The Daleth Effect

“Danish?” Shavkun gasped, pointing to the flag painted on the small conning tower. “That is Danish, isn’t it?” Zlotnikova nodded, silently, then realized that his jaw was gaping open and closed it wife a sharp click. The radio rustled and squealed, and a voice came in over the music in very loud, very bad, Russian.

“Hello Vostok IV, can you read me? This is Blaeks- prutten, and I have landed near you. Can you read me? Over.”

Colonel Nartov looked at the microphone in his hand and started to turn it on. He stopped and shook his head, trying to rally his thoughts, then reached for the radio controls. Only after he had cut the output power to a trickle did he switch on the transmitter. For some automatic defensive reason, he did not wish Moscow to hear this conversation.

“This is Vostok IV. Colonel Nartov. Who is that speaking? Who are you? What are you doing here—” The colonel cut himself off abruptly, feeling that he was about to start babbling.

Aboard Blaeksprutten, Ove listened and nodded. “Contact established,” he told the others. “Better put that curtain up now while I get them over here.” He switched the radio on. “Govoreetye ve po AngleeskeeT* he asked.

“Yes, I speak English.”

“Very good, Colonel,” Ove said, changing with some relief to that language. “I am pleased to tell you that we are here to bring you back to Earth. In your broadcast a few minutes ago you said that all three of you are all right. Is that true?”

“Of course, but…”

“That’s fine. If you would get into your spacesuits…”

“Yes, but you must tell me…”

“First things first, if you please, Colonel. Do you think you could put on your suit and step over here for a minute? I would come myself, but unhappily we don’t have any space gear. If you don’t mind?”

“I am on my way.” There was a certain positiveness in the way the message ended.

“The colonel didn’t sound so happy for a man whose life had just been saved,” Nils said, threading the line through the grommets in the large tarpaulin that was spread out on the deck. It was gray and weatherstained, with a certain memory of fish lingering about it, perhaps from being stored near the marine life specimens in the hold of the Vitus Bering.

“He’s happy enough, I imagine,” Ove said, going to help the others with the clumsy canvas. “But I guess it will take a little getting used to. He was in the middle of a very dramatic sort of deathbed speech when we interrupted.”

They threaded the lines through ringbolts in the ceiling and hauled it up. It made a wrinkled barrier the width of the small cabin, cutting off sight of the Daleth unit and the fusion generator.

“Better not tie down this corner,” Ove said. “I have to get past it to reach the engine compartment.”

“It doesn’t seem a very effective barrier,” Nils said.

“It will do,” Arnie told him. “These men are officers and presumably gentlemen—and we are saving their lives. I do not think they will cause any trouble.”

“No, I guess not…” Nils looked out of the port. “Say, their lock is opening—and here comes someone. Probably the colonel.”

Colonel Nartov still had not adjusted to the changed circumstances. He had put on his spacesuit with automatic motions, ignoring the excited speculation of the other two cosmonauts, then stood calmly while they checked and sealed it. Now, jumping the last few feet to the surface of the Moon, he took a grip on himself. This was really happening. They were not going to die. He would see Moscow, his wife and family, again, and that was a pleasant thought. This strange craft had come to the Moon so it could undoubtedly return to Earth. Details would be explained later. Bringing his men back alive was his first concern. Head up, he strode toward the submarine, the dust and pebbles kicked up by his thick-soled boots falling back instantly to the airless surface.

A man was visible in the round port above, wearing a peaked cap of some kind, pointing downward with his finger and nodding his head. What on Earth—or the Moon—could it mean?

When the colonel came closer he saw that a thick-lidded box had been hurriedly welded to the hull. It was labeled телефон in black Cyrillic characters. He loosened the large thumb screw that held the cover into place, then swung it open and took out the telephone handset that was on a bracket inside. When he pressed it hard against his helmet the vibrations of his voice carried through well enough, and he could understand the man on the other end.

“Can you hear me, Colonel?”

“Yes.” The cord was long enough so that when he stepped back he could see the man with another telephone through the port above.

“Good, I’m Captain Nils Hansen, Danish Air Force, Senior Danish Captain with SAS. I’ll introduce the others when you come aboard. Can you reach the deck above you?”

The colonel squinted upward against the glare. “Not now. But we can attach a rope, working together, or something. The gravity is very light.”

“// shouldn’t be hard. Once on deck you will find that there is a hatch on top of the conning tower, unsealed. The conning tower is just big enough to hold three men, with crowding, and you will all have to come in at once since it is not a proper airlock. Get in, seal the top hatch just as tightly as you can, then knock three times on the deck. We’ll let the air in then. Can you do this?”

“Of course.”

“Can you bring whatever oxygen you have left? We don’t want to run short on the return trip. We should have enough, but it doesn’t hurt to have some extra”

“We will do that. We have a last cylinder that we have just tapped.”

“One final thing before you go. We have some—secret equipment aboard, out of sight behind a screen. We would like to ask you to avoid going near it.”

“You have my word,” the colonel said, drawing himself up. “And my officers will give you their word as well.^,, He looked at the big-jawed, smiling man through the thick port and, for the first time, the reality of this last-minute reprieve struck home to him. “I would like to thank you, for all of us, for what you are doing. You have saved our lives.”

“We are glad to be here, and very happy that we could do it. Now…”

“We will be back. In very few minutes.”

When he returned to the capsule, the colonel could see the two faces watching him through the port, close together, pressed to the glass like children at the window of a candy store. He almost smiled, but stopped himself in time.

“Get your suits on,” he said when he had cycled through the lock. “We are going home. Those Danes are taking us.” He switched on the radio and picked up the microphone in order to silence their stammered questions. The distant band, now playing “Meadowland,” moaned and died as his call went out.

“Yes, Vostok TV, we hear you. Is there any difficulty? Your last message was interrupted. Over.”

The colonel frowned, then switched on.

“This is Colonel Nartov. This is a final message. I am switching off and closing communication now.”

“Colonel, please, we know how you feel All Russia is with you in spirit. But the General wishes —”

“Tell the General that I will contact him later. Not by radio.” He took a deep breath and kept his thumb on the switch. “I have his Kremlin telephone number. I will call him from Denmark.” He switched off quickly and killed the power. Should he have said more? What could he have said that would have made any sense? Other countries would be listening.

“Oh hell,” he snapped at his two wide-eyed companions. “Major, get the log books, film, records, samples, put them into a box. Lieutenant, close the oxygen cylinder and unship it so we can take it with us. We’ll go on suit oxygen now. Any questions?” There was only silence, so he snapped his faceplate closed.

“Here they come,” Nils called out a few minutes later. “The last one just climbed down, and they have closed the airlock. They are bundled down with a lot of junk, records and such I imagine, one of them even has a