The Black Hole Page 10

  Maximillian trundled onward without responding. The first officer looked away. "Loquacious chap, ain't he, Dan? You know, they say that machines incapable of communicating via human speech are degraded, simple brain types, incapable of performing anything beyond the most menial functions."

  Still Maximillian did not react. Perhaps he was programmed against such provocations. Perhaps he felt beyond such pitiful attempts. More likely he was just adhering to his designer's orders that the new visitors be treated as guests.

  "Don't bait him," Holland ordered. "Reinhardt's control over him may not be as absolute as he'd like us to believe."

  "Oh, I think it is." Pizer looked back up at Maximillian. "Max here's just the doc's errand boy and number one foot-wiper, ain't you, Max?"

  Still the colossus refused to respond. Pizer gave up trying to provoke it.

  Before long they reached another bend in the corridor, turned right into it. Maximillian moved ahead of them, extended a limb to key a sealed doorway. It opened with a clang, incongruous compared with the smooth functioning of the other doors they had passed through.

  This initial impression that they were entering a rarely visited area was magnified by the state of the interior of the chamber. Rows and rows of shelving and compact crates and containers stared silently back at the visitors. There was nothing as plebian as a cobweb hanging about, and electrostatic repellers kept the dust off, but they still had the feeling they were the first people to enter the storage area in some time.

  Stationed behind the desk was a robot. Its head was canted to one side in fair imitation of a human asleep on the job. For all they knew, the mechanical might have been waiting there behind its desk in that identical, unvarying position for a dozen years. He looked much like Vincent and gave the impression of having been used hard with minimal repair.

  Maximillian moved forward and swung a thick arm, knocking the quiescent robot to the floor. Its lights blinked on slowly at first, then with the impetus of increasing awareness, it rose to an unsteady hover. Its optics took in Holland, Pizer, Vincent, then settled inevitably on the ominous maroon form of Maximillian. It started to back away.

  "Vincent," stated the humans' mechanical associate quickly. "Vital Information Necessary Centralized. Labor force, human interactive. The Three Ninety-sixth. Latest model, new 'eighty-nine biomechanical neuronics, floating synapses, heightened initiative-and-awareness circuitry."

  Maximillian glowered down at Vincent as he concluded his terse introduction and self-description. But though the older machine behind the desk stared with interest at its visitors, it did not respond to Vincent's sally with an identification of itself. The older machine did not acknowledge in any fashion.

  At first Vincent was hurt. That rapidly gave way to worry and concern. But he added nothing to his initial words, continued to eye the other machine with puzzlement.

  "Tell you what, Charlie. I'll head back to the Palomino and start breaking down that busted regenerator. Looks like they'll have everything we need here." Holland turned to leave. Maximillian immediately pivoted preparatory to blocking the captain's exit.

  "I'm sure our host will take good care of us," said Pizer hastily, guessing what Holland was up to. "After all, the good doctor indicated he wanted his guests properly treated."

  "Don't worry about me." Holland spoke confidently to the threatening mass of Maximillian. "I'll find my way. Be back soon, Charlie. Make sure you get everything we might need."

  "Will do." Pizer reached up and boldly tugged at one of the giant's arms, an arm which could have lifted half a dozen men off the deck without effort. It did not move. Pizer didn't expect that it would, but Maximillian would note the gesture.

  "We need primary and secondary demand oxygen pressure valves, with attached microputer units. And a decent ECS proportion flow controller."

  Holland was out the door and turning up the corridor they had come down, walking with the easy air of a man who had all the time in the world. But he was sweating.

  Maximillian moved half a meter toward the door, then stopped, obviously confused as to how he should proceed.

  "Max, Dr. Reinhardt told you to requisition the parts for us. Let's get cracking. I'm as anxious as you are to get out of here."

  Still moving uncertainly, the huge mechanical turned away from the door. Extending a limb, he plugged himself into the inventory. Lights flashed on the arm. Corresponding lights began to blink on within the rows of shelving. A drawer popped open, then a second, each occurrence matched by a distinctive musical tone.

  " 'Way to go, Max. 'Way to go." Pizer managed to conceal his relief.

  While Pizer busied Maximillian with the long list of parts requests, Vincent sidled off to one side, hovered near the desk. "I see by your markings that you're from the old Two-Eight. General Services, right? Where you originate from on Earth . . . Amsterdam? Kuala Lumpur? All the factory jobs from Lumpur called their serial run the tin cans, and proud of it. How about you?"

  It was as if the older robot simply didn't have audio-reception capability. From its markings and body style Vincent knew that was absurd. But it continued to act as if it were completely deaf. It whined away down the nearest aisle of shelving, attending to chores which doubtless included maintaining the room and its functions. Lights flashed erratically on Vincent's torso, the nearest he could come to non-verbally expressing frustration.

  What in the Unitary was wrong with the old cousin . . . ?

  The air car had transported them rapidly down the length of the Cygnus, far past the dock where the Palomino lay berthed in emptiness.

  They emerged into a corridor, left the car. Reinhardt led them into a large chamber filled with the most complex instrumentation McCrae had yet seen on the ship. A steady hum came from somewhere nearby, a whisper of great forces and energies held in check.

  The consoles lining the walls were of a peculiar design. In places she clearly recognized units that were outmoded on Earth by the twenty years that had passed. Elsewhere were components and devices whose purpose she could not decipher. And then there were hybrid instruments that combined very old, discarded aspects of space-going technology with a sophistication superior to anything she had ever seen.

  The entire room was a mixture of the outdated and the ultramodern. It looked like a witch doctor's hut lined with masks and dead animals on one side and a unitized, free-state diagnostic computer on the other.

  "Once left to myself," Reinhardt was telling them, "I had a great deal of time to explore ideas that previous endeavors, such as overseeing the construction of the Cygnus, had forbidden me. My isolation provided the time, and the Cygnus's laboratories the means, for much extensive research. So I became obsessed with repairing the engines because all the experts were convinced they could not be repaired, and tremendously frustrated when I was eventually forced to agree with them." He smiled meaningfully, his hands conducting his words.

  "That is, they could not be made to function in the accepted sense, in the way they had been designed to function. So I was forced to experiment with concepts that had lain long dormant in the back of my mind.

  "Frank McCrae helped, until he died. Then I worked on alone with the computers, with all the power of the Cygnus's vast mental resources to aid me. The result was the achievement of one of man's greatest dreams, a dream attainable only in free space. I have discovered how to isolate and draw usable power from the reaction of matter and anti-matter."

  Their expressions revealed their shock, and he was pleased.

  "Yes, I know many scientists consider such an accomplishment beyond the power of our physics, consider it impossible. They were correct. It is impossible . . . without the assistance of a stabilizing field analogous to the one that bends gravity around the Cygnus and keeps us from being sucked into the black hole. So we see at work again the marvelous serendipity of science, where one discovery leads to another far greater."

  He turned to face McCrae. "It was in the mining of an asteroid for
sufficient mass to power the new engines that your father was killed."

  He moved to a long viewport, halted there and gestured below it. They moved to look.

  Below was the largest open area they had yet encountered on the Cygnus. Four large, sealed, massive shapes glowed faintly with their individual auroras. They were the ship's supralight engines, but different now. They had been altered. Reinhardt's mechanical workers had done an admirable job.

  "I could give you the output of those engines in ergs, or gigawatts, or any other set of measures you chose. I will simply tell you, without exaggeration or boastfulness, that there is enough energy capacity down there to supply all of Earth."

  His listeners seemed impressed, so he forged ahead. "The seemingly insoluble problem with matter-antimatter energy production on a practical scale was never in the releasing of the energy but in the finding of a means to contain the reaction safely so it would not spread. My null-g field provided that. It was all very simple, really. First it is demonstrated that such a field is possible. Then the engines are modified to generate a variation of said field. They produce enough initial power to maintain this field within themselves and contain the matter-anti-matter reaction. This new source of power in turn produces a far more powerful field which surrounds the ship and enables it to hold its position against the attractive force of the black hole. You see, one discovery thus complements the other."

  "This is the realization of the dream," McCrae murmured aloud. "It's the breakthrough to colonizing the galaxy. One such engine could power a colony ship three times the size of the Cygnus!"

  Durant was almost beyond words. "You'll . . . you'll go down as one of the greatest space scientists of all time, sir. No . . . as one of the greatest scientists of all time."

  "I have never doubted that." Reinhardt's air of self-satisfaction filled the room.

  "You said that you wanted us to carry your discoveries home to Earth," Durant went on excitedly. "Does that include your work on matter-antimatter and gravity? Do you mean to turn this technology over to us?"

  Reinhardt nodded. "It's high time others learned of their mistakes and my triumphs. I will accept vindication in absentia. You, my friends, will serve as the instrument of that vindication. Now that I know who you are and what you stand for, I can trust you to do what is right."

  Durant had turned away, was once more drinking in the unique modifications of the power complex below their station. "You should come back with us and enjoy the fruits of your success. Doesn't it mean anything to you, the chance to confront your critics in person with your magnificent achievements?"

  "I have already told you that such personal adoration is not necessary. You do not understand me at all, Dr. Durant. For me, the accomplishment itself is glory enough. To win the race is the vital thing, not the broadcasting of it to the losers."

  "You've done plenty of broadcasting of your beliefs and accomplishments in your time."

  Reinhardt looked sharply at Booth, then relaxed and smiled. Now that he had been able to display his considerable achievements, he was past being baited.

  "All means to an end, Mr. Booth. I said what I felt it was necessary to say, performed the actions I felt were required, all for the sake of getting this vessel built and on its way. Such gestures as I may have made to the media were only to assist in realizing that estimable scientific end, not for personal ego gratification."

  Exercising unusual restraint, or perhaps caution, the reporter offered no reply.

  "There is too much at stake here for me to think of returning to Earth now," the scientist continued. "Even if I wished to accept your invitation, Dr. Durant, I could not. I stand on the brink of my greatest achievement." He pointed to the massive engines below.

  "All this is but a means to a still greater end, Dr. Durant. Once I thought this ship was the ultimate of my accomplishments. Then I believed that of my discoveries in energy generation and gravity-field mechanics. Now I find all are only steps, steps leading to another, unimaginable beginning."

  "The beginning of what?" Durant was gaping at him.

  Reinhardt had pushed his visitors' curiosity to the limit. Just when they thought they had him sized and catalogued, he shocked them with some new revelation, with still further miracles. Durant was no wide-eyed student. He had a vivid scientific imagination and was well versed in theoretical as well as practical physical prognostication, but Reinhardt had long since exceeded his capacity for wonder.

  What, he thought dazedly, could be more important or impressive than the gravity-field nullifier or the discovery of a means to power every home and factory on Earth? Of only one thing was he still certain: Hans Reinhardt was not exaggerating. If anything, he had chosen to understate the importance of the discoveries he had thus far revealed to them.

  "You'll learn all that in due time, Doctor." Reinhardt smiled condescendingly at his fellow scientist. "Be patient. It is not good to learn too much at one time. The mind loses the ability to place things in proper perspective."

  "The gospel according to Saint Reinhardt," Booth muttered.

  "I indeed preach a new gospel, Mr. Booth," the scientist admitted proudly. "The gospel of a new physics, which will offer man a new way to look at his Universe. I am no mad prophet. I preach only what I have learned. My sermons are founded on hard facts that can be independently confirmed. There is no dealing in superstition here."

  Again it was McCrae who forestalled a potentially violent confrontation by stepping verbally between the two men. "I'd like some proof of your power source. Something to show that what we're seeing are more than just some carefully gimmicked standard supradrive engines."

  "And so you shall, my dear. You will have all the proof you wish. All the computer storage banks are open to your perusal. So are the engines themselves. As you will see, the readouts and monitoring instrumentation are practically unchanged. So you will know the figures they offer you are genuine." He looked around the room with the attitude of a proud father.

  "When you examine the output of a single engine, you will be more amazed than you can imagine. Come along, and I'll explain as we walk. Please feel free to ask any questions you like. I enjoy being able to provide answers. That has been the driving force of my entire life, you see. To be the one in the position to provide the answers." He glanced back at Durant.

  "Perhaps as we walk I will also explain the beginning I was referring to, the next question I have chosen to answer."

  Durant and McCrae flanked the scientist as they strolled off toward a bend in the room. Booth pretended to examine the master power console, but watched as they moved farther from his position.

  "A new source of energy for mankind," McCrae was saying speculatively. "This could revolutionize much more than deep-space travel. It could free the peoples of Earth from dependence on conventional sources of power forever."

  "Precisely," agreed the pleased Reinhardt. "I call it the Cygnus Process, after my ship."

  As the others moved on, Booth remained standing by the quietly humming instruments monitoring the engines below. His companions disappeared around the bend in the room.

  Booth looked around. The mechanicals manning the instruments ignored him. He turned and hurried away, moving in the opposite direction from the one taken by his host and friends. At the moment he was not worried about Reinhardt's missing him as much as he was about the possibility he might encounter some of the Cygnus's metal sentries. The good doctor was obviously absorbed in detailing the marvels of the ship and in soaking up the compliments McCrae and Durant would be providing him in turn.

  Booth had had enough of scientific wonders for a while. There were one or two things bothering him that he preferred to check on away from Reinhardt's scrutiny. The time had come for a little investigative reporting. And if it got him into trouble, well, his curiosity had placed him in awkward positions before. He had always somehow managed to extricate himself. So if explanations didn't work with Reinhardt, he suspected that flattery or humi
lity, or both, would. He had been following his suspicions and hunches on a professional basis for years, and he was damned if he was going to stop now.

  Holland had located an air-car terminal and had chosen one likely to transport him back toward the reception area and the waiting Palomino. It responded to his programming, carried him smoothly forward. If he had guessed wrong, he could always backtrack and switch to another car.

  An intersection loomed ahead, several corridors converging. He stared intently at the nearing nexus, trying to recall if they had passed this hub previously or if one of the side corridors seemed more familiar than the one he was traveling down now.

  They did not, but the intersection itself suddenly grabbed his interest. Six of the humanoid, dark-cloaked mechanicals hove into view. That in itself was nothing unique; he had become familiar with the appearance and design of most of the robots aboard. But their movements, and particularly the object they conveyed between them, caused him to frown.

  The flat platform resembled a hospital-style gurney, less festooned with instrumentation but definitely similar in construction. The analogy was enhanced by the covered, somewhat irregular shape lying on the platform. Its silhouette was exceptionally human, more so even than that of the six mechanicals surrounding it.

  They crossed through the intersection and vanished up one of the corridors. Holland knew he had to act quickly before the vehicle carried him past the nexus. If he traveled too far before stopping, he likely would not find the right corridor when he backtracked. His hands worked rapidly at the programming unit. The car slowed, came to a silent halt just beyond the intersection. Holland leaned back and stared. The odd procession was just turning a far corner.

  He hesitated briefly. Reinhardt didn't know he was here, doubtless still believed he was back in Maintenance and Stores with Charlie and Vincent, working to procure the necessary replacement parts for the Palomino's regeneration system under the watchful optics of Maximillian. No sentry or other machine had challenged his progress thus far. It was reasonable to assume that Reinhardt's instructions regarding the treatment of the new visitors as guests had filtered through the ship's mechanical crew. It was therefore possible he could go anywhere he wished without being confronted.