Space 1999 #9 - Rogue Planet Read online

  "TURN BACK,

  FOR DEATH AWAITS YOU!"

  The chill warning echoes from the depths of the unknown, shattering the icy silence of space. But the bold Alphans must spin faster and faster toward an electrifying confrontation with their unknown enemy.

  Ageless against the stars stands Omphalos.

  A giant green "brain," this galactic monster spins a web of deadly horrors, trapping Alpha in a ghastly psychic war!

  The ancient, mysterious door swung open.

  Dale and Carter stepped into a mausoleum.

  They halted and looked around in amazement. From the high, domed roof hung a mass of delicate, lacelike webbed sheets of fine gossamer that glowed with refracted color. Hanging in the webs were tall fragile shapes with long, pointed skulls and narrow shoulders. The faces were peaked, the eyes enormous beneath protruding brows, the hands long-fingered with nails of pearl.

  "Dead," whispered Carter. "They're all dead."

  "The webs." Dale moved the circle of his light, probing the rear of the cavern. "Giant spiders, maybe?"

  Suddenly Carter yelled, "The door! It's closing!"

  But even before he reached it, Carter knew that it was locked and that they were trapped among the alien dead!

  Books in the Space: 1999 Series

  Breakaway

  Moon Odyssey

  The Space Guardians

  Collision Course

  Lunar Attack

  Astral Quest

  Alien Seed

  Android Planet

  Rogue Planet

  Published by POCKET BOOKS

  ROGUE PLANET

  Futura Publications edition published 1976

  POCKET BOOK edition published September, 1976

  This POCKET BOOK edition includes every word contained in the original edition. It is printed from brand-new plates made from completely reset, clear, easy-to-read type. POCKET BOOK editions are published by POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc., 630 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10020. Trademarks registered in the United States and other countries.

  Standard Book Number: 671-80710-2.

  This POCKET BOOK edition is published by arrangement with Futura Publications Limited. Series format and television play scripts copyright, ©, 1975, by ITC—Incorporated Television Company Limited. This novelization copyright, ©, 1976, by E. C. Tubb. All rights reserved. This book, or portions thereof, may not be reproduced by any means without permission of the original publisher: Futura Publications Limited, 49 Poland Street, London, England.

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  To Peter, Jean,

  Martin and Julie Dixon

  CHAPTER ONE

  There were times when John Koenig wished that more than Earth had been left behind when, on that black day in September 1999, the Moon had blasted free from its age-old orbit to begin its fantastic journey through the universe. There were irritations and annoyances he could have done without and, at the moment, Sarah Pulcher 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 Koenig again, then softened the harshness of his tone a little. Sarah Pulcher 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, Sarah. 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 Koenig’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, Koenig inwardly smiled. Odd talents had appeared among the personnel of Moonbase Alpha 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 lifelong 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. Sarah Pulcher was an organic chemist and as such of more value to the base 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 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 Alphans must have if they hoped to survive.

  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.

  Koenig said, ‘You’re important to us in more ways than one, Sarah. Alpha 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 Koenig was neither. A stupid one would have rejected her application, blind to the longterm advantages, but no fool would ever have gained the command of Moonbase Alpha, and no stupid man could ever have held that command once they had plunged deep into the unknown.

  Sitting back in his chair Koenig smiled. ‘It’s yours, Sarah. As from this moment you are officially 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 a part, Commander?’

  ‘No.’

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

  ‘If you keep tormenting me, 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 commlock he opened the wide doors and stepped into the ordered activity of Main Mission.

  As always
he looked at the screens.

  They showed the space lying ahead, the area into which the Moon 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 which always gripped him and 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, adrift on what had been their satellite, they were posed on the very edge of extinction.

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

  They were human and they were of Earth.

  ‘Nothing, Commander.’ Sandra Benes reported from where she sat at her instruments, answering the question in his eye’s as he looked at her. ‘Space registers empty as far as we can scan.’

  ‘Kano?’

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

  ‘Good.’ Koenig felt himself relax even more. It would be good simply to concentrate on the inner workings of Alpha, to plot new lines of activity, to forge ahead with expansion and construction. And all without the need of strain or urgency. The play had come at a good time.

  Paul Morrow mentioned it from where he sat at the main consol.

  ‘Did you decide about Sarah Pulcher, 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 Paul. ‘Every spare moment she’s had she’s been working on costumes and make-up and all the rest of it. Right, Sandra?’

  ‘That is right, Paul.’

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

  Kano 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 Koenig didn’t say so.

  From where he lay on the bed Sam Blake could see the edge of the desk, the rounded curve of a shoulder and a glint 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.

  ‘Sam?’ Tony Ellman 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?’ Sam moved, cursing his leg, the inattention which had sent him toppling into a shallow crevass to land awkwardly, to send him to Medical with a broken shin. ‘They’ve fitted Stadlers,’ 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 Russell!’ yelled Sam again. ‘Here, please!’

  Helena 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, Helena Russell 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, Sam Blake 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 Russell!’ Sam smiled at her as she entered the ward. Big, strong, muscles toughened by long and arduous labour, he bulked huge beneath the covers. The hood lifting the sheet off the injured leg gave him a lopsided appearance. With an easy movement he lifted himself to sit upright in the bed. ‘Doctor, when do I get out of here?’

  ‘And me, Doctor.’ Tony Ellman, 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’s about it?’

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

  ‘No?’ Sam frowned. ‘No, what?’

  ‘No, you can’t get up, you can’t get out, you can’t return to duty.’ Helena lifted the board from the foot of the bed. ‘Now listen to this, Sam Blake. You were brought in here from outside 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 to eliminate pain. You’ve had a long rest under electro-sleep. Glucose and saline have 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?’

  Helena said coldly, ‘What is your job, Blake?’

  ‘What?’ Her sudden chill had startled him. ‘I’m a technician. I work outside mostly, checking for fissures 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.’ Helena 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 percent fit, and certainly she would never withhold medical aid to any who might need it, but Blake 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 Alphan was on the sole source of 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 his own specialty.

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

  ‘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 Blake, ‘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 so difficult. 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. ‘Webb’s in the lead but I can wipe out his advantage as soon as I master a 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 Ellman. ‘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 Peggy Moore verified it. She works in the hydroponic farms and she’s a dietician. She told me all about 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!’ Ellman appealed to Helena. ‘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 immobilized 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.

  Helena leaned her back against the closed door and closed her eyes. Always she had the nagging fear of the unknown and Blake’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 unfamiliar environment outside? Even the low gravity coupled with alien physical demands could have been a contributing factor.

  There was so much they didn’t understand.

  ‘Doctor?’ Mathias 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, Bob, but I’ve taken care of it. Was there something?’

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