Alexander Kazantsev - The Destruction of Faena

Helplessly wringing his hands. Brat Lua was pacing up and down inside the office that was now his prison.

Tycho Veg was uncomplainingly carrying out his assignment without even giving a thought to the possibility that the disintegration warhead in the spare cabin might be inadequately screened and dangerous to any Faetian who approached it.

To get to the spare cabin, he had to float all the way along the greenhouse through the air-roots that seemed to be trying to hold him back. But he pulled his weightless body forward by clutching at them so as to carry out as quickly as possible the chief’s order, which had been confirmed by a nod from Ala Veg. He tried not to think about his children’s fate, as he tried not to think about anything at all: neither the Faetians on Station Phobo, nor himself. In spite of himself, however, he was thinking that there were only two spaceships at the station. Would six people be able to fly to their native planet in one ship? Of course not! It was only a three-seater. Evidently, they would have to wait for another ship from Faena.

The spare cabin, which resembled a conical cap, was floating not far from the long cigar of the ship, to which it was attached by a cable.

Tycho Veg put on his space-suit and, securing himself with a line, kicked himself off from the greenhouse airlock and floated off into the silvery darkness of space.

He miscalculated and did not reach his goal straightway. He had to wind himself back by pulling in the line hand over hand and then push off again.

This time, he propelled himself with one leg only so as to give his jump better direction.

The spare cabin looked rough to him, like a meteorite. Tycho Veg clung to it and crawled towards the base of the cone, where the cable to the spaceship was secured.

He seized hold of the metal bracket outside the spare cabin and taking up the cable that ran to the ship, began pulling it towards him together with the cabin. After a short time, the cabin came into contact with the ship. Tycho Veg had steeled himself for a tough job. To his great astonishment, however, he noticed that the parts of the ship had been designed for instant replacement. It only needed one contact with the joint for the automatic machinery inside to be activated and for the old cabin to detach itself easily from this ship and sail away towards the stars. The new cabin fitted itself into place with the same ease.

Tycho Veg crawled inside to set the automatic pilot.

Another surprise awaited him inside: there was no need for him to readjust the settings.

The impersonal voice of the automatic machine warned him about this the moment he touched the control panel. All he had to do was to switch on the automatic pilot and go back to the greenhouse.

As soon as he was there, he saw the rocket’s nozzles begin blazing; after making a precisely calculated turn, the ship headed for Phobo on a course that had been unerringly checked by the machines.

Tycho Veg sighed. He had only been doing his duty. He never even gave a thought to whether the warhead had been properly screened.

When he emerged from the lift-cage into the station corridor, he was met by a pale and trembling Ala Veg.

“What’s happened, darling?” asked Tycho.

“Our children… Children…” was all that she could say, and she burst into tears.

She was holding in her hands a tablet inscribed with the latest news by electromagnetic communication. Tycho read it and swayed, resting his hand on the lift-cage door.

The news was that flocks of disintegration torpedoes from Danjab had descended on the continent of the Superiors. There had been devastation and casualties… But Yar Jupi foresaw victory and demanded rejoicing.

Mrak Luton ran into the corridor, waving his arms.

“The Dictator is alive! The Dictator is alive! The Blood Council is continuing the struggle! To your stations! This is a space outpost!”

“Can our observer be in her place?” sneered Nega Luton, who had appeared after him. “She should be worrying about her relatives, not about winning the war.”

Her eyes flashing, Ala Veg went into the observatory.

Tycho Veg was left standing in the corridor. He just couldn’t make sense of what was happening; he just couldn’t believe that his native Pleasure City might be lying in ruins, and his children…

He followed his wife into the observatory.

“I can’t keep watch because of my tears,” said Ala Veg as she turned to him. “Take my place at the instrument. A strange star has appeared in that quarter.”

“Could it be our ship with the warhead?” “No, it’s somewhere else.”

Tycho began helping his wife and they soon established that the unknown star was not obeying the usual laws of celestial mechanics and seemed to be choosing its own flight trajectory.

Summoned by the alarm signal, Mrak Luton rushed into the observatory and peered suspiciously at Tycho and Ala Veg.

“News from Faena? Orders from the Dictator? An instruction from the Blood Council?”

“No,” replied Ala Veg. “Communications have broken down. We have also lost contact with Station Phobo.”

“With Phobo?” bellowed Mrak Luton. “Treachery? Who dared to communicate with Phobo, the enemy fortress in space?” He drew his pistol and brandished it threateningly at them.

“I am simply reporting that communications with them do not exist. The former channel has gone dead, as if something had happened there.”

“It hasn’t happened yet! But it soon will! Are you watching our torpedo’s flight?”

“It’s flying dead on course, but…”

“What else?”

“It’s being intercepted by an unidentified ship. Apparently from Phobo. It seems to be heading for us. Is it possible that the station personnel have packed and are flying to us?”

Mrak Luton roared with laughter.

“So as to surrender? To dump themselves on us? To gobble up our food supplies? To breathe our oxygen? Or do they want to escape the punitive torpedo?”

“But they might not know we sent it.”

“But I know their ship’s coming our way. Engineer Tycho Veg, I order you to fire a defence rocket. The approaching ship must be destroyed.”

“What d’you mean ‘destroyed’?” protested Ala Veg. “Mightn’t there be living Faetians on board?”

“Living Faetians?” jeered Mrak Luton. “As if there were living Faetians flying in our ship with the warhead! I’ve issued my orders. Send out defence rockets, knock it out, destroy it!” Mrak Luton stamped his foot in a frenzy and brandished his pistol.

Tycho Veg left the observatory. He knew where the defence rockets were. They were not covered by the Agreement on Peace in Outer Space. They were short-range missiles and could not reach another station, but they were capable of locating in space and destroying the target approaching Deimo.

To activate these defence weapons, Tycho Veg did not have to descend into the greenhouse. It was enough to go to Station Deimo’s Central Console.

He fired the defence rockets when the ship from Station Phobo was clearly distinguishable as a point glittering in Sol’s rays.

He returned to his wife in the observatory, looking dejected and drained of his strength. He felt he had done something dreadful.

Ala Veg could not hold back her tears.

“There are Faetians on board, there could be living Faetians on board,” she kept repeating. “And no news from Faena.”

“Our children can’t possibly have been killed,” said Tycho Veg, who had no grounds whatever for such a statement.

He squinted through the eyepiece and saw something flare up in space like a nova. One of defence rockets had exploded on encountering the ship from Phobo.

On the big screen displaying the image, the ship-star plunged steeply after the explosion towards the surface of Mar. It had been knocked out of orbit by the force of the blast, but not destroyed.