The Daleth Effect

15

Sitting in the darkness, on his bridge, in his chair, Nils Hansen tried to picture himself operating these controls of the Galatliea. Normally not a very imaginative man, he could, when he had to, visualize how a machine would operate, how it would behave. He had test piloted almost all the new jets purchased by SAS, as well as tested new and experimental planes for the Air Force. Before flying a plane he would study blueprints and construction, sit in a mock-up for simulated flight, talk to the engineers. He would learn all the intricacies of the craft he was to fly, learn everything that he possibly could before that moment when he was committed, he alone, to taking it into the air. He was never bored, never in a hurry. Others grew exasperated at his insistence upon examining every little detail, but he never did. Once airborne he was on his own. The more knowledge he carried aloft with him, the better chance he had of a successful flight—and of returning alive.

Now, his particular powers had been taxed to their limit. This craft was so impossibly big, the principles were so new. Yet he had flown Blaeksprutten, and that experience was the most valuable of all. Remembering the problems, he had worked along with the engineers in laying out the controls and instrumentation. Reaching out he touched the wheel lightly—the same standard wheel, purchased from stock, that was in a Boeing 707 jet. He almost felt right at home. /This was connected through the computer to the Daleth drive and would be used for precision maneuvers such as take-off and landing. Altimeter, air-speed indicator, true-speed readout, power consumption—his eyes moved from one to the other, unerringly, despite the darkness.

There was a large pressure-sealed glass port set into the steel wall before him that now gave a good view of the shipyard and the harbor. Although it was after two in the morning and Helsingor was long asleep, the area on all sides of the shipyard was brightly lit and astir with movement. Police cars cruised slowly along the waterfront and flashed their lights into the narrow side streets. A squad of soldiers moved in, loose formation among the buildings. Extra spotlights were mounted above the normal streetlights so the entire area was bright as day. The motor torpedo boat Hejren was anchored across the near end of the harbor with its gun turrets manned and trained.

There was the hum of motors as the bridge door slid open and the radio operator came in, going to his position. Skou was behind him, hobbling on a single crutch. He stood for a moment next to Nils, eyes moving over his posted defenses outside. With a grunt, possibly of approval, he dropped into the second pilot’s chair.

“They know we’re here,” he said. “But that’s all they are going to know. How is this tub?”

“Checked, double-checked, and a few times after that. I’ve done what I can, and the engineers and inspectors have been over every inch of hull and every piece of equipment. Here are their signed reports.” He held up a thick folder of papers. “Anything new on last week’s visitors?”

“A blank, all along the line. Frogman equipment bought right here, in Copenhagen. No marks, tags, papers. Their guns were German P-thirty-eights, Second World War vintage. Could have come from anyplace. We thought we had a lead on their fingerprints, but it was a mistaken identification. I checked it myself. Nothing. Two invisible men from nowhere.”

“Then you’ll never know what country sent them?”

“I don’t really care. A wink is as good as a nod. Someone has winked us and, after that dust-up, the whole world knows that there is something going on up here. They just don’t know what, and I’ve kept them far enough away so they can’t learn more.” He leaned forward to read the glowing dial of the clock. “Not too much longer to go. Everything set?”

“All stations manned, ready to go when they give the word. Except for Henning Wilhelmsen. He’s lying down or sleeping until I call him. It’s his job tonight.”

“Better do that now.”

Nils took up the phone and dialed Henning’s number; it was answered instantly.

“Commander Wilhelmsen here.”

“Bridge. Will you report now.”

“On the way!”

“There!” Skou said, pointing to the road at the far end of the harbor where a half-dozen soldiers on motorcycles had appeared. “It’s moving like clockwork—and well it better! She has been staying at Fredensborg Castle, twenty minutes away.”

Two open trucks, filled with soldiers, came behind the motorcycles, then more motorcycles acting as outriders to a long, black, and exceedingly well-polished Rolls Royce. More soldiers followed. As though this appearance had been a signal—and. it undoubtedly was—truckloads of troops streamed out of the barracks of Kronborg Castle, where they had been waiting in readiness. By the time the convoy and the car they guarded had reached the entrance to the shipyard, a solid cordon of troops surrounded it.

“What about the lights in here?” Nils asked.

“You can have them on now. It’s obvious to the whole town now that something is up.”

Nils switched on the ultraviolet control-board illumination so that all the instruments glowed coldly. Skou rubbed his hands together and smiled. “It’s all working by clockwork. Notice—I command no one. All has been arranged. Every spy-tourist in town is trying to see what is happening, but they can’t get close. In a little while they will be trying to send messages and to leave and will be even less successful. Good Danes are in bed at this hour, they’ll not be disturbed. But all the roads are closed, the trains are not running, the phones don’t work. Even the bicycle paths are sealed. Every road and track—even the paths through the woods—are guarded.”

“Do you have hawks standing by to catch any carrier pigeons?” Nils asked innocently.

“No! By God, should I?” Skou looked worried and chewed at his lip until he saw Nils’s smile. “You’re only kidding. You shouldn’t do that. I’m an old man and who knows, poof, my ticker could stQp at a sudden shock.”

“You’ll outlive us all,” Henning Wilhelmsen said, coming onto the bridge. He was wearing his best uniform, cap and all, and he saluted Nils. “Reporting for duty, sir.”

“Yes, of course,” Nils said, and groped under the control panel for his own hat. “Throw Dick Tracy out of your chair there and we’ll get started on the pre-launch checklist.”

He found the cap and put it on; he felt uncomfortable. He took it off and looked at the dimly seen emblem on the front, the new one with the Daleth symbol on a field of stars. With a quick motion he threw the cap back under the controls.

“Remove your cap,” he said firmly. “No caps to be worn on the bridge.”

Skou stopped at the door and called back. “And thus the first great tradition of the Space Force is born.”

“And no civilians on the bridge, either!” Nils called after the retreating, chuckling figure.

They ran through the list, which ended with calling the crew to their stations. Henning switched on the PA system, and his voice boomed the command in every compartment of the ship. Nils looked out of the port, his attention caught by a sudden busde below. A fork lift was pushing out a prefabricated wooden platform, ready draped with bunting. It was halted just at the curve of the bow and secured in position; men, dragging wires, ran up the stairs on its rear. Everything was still going according to schedule. The phone rang and Henning answered it.

“They’re ready with that patch from the microphones now,” he told Nils.

“Tell them to stand by. Hook it into the PA after you have made an alert check on all stations.”

The crew was waiting, ready at their stations. They were checked, one hy one, while Nils watched the crowd of notables come forward. A military band had appeared and was playing gustily; a thin thread of the music could be heard even through the sealed hull. The crowd parted at the stand and a tall brown-haired woman made her way up the stairs first.

“The Crown Princess Margrethe,” Nils said. “You better get that patch connected.”

The small platform was soon filled, and the PA system came on in the middle of an official speech. It was astonishingly short—Skou’s security regulations must have ordered that—and the band struck up again. Her Royal Highness stepped forward as one of the crewmen on deck lowered a line to the platform, a bottle of champagne dangling from the end. The Princess’s voice was clear, the words were simple.

“I christen thee Galathea….”

The sharp crash of the bottle against the steel hull was clearly heard. Unlike an ordinary christening the ship was not launched at once. The officials moved back to a prepared position and the platform was dragged clear. Only then were the launching orders given. The retaining blocks were knocked clear, and a sudden shudder passed through the sjiip.

“All compartments,” Nils said into the microphone. “See that your loose equipment is secured as instructed. Now take care of yourselves, because there is going to be a slam when we hit the water.”

They moved, faster and faster, the dark water rushing toward them. A tremor, more of a lifting surge than a shock, ran through the fabric of the ship as they struck the water. They were slowed and stopped by the weight of the chain drags, then rocked a bit in the waves caused by their own launching. The tugs and service boats closed in.

“Done!” Nils said, relaxing his hands from their tight grip on the edge of the control panel. “Is the launching always this hard on one?”

“Never!” Henning answered. “Most ships aren’t more than half-finished when they are launched—and I have never heard of one being launched that was not only ready to cruise but had an entire crew aboard. It’s a little shocking.”

“Unusual times cause unusual circumstances,” Nils said calmly, now that the tension of the launching was over. “Take the wheel. As long as we are seaborne you’re in command. But don’t take her down like you would one of your subs.”

“We cruised on the surface most of the time!” Henning was proud of his seamanship. “Plug me into the command circuit,” he called to the radio operator.

While Henning made sure that all of the launching supports had been towed free and that the tugs were in position, Nils checked the stations. There had been no damage, they were not shipping water. They were ready to go.

They could have moved under their own power, but it had been decided that the tugs should warp them free of the harbor first. No one knew what kind* of handling characteristics this unorthodox ship would have, so the engines would not be started until they were in the unobstructed waters of the Sound. After a brief exchange of sharp, fussy blasts on their whistles, the tugs got under way. As they moved slowly down the harbor, following the torpedo boat that had weighed anchor and preceded them, they had their first clear sight of the area beyond.

“Some secret launching,” Henning said, pointing at the crowds that lined the seawall. They were cheering, waving their arms, and the bright patches of Danish flags were to be seen everywhere.

“Everyone in town knew that something was up here. Once we were launched you couldn’t stop them from turning out.”

The tugs swung a long arc and headed for the harbor entrance. The mole and seawall on either side were black with people, and still more running toward the entrance. As the ship slipped through they waved and shouted, many of them with coats over pajamas, wearing a motley array of fur hats, raincoats, anoraks, anything that could be thrown on quickly. Nils resisted a strong impulse to wave back. Then they were through, away from the lights, into the waters of the Oresund: the first waves broke over the low decks, washing around the boots of the crewmen who tended the lines there.

Well clear of the shore the tugs cast off, tooted farewell, and turned about.

“Cast off,” Henning said. “Decks cleared and hatches secured.”

“You may proceed then,” Nils said.

There were a separate set of controls at the second pilot’s position, used only for surface navigation. Two great electric motors were mounted on pods secured to the hull of the ship. Only electric cables penetrated the pressure hull, assuring an airtight continuity. Each motor drove a large six-bladed propeller. There was no rudder; steering was controlled by varying the relative speed of the propellers, which could even be run in opposite directions for sharp turning. Throttles and steering were all controlled from the single position on the bridge, accurate and smooth control being assured by the computer, which monitored the entire operation.

Henning eased forward both throttles and Galathea came to life. No longer shorebound, no longer at tow, she was a vessel in her own right. Waves broke against the bow, streamed down the sides, then splashed onto the deck as their speed increased. The lights of Helsingor began to fall behind them. A dash of spray hit the port.

“What’s our speed?” Nils asked.

“A stupendous six knots. Our hull has all the fine seagoing characteristics of a gravy boat.”

“This will be her first and last ocean cruise, so relax.” He made a quick calculation. “Slacken off to five knots, that will get us to the harbor at dawn.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

Their maiden voyage was going more smoothly than anyone had expected. There was some water seepage around one of the hatches, but this was caused by an incorrectly sized gasket and they could fit one of the spares as soon as they docked. In the semidarkness of the bridge Nils crossed his fingers: it should only stay this way.

“Do you want some coffee, Captain?” Henning asked. “I had some made and put in thermos bottles before we shut the kitchen down.”

“A good idea—send for it.”

A tall seaman, sporting sidewhiskers and a great moustache, brought it a few minutes later, stamping in in his heavy sea boots and saluting broadly.

“Who the devil are you?” Nils asked. He had never seen the man before.

“He’s one of the extra deckhands you asked me to get,” Henning answered. “They had to be found and cleared, three of them, and they just came aboard this afternoon. Things were pretty busy at the time. Jens here has been trying to volunteer for this assignment for months. He says he has experience with the Daleth drive.”

“You what?”

“Yes sir, Captain. I helped weld up the first experimental one. Nearly broke the back of our ship, it did. Captain Hougaard is still trying to find someone to sue.”

“Well—glad to have you aboard, Jens,” Nils said, feeling self-conscious about the nautical terms, though no one else seemed to notice.

Their slow voyage continued. It was less than thirty kilometers by sea from Helsingor to Copenhagen, and it was taking them longer than the million-kilometer voyage to the Moon. They had no choice. Until the Daleth drive was installed, they were nothing more than an underpowered electric tub.

The eastern horizon was gold-barred with dawn when they came to the entrance to the Free Port of Copenhagen. Two tugs, riding the easy swell, were waiting for them. They tied up and, in a reverse of their leavetaking, were eased gently into the Frihavn, to the waiting slip at the Vestbassin.

“That’s good timing,” Nils said, pointing to the convoy just pulling up on the wharf. “They must have been tracking us all the time. Skou told me he had almost a full division of soldiers deployed here. Lining the streets every foot of the way from the Institute. I wish it were all over.” He clenched and unclenched his fists, the only sign of tension.

“You and I both. Nothing can go wrong. Too many precautions, but still…”

“Still, all of our eggs are in one basket. There is the drive.” He pointed to the plastic-wrapped bulk already being eased from the flatbed truck by the dockside crane. “And the professors will be right there with it. All in one basket. But don’t worry, it looks like the entire Danish army is out there. Nothing short of an atom bomb could do anything here today.”

“And what is to stop that?” Henning’s face was white, strained. “There aire a lot of them in this world, aren’t there? What is to stop someone who can’t get the drive from arranging it so no one can get it? Balance of power—”

“Shut up. You have too much imagination.” Nils meant to say it kindly, but there was an unexpected harsh edge to his words. They both looked up, starting slightly as a flight of jets, bright in the rising sun, screeched by close overhead.

“Ours,” Nils said, smiling.

“I wish they would hurry,” Henning answered, refusing to be cheered up.

It would take precision work to get the giant Daleth drive swung aboard and mounted, so despite all the advance preparations it seemed to be maddeningly slow. Even as Gdlathea was being securely moored to the dock, the large hatch on the stern deck was being unbolted and opened; a large crane bent its steel neck over, ready to lift when it was free. The hatch would be used once only, then welded shut. The great steel plate moved up, turning slowly, and was pulled back to the shore. The moment it was free the other crane was swinging out the tubular bull of the Daleth drive. Carefully, with measured movements. it vanished through the hatchway.

The phone rang and Nils answered it, listening and nodding. “Right. Take him to my cabin, I’ll see him there.” He hung up and ignored Henning’s lifted eyebrows. “Take over, I won’t be long.”

An officer in the uniform of Livgarden, the Royal Life Guards, was waiting when he came. The man saluted and held out a thick cream envelope that had been sealed with red wax. Nils recognized the cypher that had been pressed into the wax.

“I’m to wait for an answer,” the officer said. Nils nodded and tore the envelope open. He read the brief message, then went to his desk. In a holder there was some official ship’s stationery, unused until now, that some efficient supply officer had had printed. He took a sheet—this was a fitting first message—and wrote a quick note. He sealed it into an envelope and handed it to the officer.

“I suppose there is no need to address the envelope?” he asked.

“No, sir.” The man smiled. “For my own part, for everyone, let me wish you the best of luck. I don’t think you have any idea of what the country is feeling today.”

“I think that I am beginning to understand.” They saluted—and shook hands.

Back on the bridge, Nils thought of the letter resting now in his safe.

“I suppose that you are not going to tell me?” Henning asked.

“No reason why I should.” He winked, then called over to the radioman, the only other person on the bridge. “Neergaard, take a break. I want you back in fifteen minutes.”

There was silence until the door had soughed shut. “It was from the King,” Nils said. “The public ceremoay for this afternoon was a fake all along. A cover-up. They are going to announce it, we are supposed to tie up by Amalienborg Palace—but we are not going to. As soon as we are ready we get out of here—and leave. He wished us luck. Sorry he couldn’t be here. Once out of the harbor, the next step will be…”

“The Moon!” Henning said, looking out at the welders working on the deck.