Space 1999 #5 - Lunar Attack (6 page)

‘Fifteen seconds.’

All eyes swivelled round to look at Koenig. Victor Bergman said, ‘It’s an attack, John.’

Koenig was still hoping for some response from the red planet, glowing like a backdrop to the action. He asked Morrow, ‘Still no signal?’

‘Nothing.’

Kano’s ‘Ten seconds,’ chimed with the reply.

Alan Carter’s voice, full of bitterness, cracked round the quiet room, ‘We can’t hold them, Commander.’ Thumping the desk, Bergman declared what everyone knew, ‘Alpha’s wide open!’

‘Five seconds.’

Helena Russell raced into Main Mission, honey blonde hair in a swirl as she stopped dead and looked over their heads to Koenig. Across the room, their eyes met and he remembered something that held him locked for a second that seemed to stretch for a vast reach of time.

They were all waiting for his word, with Alan Carter’s strained and anxious face staring down from the main scanner. When he spoke there was an involuntary murmur of protest.

Koenig said, ‘Alan! Hold your fire!’

Carter jerked out, ‘Commander!’

‘That’s an order, Carter!’

The chance, if it had been one, was gone. The three Hawks were through, streaking in for Moonbase Alpha. They could only endure and wait for the annihilating blast that would come.

The Hawks bored in. Then they were gone; winking out of existence like turned off lights.

Sandra Benes said, ‘Alien contacts . . . lost!’

Koenig called Carter who looked stunned by the evidence of his console. ‘Return to base, Alan.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Koenig moved slowly, flipped off the Red Alert button. He said, ‘Alert condition cancelled. Stand down.’

Helena Russell called her medicentre and Mathias took it at the communications post, with the orderly chaos of a hospital service trader mobilisation around him.

‘Bob? False alarm. Wind it up.’

Nobody could come to terms with it and Bergman spoke for all when he said, ‘John, I don’t understand. Does this mean we
can go
down to the planet?’

The answer was taken from Koenig. The screen was filled with a picture that Sandra had not tuned. It was the hall of columns and the male alien’s voice filled Main Mission.

‘No.’

All eyes looked wonderingly at the intruders and the male alien went on, ‘We trust you will stay away. Because you are so primitive and unstable, so governed by emotions like fear, you
would
destroy this perfect world.’

Now it was in their minds and they could remember the glimpse of a possible future (or was it past?) that had been avoided.

The female alien confirmed it, ‘The fighting craft that appeared to attack you were created in your own minds by your own fears. Our only defence was to make your fears appear to be a reality.’

The male figure had the last word, ‘Alpha is not destroyed. Nor is our planet. In a moment of time we have shown you the possible consequences of a decision we trust you will not take.’

The screen blanked. Each one was silent, coming to terms with his own mind.

John Koenig reckoned he should put them back to work. He spoke to Bergman, but for everybody’s benefit.

‘How far away did you estimate the next solar system?’

Helena was staring at the blank screen. She was remembering the rose madder foliage and the bland, green calm of the landscape. Hand on Koenig’s arm, she said slowly, ‘It
is
a beautiful planet.’

John Koenig looked round the rows of intent faces in the recreation centre and reckoned soberly that his people were coming out of it very well. They had settled back into the routine of work and leisure and were still ready to give a new thing a try.

He had been dubious about Bergman’s string quintet, thinking it might be limited in appeal, but in the event, Victor Bergman’s enthusiasm was communicating itself to all hands. He had worked hard with his volunteers and the standard of musicianship was impressive. Even Alan Carter who didn’t know a five bar rest from a beer garden joined in the applause as the piece came to an end and the maestro bowed professionally from the podium.

Bergman started again, slow delicate music on a strict rhythm. It filled the space with nostalgia for the vanished culture of Earth planet, spilling out into the empty corridors of the sprawling Moonbase, repeated from communication posts which carried closed circuit coverage.

Some Alphans were still at the coal face, filling every minute with sixty seconds worth of distance run. In Hydroponic Unit Two, a dedicated group had set up what could have looked like an old time séance.

Certainly they had the atmosphere for it. There was a low key green light for optimum plant growth. There were lines of free-growing plants, some exotic, some bearing experimental fruits, some in their own transparent cases getting their ration of ultra violet.

Running water and Bergman’s music made a backdrop. Inside the Unit Laboratory area, it was ignored. Dan Mateo, the botanist in charge of the unit, was explaining his experimental design and his three volunteers were as hooked as Bergman’s musicians.

They settled themselves round a table and Mateo sorted out four leads from a black box in the centre. Each one ended in a flat electrode and Mateo flapped one on his left wrist. Next to him Laura Adams, inclined to giggle as the privilege of a strikingly pretty girl, caught his eye and did her best to look serious. To make amends, she took a wandering lead and plugged herself into the magic circle. The other two did the same. Following Mateo’s quiet instruction, they held hands and all looked steadfastly at a small group of plants which shared the space on the table top.

Bergman’s music was building its intricate patterns and reaching a new climax. Laura, suddenly dead serious, looked at Mateo and then anxiously at the others. There was no doubt something was happening for him. Head back, sweat beading on his forehead, he seemed to have gone into a trance state. But there was no breaking the hold. In the centre of the table the instrument pack and the plants were in and out of vision in a mind-bending flicker.

Mateo was a man in a trap. Breath uneven, he was twisting and turning in his seat. His eyes were ghastly, rolling up to show the whites. Laura Adams had seen enough, she was struggling to break free. But the bond was unbreakable. They needed outside help and she twisted desperately to look for any passing technician to pull the plug.

In fact she found a bonus. The overlord of the Hydroponic Section no less was on his way in and looked less than pleased. Too late, she realised that Warren was one to act first and think it through later. She tried to shout a warning, but he was in with a rush looking furious. Before she could say that a slow letdown would be better for Mateo’s safety, he was leaning over the table yanking the leads from the panel.

Freedom came with a rush and was welcome, but the effect on Mateo was galvanic. Back arched like a bow he was held rigid over the rail of his chair. All lights dimmed except for the glow from the instrument panel which was suddenly intense. The sound of rushing wind tore through the area, ruffling Laura Adams’s smooth hair. As they leaped to their feet, Mateo was released and slumped forward over the table top.

The recreations room was two bars on before the effect hit. Lights dimmed and a hatch blew open letting in a gale that whipped Bergman’s score from the stand and floated it in a madcap flurry. A woman screamed and the peace shattered like a fragile glass.

The experimentalist himself was out cold, lying with arms outstretched across a collection of withered and dying plants.

Anxious to know, Laura Adams stood her ground as the top brass of Moonbase Alpha crowded into the Unit lab. She stayed at Helena’s elbow for the verdict.

‘How is he?’

‘Shock.’

Koenig, Bergman and Dr Warren stood aside as Bob Mathias hurried in with a stretcher party. Helena said, ‘Medicentre, Bob. Put him to bed and run standard checks.’

As they went to work, Koenig asked, ‘How did it happen?’

Only half listening, Laura said, ‘We were helping Paul in his experiment . . .’

‘What equipment were you using?’

Paul Mateo was already being wheeled through the hatch followed by Mathias and Helena Russell. Clearly he was in good hands. With an effort, she concentrated on the question and pointed to the device Mateo had built. ‘Just this. Basically it’s a transmitter.’

Nothing remained simple for long. John Koenig reckoned that the man who had said, ‘Living is struggling and you have to learn to like it,’ had made the definitive statement for all time. If it wasn’t the interstellar outback throwing up a challenge, it was something inside the complex. He said, ‘Check it out, Victor.’

Bergman moved in, sensitive fingers spreading the tangle of wandering leads. Behind him Warren was on a self-justification exercise that maddened Laura Adams. She didn’t like what Mateo had been doing, but she didn’t like anybody else to knock him either.

Nervy and tense, a grey man if ever there was one, Warren said jerkily, ‘I warned him. I warned him repeatedly.’

Before Koenig could speak, she broke in, ‘You had no right to interfere. What you did could have killed him.’

‘I will not tolerate these experiments, not in my department.’

Koenig lifted a hand for peace, ‘Calm down . . . Now I simply want to know what happened here.’

‘Commander, I told Doctor Mateo these experiments were dangerous . . .’

‘Dangerous. In what way?’

‘The justification is clear in what happened to Doctor Mateo.’

It took the explanation no further and Koenig had the feeling it was not his day. Even Laura made no sense when she added, ‘Something happened. Dan went into some kind of trance state.’

Warren said quickly, ‘You see what I mean, Commander . . . I warned him. I warned him repeatedly.’ They were off for a second round and Koenig thought enough was enough. He put a dismissive edge on his voice, ‘All right, Warren. I’ll talk to you again.’

Warren looked at him, recognised that he was not wanted, spun on his heel and walked off.

Even Laura Adams got the treatment. Koenig’s voice was loaded with scepticism, ‘A
trance
you say?’

‘It
was
a scientific enquiry . . .’

A bleep on the communications post sidetracked Koenig. It was Paul Morrow with a piece of hard fact, ‘Commander. There’s been a momentary temperature drop recorded in all Alpha sections.’

‘Have you traced the cause?’

‘No information, Commander. Point of origin seems to have been in the Hydroponic Section.’

Koenig turned to the three remaining experimenters and spoke to Laura. ‘All right. I want a full report on everything that happened here. You can start as of now.’

‘Yes, Commander.’

As they went off to their desks, Bergman lifted the device clear of the table and carried it over, ‘John . . .’ he nodded to the hatch, clearly wanting a private conference.

Outside, he stopped and held up the small console. ‘What’s going on, John? There’s nothing sinister about this gadget. There’s nothing here that could cause a temperature drop.’

‘That’s all I need, Victor. An unsolved mystery. Something caused it. It began here. Let’s just keep looking. Right?’

‘Right.’

In the medicentre, Dan Mateo came back to the world of sense in a crisis of panic fear. Helena Russell who had put in a long vigil was there to see and could only guess at the mental turmoil that lay behind it.

Jacking himself up to a sitting position against her restraining hand, he said thickly, ‘How long have I been out?’

‘A while. Do you remember what happened?’

He dropped back to the pillow and turned his head away as though by the physical act he could avoid the question.

If there was a thread to lead through the maze, Koenig reckoned it would have one free end in the Hydroponic Unit and he took Bergman with him to argue it out. The reports were a starting point. He leaned on a tank and looked at a bland array of foliage. ‘Look, Victor, let’s suppose that Mateo believes we have some innate affinity with plants—maybe even—at a long shot—some power to communicate . . .’

‘We both have nervous systems. We respond to pain, happiness, hunger—it isn’t outside possibility. Yes, his theory
is
based on sound scientific principles.’

‘Okay. He discovers that certain wave patterns in the human brain correspond precisely to the wave patterns plants send out. Where do you go from there?’

‘The wave patterns Mateo uses are found in the intuitive area of the brain . . . That’s the same area where psychic powers, all the paranormal forces originate. In the experiment tonight, Mateo attempted to tap that wave pattern at its source, boost it by using the pooled mental resources of his group, project it, make a quantitative measure of the results. His ultimate goal was communication between plants and humans.’

‘So what went wrong? Could that experiment have triggered what happened on Alpha?’

‘I don’t see how.’

‘One thing’s plain. The computer didn’t imagine that drop in temperature.’

Helena Russell was getting closer to the problem by talking to the man himself. After a long silence, Dan Mateo was speaking quietly, but with intense concentration, as though he wanted to be sure to get it right. ‘This is the first time I used the mental resources of other people. I felt the difference immediately. There was a feeling that something unusual would happen.’

He stopped and looked away, reliving the minute, then turned back, ‘Our concentration deepened. I was aware of something new. A coldness seemed to grow inside my mind, my body was cold. With it came fear, a part of my mind struggled . . . wanted . . . tried to resist. Then there was pain. Burning, intense pain . . . and . . . nothing.’

Helena said gently, ‘Dan, you’re probing into areas of the mind we know very little about. Dan, don’t you think you should take a more conventional line of research?’

‘We need a new approach, Doctor, a new direction. I’m convinced we’re on the right track.’

‘Then I have to warn you to be careful. You might be the wrong man to do it. Obviously, you’re very susceptible to psychic phenomena.’