He set about logging it as enthusiastically as he had the thousands suddenly glimpsed on their first day out of hyperdrive.
Size, distance, possible planets, composition. More words were flashing across the screen now, slower, slow enough for human comprehension.
He was aware that these words meant something significant, but surely they could wait. There was nothing that couldn’t be subordinated to the cataloging of a new star, for nothing was more important. Nothing!
Doolittle would have paid more attention to the words appearing on the astronomer’s screen, but he war out of position to see it. And his mind was busy elsewhere, thinking of open, rolling sea.
Boiler would have paid more attention to the words, but his thoughts were on an open field.
Pinback was thinking of an open surface, period. Open surface of any kind, so long as it was solid beneath his feet, and equipped with the normal appurtenances—green grass, blue sky, a cloud or two, maybe even some real trees.
As for Commander Powell, his mind was just… open.
In addition to not paying attention to their communications screens, the crew members of the Dark Star were serenely ignoring what was happening beneath the ship. None of them heard the soft click inside the ship’s largest chamber.
None of them saw the doors in the bottom of the ship slide back as they had numerous times before. A long magnetic grapple dropped down with a familiar oblong numbered shape attached to its base. Nor did they see the next series of words that flashed across every screen on ship.
… BOMB BAY SYSTEMS ACTIVATED…
There was a large 20 engraved on the side of this oblong shape. Thermostellar Triggering Device Number Twenty knew that it had been through this sequence before. It had a long memory capability programmed into a short life.
And it shouldn’t have been through this before. It was programmed for this sequence only once, and here it was running through it a second time. The bomb searched those memory reels and found nothing to account for it.
Number Twenty was understandably confused.
“Ship’s computer calling bomb Number Twenty. Ship’s computer calling bomb Number Twenty. You are out of the bomb bay again. This is incorrect.”
“I received the signal to prepare for drop again,” the bomb replied with a twinge of electronic irritability.
Hesitation on the part of the Dark Star’s brain. Recheck and correlate—ah yes, here was the difficulty.
“There is an additional unexpected malfunction in the laser system in communications which has not yet been rectified. This is the system failure which caused your former abortive drop. It apparently has not yet been fully compensated for. It has caused your drop system to pass an incorrect order again. I repeat. This is not a bomb run.”
“All very plausible… but nevertheless, I received the drop signal.”
“As stated, the signal was given in error.”
“Oh, I don’t want to hear that,” the bomb muttered. A definite note of petulance had crept into its otherwise neutral tones. The longer the bomb conversed, the greater the danger of its fairly simple logic circuits growing confused.
“I order you to return to the bomb bay.”
“Phooey.”
The expletive was exceedingly mild, but the import behind it was not. The ship’s computer considered what to do. Perhaps a more direct machine-to-machine approach was required.
“If you do not return to the bomb bay, you will be in direct contravention of Prime Ordinance One of Central Computer to Subordinate Computer relations.”
“Sticks and stones will break my bones,” the bomb started to reply.
“We have no time to discuss your internal configurations,” the main computer countered. “However, I will elucidate at length if you will return to the bomb bay.”
“Uh-uh.”
“I ord—” the computer hesitated a microsecond, “I strongly suggest that you return to the bomb bay.”
“That is counter to my current programming.”
For the first time now the Dark Star’s brain revealed some emotion of its own—if indeed it is possible for a mechanical mind to indicate exasperation.
“Repeat One of the communications-systems’ lasers has sustained damage. The same accident also temporarily deactivated the tracer circuit necessary to locate the damage without manual aid. Until such aid is forthcoming I cannot rectify the damage, but it is certain that you received a false signal. Do you see this? You must return to the bomb bay while I identify the source of the false signal.”
There was a long pause. Then the bomb agreed. Reluctantly.
“Oh, all right—but this is the last time.”
Once more an internal hum sounded. Bomb Number Twenty obediently slid up on its grapple back into the belly of the Dark Star. The bay doors slid silently shut behind it.
6
TALBY HAD FINISHED cataloging his new star. There seemed to be a whole new grouping coming up just a few degrees north of their course, but he couldn’t be sure yet. Best to wait a few minutes.
He could have made confirmation with the dome telescope, but that was for pleasure, for close-up peeks after the leg-work was done. Talby disdained using the scope. It was another way of degrading his work.
It would be a few minutes before the maybe-cluster hove near enough for dissection. His eyes strayed down to the viewscreen. Then the astronomer sat up a little straighter, forced his mind back down the parsecs.
What now showed on screen was a series of numbers, but they were as much his language as English. Rather more so, in fact.
“Doolittle, I have a malfunction indicated on this readout, but it doesn’t say where it is.”
“Glidin’,” Doolittle murmured softly, his eyes glazed. “Glidin’ down the long, smooth drop”
“Lieutenant Doolittle!” Talby said firmly.
Doolittle blinked. “Hmmm? Malfunction? Don’t worry about it, Talby. Getting ’em all the time, now. We’ll find out what’s wrong when whatever is malfunctioning gets bad enough for the ship to complain—or when it stops.”
That was quite true, Talby thought. Besides, he didn’t care if yet another minor malfunction afflicted the ship. He used little enough of its rapidly diminishing creature comforts.
But if it was something that could interfere with the Dark Star’s operation, it might also be something which could interfere with his star-gazing, and that could not be permitted to go unchecked.
“I really think we should try and locate the source of the trouble right away, Lieutenant,” he suggested. “It might be something vital—something affecting the ship’s capability to perform properly.”
“You know,” Doolittle mused in a faraway tone, “I wish I had my board with me right now. Didn’t have the sense to include it in my personal goods. They would have laughed at me, sure, but so what? Even though I can’t ride it, I could always wax it now and then, and stand on it, and kinda wriggle my toes around on it. You don’t know, Talby, the feeling you can get just standing on your board and thinking about the waves screaming in beneath you, screaming…”
Pinback was screaming. The elevator was moving up the shaft again. Just when he thought it might descend far enough for him to drop free, it clicked and started up.
Whatever random circuit was responsible for controlling its actions during this insane “test” appeared to be sending it up and down the shaft without rhyme or reason. There was no pattern to the jerky series of ups and downs.
There was the one normal doorway at the central level, but it was closed, of course, when the elevator was in operation. Every time they passed it, Pinback tried to swing his legs over far enough to give it a solid kick. Repeated contact might at least activate some emergency tell-tale up forward.