Destroyer of Worlds Read online

  Destroyer of Worlds

  A Novel

  By

  E. C. Tubb

  Edited by Philip Harbottle

  © E. C. Tubb and Philip Harbottle 2015

  ISBN-13: 978-1523967063

  E. C. Tubb and Philip Harbottle have asserted their rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author and editor of this work respectively.

  This edition published in 2015 by Venture Press, an imprint of Endeavour Press Ltd.

  CHAPTER 1

  The Ad Astra was a small citadel in itself, one of a small fleet of Earth exploratory spacecraft to be fitted with the revolutionary Hyper-Drive, by which faster than light travel had been made possible. It carried 48 men and women, the lives and well-being of which were Carl Maddox’s responsibility as Commander of the expedition. Their seven-year interstellar mission was to explore newly discovered solar systems, and to assess planets suitable for colonization.

  The Ad Astra’s first mission has been unsuccessful. The alien solar system they had reached held no terrestrial-type planets. Now they were on their second mission. And hoping for better results.

  There were times when Maddox wished that more than Earth had been left behind when, some three years ago — as measured by instruments — the Ad Astra had set off into interstellar space. There were irritations and annoyances he could have done without and, at the moment, Sonia Bowman was the worst.

  ‘Commander!’ she gushed. ‘I need you. We all need you. Please?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But if you would only reconsider. You would be ideal for the part.’

  ‘No,’ snapped Maddox again, then softened the harshness of his tone a little. Sonia Bowman wasn’t really bad; she was just a dedicated idealist determined to get her own way; a trait he could appreciate. ‘You don’t need me, Sonia. From what I hear you’ve a superb company and I’m sure you’ll put on a magnificent performance.’

  If not it wouldn’t be because of failure on her part but, looking at the dark intensity of Maddox’s face; the sweep of black hair, the eyes, the sensitivity of the mouth, the firmness of the jaw, it was hard not to feel regret. He would have made a perfect Hamlet. Tall, a little too old for accurate representation, perhaps, but his added maturity would have given a greater depth to the role. And, too, the presence of the Commander would have guaranteed success.

  Watching her, guessing her thoughts, Maddox inwardly smiled. Odd talents had appeared among the personnel of the Ad Astra once they had been irrevocably divorced from their home world. Artists had appeared among them, sculptors, musicians, actors, but who would have guessed that the short, dumpy woman now standing before him would have blossomed into a producer of Shakespearian plays? From the treasured books and folios in her room it was obvious that she was a dedicated follower of the Bard and was now, in a sense, achieving a life-long ambition.

  ‘Commander?’ She had been studying his face, catching the slight, almost imperceptible movement of muscle and tissue, reading the interplay of intent and emotion. ‘You don’t object?’

  ‘To the play? Of course not.’

  ‘I was thinking of my request, Commander. Have you decided?’

  That was another matter. Sonia Bowman was an organic chemist and as such of more value to the ship than any producer of plays. Yet men could not live on bread alone. They had to be given periods of recreation and the opportunity to relax.

  The early experimental Hyper-Drive vessels had a high mortality rate. They could emerge within the heart of a sun or mere miles from the surface of a planet. Ships had been known to emerge in solid rock, or deep within a sea. Chance played a great part. They could aim the ship; their Computer could plot a course, allow for variables and determine transit time, yet they could never be certain. The Hyper-Drive would be engaged; the ship would be surrounded by the greyness of alien space, and after a pre-determined length of time, the drive would be disengaged, and the ship would emerge into normal space.

  The amount of power involved in hyperspace transits was colossal, almost draining the accumulators of even the most powerful atomic engines.

  After each jump through hyperspace time was needed in which the main engine’s accumulators could be recharged, regaining sufficient power to make their next journey.

  That was why the emergence of the new ships was mathematically calculated so that they emerged well outside the outer reaches of the solar systems of their target stars. The rest of the journey was then made on a subsidiary conventional drive, taking almost a year to reach the outer limits of the alien solar system.

  The time was not wasted; it enabled observations of the space ahead to be made, charting a safe course, and identifying likely planets to investigate.

  But despite the observational work and analysis involved, boredom was a great enemy. Recreation and entertainment was essential to preserve the psychological wellbeing of crew members.

  And it would be more than nine months before the crew of the Ad Astra reached the edges of their next solar system.

  Sonia’s theatre was a new project and could provide the essential ingredient of actual participation, which recordings, no matter how good, could not. Actors and audience, interchanging roles, maintaining a dialogue, building the family-like affinity the crew must have for optimum efficiency.

  And, to be happy and content, it was essential to ensure job-satisfaction. The woman would do her job as before should he insist but, subconsciously, she would be resentful and prone to error.

  Maddox said, ‘You’re important to us in more ways than one, Sonia. Our mission can’t afford to lose your skills. If —’

  ‘My assistant is perfectly capable of conducting the routine, Commander,’ she said quickly. ‘And I will always be available. I promise that you will have no reason to regret granting my request.’ And then she added, with almost frightening intensity, ‘Please, Commander. Please!’

  A cruel man or a sadistic one would have kept her on a hook, but Maddox was neither. A stupid one would have rejected her application, blind to the long-term advantages, but no fool would ever have gained the command of the Ad Astra and no stupid man could ever have held that command once they had plunged deep into the unknown.

  Sitting back in his chair Maddox smiled. ‘It’s yours, Sonia. As from this moment you are the official head of the theatre company. But I warn you, you’ll have to be good or someone will be after your job.’

  ‘If I’m not good they will have the right to take it.’ She returned his smile; a woman glowing with happiness. ‘Are you positive you won’t take part, Commander?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Not even a small one? I could arrange —’

  ‘If you keep tormenting me, woman, I’ll have you put in chains!’ His scowl accentuated the mock anger of his voice, a display which confirmed her belief in his acting abilities. ‘Now move!’

  ‘Yes, my lord. At once, my lord.’ She made a curtsey, as mocking as his feigned rage, a gesture which seemed to bring with it the rustle of billowing skirts, the dance of candlelight, the grace of a departed age. ‘Until the first night then, my lord. I shall see that you get one of the best seats.’

  He rose as she left, stretching, feeling pleasure at happiness given, warmed by the woman’s radiated joy. Aiming his communicator, he opened the wide doors and stepped into the ordered activity of Mission Control.

  As always he looked at the screens.

  They showed the space lying ahead, the area into which the ship was relentlessly moving. A great emptiness dotted with the gleam of a multitude of stars, glowing points of distant brilliance, the sheets and curtains of hazy luminescence, the blurred fuzz of remote nebulae. An awe-inspiring spectacle that always gripped him an
d made him conscious of the relative insignificance of Mankind. Tiny creatures living on a mote of dust lost in the tremendous vastness of the universe. Even on their own planet they had been minute — now, aboard the Ad Astra in the interstellar void, they were poised on the very edge of extinction.

  But they had minds and intelligence and the technology to survive.

  They were human and they were of Earth.

  ‘Nothing, Commander.’ Rose Armstrong reported from where she sat at her instruments, answering the question in his eyes as he looked at her. ‘Space registers empty as far as we can scan. We’re still three billion miles from our Target Star.’

  ‘Saha?’

  ‘Computer verifies.’ Nelson Saha touched the bulk of his charge. ‘All extrapolations show an absence of any form of potential danger.’

  ‘Good.’ Maddox felt himself relax even more. It would be good simply to concentrate on the inner workings of the Ad Astra, to plot new lines of activity. And all without the need of strain or urgency. The play had come at a good time.

  Frank Weight mentioned it from where he sat at the main console.

  ‘Did you decide about Sonia Bowman, Commander?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I’ve given her the go-ahead. There seemed no harm in it and she’s earned the chance.’

  ‘She’s certainly worked on that play of hers,’ said Frank. ‘Every spare moment she’s had she’s been working on costumes and make-up and all the rest of it. Right, Rose?’

  ‘That is right, Frank.’

  ‘I said she should try for a part. She would make a fine Desdemona, right, Nelson?’

  Saha smiled with a display of teeth startlingly white against the rich brownness of his skin. ‘That’s right,’ he agreed. ‘And I’d make a good Othello.’

  ‘The best. And you, Commander? What part do you fancy?’

  The part of Moses, of bringing his people home safe from the wilderness, but Maddox didn’t say so.

  *

  From where he lay on the bed, Gordon Kent could see the edge of the desk, the rounded curve of a shoulder and the glint of a helmet of blonde hair. A careless nurse had left the door of the ward open and so provided him with a view, but intriguing as it was he would willingly have changed it for another, far more bleak, perhaps, but also far more familiar.

  ‘Gordon?’ Alan Guthrie occupying a bed opposite lifted his head from the pillow. ‘Can you see if she’s moving?’

  ‘She isn’t.’

  ‘When she does, wave at her. Attract her attention in some way. I want to get out of here.’

  ‘Who doesn’t?’ Gordon moved, cursing his leg, the inattention which had sent him toppling down into a storage hold to land awkwardly, to send him to Medical with a broken shin. ‘They’ve fitted Staders,’ he said, bitterly. ‘The bone’s reinforced with metal plates and still they keep me cooped up in bed like a sick child. Doctor!’

  At the desk the woman stirred.

  ‘Doctor Allard!’ yelled Gordon again. ‘Here, please!’

  Claire lifted her head and sat for a moment deciding whether or not to answer the call. The patient was in no danger and she could guess what he wanted.

  ‘Doctor!’

  Sighing Claire Allard moved a heap of papers to one side and rose. A nurse could have answered the call and would have done so had she summoned one, but the girl on duty was probably engrossed and the others would be equally engaged. And, as she had cause to remember, Gordon Kent had an overpowering manner. It took experience to be able to handle an aggressive male patient and the conflict would provide a welcome distraction from the statistics she had been studying.

  ‘Doctor Allard!’ Gordon smiled at her as she entered the ward. Big, strong, muscles toughened by regular exercise, he bulked huge beneath the covers. The hood lifting the sheet off the injured leg gave him a lop-sided appearance. With an easy movement he lifted himself so as to sit upright in the bed. ‘Doctor, when do I get out of here?’

  ‘And me, Doctor.’ Alan Guthrie, smaller but just as pugnacious in his way, didn’t intend to be ignored. ‘I’ve work to do and it won’t get done with me lying here. How about it?’

  ‘I’ve one answer for the pair of you,’ she said, flatly. ‘No.’

  ‘No?’ Gordon frowned. ‘No, what?’

  ‘No, you can’t get up, you can’t get out, you can’t return to duty.’ Claire lifted the board from the foot of the bed. ‘Now listen to this, Gordon Kent. You were brought in suffering from a broken shin, multiple contusions, slight narcosis and shock. In fact, you are lucky to be alive. I intend to keep you that way given a little help.’

  ‘I feel fine.’

  ‘Of course. You’ve been drugged so as to eliminate pain. You’ve had a long rest under electro-sleep. Glucose and saline has been fed into your veins. The broken bone has been treated and, when the wound heals, you’ll be as good as new. But not yet.’

  ‘Why not, Doctor?’ He scowled. ‘Look, I feel just fine and I should know. I can get up this very moment. Damn it, Doctor, why the hell do I have to stay here in bed like some broken down cripple?’

  Claire said, coldly, ‘What is your job, Kent?’

  ‘What?’ Her sudden chill had startled him. ‘I’m a technician. I work outside mostly, checking for micrometeoroid damage and maintaining the scanners. Why?’

  ‘Do I try to teach you your job?’

  ‘No, but —’

  ‘Then don’t try to teach me mine. If you want to get up, then go ahead. Your leg might take what you intend to give it, but on the other hand it might not. The wound could become infected and that could lead to amputation.’ Claire glanced at the board. ‘I see you’re fond of gymnastics — lose a leg and you’ll have to find another hobby. But that’s up to you. If you want to take the chance, go ahead.’ Her tone chilled even more. ‘But remember this — discharge yourself and you’re on your own. Don’t come whining back to me for help if things go wrong. Well?’

  She was bluffing; never would she permit any patient to leave unless he was a hundred per cent fit and certainly she would never withhold medical aid to any who might need it, but Kent didn’t know that and couldn’t afford to take the chance. He lay silent for a moment, thinking, remembering how dependent he and every other crew member was on her medical assistance, the skill and dedication of the woman and her staff. And she had been right, as a technician he could appreciate that. Each to their own speciality.

  ‘Well?’ Guthrie watched from across the room. ‘What’s it to be, Gordon?’

  ‘You wanted out too.’

  ‘I know,’ admitted the other man. ‘Now I’m not so certain. How much longer will it be, Doctor?’

  ‘For you, another three days. For you,’ she looked at Kent, ‘a day extra. I want to make sure those sutures have taken. If there is any infection I want to catch it at once and, to be frank, I can’t trust you to take things easy.’ Warmth edged into her voice, a calculated intimacy to remove the sting from the metaphorical slap she had given. ‘You big men are always hard to handle. At times I think you’ve never really grown up.’ Then, casually she added, ‘How close are you to becoming gymnastics champion?’

  The question pleased him, removing the last of any irritation he might have felt, soothing any bruise to his pride.

  ‘Close,’ he said with a touch of pride. ‘Chang’s in the lead but I can wipe out his advantage as soon as I master the treble turn and flip. You should come and see me at work, Doctor. As a student of anatomy you could be interested.’

  ‘In what?’ snapped Guthrie. ‘In you, you big ape? The lady has more to do than inflate your ego. Anyway, you’re inefficient, right, Doctor? His muscles burn too much oxygen and his bulk takes too much energy to move around. Yes?’

  ‘That’s a matter of opinion.’

  ‘No it isn’t.’ He was quick to the attack. ‘I’ve read about it and Alice Beecham verified it. She works in the hydroponic farms and she’s a dietician. She told me all a
bout the relative efficiency of fuel-intake to energy output and big, bulky men have a less efficient metabolism than, well, someone like me, for example.’

  ‘Rubbish!’

  ‘It isn’t!’ Guthrie appealed to Claire. ‘Aren’t I right, Doctor? Tell that big ape I’m right.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Fight it out between yourselves — but the first one who moves an inch from his bed gets immobilised for a week. I mean that!’

  A threat which would prevent any actual physical violence and restrain them to verbal battle. At least, for them, it would pass the time and ease boredom.

  Claire leaned her back against the closed door and closed her eyes. Always she had the nagging fear of the unknown and Kent’s leg was a problem. The wound hadn’t acted as it should, which was the real reason she had kept him in bed. Staders, correctly applied, mended the bone and allowed immediate movement of the affected limb. But, while the surgery had been without fault, the healing process was unaccountably slow.

  An unsuspected result of prolonged exposure to the wild radiations of space, perhaps? An effect of working in the harsh and deadly environment outside?

  There was so much they still had to learn.

  ‘Doctor?’ Ted Bain, her deputy, was walking towards her. Smiling he nodded at the closed door of the ward. ‘Trouble?’

  ‘An argument, that’s all.’

  ‘Serious?’

  ‘No.’ She took a deep breath and returned his smile. ‘Just boredom, Ted, but I’ve taken care of it. Was there something?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s time you were getting ready to attend the play.’

  *

  Maddox called for her, waiting as she fastened the flower he had brought to the shoulder of her uniform, a plastic thing yet one of delicate colour and form, bright with golden flecks against a background of smouldering scarlet.

  ‘An orchid,’ he said. ‘At least I think it is. There are so many kinds you can never be sure.’

  ‘Thank you, Carl.’ She rested her hand on his arm, aware of the fine lines of strain marking his face, the added tension creasing the flesh at the corners of his eyes. An older face than he had worn when first taking over the command of the ship, one which had seen more than its share of death and danger, of the pit which waited, ever-hungry, at the edge of their artificial world.