The Unorthodox Engineers

Five minutes to zero hour, and Fritz took a last check on his instruments. He had already signalled Jacko to begin preliminary switching when he heard footsteps and voices echoing in the corridors leading to the platform. He snatched up the communicator.

“Hold it, Jacko. I think I’ve got company. Do nothing until you hear from me.”

“Right,” said Jacko. “But it’s none of our boys down there, I promise you.”

“No,” said Fritz, “unless I mistake the gruff undertones it’s Colonel Nash and his aides. I’ll have to get rid of them, of course. We’d get ourselves a bad name if we knocked off all of the top brass in one go.” He slammed down the handset and marched up the platform just as Nash and his retinue arrived.

“Lieutenant van Noon,” said Nash icily, “I have just been informed of your intention of trying to re-start the Tazoon subway this evening. As this is a project of the first magnitude I think I should have been more directly informed.”

“You will be, sir, as soon as we have anything to report.”

“I don’t think you quite appreciate my point,” said Nash. “If you succeed in this it will be the very first Tazoon mechanical artifact of any moment to have been re-started. As such it is a rather—er— historical occasion. Naturally I’d have liked to have been asked to be present.”

“And I don’t think you quite appreciate my point,” said Fritz. “There comes a stage in the progress of any project which is usually obscured by a notice reading: Danger, Engineers Testing. As far as we know the Tazoon subway is intact and perfectly preserved. From an engineering point of view there is no reason why we can’t switch on the current and have it back in operation as it last was.”

“Well?” asked Nash ominously. “What’s the problem then?”

Fritz shrugged. “How do we know that what was normal for the Tazoons is even remotely tolerable for us? The power input for this one sector of the line is quite fantastic by Terran standards. The Tazoons don’t appear to have been fools about the efficiency of power conversion, so I can only conclude that Tazoon subway operation was a pretty hectic procedure. When they throw the master switch upstairs we shall have a sample of Tazoon mechanical environment in the raw. I don’t want anybody down here at that moment who isn’t absolutely essential to the success of the operation.”

Colonel Nash snorted with irritation. “The best available information to date indicates that the Tazoons were small-boned, avian and somewhat fragile creatures. I am perfectly certain that officers of the Terran Exploratory task force are able to tolerate the conditions in a deserted subway every bit as well as its former occupants. But if you happen to be so unsure of your mechanical aptitude why don’t you switch things on a piece at a time?”

“Because,” said Fritz, “as far as we can tell the whole system is interlocked back to a master computing house of such complexity that it will likely take years to unravel the individual controls. For reasons best known to themselves the Tazoons did not appear to have been in favour of local circuit isolators, so we have to accept the whole—or nothing at all. I’m making a formal request, sir, for you to leave. If you remain I can’t be responsible for the consequences.”

“Are you staying, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then we stay too. I appreciate it’s your show, but I think you’re over-stressing the danger angle.”

“Very well,” said Fritz. “But remember it was your decision.” He returned wearily to his communication point. “Jacko, prepare to switch on.”

“Have they gone?”

“No, they insist on staying to see the fireworks.”

“Ouch! I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“If I did,” said Fritz, “the chances are that nothing would persuade me to stay on this platform while you throw that switch. Bring the current up to a maximum over thirty seconds and hold it there for three minutes. If you can’t contact me on the communicator immediately you’ve switched off again then get down here fast with all the emergency equipment you’ve got.”

“Right,” said Jacko. “And good luck! I’m giving you a count-down of ten… ”

Seven

If Fritz van Noon was prepared for the worst experience of his life he was still unprepared for the sheer intensity and quality of the impressions which assaulted him. The whole tunnel cavity lit up in a kaleidoscope of lights of unbelievable colour-range and brilliance. The air grew rapidly and uncomfortably hot and choking with acrid vapours which his lungs could not accept and which burned his skin like the breath of a playful blowlamp.

But it was the noise that dug furrows in his soul. A series of rising screams from a dozen mechanical throats passed up through the audible range and into the low ultrasonic, causing dust fires to break out at intervals along the platform. Devices hammered and clattered and chattered in a cacophony which clawed at his eardrums with red-hot needles. Literally every fragment of the installation vibrated or resonated or contributed in some way to the atmosphere of screaming, explosive thunder. Ominously, the train which Fritz had stationed himself to watch, held motionless for a full minute then discharged itself in a rumbling, grinding ricochet into the station and down the further tunnel, accompanied by a cataclysmic roar which contained all the acoustic qualities of a continuous collision with an unending series of cheap tin tea-trays.

Scarcely had the first train disappeared from view than another skeleton juggernaut hurled itself upon the station and drove a hectic and furious path straight down the line and was gone before his senses could properly interpret its arrival. Fritz cringed before the shock-wave of its passing and watched his precious monitoring instruments scatter in all directions. He ground his teeth in mental pain at the sound of the mechanical anguish of tortured metal biting into tortured metal. Sparks and white-hot fragments showered the platform and peppered his clothing with a pattern of small singed holes.

Colonel Nash and his entourage were now crouched against the wall further down the platform, white- faced and with their hands over their ears, while some noise-making instrument above aimed horrific noises at their heads. Under their feet the dust smouldered with a repulsive miasmatic odour which seemed to hit them in waves.

Fritz flinched as yet another train entered the station, this one fighting to halt itself with a spine-chilling screech of unseen brakes which fought valiantly to kill the considerable momentum. He gritted his teeth and watched its progress until it finally shuddered to a halt. With his monitoring equipment out of action he was forced to estimate the vehicle’s speed mentally and make a rough guess at the G-forces which would act on the passengers of a vehicle involved in such a drastic reduction of speed. The answer told him more about the physiology of the Tazoons than Nevill had deduced in the previous twelve months.

Abruptly the power died and his eyes were forced to adapt to the relative dimness of the Terran floodlights. His ears still whistled and ached from their recent battering, and the intolerable heat and humidity made him feel like the occupant of some outlandish turkish bath. Nash climbed unsteadily to his feet, and picked his way carefully around the untidy layers of dust on the platform. His aides, displaying classic pen-pusher courage, made straight for the exit.

Nash headed towards Fritz.

“Van Noon!”

“Sir?” Fritz saluted briefly while trying to balance an audio-frequency spectrum analyser which was in danger of falling off the platform into the channel.

“I owe you an apology,” said Nash. “Lord, that was ruddy awful! I’m not saying you didn’t warn me—but where in hell did you get all that power?”

“I’ll be reporting on that, sir, as soon as I’ve tidied a few details.”

“Very well,” said Nash. “There’ll be a Staff conference at three o’clock tomorrow in my office. I’d appreciate your answer then.”

He turned and strode off, while Fritz became aware of the communicator buzzing urgently.