Oberheim (Voices): A Chronicle of War by Christopher Leadem (to read list txt) 📗

they could detonate too soon, or not at all."

"What about a laser-triggered mechanism above ground?" asked Dimitriev. "A fast moving ship could activate it, then be gone." Dobrynin opened his hand toward Stein.

"I'm afraid that's not possible," he conceded. "To avoid cloud cover and volcanic discharge the ship would have to fly very high. And the way the upper atmosphere refracts light, even laser is not a sure thing. And also, there is the problem of the gravity beam itself, distorting the path of the ship."

Dimitriev turned away.

"Alexander, Leon. Listen to me. There is only one other chance that I see, and it is not a good one. We could build the laser-trigger upon a high tower, allowing me to activate it from the ground at a greater distance. But I am not sure we could construct such a tower in time. And also, it would cost more lives." He looked at his son. "Or I could detonate the bombs myself, safely and surely, by cable from Leopold Station. I wish there was another way."

"But why does it have to be you? You are needed—-" His son broke off.

"Who would you have me send instead? I am most qualified, except perhaps for Stein. And this….." He spoke now with difficulty. "This is my home. It is everything I have worked for. If it is lost then I. . .I would not want to live. We have left the mainstream. I do not want to go back." The room was still, and no one spoke.

Finally Dimitriev rose and came toward him. He offered him his hand, and Dobrynin took it in both of his own.

"Good hunting, Nicholai. I am with you." He turned and left the room.
 Stein rose also.

"I will have an approximate time, and prep the computer, at Leopold before I go….. I think that it is possible."

"Thank you, Thomas."

The scientist bowed his head and was gone. For a moment father and son stood looking down, and neither spoke.

"Why couldn't I do it in your place?"

"You have not the skill….. Your mother needs you."

"And not you? Will you leave her alone?"

"She has always been alone. Forgive me."

"Father." He was crying now, ashamed.

"Please, Leon." His throat was thick. "You must be strong now. I need you to be strong….. There is a chance I will not die." His son left the room.

Leopold Station. He sat with the button in front of him, on a console shelf amidst computers. He studied its scopes and readouts carefully: eight minutes.

He was glad that it was far away. It did not seem real. Almost—-he was thinking in Russian now—-he was not afraid. Perhaps he could reach the tube and down into the shelter in time. If that would help. I MUST CONCENTRATE. He breathed deeply, and watched the counter tick away his life. Seven minutes. Six.

He heard a sound behind him. At that moment the image on one of the screens shifted slightly.

"Turn around Dobrynin."

He whirled, startled, then returned quickly to the console, made the necessary adjustments. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Putting an end to your brave little noise." Dobrynin said nothing. "This gun fires nerve pellets as well as the other, Nicholai. I can paralyze you without killing you." Pecci's voice was calm, but there was fear beneath it.

"And I can press this button and kill us both. And if I die, how will you survive? Doctor Stein says the planet will not last another hour; do you not feel the quakes? You will perish along with it." As he spoke he watched and moved his hands across the console, all the while fighting the bitter urge to detonate now: too soon.

"You lie."

"No, Franz, in this I speak the truth. Your only chance is to get down to the shelter, now, and I will forget what has passed between us." Pecci said nothing. Dobrynin knew that he must buy more time.

"It doesn't matter, does it?"

"What?" He could feel the tension of the smaller man's mind.

"It doesn't matter that since I am twenty-five I have made no serious mistake, that myself and many beside me have worked hard for thirty years to make this place our home. It does not matter that we have broken from the current. Still, we are dependent on others. We are like the stalagmite, which must be fed from above. If anything comes between us and the source, we are cut off. We cannot grow. And any puny, so-called man with a putrid hammer, can come and chisel away at our roots!" He could not contain his anger.

"I could kill you now!" cried Pecci. He raised the gun and would have shot, but at that moment Dobrynin put a hand to his ear. A faint voice, mingled with crackling static, had come suddenly into his almost forgotten ear-piece.

"Governor, can. . .hear me?" It was Stein.

"Yes, Thomas. Try to speak louder. What is it?"

"…..just received. . .information on the beam. We. . .incorrect by. . . minutes."

"How many minutes?"

"Four. Must be sooner. Thirty seconds. . .now."

"Thirty seconds!" he cried. And regretted it as soon as the words had left his mouth. He quickly punched twenty-five into the counter, forgetting all other instruments.

"Yes….." Then no more was heard.

"Turn around, Dobrynin!"

"Go muck yourself!" he growled. If he was going to die, then let it be like Trotsky.

14. 13. 12.

Pecci shot him in the back and killed him.

……………………………………………………………… ……………………………………………………

ACT TWO

Andersen, Korchnoi and Larkspur Sectors
Months I through V
International Year: 2211

INVERSIONS

"There are various theories as to how insect life came to exist on Newman's Planet, named for its American discoverer. Most suggest that its seeds were somehow transported here from Earth, though there is little agreement as to how, naturally or otherwise, this was accomplished. Others state that it must have evolved here naturally. But this theory runs into equal difficulty. For the insects of Newman's world—-and insects they are indeed, as like to our own physiologically as one mammal is to another—-resemble much too closely specific genre already found on Earth.

"And yet there can be no denying that the four species known to exist (interesting in itself, that there should be so few), date back in their respective habitats roughly 95 million years. Fossil remains have been found, and their location and carbon dating signaled back to us. Unfortunately, no first-hand data is available, as the only two exploration parties ever to brave the hostile environs did not return.

"But from what they were able to gather and send back, we are given a picture both intriguing and disquieting. By far the most interesting news comes from the last report of the British expedition, only hours before all contact was lost. One of their young behavioral scientists, concentrating on the 'Stoors' of the equatorial regions (large, foraging creatures most nearly resembling the warrior ant, approximately 1.5 meters in length), was able to observe a gathering of several colonies around a single, great stone, possibly a meteorite, in the center of a deep cloven valley. He reports that the various groups, distinguished by dots and splotches of color on the head and abdomen, continued to stream in from all directions for nearly two hours, apparently taking no notice of his hovering cruiser. And when they had swelled to perhaps five thousand, they locked forelegs together into countless, concentric circles around the stone and began to chant, though by rights they should have been able to make no such sound. Mitchell Collins, the observer, reported that he was not sure whether it was, in fact, a physical sound, or one that came to him through his mind only. He further states that the precise movements and ritualistic nature of the gathering suggested some kind of primitive religious ceremony.

"This last observation, of course, remains purely subjective."

—-Dr. Charles LeDoux, planetary biologist, to a meeting of the United French Scientists Guild.

I

Naik Shannon had never heard of Newman's world, or if he had, the memory lay buried too deeply. And at the moment, he had other things on his mind. The survivors of the Marcum-Lauries colonies, his present charge, were scattered and in disarray. His own ship was too badly damaged to lend assistance; he was running with a price on his head; and of his own forces perhaps a hundred still lived.

Shin, his second in command, had radioed that he was trying to gather sufficient escort from the remnants of the fleet to take the civilian ships to safety in Soviet Space. Where the others had turned in the wake of the dismal defeat he could not guess. His head was pounding and he felt old and though he wanted to it was hard to care. Never had he felt so helpless.

After the death of the ore-planet the Canton assault had been swift and overpowering. The Laurian wings had fought well enough, considering their numbers and outdated equipment. But they were no match for the grim machination thrown against them. He had seen almost at once how the battle would go. But while there was any chance at all…..

The red-brown planet loomed closer. It had a somewhat ominous look: the knotted lacing of deep-cut ravines, the jagged mountains, so massive their outlines were visible even from here.

THEY ALL LOOK STARK AND ALIEN AT FIRST. But this one was something peculiar, no denying. Almost it had an aura of strangeness. If he hadn't been so desperately short of oxygen he might have kept searching….. For a moment he had forgotten the Cantons.

Again he studied the star system readout on the ship's console, switched to the more detailed graphic of Centaurus III, Newman's Planet. Touching the fingerboard, he summoned all the relevant data his computer possessed. The cursor darted back and forth across the screen.

Centaurus III

                                diameter: 16,000 kil
                                gravity: .6 relative
Earth
                                atmos density: .4 relative Earth
                                CO2 72.1
                                O2 19.4
                                N 5.2
                                CH4 3.0
                                Trace .3
                                temp:
                                120 to 35F tropic
                                100 to 20F sub tropic
                                70 to -15F up mid latitude
                                30 to -90F polar sub pol
                                wind: