Kenneth Gantz - Not in Solitude

Dane wondered briefly at what had become of Tong Asia.

“Maybe we don’t have the power to jam enough of them,” Cragg went on. “But we’re going to try it again if the drive will still operate. This time we’ll heat ‘em up for an hour before we try our take-off.”

McDonald was holding one of the phones to his ear. He slapped it back on its contact and said, “Sir, Dr. Spivak reports external radiation has gone up rapidly since the explosion. It’s now at twenty-eight per cent penetrations and still climbing. Dr. Spivak says it’s nearing double our estimated critical point. Hull temperature is rising.”

A particularly unattractive death, Dane thought. For all their timageel shell, almost impregnable to a diamond drill, for all their careful insulations, the infinitesimal bullets were tearing through their bodies, smashing their soft organs, enfeebling their brain cells. In a few minutes, perhaps no more than an hour, they would be inseminated with the seed of death. By another day the Far Venture would be tenanted by the walking dead.

Cragg said, “Get me Major Beloit. We’ll attempt another take-off in fifteen minutes. Have Yudin turn full power into the antennas immediately.”

Dane broke in. “Colonel, I’ve been thinking.”

Cragg said, “Later.”

Dane kept on talking. “The messages we have received have always talked about the Martians as ‘one.’ In the singular. Always. Maybe it’s just their idiom, but then again it might mean that there is only one Martian. What would you think,” he pressed on, “if all the lichens of Mars formed one big single plant colony? One enormous unit of intelligence? So that the entire growth of lichens on the surface of Mars is like the cortex of one tremendous brain? That could explain the one business. Maybe the whole planet is one single mind. The local lichens around us would be just a small part of it. Even those in this hemisphere would amount to only about half. Maybe we only jammed a small part of the whole thing!”

“A vital spot!” Cragg exclaimed. “You mean that if there is only one big intelligence, all we have to do is find a vital spot? So how do we find it?”

“Not a vital spot. I wasn’t thinking of a vital spot. It’s a possibility, but I don’t see how we’re going to broadcast enough force to jam a mental activity that spreads over a whole planet.”

Cragg banged down his fist. “We’ll not rot here for lack of trying!”

A buzzer sounded. Dane saw the red light wink on the communications panel. McDonald flicked the key and spoke into his mouthpiece. When he had finished, he turned a serious face to Cragg. “Sir, the foreign radiation has passed three times the critical point. Spivak says maybe we have underestimated the critical point but not so much that we can take a triple dose. He says the hull temperature is already over four degrees higher. After correction.”

Cragg pushed himself to his feet. With effort plain he made the few steps to the wall charts. He took up a grease pencil and made X-marks over the green continents. When he put the pencil down, his black crosses stood at roughly even intervals over all the lichen forests of Mars.

He said, “McDonald, take the co-ordinates of those points. Approximate them. Tell fire control that I want major primary nuclear missiles laid simultaneously on every target point I marked. Tell Major Noel that I will expect him to be ready to fire number one inside of five minutes.”

He nodded at Sergeant Peeney. “Get me Major Beloit on the horn. Then alert all stations for another take-off.”

He grinned crookedly at Dane. “I’ll give you enough radiation to shock hell out of something. We’ll see how your Martian brain can take a fission headache.”

Dane counted the marks on the charts. Twenty-eight. Two dozen and a quarter of atom missiles. It was a grand slam or nothing!

Cragg got back into his chair without the help he disdained. He took the hand phone and said, “Beloit, I want another trial on take-off immediately…. That’s what I said,” he repeated. “Immediately. In fifteen minutes, that is… I don’t give a damn about the tubes. She’ll have to climb out of here on what we’ve got left.”

He listened some more. “Vining, I don’t give a damn about the runaway fission either…. No, you’re mistaken. You don’t have any responsibility for you to refuse to take. I have the responsibility.”

He handed the instrument back to Sergeant Peeney. “He’s a little nervous, Vining is.”

Dane said, “He’s got company.”

Cragg laughed, “Why not? This isn’t what I’d call a Sunday afternoon drive, myself.” He shrugged. “So she blows, she blows. One thing for certain, we don’t sit here on our rears for your Martian to roast us without trying something.”

AT 1131 the buzzer sounded and Noel’s voice came through. “All missiles laid for firing.” It was six minutes after Cragg had given him the word.

Cragg pointed at the hand phone. He lifted it from Peeney’s reach with expressionless care. “Buzz drive,” he said. When he had his connection, he said, “Beloit, you ready for take-off?”

Dane heard Beloit husking the diaphragm.

“Good,” Cragg replied. “Stand by.” He swung to McDonald. “What does fire control calculate the lag from firing time to detonation on targets?”

McDonald sent the question over the wire. “Minutes 14, seconds 19,” he relayed the answer to Cragg.

“We won’t take it that long,” Cragg snapped. “Step it up to maximum lag of minutes 5.”

McDonald hesitated. “Sir, they’re over escape velocity now. Major Noel is already afraid the missiles won’t control.”

Cragg swore. “So they don’t! Just make sure they strike somewhere in the target regions. Hurry it up, man!”

McDonald grabbed at the microphone, missed, and grabbed again, but he repeated the order steadily.

A speaker crackled. Noel’s voice came on the emergency circuit. Noel to Colonel Cragg. Colonel, it won’t work. I am preparing to fire on original calculations.”

“Shut that damn thing off,” Cragg roared. “Give me that pad, Sergeant.” He scribbled rapidly. “McDonald, deliver this order to Major Noel. He is relieved from duty. You take over down there. Hurry it up. Take it over and let’s go.”

McDonald sprang smoothly alive. With one motion he snatched the paper and thrust past Dane. Peeney jumped to the door and worked the seal-off handles.

Cragg said, “I didn’t think he’d ever crack. The man’s like a machine.” He swiveled the wheel chair around and urged it to the control desk. Jabbing out a hand, he scooped up the microphone and manipulated the switch keys. “Put Major Noel on. This is Colonel Cragg.”

Dane heard a choked oath. He whirled around at the door. Peeney had it open now. Wide. Major Noel stood framed in the opening. He pushed a snub-nosed Air Force revolver rigidly forward, his lips twisted in a tight grin.

“At your service, Colonel,” he said. “Temporarily.” He swung the muzzle at McDonald. “If you and the sergeant will be good enough to get back out of my way.”

“What in the very hell are you trying to do?” Cragg shouted. “You’re under arrest!”

Noel chuckled. “A slight correction, sir. You are under arrest. I have taken over the command.” He stepped inside. “Here are my orders.” He waved the pistol.

“I wouldn’t try it,” he cracked sharply at McDonald.

McDonald’s hand relaxed.

Cragg’s voice shook with anger. “Noel, you will put that weapon here on the table and go to your quarters. We’re under severe radiation. It’s your life as well as ours, if we don’t get off the ground immediately.”

Noel nudged the heavy door shut with his foot. He put his other hand behind him and pushed down the dogging that sealed it. “Now that we’re alone I’ll attend to the take-off. First there are a few preliminaries.” He looked at Dane. “I’m sorry you had to be in here. I owe you a debt. Anyway, you think too much. Worst of all, you talk too much.”