Beyond the Event Horizon (7 page)

The Captain
laughed.

“How do you
think the pirates get their weapons?”

“I don’t know.
I suppose they buy them.”

“OK. And where
do their suppliers get them?”

“I... I don’t
know. All right, where do they get them?”

“You can’t
build sophisticated modern weapons in a garage. You need a whole
chain of factories with high-technology equipment and special
materials, and they cost a lot. The pirates mostly use captured
weapons. Black market workshops sell a few, but the lion’s share
consists of captured weapons.

“If every
commercial ship were equipped with toys like ours, in less than a
year the pirates would have them too. And then the problems we have
today would seem like child’s play.”

“But how could
they seize a ship if it were protected by things like these?”

Kimble smiled
condescendingly.

“Because metal
is just metal, even if it is as advanced as our drones. And man
being what he is, he will always find a loophole, a weak point in
any weapon, and that’s where he’ll strike. The people are the main
thing, the weapons are secondary.”

“Do you mean
to say that when you were in the SSS, you could seize any weapons
system?”

“If we were
given the task, yes, we could. It’s only a matter of the price I am
willing to pay and the training of the personnel. The art of war is
the art of deception; it’s not beating your head against a brick
wall.”

A trace of
scepticism could be seen in Steve’s eyes. Kimble laughed.

“You know,
Steve, it is commonly believed that primeval man was a huge
muscular monster, and that hordes of them used to attack mammoths
and hit them on the head with clubs. But there are still tribes in
Africa who hunt elephants with stone-age weapons. Do you know how
they go about it?

“Three short
scrawny-looking aborigines creep up to the herd while it is asleep,
select their victim, and cut the tendons in its legs. Next morning
the herd gets up and moves on, but the wounded one soon begins to
lag behind. The wound becomes inflamed, and the elephant finds it
harder and harder to walk. After a few days, when the poor creature
is totally exhausted, they cut one or two arteries. The unfortunate
elephant, unable to resist, bleeds to death, passing calmly into
the next world. Cunning, not brute force, is the key to
victory.”

“So they could
seize us too?”

“They could.
But those two contraptions give us a considerable advantage. We
can’t be taken easily. They would need a lot of ships and weapons
and they would have to accept that half their people would not
return from the mission. It’s too expensive to seize us, it
wouldn’t pay. So we can consider ourselves safe.”

The
conversation was interrupted by the voice of the ship’s
computer.

“Regular
scanning in gravity band completed. More precise information on
location of source. One point three million kilometres to
destination.”

“Good.
Commence deceleration. Complete stop at 100,000,” the captain
ordered the computer, then he turned to Steve. “We’re almost
there.”

The ship
gradually slowed down as it approached its target. EMC1906’s
instruments and the whole scientific team were constantly scanning
the sky in search of the source of the mysterious radiation.

“Speed zero.
Distance to anomaly 100,000 km,” reported the ship’s computer.

So far,
neither the detection systems on board nor Steve and Clive’s
colleagues had been able to detect even a hint of any radiation
device.

“Hmm,”
muttered Steve. “Perhaps there’s nothing there?”

“How can there
be nothing there? Are you saying the anomaly itself doesn’t exist?”
snorted Clive. He had just returned from the cargo compartment and
was in a bad mood.

“No, but the
generator, if there actually is one, could be non-material.”

“So how does
it generate waves? By waving a magic wand, do you think?”

Kimble
silently observed this dispute, looking from one to the other in
turn.

“How should I
know what technologies they have?”

Steve was
gradually becoming irritated by Clive’s tone. As if it was his
fault they couldn’t find the source!

“I’ll say
this,” said Kimble, butting into the conversation. “I don’t know
what instruments you have there, but I know the ship’s systems very
well. If they can’t find anything, it means that there is nothing
there bigger than one cubic metre.”

“Then maybe we
should try approaching closer?” suggested Steve.

Kimble glanced
at Clive.

“Do whatever
you like.” Clive waved him away and turned back to his
monitors.

The captain
looked inquiringly at Steve, as if to say, “What’s up with him?”
Steve just rolled his eyes. Pay no attention to him...

Kimble turned
towards his console.

“Continue
approach to centre of anomaly. Stop at ten thousand,” he
ordered.

The ship
rocked as the turbines were switched on again. Changing figures
appeared on the screen, showing the distance to the target.

Steve switched
on the connection to his team.

“We’re at
100,000, but still haven’t found anything. Closing to ten.”

At 18,000,
Mark, who was responsible for the gravity scanner and was working
in the cargo compartment, came on line.

“Steve, look
at the data, I think I’ve dug something up.”

After
displaying the forwarded graphics on the main screen, Steve and
Clive stared at them. To all appearances, the waves were emanating
not from a point source, but from a surface of some kind with an
area of several dozen square kilometres.

“If the
radiation surface is as big as that, why aren’t we seeing anything
on the radar?” asked Steve thoughtfully.

“Hmm, yes...
Perhaps the radiating object is not solid, but consists of fine
threads?” said Clive, suggesting a possibility.

Steve smiled
broadly and clapped Clive on the shoulder.

“Clive, your
beloved string theory has lain in the graveyard of science for more
than 100 years now. You can never reconcile yourself...”

“Leave off,
Steve,” smiled Clive in reply. “No, I’m serious. In principle, even
if the threads in themselves only had little weight, very high
energies could be concentrated in them by means of super-high
oscillations. This, by the way, would explain how the incomer
generated gravity waves on board that ship without the aid of
super-massive objects.”

Steve, not
finding an answer to that, thought for a while, but then shook his
head sceptically.

“A material
string cannot oscillate at as high a frequency as you like. It
would break from overload.”

“We don’t know
what materials they are using.”

“Any material
has a maximum tensile strength.”

“Suppose they
are using a magnetic field?”

“How would
they do that?”

“By creating a
tunnel from a field, which would compress the thread and not permit
it to stretch even at super-high loads.”

“But that’s
pure fantasy!”

“Why? It’s
what we do in thermonuclear reactors. We use a magnetic field to
restrain the plasma.”

“There are no
high-frequency oscillations there, and plasma jets are a lot
thicker.”

“The main
thing is that such a thing is possible in principle. The rest is
just a matter of technology, and theirs is very advanced. You won’t
dispute that, will you?”

“No, of course
not. But all the same, it’s too complicated.”

“Do you have a
better explanation?”

“No.”

Clive
maintained a significant silence, and sipped from his glass.

“Just a
minute,” intervened Kimble, who had been listening silently to the
arguments. “These damned threads... If we hit them, what will
happen?”

“At the point
of contact, material is probably converted into hard radiation...”
surmised Clive in a melancholy tone.

“What??? Why
didn’t you warn me earlier?”

Steve and
Clive looked at each other.

“Well, we’ve
only just thought it out ourselves,” said Steve, embarrassed.

“With what
precision have you determined the location of these threads?”

“Probably to
within three to five thousand kilometres. Could be ten.”

Kimble shot up
from his seat.

“Could be ten?
What about 20?”

“That’s
possible.”

“Oh, that’s
great! We’re already closer than twenty thousand!” Kimble was
beside himself with rage at these damned scientists. He gestured to
the computer:

“All engines
stop. Reverse along same trajectory. Immediately!”

The ship shook
and began to decelerate sharply. Some things lying on the table
began sliding in the direction of flight.

“Sir, the
field intensity gradients are falling in all directions. We are in
the epicentre or very close to it,” the computer unexpectedly
reported a few minutes later.

“Yes, the
error must be just on twenty thousand,” muttered Clive, earning an
angry glare from Steve.

“Oh, hell!
This thing, is it like a mesh, or what?” Kimble was boiling with
indignation.

“I don’t think
so. The aliens must have to fly through the gate somehow. More
likely the threads simply encircle the radiating shape. That’s if
they exist at all, these threads,” said Steve, trying to pacify
Kimble, though he was feeling uneasy himself.

A few hours
later, when the ship had withdrawn to a respectable distance, the
tension on the bridge had eased off.

“Let’s not
have anything like that again! Get your little grey cells working
quicker!” said the captain sternly, after sitting in silence.

Clive did not
admit his guilt.

“I was only
proposing a theory, what’s wrong with that?”

Kimble just
gave him a discontented look, finished his drink and went out. He
could be heard swearing as he went away along the corridor.

Steve and
Clive were left on their own, and Steve breathed a sigh of
relief.

“OK, we’d
better report the latest results to Shelby,” he said.

Clive
signalled to the computer to record a message.

“Message for
Shelby. We have reached the point of maximum intensity of the
signal. Judging from the scan results of the vicinity of the
epicentre, the source is not a point, but takes the form of a
cuboid, with a radiation area of 40 square kilometres.

“Apart from
that, the source is non-material. We did not succeed in detecting
any rotating or oscillating mass. I have... We have a version
according to which the waves may be created by the oscillations of
fine baryonic threads restrained by a magnetic field. Please
propose a descriptive mathematical model.

“From a close
distance, we can distinguish a whole harmonic range, consisting of
the basic tone and numerous harmonic overtones. The latter are of
lower intensity, close to or even below the sensitivity threshold
of our apparatus.

“The
hypothesis of non-natural origin is being considered as a priority.
I am sending the scanning data. We are continuing our research.
Message ends.”

Shelby, the
elderly dean of the astrophysics faculty, and also concurrently
head of the expedition’s scientific group, had last been on the
Space Force’s military base some days after the ‘Dawn’ project had
been put on hold. Then, although mobilisation had been cancelled,
the base had still been a hive of activity. The corridors were full
of armed guards who were constantly checking personal data,
creating long queues. To enter the building and reach the required
sector, it was necessary to pass through several checkpoints, all
irritatingly taking DNA scans.

Outside, it
was no better. Ships were constantly arriving at the base and
leaving it. The launch facilities could barely cope with so much
traffic. Military and transport spacecraft were landing one after
the other, filling the surroundings with an incessant roar.
Patterns of vapour trails were visible in the sky, coming from
spacecraft which were descending from and climbing into orbit at
higher speeds than usual to increase the throughput capacity of the
spaceport.

But today
everything was different. A calm had again descended on the base,
similar to that which had greeted the professor when he first
visited it. The people on duty there looked fresher; they even had
time for a joke during their document checks and DNA scan taking.
Everything about the base indicated that life had returned to
normal.

Shelby was
escorted to one of the conference halls and left to wait for
General MacQueen, Commander of the Space Fleet. He was not long in
coming. The professor had barely had time to pour himself some
sparkling water from one of the bottles thoughtfully left on the
table when the door opened and the general entered the hall.
Smiling as if to an old friend, he was clearly glad to see Shelby
again.

In spite of
their different ages and occupations, good relations had been
established between Shelby and MacQueen during their joint work on
‘Dawn’. They understood each other very easily. Probably each of
them subconsciously felt that in spite of their different
approaches, they were the right people for their respective jobs,
and knew what they were doing.

“Glad to see
you, Professor,” said MacQueen. Today his smile was particularly
broad and sincere. He took the last few steps with his hand
extended in greeting.

Shelby shook
his hand in response.

“The feeling
is completely mutual. I see your department is gradually getting
back to normal.”

“Yes, it is,
I’m glad to say.” He gestured to Shelby to turn towards the window,
which gave a view towards the launch pads.

“The intruder
certainly stirred things up here. It was the first time in the
history of the space fleet that we had conducted such a wide
mobilisation. Doing so revealed that we were not at all prepared
for such a turn of events.”