Read Ebook: Battlefield in Black by Whittington George A

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Ebook has 237 lines and 11581 words, and 5 pages

"Begging your pardon, Sir, we won't need much."

With that, the officer was gone.

Again Jon smiled proudly, and turned to where his Lieutenant-Commander waited. "Mister Clemens, open all switches on the intra-phone, and order all stations switched open to the control room. You will relay any necessary messages between stations."

Clemens clamped on his headset, and his hands went over the switches rapidly. "Attention, all stations. All stations."

"You may inform the men of the situation and our plans," Jon added, quietly.

Ray Control Officer Reynolds caught his gaze, his large brown eyes thoughtful. "May I suggest, Sir, a fixture for the ray guns? I can operate my calculators, and know the results by sound--but the gunners--"

"Disintegrator rays," Jon reminded him, "travel through ether, as does light. So do your range-finder beams."

"Of course, Sir!" Reynolds said, his round face startled and dismayed. He ran his fingers over his keyboards slowly. "That means, Sir, that we--"

"We will be weaponless in there," McPartland finished grimly. "A lifeboat with an old fashioned powder cannon and explosive shells could finish us off." He laughed harshly. "If it could find us!"

Jon McPartland's steady gaze flicked from that line back to the empty forward screen. His blue eyes burned into that emptiness. Somewhere in there was Terra Base--and at Terra Base was Almira Denton!

Whatever the force that had closed silently around the Earth, it had stilled the heart of the solar system. The planets waited, Jon knew, restlessly, breathlessly; for the whole intricate, interworld civilization drew its life from the great industries of Terra. Let those industries stop, or be taken over by enemies, and all the planets would be at the mercy of those enemies.

And the only military power which the Supreme System Congress could call upon was at Terra Base. McPartland imagined the great space battleships--cramped into overhaul cradles--the crews dispersed on leave. Slight chance to get them off in the blackness--even if crews could be assembled--even if they had any place to go!

"We'll fight," Jon told himself savagely. "We'll win! And Almira--if--" He didn't finish even the thought. Instead he visualized the lovely oval of her face--with the green eyes set in like twin, glowing emeralds.

The sudden jarring blast of the forward rockets brought Jon's gaze around to the side screens. They were almost completely blanked out. Only a thin slice of normal space remained. They were entering the area, and Lieutenant Parek was braking.

"Man, that wasn't too soon," McTavish said tensely. Clemens said nothing, his face carefully set in a harried expression he would retain even when invisible. Reynolds looked up dejectedly from his desk, his hand resting protectively on the calculators that would be useless to them. The Captain moved over to the intra-ship, standing close beside his Lieutenant-Commander.

They waited silently. Jon was looking at the Engineer's eager smile, as the retarding rocket blasts died away. McTavish nodded, counting the drumming explosions from the stern and feeling the vibration of the ship with an intimate knowledge.

"We're at quarter speed, Sir," he said, as the Captain heard the Navigation Officer's clear, even voice over the intra-ship speaker:

"Quarter speed, Sir. On course."

The last two words fell into complete blackness. Jon felt the pupils of his eyes straining, opening for the least trace of light. There was none. He could hear the slow breathing of the others, and a few low exclamations through the open switches of the intra-ship.

"Carry on, Lieutenant," he ordered, and let his breath out of his lungs slowly. "Mister McTavish," he added, "here's something to add to your technical knowledge: electricity does not need ether--whether it travels around or within wires."

"Thank you, Sir," came the Engineer's ironic reply like a sound without origin in the well of blackness that closed in on Jon from every side. "I had reached the same conclusion, Sir."

"We are running on batteries, Sir," Clemens relayed from beside him. "The cyclotron has stopped functioning."

"The batteries will be enough, Sir," came the Engineer's voice. "I arranged an automatic out-in, Sir. I knew electrons couldn't bombard atoms without ether to travel through."

"Good work, Mister!" said McPartland.

"Thank you, Sir."

The Captain said nothing more. He was listening to the steady drum of the stern rockets. The explosive charges were fired by electric spark. All the functional mechanism of the ship was operated electrically.

His ship could travel. They would reach Terra. There was nothing to do but wait--wait in an emptiness that brought a man to the edge of insanity.

"It must be bitter cold on Terra," he said evenly, "without sunshine, without heat drawn from the central power beams."

Near him, Clemens sighed heavily. Reynolds' fingers drummed over his keyboard. It was McTavish who answered:

"Aye, Sir," he said, his words edged with rage, "a few days of this and Terra would be a frozen wasteland."

McPartland clenched his great fists harder. "There won't be a few days!" he grated. "Whoever's behind this will want Terra and her industries--and her people--in working order."

"You think it's human beings?" came the Engineer's question. "I hadn't thought--"

"It has to be," Jon reasoned. "The timing is perfect, and so is the strategy. Striking the heart of the Solar System--when the Patrol is there and helpless. They knew."

"Outlaws." Reynolds commented quietly.

"More than that, man!" exploded McTavish. "There's science here. It takes science--genius--to eliminate the ether! It's never been done before!"

"I think you're right, Mister," McPartland said. His words fell with an inflection as soft and deadly as the impenetrable blackness about them. "There's science here--and outlaws, armed desperate men who would dare to try this.

"A black plot," quipped McTavish. But the others could hear the angry quickening of his breath.

"What choice will the Congress have but surrender?" Clemens asked sadly.

"Your logic is sound, Sir," said the calm voice of the Ray Control Officer. "But how will we reach them--how will we fight them?"

The others couldn't see McPartland's broad shoulders sag momentarily at the question. He thought of Almira Denton somewhere in Terra Base, and bunching muscles snapped his shoulders back.

"We'll find out when we land," he answered slowly.

"That'll be soon, man!" McTavish cried suddenly.

"Parek has a mechanical timer rigged with an alarm, to tell him when to correct course."

McPartland thought for a moment of the officer down below, sitting motionless, his hands strapped into fixtures. The empty seconds would be eternities, while he listened to the monotonous ticking of the timer. Then the strident alarm would shatter his nerves, and his fingers search the guide wires for the right controls.

"Can he do it?" Clemens murmured anxiously, as though reading his commander's thought.

"If he can't, there isn't a Navigator in the System who can," the other said tightly.

McTavish, too, was feeling for their goal. "Steady, man, steady," he said aloud, his sense attuned to the ship's familiar vibrations. "Landing speed, now," he added.

All of them braced their legs against the increasing tilt of the floor. They rocked on their feet, as Parek poured a richer mixture into the blast tubes.

McPartland spoke into the intra-ship phone: "Attention all stations! All hands remain at their posts until further orders." He turned from the instrument, trying again to find those about him. "Mister McTavish. You will go out with me.

"Mister Clemens, you are in command. Take no action without orders from me--or Marshal Denton himself."

"Very good, Sir," replied the Lieutenant-Commander.

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