The Daleth Effect

23

“What compartment was that?” Nils shouted, reaching for the dial on the phone. “Did anyone recognize that man?”

Gev reached out and stopped him as he was about to dial: the sergeant raised his gun and centered it on Gev’s back.

“Wait,” Gev said. “Think. There is trouble, you know that much. That is enough for the moment. Alert your defenses first—if you have any. Then find out what area is threatened. I saw airtight doors throughout the ship. Can they be closed from here?”

“Yes…”

“Then close them. Slow down whatever is happening.”

Nils hesitated an instant. “It’s a good idea, sir,” the sergeant said. Nils nodded.

“Close all interior bulkhead doorways,” he ordered. The instrumentation officer threw back a protective plastic cover and flipped a row of switches.

“Those doors can be opened on the spot,” the sergeant said.

“The local controls can be overridden in an emergency,” the instrumentation officer said.

“This is an emergency,” Nils told him. “Do it.”

Gev went to the wall by the door, out of their way. The sergeant lowered his gun.

“I did not mean to interfere with your command, Captain,” Gev said. “It is just that I have a certain experience in these things.”

“I’m glad that you’re here,” Nils told him. “We may have to use that experience.” He dialed the engine room, and the call was answered at once by one of the technicians.

“A malfunction, sir. Exit doors are closed and can’t be budged—”

“This is an emergency. There is trouble aboard, we don’t know quite what yet. Stay away from the doors, no one gets in there—and let me know if you have any trouble.”

“I think I recognized that man,” the radio operator said hesitantly. “A cook, or something to do with the kitchen.”

“Good enough.” Nils dialed the kitchen but the call was not completed. “That’s where they are. But what the hell can they want with the kitchen?”

“Weapons, perhaps,” Gev said. “Knives, cleavers, there will be plenty of them. Or perhaps something else… Could I see a plan of the ship?”

Nils turned to Arnie. “Tell me quickly,” he said. “Is this man on our side?”

Arnie nodded slowly. “I think he is now.”

“All right. Sergeant, back to your post. Neergaard, get me the deck plans.”

They unrolled them on the table and Gev stabbed down with his finger. “Here, what does kokken mean?”

“Kitchen.”

“It makes sense. Look. It can be reached from the dining room, unlike any other part of the working section of this ship. Also—it shares an interior wall with the engine room. Which I assume is this one here.” Nils nodded.

“Then they won’t try the doors. They’ll cut their way in. Is there any way you can reach the engine room quickly? To reinforce the people there in case…”

The phone rang and the engineering officer came on the screen. “A torch of some kind, Captain, burning a hole through the wall. What should we do?”

“What did he say?” Gev asked, catching the man’s worried tone but not understanding the Danish. Arnie quickly explained. Gev touched Nils’s arm. “Tell them to get a bench or a table against the wall at this spot, pile anything heavy against it. Make entrance as difficult as possible.”

Nils was looking haggard after issuing the orders. “They can’t possibly stop them from breaking in.”

“Reinforcements?”

There was no humor in Nils’s smile. “We have one gun aboard, the one worn by the sergeant.”

“If possible get him to the engine room. Unless you can counterattack through the kitchen. Strike hard, it is the only way.”

“You would know,” Nils said. “Get the sergeant in here. I’ll have to ask him to volunteer. It’s almost suicide.”

The sergeant nodded when they told him what was happening.

“I’ll be happy to undertake this, Captain. It could work if they are not heavily armed. I have another clip of bullets, but I won’t take them. I doubt if there will be much chance to reload. I’ll make these count. I can go in through that door from the aft storeroom. If it opens quietly enough I could surprise them.”

He carefully laid his cap aside and turned to General Gev, tapping the row of decorations on his chest. Instead of Danish he talked English now, with a thick Cockney accent.

“I saw you looking at this, General. You’re right, I was in Palestine, in the British Army, fighting the Hun. But when they started on your refugee ships afterwards, keeping them out, I went lost. Deserted. Back to Denmark. That wasn’t my kind of thing.”

“I believe you, Sergeant. Thank you for telling me.”

The doors were unlocked in sequence so he could go through.

“He should be there by now,” Nils said. “Call the engine room.”

The technician was excited. “Captain—it sounded like shots! We could hear them through the wall, an awful lot of them. And the cutting has stopped.”

“Good,” Gev said when he was told what had happened. “They may not have been stopped but they have been slowed down.”

“The sergeant has not come back,” Nils said. “He did not expect to.” There was no expression at all on General Gev’s face: emotion in battle was a luxury he could not afford. “Now a second counterattack must be launched. More men, volunteers if possible. Ann them with anything. We have a moment’s respite and advantage must be taken of it. I will lead them if you will permit me…”

“The phone, Captain,” the radio operator said. “It is one of the American delegation.”

“I can’t be bothered now.”

“He says he knows about the attack and he wants to help.”

Nils picked up the phone, and the image of a man with thick-rimmed glasses, his face set in lines of gloom, look^l out at him.

“I understand the Reds are attacking you, Captain Hansen. I can offer you some help. We are on the way to the bridge now.”

“Who are you? How do you know this?”

“My name is Baxter. I’m a security officer. I was sent on this voyage just in case something like this happened. I have some armed men with me, we’re on our way now.”

Nils did not need to see General Gev shake his head no to make up his mind.

“Did you say armed men? No arms were permitted aboard this ship.”

“Armed for your defense, Captain. And you will need us now.”

“I do not. Stay where you are. Someone will come to collect your weapons.”

“We’re leaving for the bridge now. Our country has stepped in before in a war; don’t forget that. And NATO—”

“Damn NATO and damn you! If you make one move towards this bridge you are no different from those others.”

“There have been quislings before, Captain Hansen,” Baxter said, sternly. “Your government will appreciate what we are doing even if you don’t.” He broke the connection.

Gev was already running toward the exit to the passenger section of the ship. “It’s locked,” he shouted back. “Is there any way we can reinforce this door?”

The others led by Nils, were close behind him. They were just in time to stare, aghast, at the television monitor. A group of men, five, ten, came into sight around the bend in the corridor outside, racing toward the door. Baxter was in front and behind him ran one of the Formosa delegates, some South Americans, a Vietnamese. One of them raised a broken-off chair leg and swung at the camera. It went blank.

“This is going to be difficult,” Gev said calmly, looking at the door. “We are going to have to fight on two fronts—and we are not even equipped for combat on one.”

“Captain,” the radio operator called from the bridge. “Engine room reports that the cutting has started again.”

There was a deep boom of an explosion, ear-hurting loud in the confined corridor, and the door bulged toward them, twisted and a great cloud of smoke boiled in. They were stunned, knocked down. Then the door shivered and moved further inward, and a man holding a makeshift gun began to squeeze through.

Gev sprang, hands out. Grabbing the man’s wrist, twisting it so the gun pointed to the ceiling. It fired once, an almost soundless splat to their numbed ears. Then Gev chopped down with the edge of his free hand, breaking the man’s neck. He fumbled an instant with the unusual mechanism of the gun, then poked it through the opening over the dead man’s back and fired until it was empty.

This only delayed the attackers a moment. Then the door was pushed wider and two men climbed in, treading on the corpse. Nils hit one in the face with his fist, knocking him back through the opening with its force.

But they were outnumbered—and outgunned. Yet they gave a very good accounting of themselves. General Gev did not drop until he was hit with at least three bullets. They did not shoot Nils, but men hung from him, holding down his arms, while another clubbed him into submission. Arnie knew nothing about fighting, though he tried with very little success. Dead and wounded were left behind when they were dragged back to the bridge.The radio operator, the only crewman remaining there, was talking on the radio.

“Shut up.” Baxter shouted at him, raising his gun. “Who are you talking to?”

The operator, white-faced, clutched the microphone. “It is our Moon base. They have relayed the call to Copenhagen. I told them what was happening here. The others have broken into the engine room, taken it.”

Baxter thought for a long moment, then lowered the gun and smiled. “You’ve done all right. Continue your report. Tell them that you have received assistance. The Commies are not getting away with this. Now—how do I get in touch with the engine room?”

The radio operator pointed silendy at the telephone screen, where an impassive face looked out. Baxter was just as unemotional as he strode over to the phone.

“You’re a traitor, Schmidt,” he said. “I knew that as soon as I saw you were a member of the East German delegation. That was not very wise of you.” Baxter turned to Nils who had been placed in a chair. He was struggling back to consciousness. “I know this man, Captain. A paid informer. It’s a good thing for you that I am here.”

General Gev slumped on the floor against the wall, listening silently, apparently unaware of his blood-soaked, dripping leg. His right arm had been hit by a bullet as well, and he had his hand pushed into the open front of his shirt. Arnie’s glasses were broken, gone, and he blinked myopically, trying to understand what was happening.

Baxter looked distastefully at Schmidt’s image. “I don’t enjoy dealing with traitors…”

“We all have to make small sacrifices.” Schmidt’s words were heavy with irony. Baxter flushed with anger but went on, ignoring them.

“There seems to be a stalemate here. We hold the bridge and the controls.”

“While I and my men are in charge of the engines and the drive unit. My forces are not as strong as they should be—but we are well armed. I think that you will find it impossible to defeat us. You will not get us out of here. So what do you intend to do, Mr. Baxter?”

“Is Dr. Nikitin with you?”

“Of course! Why else do you think we are here?” Baxter broke the connection and turned to Nils. “This is very bad, Captain.”

“WTiat are you talking about?” The fog was clearing somewhat from Nils’s battered head. “Who is this Nikitin?”

“One of their better physicists,” Arnie said. “With the diagrams and circuitry he should know the basic principles of the Daleth drive by now.”

“Exactly,” Baxter said and put his gun away. “They hold the engine room, but cannot take the bridge, so all is not lost. Report that to your superiors,” he ordered the radio operator. “It is a stalemate for the moment—but if we had not been here they would have taken the entire ship. You see, Captain, you were mistaken about us.”

“Where~did you get the guns?” Nils asked. “That explosive?”

“Of what importance is that? Gun barrels looking like fountain pens, swallowed ammunition, plastic explosive in toothpaste tubes. The usual thing. It’s not important.”

“It is to me,” Nils said, sitting up straighter. “And what do you propose to do now, Mr. Baxter?”

“Hard to say. Bandage you people up first. Try to arrange a deal with that double-agent Kraut. We’ll work something out. Have to turn back, I guess. Prevent any more killing. They know about the drive now, so the cat is out of the bag. No secrets left between allies, hey? Your people in Copenhagen will understand. I imagine America will handle it through NATO, but that’s not my area of responsibility. I’m just the man in the field. But you can be sure of one thing.” He drew himself up. “There is going to be no Daleth gap. The Russians are not going to get ahead of us with this one.”

Nils rose slowly, painfully, and stumbled to his chair at the controls. “Who are you talking to?” he asked the radio operator.

“There is a patch to Copenhagen. One of the Minister’s assistants. It is the middle of the night there and the others were asleep when I called. The King, the Prime Minister, they’re on the way.”

“I’m afraid we can’t wait for them.” They spoke English so Baxter could understand. Nils now turned to him. “I would like to explain what has happened.”

“By all means, sure. They’ll want to know.”

Still in English, slowly and carefully, Nils outlined the recent occurrences. After a long delay, while the signal reached out to Earth and the answer came back, the man at the other end spoke in Danish, and Nils answered in the same language. When he had finished, there was a tense silence on the bridge.

“Well?” Baxter asked. “What was that about? What did they say?”

“They agreed with me,” Nils told him. “The situation is hopeless.”

“Good thinking.”

“We agreed on what must be done. He thanked us.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Nils was finished with patience and formality now. He spat the words with a slow anger that had finally burned through.

“I’m talking about stopping you, little man. Violence, death, killing—that is all you know. I don’t see an ounce of difference between you and your paid creatures here, and that swine now in charge of the engine room. In the name of good you do evil. For national pride you would destroy mankind. When will you admit that all men are brothers—and then find some way to stop killing your brothers? Your country alone has enough atomic bombs to blow up the world four times over. So why must you add the additional destruction of the Daleth effect?”

“The Russkies—”

“Are the same as you. From where I am, here in space, about to die, I can’t tell the difference.”

“Die?” Baxter was frightened, he raised his gun again. “Yes. Did you think we would just hand you the Daleth drive? We tried to keep it away from you without killing, but you forced this on us. There are at least five tons of explosive distributed about the frame of this ship. Actuated by radio signal from Earth…”

A series of rapid musical notes was sounding from the speaker and Baxter screamed hoarsely, turning, firing at the controls, hitting the radio operator, emptying his gun into the banks of instruments.

“A radio signal that cannot be interrupted from here.” Nils turned to Arnie who was standing quietly. Nils took his hand and started to say something. General Gev was laughing, victoriously, enjoying this cosmic jest. The lightness appealed to him. Baxter shouted…

With a single great burst of flame everything ended.