Harry Harrison - The Daleth Effect

Arnie nodded, silently, looking out of the lounge window. The pitted lunar plain stretched away from the ship, but the view of most of the sky was cut off by the sharply rising lip of a large crater. Closer in, a large yellow diesel tractor was digging an immense gouge in the soil, its blue cloud of exhaust vanishing into the vacuum at almost the same instant it appeared. A nest of six large oxygen cylinders was strapped behind the driver.

“Yes, I will do it,” Arnie said, and once the decision had been made he dismissed it from his mind. He pointed the tractor driver, who was dressed in a black and How suit with a bubble helmet.

“Any more troubles with suit leaks?” he asked as the ate Ministry man hurried out.

“Little ones, but we watch and keep them patched.We’re keeping the suit pressure at five pounds, so there is o real trouble. We should be happy we could get pressure suits at all. I don’t know what we would have done if we adn’t been able to buy these from the British, surplus from their scotched space program. Once things are set—led the Americans and the Soviets will be falling over sach other to supply us with suits for—what is the expression?”

“A piece of the action.”

“Right. We’ll soon have this base dug in and completely roofed over, and we’ll convert everything to electrical operation so we won’t have to keep bringing oxygen cylinders from Earth.”

He broke off as the television crews wheeled in their equipment. Lights and cameras were quickly mounted, the microphone cords spread across the floor. The director, a busy man with a pointed beard and dark glasses, shouted instructions continually.

“Could I ask you boys to move,” he said to Ove and Arnie, and waved the prop men toward their chairs. The furniture was shoved aside and rearranged, a long table moved over, while the director framed the scene in his hands.

“I want that window off to one side, the speakers below it, mikes on the table, get a carafe of water and some glasses, find something for that blank hunk of wall.” He spun on his heel and pointed “There. That picture of the Moon. Move it over here.”

“It’s bolted down,” someone complained.

“Well unbolt it! That’s what you have fat fingers and a little tool kit for.” He ran back and looked through the viewer on the camera.

Leif Holm stamped into the room, large as life, wear the same ancient-cut suit that he had worn in his office Helsingor.

“Some flight I had in that little Blaeksprutten” he said shaking hands firmly with the two physicists. “If I was Catholic I would have been crossing myself all the way. Couldn’t even smoke. Nils was afraid I would clog up the air equipment or something.” Reminding himself of h forced abstinence, he took his large cigar case from an inner pocket.

“Is Nils here now?” Arnie asked.

“He took off right away,” Ove told him. “They’re using the ship for a television relay and he is holding position above the horizon.”

“Back of the Moon, that’s the way,” Leif Holm said, clipping off the end of his immense cigar with a cutter hung from his watch chain. “So they can’t watch us with their damned great telescopes.”

“I haven’t had a chance to congratulate you yet,” Ove said.

“Very kind, thank you. Minister for Space. It has a good sound to it. I also don’t have to worry what my predecessors did—since I don’t have any.”

“If you will please take your places we can have the briefing now,” the State Ministry man said, hurrying in. He was beginning to sweat. Arnie and Leif Holm sat behind the table, and someone went running for an ashtray. “Here are the main points we want to mention.” He laid the stapled sheets in front of both of them. “I know you have been briefed, but these will be of help in any case. Minister Holm, you will make your opening statements. Then the journalists on Earth will ask questions. The technical ones will be answered by Professor Klein.”

“Who are the journalists?” Arnie asked. “From what countries?”

“Top people. A tough crowd. The Soviets and Americans, of course, and the major European countries. The other countries have been pooled and have elected ir own representatives. There are about twenty-five in.

“Israeli?”

“Yes. They insisted on having a representative of their m. All things considered, you know, we agreed.”

“The link is open,” the director called out “Stand by. Three minutes. We are tied into Eurovision, by satellite to le Americas and Asia. Top viewing. Just watch the monitor and you will know when you are on.”

A television set with a large screen was placed under camera one. The picture was adequate, the scene tense. [Tie Danish announcer was finishing the introduction, in English, the language that would be used for this broadcast.

“…from all over the world, gathered here in Copenhagen today, to talk to them on the Moon. It must be remembered that it takes radio waves nearly two seconds to reach the Moon, and the same amount of time to return, so there will be this amount of time between question and reply during the latter half of this session. We will now switch you over to the Danish Moon Station, to Mr. Leif Holm, the Minister for Space.”

The red light glowed on camera two, and they appeared on the monitor screen. Leif Holm carefully tapped his ash into the ashtray and inhaled from his cigar, so that his first words were accompanied by a generous cloud of smoke.

“I am speaking from the Moon, where Denmark has established a base for research and commercial development of the Daleth drive that has permitted these flights. The construction is in its earliest stages—you can see the operation continuing behind me through the window—and will continue until there is a small city here. For the beginning this base will be dedicated to scientific research, to continue the development of the Daleth drive that has made this all possible. In one sense this portion of the work is already completed because all”—he leaned forward to stare grimly at the camera—“ all of the Daleth project is now at this base. Professor Klein, sitting on my right, is here to direct the research. He has brought assistants with him, all of his equipment, records, even thing to do with this project.” He leaned back and dr‹ on his cigar again before continuing.

“You will excuse my insistence on this fact, but I wii to make it clear. Denmark in the past months has suffers many acts of violence within her borders. Crimes ha\ been committed. People have been killed. It is sad to admit, but there are national powers on Earth that will go to any lengths to obtain information about the Daleth drive. I speak to them now, and I beg forgiveness in advance from all of the peace-loving countries of the world, the overwhelming majority. You can stop now. Leave. There is nothing for you to steal. We in Denmark intend to develop the Daleth effect for the greater benefit of mankind. Not for violence.”

He stopped, almost glaring at the screen, then leaned back. Arnie was staring straight ahead, expressionless, as he had done during the entire talk.

“We will now answer any specific questions that you may have.”

The scene on the monitor changed to the auditorium in Copenhagen where the press representatives waited. They sat on chairs, in neat rows, in attitudes of silent attention, while slow seconds slipped by. It was disconcerting to realize that radio waves, even at the speed of light, took measurable seconds to cross the great distance between the Moon and Earth. In an abrupt, galvanic change the scene altered as a number of the newsmen jumped to their feet, clamoring for attention. One of them was recognized and the cameras focused on him, a burly man with a great shock of hair. The white letters UNITED STATES OF AMERICA appeared below him on the screen.