TERROR BY SATELLITE

Hugh Walters

www.sfgateway.com

Enter the SF Gateway …

In the last years of the twentieth century (as Wells might have put it), Gollancz, Britain’s oldest and most distinguished science fiction imprint, created the SF and Fantasy Masterworks series. Dedicated to re-publishing the English language’s finest works of SF and Fantasy, most of which were languishing out of print at the time, they were – and remain – landmark lists, consummately fulfilling the original mission statement:

‘SF MASTERWORKS is a library of the greatest SF ever written, chosen with the help of today’s leading SF writers and editors. These books show that genuinely innovative SF is as exciting today as when it was first written.’

Now, as we move inexorably into the twenty-first century, we are delighted to be widening our remit even more. The realities of commercial publishing are such that vast troves of classic SF & Fantasy are almost certainly destined never again to see print. Until very recently, this meant that anyone interested in reading any of these books would have been confined to scouring second-hand bookshops. The advent of digital publishing has changed that paradigm for ever.

The technology now exists to enable us to make available, for the first time, the entire backlists of an incredibly wide range of classic and modern SF and fantasy authors. Our plan is, at its simplest, to use this technology to build on the success of the SF and Fantasy Masterworks series and to go even further.

Welcome to the new home of Science Fiction & Fantasy. Welcome to the most comprehensive electronic library of classic SFF titles ever assembled.

Welcome to the SF Gateway.

Chapter One

“Got it!”

Tony Hale straightened his aching back and looked at his handiwork proudly. The bench in front of him was littered with electrical equipment, for the young rocket mechanic has recently become interested in short wave radio. During his month’s leave he’d begged, borrowed and—in the last resort—bought masses of radio parts to make the transmitter he’d just finished. Unfortunately his licence hadn’t yet come through and he was reluctant to get into trouble by using his apparatus illegally.

The transmitter should work, and he was aching to try it out. Then he would be able to call up other radio hams all over the Earth. Maybe he’d pick up signals from the base on the Moon, and certainly from the host of satellites. Not that the satellite signals would be intelligible, for they were coded and needed elaborate instruments to help understand them.

To obtain a licence was now extremely difficult, for with so much radio communication, almost all wavelengths were allocated. Only when some amateur enthusiast gave up his wavelength—a very rare occurrence—was it possible to license it to someone else. In view of Tony’s past services to the community, including his journeys to the Moon and the planets, he expected the minimum possible delay. Now that his set was finished he was impatient to use it.

His leave would be up in another three days. Then he would have to return to duty at the great new satellite observatory circling the Earth every four hours. Not for another three months would he be on leave again, so unless his licence came through very quickly he’d have to wait some time before he could try out the result of his labours.

He wondered how Sidney was getting on with his job. Tony’s friend had been bitten with the same bug and he, too, had been busily engaged in building a transmitter. Unlike Tony, Sidney Stafford had access to plenty of radio equipment, for his father had one of those fascinating shops which sell all sorts of surplus Government equipment. Mr. Stafford regarded his son’s latest fad with mild amusement, for the young man had had numerous ones before, and they’d all fizzled out after a very short time.

Tony and Sid had been friends for a long time, ever since they had attended the same technical college. Tony had become a highly skilled mechanic who had made many voyages in space rockets before taking his present job on the satellite observatory. Sid had drifted into his father’s business, and despite all Mr. Stafford’s efforts, had shown little interest in anything else. It is bad, Stafford senior thought, for a young man to take the line of least resistance and shelter in his father’s business. Better for him to stand on his own two feet and carve his own niche in the world. Some day, he hoped, Sidney would see sense and really begin to make use of the ability he undoubtedly had.

When Tony and his friend decided to build transmitters they did it in a spirit of friendly rivalry. Originally the idea was to be able to talk to each other from their homes when Tony was on leave. Soon after they had started they decided that to see who could complete the job first was hardly fair, for Mr. Stafford allowed his son to take whatever he wanted from the shop. Instead they were to see who could build the smaller set, and in this Tony’s dexterity gave him the edge on Sid.

“Not bad,” Tony said to himself as he eyed his work proudly. He thought that with a squeeze he might be able to get the transmitter into his suitcase. Not bad for an amateur, he decided. Hope the licence came through before he went back to work. He was just dying to give Sid a call.

Young Stafford was waiting for his licence also. His set had been ready for a couple of weeks, but it was larger and perhaps more powerful than his friend’s. He’d used a lot of equipment from his father’s shop and this had made his apparatus more bulky than Tony’s. Still—Mr. Stafford was only too happy to let his son take from stock anything he wanted, and to use an attic room as a workshop.

When the two young men met to admire each other’s efforts, Tony brought his transmitter to Sid’s home in a suitcase, and victory was generously conceded. They proceeded to make elaborate plans for scouring the globe for other amateurs as soon as they were allowed to operate. How many contacts would they be able to make, they wondered.

“You’ll have a terrific start over me,” Tony grumbled. “Even if the licence comes through tomorrow, I’ll only have a couple of days before I go back to the satellite.”

“Take your set with you,” laughed Sid. “You could easily smuggle it along with your luggage.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Tony replied, and he’d suddenly become very serious. How could his friend know about Commander Hendriks, the man in charge of the satellite observatory?

In spite of himself Tony shivered a little at the thought of this hateful man. Though a brilliant scientist, Hendriks was also a ruthless disciplinarian, and his rule on the satellite was absolute. The slightest slackness in carrying out an order, or the merest hesitancy in obeying his commands, called forth his frightening anger. All the thirty men who formed the normal complement of the satellite observatory feared, yet admired, this remarkable scientist. Tony had avoided contact with him as much as possible, and only occasionally had he felt the biting lash of the Commander’s tongue.

To smuggle his transmitter aboard the satellite would be to call forth the utmost wrath of his chief, Tony told his companion. But Sidney didn’t seem to understand.

“He wouldn’t know if you didn’t want him to,” Tony’s friend persisted. “And just think how often we could talk to each other. Besides—you’d be able to contact ‘hams’ that I couldn’t reach.”

“It’s no use, Sid,” Tony sighed. “I’d like to, but he’d flay me alive if he found out. Sorry, old chap. It’ll have to wait till I get back.”

“Too bad,” Sidney said with mock sympathy. “I suppose I’ll have to be content with getting my radio contacts without competition.”

“Suppose it’s no use asking you not to use your set till my next leave, is it?” Tony asked hopelessly.

“No use at all,” his friend told him. “I’m just dying to start twiddling those knobs. It would be more than I could endure to leave them alone after the licence has come.”

“Well, let’s hope they both come tomorrow,” sighed the mechanic.

But they didn’t. Nor the next day, and the two pieces of apparatus had to remain silent. When he went to wish him good-bye, Tony had a strong suspicion that Sid was really pleased the documents hadn’t turned up. They were bound to come any day now, and Sid would have a whole three months without any competition. But surely Hendriks wouldn’t mind Tony using his home-made transmitter in his off duty hours! No sooner had the thought entered the mechanic’s head than he dismissed it. The only communication between Earth and satellite was by the official radio, and the Commander had always refused to relay even the most urgent private messages.

Feeling thoroughly fed-up, Tony said good-bye to his friend. Early next morning he must fly to Cape Canaveral to join the ferry rocket that would return him to the Observatory. That night he completed his packing. Then he had one more look at the small piece of apparatus over which he had laboured so lovingly. He looked at the transmitter for a long time, as if trying to make up his mind about something. Suddenly his face hardened, and he turned and started to remove some of the clothing from one of his two suitcases!

Whistling in a carefree, innocent way, Tony reported to the airport next morning with his two cases. An officer weighed them.

“Bit heavy, this one. What’s in it?” he asked.

“Oh, just the usual. Perhaps a bit extra chocolate. Can’t buy any up there, you know,” Tony grinned. He hoped his face wouldn’t give him away, for if the officer checked his case and found any unauthorized baggage, he’d be in for a rough time.

“All right,” the officer said as he swung Tony’s cases on to a truck. “Don’t make a beast of yourself with it.”

“I won’t,” the mechanic assured him. “See you in three months.”

The Comet was soon whisking its passengers across the Atlantic. Occasionally Tony felt qualms about that mysterious case. Fortunately there wouldn’t be another check, as the airport one sufficed for the rocket journey also. He knew he was taking a fearful risk, but he just couldn’t bear to let old Sidney steal a march on him.

There was no trouble at Cape Canaveral. Though he’d passed through the rocket station many times before, Tony had to go through the formality of identification followed by a medical check-up. No attention was paid to his sealed cases, but not until his luggage was stowed in the hold and he was strapped on to his couch ready for the launching did he feel at ease. His fellow passengers were also members of the observatory staff, both technical and scientific, and many of them greeted him.

“Wonder how Hendriks is these days,” one of the astronomers murmured as they waited for the count-down. “I keep out of his way as much as possible.”

“Me, too—though I hear he’s been keeping pretty much to that lab of his lately,” a physicist informed the party.

“Let’s hope he’s better tempered than he was during my last tour,” one of the mathematicians said. “He tore a strip off me just because I enquired politely what work he was engaged on.”

“You fallen foul of him yet?” the physicist asked Tony.

“Once,” the mechanic answered. “One of the air locks jammed. I got the blame for it. No use telling him that later I found fusing by a micro-meteorite.”

“Some day he’ll go mad in one of those rages of his,” the astronomer sighed, and all further conversation was cut off abruptly by the take-off.

Though they had all been through launchings scores of times, the passengers and crew knew they were in for an uncomfortable time during the next few minutes. Forced down hard on their contour couches by the terrific acceleration of the transport rocket, they were unable to move or speak. Only when the huge motor ceased firing would the discomfort end and speech again become possible. It was always a great relief when this distressing, but essential period was over.

The pressure went off as suddenly as it had started, but in addition to recovering the use of their muscles, the passengers and crew had entered that strange and exhilarating condition of weightlessness. Rocket, crew and passengers were now coasting along on an orbit approximately the same as that of the Observatory. Small booster rockets would enable the ferry to position itself alongside the huge satellite, and the pilot was already calculating the necessary bursts from radar observations.

Before long the blimp of the Observatory had appeared on the rocket’s screen, and the experienced pilot had given short bursts of power that would bring them together. The really delicate part of the job would be when the ferry had to be manœeuvred into contact with the airlock giving entrance to the satellite. It was here that the pilot’s skill really showed itself, for in almost record time the job was done and the passengers were preparing to leave.

With the others Tony put on his space suit, for they would all have to pass through the rocket’s airlock into that of the Observatory. Although ferry and satellite were now clamped together magnetically, this airlock routine was essential to conserve the precious supply of oxygen stored in both. Maybe some day a satellite would be built that would enable a ferry to sail right inside. Then the travellers would simply float out of their rocket into the cosy surroundings of the space station. For the moment, ferry rockets had to cling like limpets to the outside of the Observatory, only dropping away when unloaded and reloaded.

Tony, bags in hand, was patiently waiting his turn to pass through the lock. Conversation over their space-suit radios between the waiting men was almost nil, for each was feeling an unaccountable chill at the prospect of coming once more under the jurisdiction of the strange Commander Hendriks. Only the fascination of their work made life in the Observatory possible. When it came to Tony’s turn to pass through the airlock he picked up his bags, little knowing what an historic part the contents of one of them were destined to play.

A few minutes later the mechanic was safely aboard the space station and was removing his helmet in the locker room. The other new arrivals were also removing their equipment, while a similar number of men were excitedly donning theirs ready for the returning ferry to take them back to Earth on leave.

“Hello, Tony,” a voice called out, and the mechanic turned to see a young man, dressed ready to depart, making his way towards him.

“Hello, Bill,” Tony called back, “you’re soon ready.”

“Not too soon for me,” the other smiled back. “Glad to get out of reach of ‘his nibs’ for a spell.”

“How’s he been?” Tony asked his friend, who was also a mechanic.

“Terrible. Look, Tony,” Bill went on seriously, “there’s going to be trouble here if things don’t alter. Everybody hates Hendriks and there’ll be an explosion soon if he’s in charge of the Observatory much longer. Watch your step, old chap.”

“Sure I will, Bill. Well, have a nice leave. See you in a month.”

“No you won’t. I’m applying for a transfer when I get back to Earth. If I don’t get it—I still won’t come back.”

“Bad as that? Perhaps I’ll do the same next time,” Tony said thoughtfully.

As his friend clipped on his helmet and joined the others in the queue for the airlock the mechanic picked up his bag Like his boots the bags had magnetic strips along the bottom to anchor them down, for everything was now weightless in the satellite, though after the ferry had left the whole Observatory would start turning like a huge wheel, the centrifugal force acting as a substitute for gravity. Carefully, with a serious expression on his face, Tony made his way to his own cabin. If things were as bad as Bill said, the Commander would certainly have something to say if he found out what was included in the mechanic’s luggage.