“Now, notice! If you have not reported within a week, I will set off the bomb. There are several worlds within a week’s hyperspace flight of here, but all recognize the dominion of Earth. If you flee, you must leave your ship within a week, so I hardly think you will land on a nonhabitable world. Clear?”
“Clear.”
“If I am wrong, you may take a lie-detector test and prove it. Then you may punch me in the nose, and I will apologize handsomely.”
I shook my head. He stood up, bowed, and left me sitting there cold sober.
Four films had been taken from the Laskins’ cameras. In the time left to me I ran through them several times without seeing anything out of the way. If the ship had run through a gas cloud, the impact could have killed the Laskins. At perihelion they were moving at better than half the speed of light. But there would have been friction, and I saw no sign of heating in the films. If something alive had attacked them, the beast was invisible to radar and to an enormous range of light frequencies. If the attitude jets had fired accidentally—I was clutching at straws—the light showed on none of the films.
There would be savage magnetic forces near BVS-1, but that couldn’t have done any damage. No such force could penetrate a General Products hull. Neither could heat, except in special bands of radiated light, bands visible to at least one of the puppeteers’ alien customers. I hold adverse opinions on the General Products hull, but they all concern the dull anonymity of the design. Or maybe I resent the fact that General Products holds a near monopoly on spacecraft hulls and isn’t owned by human beings. But if I’d had to trust my life to, say, the Sinclair yacht I’d seen in the drugstore, I’d have chosen jail.
Jail was one of my three choices. But I’d be there for life. Ausfaller would see to that.
Or I could run for it in the Skydiver. But no world within reach would have me. If I could find an undiscovered Earthlike world within a week of We Made It . . .
Fat chance. I preferred BVS-1.
I thought that flashing circle of light was getting bigger, but it flashed so seldom, I couldn’t be sure. BVS-1 wouldn’t show even in my telescope. I gave that up and settled for just waiting.
Waiting, I remembered a long-ago summer spent on Jinx. There were days when, unable to go outside because a dearth of clouds had spread the land with raw blue-white sunlight, we amused ourselves by filling party balloons with tap water and dropping them on the sidewalk from three stories up. They made lovely splash patterns, which dried out too fast. So we put a little ink in each balloon before filling it. Then the patterns stayed.
Sonya Laskin had been in her chair when the chairs had collapsed. Blood samples showed that it was Peter who had struck them from behind, like a water balloon dropped from a great height.
What could get through a General Products hull?
Ten hours to fall.
I unfastened the safety net and went for an inspection tour. The access tunnel was three feet wide, just right to push through in free-fall. Below me was the length of the fusion tube; to the left, the laser cannon; to the right, a set of curved side tubes leading to inspection points for the gyros, the batteries and generator, the air plant, the hyperspace shunt motors. All was in order—except me. I was clumsy. My jumps were always too short or too long. There was no room to turn at the stem end, so I had to back fifty feet to a side tube.
Six hours to go, and still I couldn’t find the neutron star. Probably I would see it only for an instant, passing at better than half the speed of light. Already my speed must be enormous.
Were the stars turning blue?
Two hours to go—and I was sure they were turning blue. Was my speed that high? Then the stars behind should be red. Machinery blocked the view behind me, so I used the gyros. The ship turned with peculiar sluggishness. And the stars behind were blue, not red. All around me were blue-white stars.
Imagine light falling into a savagely steep gravitational well. It won’t accelerate. Light can’t move faster than light. But it can gain in energy, in frequency. The light was falling on me harder and harder as I dropped.
I told the Dictaphone about it. That Dictaphone was probably the best-protected item on the ship. I had already decided to earn my money by using it, just as if I expected to collect. Privately I wondered just how intense the light would get.
Skydiver had drifted back to vertical, with, its axis through the neutron star, but now it faced outward. I’d thought I had the ship stopped horizontally. More clumsiness. I used the gyros. Again the ship moved mushily, until it was halfway through the swing. Then it seemed to fall automatically into place. It was as if the Skydiver preferred to have its axis through the neutron star.
I didn’t like that.
I tried the maneuver again, and again the Skydiver fought back. But this time there was something else. Something was pulling at me.
So I unfastened my safety net—and fell headfirst into the nose.
The pull was light, about a tenth of a gee. It felt more like sinking through honey than falling. I climbed back into my chair, tied myself in with the net, now hanging face-down, and turned on the dictaphone. I told my story in such nit-picking detail that my hypothetical listeners could not but doubt my hypothetical sanity. “I think this is what happened to the Laskins,” I finished. “If the pull increases, I’ll call back.”
Think? I never doubted it. This strange, gentle pull was inexplicable. Something inexplicable had killed Peter and Sonya Laskin. QED.
Around the point where the neutron star must be, the stars were like smeared dots of oil paint, smeared radially1. They glared with an angry, painful light. I hung facedown in the net and tried to think.
It was an hour before I was sure. The pull was increasing. And I still had an hour to fall.
Something was pulling on me but not on the ship.
No, that was nonsense. What could reach out to me through a General Products hull? It must be the other way around. Something was pushing on the ship, pushing it off course.
If it got worse, I could use the drive to compensate. Meanwhile, the ship was being pushed away from BVS-1, which was fine by me.
But if I was wrong, if the ship was not somehow being pushed away from BVS-1, the rocket motor would send the Skydiver crashing into eleven miles of neutronium.
And why wasn’t the rocket already firing? If the ship was being pushed off course, the autopilot should be fighting back. The accelerometer was in good order. It had looked fine when I had made my inspection tour down the access tube.