even during periods of powered flight.
Something more advanced than rocket propulsion was used on this Ship. But it all looked so—so unsophisticated ...
McCullough became aware of a hand gripping his ankle and drawing him slowly out of the lock entrance, and Walters saying, "What's the matter, didn't you hear what I said?"
"When my helmet antenna was inside," said McCullough, "your voice faded to nothing. Some sort of screening effect, I suppose."
"Yes. And that is the next step, the colonel says. Checking communications between the lock interior and the P-ships."
A few minutes later the pilot entered the lock chamber and closed the seal behind him. From inside he could not make himself heard or receive the colonel's signal until he brought his antenna into contact with the metal of the hull, when two-way communication was possible although with a greatly diminished signal strength.
Walter reopened the seal and when McCullough joined him inside he closed it again.
Morrison did not sound happy over what they were doing. At the risk of disappointing the countless millions of eager listeners at home, he stated several times that his men needed rest—the next stage of the investigation was crucial and he wanted them to be fully alert. It had been almost thirty-two hours since any of them had had a proper rest period. He suspected that the two men on the Ship were becoming too tired even to talk ...
"Sarcastic so-and-so," said Walters, momentarily breaking antenna contact with the nearby bulkhead. A tremendous, eye-watering, jaw-wrenching yawn put a great dark hole in his face and he went on, "I wasn't even tired until he reminded me! But you had better talk to him. I want to trace this cable loom running along the inside face of the chamber. The wiring seems too fine to carry much juice so it may be part of the internal communications or lighting system.
"Tell the colonel what I'm doing, along with anything else which occurs to you ..."
McCullough did so, beginning with a minutely detailed description of the chamber and the view through its five internal windows and going on to make the first, tentative conclusions regarding the Ship and its builders.
The cable looms, conduits and plumbing were color coded in a garish variety of shades, some of them bearing permutations of other colored spots, bands or stripes. A human electronics engineer would have felt almost at home here, McCullough thought.
Fore, aft and on the floor and ceiling the chamber's transparent panels, so far as it was possible to see with a flashlight, showed a similar arrangement in the adjacent compartments. Apparently the chamber was set between the ship's outer and inner hull, in the space which contained the vessel's power, control and sensory equipment. The lock chamber, which must be one of many, would give access to the inter-hull space for purposes of repair or maintenance. The inboard-facing window gave a view which contained least of all to see—merely a section of corridor, eight feet square and of unknown length, whose four sides were covered with large-mesh netting pulled taut.
