Alan Foster - Dark Star

The danger was from the billions of volts of free energy playing haphazardly in free space, not from any loose hunk of rock, however impressive it might look on the screens. Doolittle winced every time the field light over the screen flared, indicating that the defensive screens were drawing energy.

Not everyone viewed the approaching storm with alarm. Up in the observation dome, Talby was ecstatic. The iridescent holocaust was overwhelmingly beautiful. The dazzling discharges of energy exploded across his field of vision in complex patterns of their own, only slightly distorted by the protective shielding of dome.

He’d swung his observation chair 180 degrees so that the storm was pouring directly at him and past. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion—an effect of the force field, which concurrent with protecting them also dropped body function time to the minimum necessary to support life.

In normal time the eruptions of color would have flowed past in a blur of unrecognizable shapes. But in the slowed-down universe of the force field, the colossal bolts took on definite shape and form, reduced them to visions his dazed mind could comprehend.

Magnificent, glorious, incomparable—the astronomer was drunk on the beauty. That it might at any moment shred the ship and himself like foil bothered him not a whit.

The load on the screens was tremendous, but they held… held while the storm passed over and around the enveloped Dark Star , held till it was safely past—almost.

A huge chunk of charged material drifted close in the rear of the storm. The Dark Star was the nearest body of comparable mass, and the bolt that leaped the distance between matter and ship was of truly prodigious size.

It penetrated the force screen and struck the ship lightly, almost caressingly, at the lowest point of the craft, just below the emergency airlock. Although the untiring screens still absorbed most of the blow, events followed which were not normal.

A tiny, insignificant portion of the energy that had impacted on the ship traveled through the outer, then inner walls, and reached a particular circuit. A particularly vital circuit. Several internal fluid-state controls were activated, and a sign appeared unexpectedly on the main screen in the computer room:

BOMB BAY SYSTEMS ACTIVATED

As the last of the storm passed the ship, the huge doors in its belly separated and a rectangular object moved smoothly downward. A large number 20 was inscribed on its side.

Within the computer itself, cross-references were rapidly checked, the cause of the malfunction traced, and results, if any, compared. The conclusion that something had happened which shouldn’t have was quickly reached.

“Computer to bomb number twenty,” the computer said, using human speech since it was impossible for numbers to be misinterpreted in verbal form. “Return to the bomb bay immediately.” The last solid particles, final residue of the storm, bounced off the still-activated force field, extended now to encompass the bomb as well as the ship.

There was a pause, then the bomb objected mildly, “But I have received the operational signal. It came through normal channels and was processed accordingly.

Not expecting an argument, the central computer hesitated briefly. It finally decided on direct contradiction as the most effective—and safest—method of remonstration.

“The signal was given due to a temporary malfunction in the activating mechanism. This is not a bomb run. Cancel all drop programming immediately.” The computer tried to inject a note of insistence into its voice.

“Nevertheless, I’ve received the signal to prepare for a drop and shall continue…”

“Emergency override,” came the ultimate command from the computer. “Return to the bay.”

“Very well, then,” bomb number twenty responded. It slid obediently back up on its shaft. The bay doors closed beneath it. As they did so the last vestiges of the storm receded into the distance.

The force field lapsed, and Talby turned quickly to watch the mass of flickering color and ceaseless energy retreat, heading for uncharted reaches. He waved it a mental goodbye. After all, danger or no, the storm seemed very much alive. Maybe it was a strange kind of organism, contained within itself, forever unable to make safe contact with another creature except one of its own kind.

Ah, there you go, anthropomorphizing again, Talby. He chastised himself. The storm was a manifestation of purely physical phenomena, he instructed himself firmly. Nothing more nor less. He turned and resumed his quiet study of the fore starfield.

The force field and the ship’s defensive screens automatically shut down with the passing of the danger. Doolittle, Pinback, and Boiler slumped heavily in their seats, letting the tension flow out of theme

Pinback forced a slight grin as he removed his head set. “Well, we made it again.”

“Yeah,” agreed Doolittle. “I wonder why we did. There was enough power in that vortex to melt this tin triangle to slag. I didn’t think anything on it worked that well anymore.” He noticed a red light winking steadily on his console.

“And maybe it doesn’t.” At Pinback’s curious glance, he nodded toward the indicator.

“Now what?” Then, louder, “Go ahead, computer, we’re out of stasis and recovered.”

“Attention, attention,” the computer began, ignoring the fact that Doolittle and Pinback were already hanging on every coming word. “Ship’s computer to bridge. There was a malfunction aboard ship during the final passage of the concatenation of… during the final passage of the asteroid storm.”

Pinback and Doolittle exchanged tired glances. It couldn’t be very serious or the operation of the ship would have been noticeably affected by now. Doolittle groaned.

“All right, computer… what is it?”

“Tracing.”

While Doolittle waited irritably—they would never get their music back on until the damned machine had finished its report—smoke drifted from a small hole in the wall of the emergency airlock.

Needless to say, neither the hole nor the drifting smoke was a normal component of the silent airlock. It drifted out from behind a panel that covered a small chamber. Within that chamber rested an operating Iaser that occasionally now flashed in a sequence not programmed for it. It was an especially important laser. It was the center of the malfunction. But the reason the computer couldn’t locate it was because that last, parting bolt from the storm had burned out its connections with the computer.

“I have not yet identified the nature of the problem,” was all the machine voice said to Doolittle. “Shall I contact you when I find out what this malfunction is?”

“Yeah,” put in the heretofore silent Boiler. “Do that… but meantime, shut up, huh?” The computer didn’t reply, but became silent.

Boiler was up, unstrapping himself from his seat. Doolittle was ahead of him, and Pinback hurrying to catch up.

“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I need to look at something besides these damned controls for a while. Let’s get out of here.”

“I could use a rest, too,” added Boiler. “Good thing we weren’t resting when that storm hit.” They were leaving the control room now, heading down the corridor leading back toward one of the converted storage rooms—the one they’d converted for their own use.

Boiler was in an unusually talkative mood. “I remember the last time we were in an asteroid storm. I was down in the ‘A’ food locker getting a sandwich when I heard the damn sleeping quarters blow out.”

“Yeah, me too,” chirped Pinback. “Boy, you wouldn’t think just a little escaping air could make such a racket!” Doolittle gave him a tired look but the sergeant continued on enthusiastically.