Orbitsville

so much work still to do. There was so much to learn about Orbitsville.”

They’re going to learn at least one thing as a result of this mission, Garamond thought. They’re going to find out how the shell material stands up to the impact of fifteen thousand tons of metal travelling at a hundred kilometres a second. And they won’t even have to go far from the aperture to see the big bang… Garamond felt an icy convulsion in his stomach as he half-glimpsed an idea. He sat perfectly still for a moment as the incredible thought began to form, to crystallize to the point at which it could be put into words. His brow grew chill with sweat. “Has anybody,” Denise Serra asked in a calm, clear voice, “considered the possibility of adjusting our course in such a way that we would pass through the aperture at Beachhead City?”

Again the room filled with silence. Garamond felt a curious secondary shock on hearing the words he was still formulating being uttered by another person. The silence lasted for perhaps ten seconds, then was broken by a dry laugh from O’Hagan.

“You realize that, at our speed, running into a wall of air would be just like hitting solid rock? I’m afraid your idea doesn’t change anything.”

“We don’t have to run into a wall of air — not if we turn the ship over again and go in nose first with the electron gun operating at full power.”

“Nonsense,” O’Hagan shouted. He cocked his head to one side as if listening to an inner voice and his fingers moved briefly on the computer terminal before him. “It isn’t nonsense, though.” He corrected himself without embarrassment, nodding his apologies to Denise Serra, and others at the conference table began to address the central computer through their own terminals.

“Overload power on the gun should give us enough voltage for the few seconds we would need it. It should be enough to blast a tunnel through the atmosphere.”

“At this stage we have enough lateral control over our flight path to bring it through the aperture.”

“But remember we haven’t got the full area of the aperture as a target. We’d be going in at an angle of about seventy degrees.”

“It’s still good enough — as long as no other ships get in the way.”

“There’s still time to do some structural strengthening on the longitudinal axis.”

“We’ll shed enough kinetic energy…”

“Hold it a minute,” Garamond commanded, raising his voice above the suddenly optimistic clamour, “We have to look at it from all angles. If we did go through the aperture, what would be the effect on Beachhead City?”

“Severe,” O’Hagan said reflectively. “Imagine one purple hell of a lightning bolt coming up through the aperture immediately followed by an explosion equivalent to a tactical nuclear weapon.”

“There’d be destruction?”

“Undoubtedly. But there’s plenty of time to evacuate the area — nobody would have to die.”

“Somebody mentioned colliding with another ship.”

“That’s a minor problem, Vance.” O’Hagan looked momentarily surprised at having used Garamond’s given name for the first time in his life. “We can advise Fleet Control of our exact course and they’ll just have to make certain the way is clear.”

Garamond tried to weigh the considerations, but he could see only the faces of his wife and child. “Right! We do it. I want to see a copy of the decision network plan, but start taking action right away. In the meantime I’ll talk to Fleet Control.”

The ten science-oriented and engineering officers at the table instantly launched into a polygonal discussion and the noise level in the room shot up as communications channels were opened to other parts of the ship. Within a minute perhaps thirty other men and women were taking part, many of them vicariously present in the form of miniaturized, but nonetheless solid and real-looking, images of their heads, which transformed the long room into a montage of crazy perspectives.

Garamond could almost feel the wavecrest of hope surging through all the levels of the disabled vessel. He told Napier to make an announcement about the situation on the general address system, then went into his private suite and put a call through to Fleet Control. It was taken not by the Fleet Movements Controller, as Garamond had expected, but by a Starflight admin man, Senior Secretary Lord Nettleton. The Senior Secretary was a handsome silver-haired man who had a reputation for his devotion to the Lindstrom hierarchy. He was of a type that Elizabeth liked to have around, capable of presenting a benign fatherly image, while keeping himself remote from the inner workings of the system.

“I was expecting somebody on the operations side,” Garamond said, dispensing with the standard formal mode of address.

“The President has taken the matter under her personal control. She is very much concerned.”

“I’ll bet she is.”

“I beg your pardon?” Nettleton’s resonant voice betrayed a degree of puzzlement which was an open challenge to Garamond to speak his mind.

Again Garamond thought about his wife and child. “The President’s concern for the welfare of her employees is well known.”

Nettleton inclined his head graciously. “I’m aware of how futile words are under the circumstances, Captain Garamond, but I would like to express my personal sympathy for you and your crew in this…”

“The reason I called is to inform Starflight that the Bissendorf has enough lateral control to enable it to pass through the aperture into the interior of Orbits… Lindstromland, and that is what I intend to do.”

“I don’t quite understand.” Nettleton’s image underwent several minute but abrupt changes of size which told Garamond other viewers were switching into the circuit. “I am informed that you are travelling at a hundred kilometres a second and have no means of slowing down.”

“That’s correct. The Bissendorf is going to hit Beachhead City like a bomb. You will have to evacuate the area around the aperture. My science staff can help with the estimates of how widespread the damage will be, but in any case I strongly recommend that you issue warnings immediately. You have less than eight hours.” Garamond went on to explain the proposed action in detail, while continued perturbations of the image showed that his unseen audience was increasing every second.

“Captain, what happens if your ship misses the aperture and strikes the shell material below the city itself?”

“We are confident of passing through the aperture.”

“All you’re saying is that the probability is high, but supposing you do miss?”

“It is our opinion that the shell would be undamaged.”

“But the shell is one of the greatest scientific enigmas ever known — on what do you base your predictions about its behaviour under that sort of impact?”

Garamond allowed himself a smile. “In the last hour or so our instinct about these things has become highly developed.”

“This is hardly a time for jokes.” Nettleton looked away for a moment, nodded to someone off screen, and when he turned back to Garamond bis eyes were sombre. “Captain, have you thought about the possibility that Starflight may not be able to grant you permission to aim for the aperture?”

Garamond considered the question. “No — but I’ve thought about the fact that there is absolutely nothing Starflight can do to stop me.”

Nettleton shook his head with regal sadness. “Captain, I’m going to put you through to the President on a direct connection.”

“I haven’t the time to speak to her,” Garamond told him. “Just send a message to my wife that I’ll be back with her as soon as I can.” He broke the connection and returned to the operations room, hoping he had sounded more confident than he felt.

* * *

Lindstrom Centre was austere compared to its equivalent on Earth, but it was the largest and most palatial building on Orbitsville. It was octagonal in plan and had been built on a slight eminence some twenty kilometres east from Beachhead City, to which it was joined by power and communication cables stretched on low pylons. No attempt had yet been made to sculpt the hill according to the President’s ideas of what it ought to be, so the