Kenneth Gantz - Not in Solitude

“That’s the only time the door was unguarded,” Noel said.

“There had to be at least one other time, and a later one at that, Dane told them. “Because Dr. Pembroke was still in his bed at about 1830. Here’s how I know. We started receiving the first Martian signals that night about 1815. Almost immediately I called Captain Spear and asked him to check to see if anyone was outside the Far Venture. A few minutes later Captain Spear reported everybody present and accounted for. If Dr. Pembroke hadn’t been in bed where he was supposed to be, Spear would have found it out.”

Cragg said, “Sergeant, check the log.”

Peeney flipped the pages, selected one, and ran his finger down the margin. “Yes, sir,” he reported. “It’s here. Just before the entry about the first signals coming in.”

“Read it.”

“Yes, sir.” Peeney frowned at the page and cleared his throat. “‘Checked all personnel for presence inside the spacecraft,’” he read. “‘Requested by Dr. Dane. Dr. Dane reported reason to believe one or more personnel outside contrary to order of the commander. Head count completed at 1831. All present.’”

“There you have it,” Dane said. “The colonel was attacked immediately after 1800 when Captain Spear relieved him at the command post. Dr. Pembroke was not guilty. He couldn’t possibly have been. He was still in his bed at 1830 or very shortly before.”

Noel said, “Unless he slipped out and did his knife act and went back to bed and then slipped out again after the head count.”

Dane said, “After 1800 the nurse was on duty. He couldn’t have got back in. Once maybe, watching for his chance, he might have slipped out when the nurse was in the john or something. But not in and out like it was payday at the bank. Not on that tight schedule. That nurse’s station is right at the entrance and he sits there all the time. You also want to remember that Dr. Pembroke was still unconscious at 1600, when Captain King made his afternoon examination. Huh-uh,” Dane told them. “You’ve lost your candidate.”

Noel said, “Where’s that put you, Dane?”

Dane said, “Right back on the observation deck. At 1800 I was climbing the ladders to get there.”

Cragg said, “That’s enough for now. We get away from here, we’ll have a full-dress investigation. I know one thing. I didn’t put that knife in my own back.”

“One other thing,” Noel said. “Spear’s roll call wasn’t a hundred per cent perfect. If he made it around 1830, he ought to have discovered that the colonel didn’t answer and sent somebody to see why.”

“He wouldn’t check on me,” Cragg said in a tone of affront. “Besides, he had just relieved me at the command post at 1800. He knew I was in the spacecraft. Whatinhell do you think I’d be doing outside!”

Noel said, “It was just a thought.”

“Let’s get on with this jamming idea,” Cragg ruled impatiently. “Sergeant, change the alert. Take-off will now be at 1115.”

Peeney flipped the switches and addressed a low, slow voice to the microphone. Neither Cragg nor McDonald moved when a jumpy buzzer gouged at the hushed command post.

Peeney flipped another switch and listened.

“Major Noel at station, sir. All weapons are ready.”

The tardy minutes counted down. Cragg sat his wheel chair with irreproachable calm. Dane thought of Grant on his log in the evening of Shiloh’s first day. Sergeant Peeney stood at the signal board like an acrobat on edge for his routine. Lieutenant McDonald perched a hip on the chart table, swung a leg to and fro.

At last Cragg moved his eyes, sweeping over them, each one, and said, “Here we go. Have Lieutenant Yudin apply full power to the antennas.”

Peeney pulled a key and spoke into his microphone. After a moment he said, “Full power on now, sir.”

It was anti-climax. Something visible or at least audible should happen. Dane needed events. He knew the unseeable, silent power was surging outward from their human island, but there was no difference now between four men waiting in a sealed, assault-proof chamber and what there had been before Cragg had given the word for action.

While the seconds ticked off, they held their tight tableau. The commander being silent, the others were constrained to silence. Dane felt the oppressive weight of it, heavy on the man who sat comtemplative and outwardly indifferent among them.

Then there was no more suspense. Cragg leaned forward and said, “Start the take-off.”

Peeney chucked a key on the communications panel. McDonald stood briskly up from the chart table and spoke into a microphone, “Commence take-off.”

Cragg said, “Ten per cent power.”

McDonald repeated it in his microphone.

One of the banked speakers came alive, sporting its red pilot light. “Ten per cent power recorded.”

Cragg said, “Work it up to twenty-five.”

McDonald repeated the order into the microphone.

Cragg looked reflectively at Dane. “Fifty-five will do it.”

“Twenty-five per cent,” the speaker interrupted. The voice was excited.

Cragg shot Dane a triumphant look. “It looks like you hit it! That’s the best we’ve reached yet.” His voice took edge. “Push it up to fifty-five. Then give her sixty.”

Dane wondered at the absence of drive noise, before he remembered that the command post was soundproof.

The deck lurched. Dane fell hard against the bulkhead. The floor was dancing, and he was falling and sliding against the other wall. No take-off, he thought dimly, shielding himself against the clattering cascade of things.

The chamber’s box swung once drunkenly and righted itself. A voice said, “Are you all right, sir?”

McDonald was bending over the colonel. Dane saw the frost pinching Cragg’s lips.

“I’d better call Captain King,” McDonald urged.

Cragg caught his breath. “No!” he grunted. He waved the lieutenant back. “Check on the damage. I want to know what happened.” His eyes sought Sergeant Peeney. “Get Major Beloit on the hand phone.”

Dane righted the wheel chair. He got his hands under Cragg’s armpits.

“I can make it,” Cragg protested. He put his palms down against the floor and pushed himself up on his knees. “Maybe,” he gasped.

“Here,” Dane said. He steadied Cragg’s arm and shoulder and got him back in the chair, seeing his lips go white again.

“Major Beloit, sir,” Peeney said.

Cragg took the phone. “What happened?” he demanded.

He listened without interrupting. Finally he said, “Check it over.” He put down the phone. “That was a close one. The drive generators were entering runaway fission when Beloit and Vining managed to stop them. Basic field ratio shot up all at once. Emergency control had no effect on it. It looks like they blew at least two rocket-tube heads. Well?” he acknowledged McDonald.

“Sir, there isn’t any indicated damage to the hull or principal structural members. Only one casualty. One of the civilians thinks his arm is broken.”

Cragg brightened. “We came out of that one pretty lucky. We almost went over on our side.” He shook his head. That would have been it. Anyway, it sure looks like we’re on the right track. We nearly made it that time. We were up to thirty-seven per cent when we went out of control. For a guess I’d say we damn near had your Martians.”

Dane said, “You mean they almost got us. Maybe we shocked them a little, but they were still able to come out of it and upset the balances on the drive.”

“Maybe next time they won’t.” Cragg pointed at the wall charts of the two hemispheres of Mars. “There are millions of square miles in the green areas. That could mean a good many thousands of your colony intelligences. Nations of them maybe, with common interests and objectives. Such as destroying us. Maybe they don’t even know we are trying to leave. They could easily think our take-off radiation is an attack on their life. You don’t know what they think.”