“What in the name of God is it doing?” Buchanan expostulated. “Don’t they know what the Singularity can do? Beam direct—warn the ship!”
“Automatic signals have been beamed for the past nineteen minutes and eight seconds, sir. There has been no acknowledgment. Damage is reported by our scanners. The ES 110 is engaged in a series of dangerous maneuvers. It is approaching the critical area of the discontinuities zone. Power readings from the ES 110 indicate an insufficient level for survival should condition of starquake begin.”
“Put me on to its commander!”
“Yes, sir.”
Buchanan felt the rush of urgency as a message came strongly through his palms. A high-powered signal on the Enforcement Service Red Alert beamers was on its way. As Buchanan waited, a laconic system reported that the Singularity was again heaving its coils in a slow, massive pattern. Then the operations screen filled with an image of the cruiser squadron’s commander. Buchanan recognized the features of Commander Lientand. He waited for the message to come winging through the unreal dimensions. A vague but profound premonition began to trouble him; he had been alone with his haunted memories, and now the busy turbulent life of the Galaxy was seeking him out. His concern had been with the dead—with the ghosts who thronged his mind; and here was Lientand and an errant transport. Buchanan bit his lip. He wanted no part of the transport’s problems. Nor Lientand’s. Yet the ES 110 was even now blasting furiously toward the Singularity.
“Commander Buchanan,” said the laconic system. “Renewed activity suggestive of starquake—”
“Wait!”
Lientand was speaking, not entirely clearly, but clearly enough to be understood: “I am Commander Lientand. My ship is an Enforcement Service cruiser. I have under my command two more cruisers. My assignment is to capture the Enforcement Service transport ES 110. It is in the hands of the criminal Maran—”
“Maran!” Buchanan could not help calling. “Maran!” Lientand could not hear him, but he must have known the impression his words would create. “I repeat, the ES 110 is in the hands of the criminal Maran. We have located the ship and attempted to inhibit its drives, so far without success. Maran has taken the ES 110 into the vicinity of the Jansky Singularity, where his warp-shift wake may be concealed. It may be impossible for my cruisers to arrest the ship, in which case I shall destroy it. The Quadrant is now an interdicted zone. All ships receiving this message must leave the Quadrant immediately.”
Buchanan knew the reason for the ES 110’s apparently suicidal maneuvers. Maran would try anything to evade the pursuing Enforcement Service vessels. But why had he chosen now to make his escape bid?
“Have you established reciprocal contact with the ES 110?” he snapped to the Grade One robot.
“Not yet, sir.”
“Beam to the cruiser—message received and understood! Tell Commander Lientand Maran’s here. And tell him his ship’s damaged!”
“Of course, sir.”
He looked at the big screen as robotic systems simulated the transport’s wild course. Suddenly a gobbeting, snaking coil flooded the screen, engulfing the prison-ship.
“No!” whispered Buchanan.
“I’m afraid so, sir,” said the metallic voice sympathetically. “It was always a possibility, sir.” Maran had gambled with his life. This time, he had lost. Nothing could help the ES 110, Nevertheless, even a Maran deserved a warning. Buchanan thought of the other condemned men and women aboard the ship. And the crew.
Abruptly he called: “Jansky Station to ES 110! This is Buchanan, Jansky Singularity Experimental Station—calling ES 110! Utmost danger exists—turn away at once—burn the drives out if you have to—but turn away from the Singularity! Starquake conditions exist—turn away now!”
The station’s powerful beamers began to reach out across the gulfs and through the serpentine coils of the Singularity. Surely Maran would try to save himself?
“ES 110—I repeat, starquake conditions exist! If you turn away now and use maximum emergency power you may pull away—call the cruisers and ask for combined fields to help you!” Buchanan could not bring himself to address Maran directly. But there was the rest of the ES 110’s complement—perhaps the crew could reason with Maran. Maybe they could persuade him to try to save himself and the future of his stupendous, visionary schemes.
There was nothing he could do now but report to Lientand. Quietly he spoke into the beamer channeclass="underline"
“This is Buchanan at the Jansky Singularity Station. I have Commander Lientand’s message. The ES 110
is approaching the rim of the Jansky Singularity. Violent starquake conditions exist. I am doubtful of the ability of the ES 110 to survive for many minutes. Maran does not respond to my warnings. It is my opinion that the ES 110 was taken to the Singularity deliberately. Have you any instructions for me?” Buchanan saw the transport clearly as it blasted across a glowing pit of incandescent radiation. There was a decayed air about it—bits of fittings trailed away; the drive jerked the ship about spasmodically; an unidentifiable section broke away from the stern and sank into the haze of the discontinuities. Another ship would join the silent, time-lost fleet.
The Jansky Singularity was claiming another ghost-ship.
CHAPTER 14
The big battle-screen pulsed blue and then filled with the great efflorescence of the Singularity. Scanners darted about, leaving gossamer trails and bringing back only unidentifiable, almost unfathomable readings. Lientand thought of the New Settlements Bureau girl. He wondered what she must be going through now, as the ES 110 plunged into the Singularity’s fields.
“There!” yelled the field man suddenly.
On the screen, the ES 110 appeared. It hung like a broken moth against the frightful attraction of the raging depths. There could be no doubt about it. It was the ship. The superb scanners had been able to locate the ringing shards of its broken warp-shift, in spite of Maran’s maneuvers. Lientand tensed, face gray with grim pity. He would do it himself, his hand releasing the gobbeting fury that would tear across space with the force of a supernova and expunge the lives of the two human beings aboard the ES 110.
“She’ll forgive me,” he whispered to himself.
The sensor-pad in his palm demanded assent. The deadly golden pellet waited to be ejected from the long snout of the cruiser. Warning sirens shrieked to the other cruisers: beware!
Lientand breathed in deeply, the order rising to his lips.
“Sir!” shouted the young lieutenant.
Lientand almost said the word, almost released the sunburst, almost wiped out the two lives. But he stopped.
“Well?” he grated, bile in his mouth.
“Beam from Buchanan, sir!”
“Buchanan?”
The strain of the terrible seconds had left a mark. Then Lientand remembered. Buchanan. A wreck—not many years ago. And, recently, something else—
“The Jansky Station, sir! The new crewed research beacon—Buchanan at the Singularity!”
“Yes.” He remembered it now. It had seemed a strange appointment to him. Buchanan had survived a ghastly wreck, and he had been appointed to this experimental ship. “Go on.”