Harry Harrison - The Daleth Effect

“Denmark is too small a country to even attempt to exploit an entire solar system—even if we so wished. We do not. We eagerly seek the cooperation of the entire world. In two days Holger Danske will leave on the first voyage to Mars with representatives of many nations aboard. Scientific facilities are under construction there, and scientific workers from a great many countries will remain behind on the red planet to begin a number of research projects. The political representatives will return to tell the people in their own countries what the future will be like. It will be a good one. As Danes we are proud to be able to bring it about.”

He sat down to a thunderous applause, and the band played. The television cameras took in everything while the announcement was made that the guests could now visit the spaceship.

“Wait until you see it,” Ove said. “The first ship ever designed for this job—and no expense has been spared. It is basically a cargo ship, but the fact is well disguised. The entire interior section is made up of cargo holds, with the operating compartments of the ship forward. Which leaves all of the outside for cabins. Each one with a porthole. Luxury, I tell you. Come on, before the press gets too heavy.”

Entrance to the ship was through the customs hall that was used when the Oslo ferry normally tied up at this pier. And the customs officers were still there—still doing their usual jobs. No packages were allowed aboard, briefcases and containers were being checked in. With utmost politeness, the men who were boarding were asked to show the contents of their pockets, the women turned out their handbags. There might be complaints, but high-ranking police and Army officers stood by to handle them quietly. There were even an admiral and a general, chatting with a departmental minister and an ambassador, in a small room to one side. The theory was obviously to have someone of equal—or greater—rank to handle any complaints.

There were none. A few raised eyebrows and cold looks at first, but the Prime Minister led the way by turning out his pockets and showing the contents of his wallet. It had obviously been staged that way, but was important nevertheless. The safety of the Holger Danske was not to be compromised.

As the line moved forward slowly, Martha Hansen found herself paralyzed with fear. She would be discovered and disgraced, and if there had been any place to run to she would have gone at once. But, stumbling, she could only follow the others. UUa was saying something, and she could only nod dumbly in answer. Then she was at the counter and a tall, stern-faced customs officer was facing her. He slowly reached his hand out.

“This is a great day for your husband, Fru Hansen,” he said. “Might I… ?” He gestured toward her purse. She extended it.

“If you will just open it,” he said.

She did so, and he poked through it.

“Your compact,” he said, pointing. She handed it to him and he snapped it open, closed, and returned it.

The glittering eye of the camera brooch pointed directly at him. For a long moment he looked at it, smiling.

“That is all, thank you.” And he turned away.

The Rasmussens were waiting, and Nils was waving from the deck above. She raised her hand, waved back. They went aboard.

Martha held her purse before her, one finger on her new brooch, wondering what she would say to Nils if he noticed it. She need not have worried about it. Normally the calmest of men while on duty, he was not so today. He had his hands clasped behind his back—perhaps to calm them—but his eyes were bright with excitement.

“Martha, this is the day!’* he said, embracing her, lifting her free of the deck for a moment while he kissed her. With passion. She was dizzy when he put her down.

“My goodness…” she said.

“Have you seen this giant of a barge? Isn’t she a dream? There has been nothing like it since the world began. We could carry poor little Blaeksprutten as a lifeboat, honestly! The best part is that this is not a makeshift or a compromise, but a vessel designed only for use with the Daleth drive. My bridge is right out in the leading edge for lateral movement, just like an aircraft, yet has full visibility both up and down for acceleration and deceleration. Come on—let me show it to you. All except the engine room, that’s locked up while visitors are aboard. And if we had the time I would damn well show you my bedroom as well as my cabin.” He put his arm about her as they walked. “Martha, after flying this beauty everything is changed. I think now that flying the biggest aircraft would be like, I don’t know, like pedaling a kiddy car. Come on!”

As they walked through the open spacelock her finger touched the golden whorl on her brooch and she felt it depress slightly.

She hated herself.

“Aren’t they all aboard yet?” Arnie asked, looking out at the wharf from the high vantage point of the bridge. Two men came out of the customs shed, bending over and holding their homburgs down with their hands as the Baltic wind whipped around them. The porters, with their suitcases, came after them.

“Not yet, but we should be nearing the end,” Nils told him. “TU check with the purser.” He dialed the office in the entrance hallway, and the small telephone screen lit up with full color image of the chief purser.

“Sir?”

“How is your head count going?”

The purser consulted his charts, ticking them off with a pencil. “Six more passengers to go, and that’s the lot.”

“Thanks.” He hung up. “Not too bad. Considering that they are doing everything but x-ray them and examine the fillings in their teeth. I suppose that I’ll be hearing plenty of complaints. Ship captains never appear among the passengers until after the first day at sea. I think maybe I’ll try that.”

“With the new computer setup I imagine that you do not have to worry about your exact take-off time?”

“There’s nothing to it.” He patted the gray cabinet of the computer readout near his pilot’s position. “I tell this thing when I want to leave and it gets the answer back almost before we’re through typing. While we are in dock it is plugged into a direct land line to Moscow. After takeoff our computer talks to theirs and there are constant course and velocity checks and corrections.”

They watched another late arrival hurry across the wharf.

“Were the Americans upset about our using the Soviet computer?” Arnie asked.

“I suppose so, but they couldn’t complain because we had no simple line connections to theirs. But we are using only U.S. spacesuits so it evens out. Done on purpose, I’m sure. How was Ove when you saw him?”

Arnie shrugged. “Still in bed, coughing like a seal, still with a fever. I waved from the door, he would not let me come in. He wished us the best of luck. The flu went to his chest.”

“I’m glad you could take his place—though I’m sorry we had to ask you. As soon as all the bugs are ironed out we won’t be needing physicists in the engine room anymore.”

“I do not mind. In fact I enjoy it. Research and teaching are going to be very tame after some of these flights. Like Blaeksprutten to the Moon…”

“With the telephone box welded to the hull! God, those were the days. Look how far we have come.” He waved around the expanse of the bridge, at the uniformed crewmen on duty. The radio operator, talking to control ashore, the navigator, second pilot, instrumentation operator, computer mate. It was an impressive sight. The phone sounded and he answered it.

“All passengers aboard, Captain.”

“Fine. Prepare for take-off in ten minutes.”