Rencke and Kalitzkin were there already, Rencke staring at the dominating television screen and Kalitzkin talking earnestly, with much emphatic gesticulation, to a group of technicians from a total of around fifty men who were watching the banks of dials and radar screens which, together with the screens of the closed-circuit television that kept the prison cages and the ground above the base under surveillance, walled in the circular-shaped, brilliantly fit compartment. More technicians sat at rows of panels running down the centre aisle, some with headphones clamped over their ears, busily taking down signals from the outside world, no doubt gathering in the situation reports as the searching forces of the West made contact with one another.
Rencke turned as Shaw was brought in. Giving a happy smile he walked across. He said, “There is news from America, Commander. You would like to hear it?”
Shaw felt a stab of alarm. “Well?” he asked.
Rencke said, “The spacecraft they had been preparing at Cape Kennedy will not now enter space. There was a fault, and the launch was negatived just before blast-off.”
Shaw’s fists clenched. Now he was really on his own.… He said bitterly, “That’s dead lucky for you, isn’t it.”
Rencke smiled again. “We were never worried about the possibility in any case.” There was a gloating sneer in his voice and once again Shaw felt the almost overwhelming urge to kill, to smash that smug white face to a pulp. Rencke turned as Kalitzkin came across towards them. The Russian said,
“We are now ready to start the final test. It is not so much a test as a rehearsal, of course, at this stage. Come with me, Commander.” He gestured to the guards and they marched Shaw along behind him, two of them pinioning his arms, past the television screens — on one of these Shaw could see Ingrid Lange still in the cage on the floor below, and on another his own empty cage, though the alleyway between the two did not appear to be covered — and stopped in front of a square grey construction like a computer, a large but low-built affair of glass and metal topped by a panel containing rows of press-buttons and dials and a number of electric bulbs, all of them currently dead. All except two of the press-buttons were coloured red. The two exceptions, set in the centre of the panel and surrounded by a heavy red-painted line, were bigger than the remainder and coloured purple.
Lightly Kalitzkin touched one of these purple buttons. “This,” he said, “raises the attractor-plate. The other switches the beam through — that is, when we are in manual control, of course. We would normally go into automatic control the moment our radar picks up the capsule on its re-entry, but if necessary we are able to follow the indications of our various instruments by means of the manual controls.” He reached down beside the panel and indicated a large, red-painted hand-wheel. “We use this to direct the Masurov Beam in the first instance to the expected point of re-entry, the point that will be ordered by Danvers-Marshall once the capsule is told by mission control at Cape Kennedy to stand by for splashdown. After that, after re-entry you understand, the automatic control takes over and the beam is directed straight onto the capsule… but if anything should go wrong with the automatic control, we can still use our manual system. The handwheel, naturally, is power-assisted for moving the plate. It will be the manual control that we shall use today.” He paused. “Do you wish to ask questions now?”
“Not for the moment—”
“Very well, then. Now, we are virtually ready at this instant — it takes little time to raise the plate, as you will see shortly, and in any case we shall know the time of reentry within a minute or so as we are picking up all the NASA transmissions. It is all very simple in operation,” Kalitzkin added, “though I can assure you it has not been simple in planning and construction.” He moved along the control room, calm, confident and easy, utterly relaxed. “This is where you will talk to the West, Commander.” He indicated some complex radio equipment. “Under Comrade Rencke’s orders, you will speak from here, exactly as rehearsed, the moment I give you the signal tomorrow morning. And now… now I have the really interesting thing to show you!”
Kalitzkin turned away and walked back to the central control panel. Here he was immediately opposite the television screen showing the ground level above the silo. Evidently men had been at work up there while Kalitzkin had been giving his conducted tour, for the camouflage netting had been pulled clear and groups of the Chinese workers were standing around in heavy quilted clothing and fur caps, stamping their feet and flinging their arms about their bodies in an attempt to keep out the bitter dawn cold.
Kalitzkin raised his eyebrows at one of the technicians, a man who appeared to be the next-in-charge of the control room under the overall direction of Kalitzkin himself. This man nodded. In Russian he reported, “All is ready, Comrade Doctor.”
“Thank you, Ivan.” Kalitzkin looked at a clock, then reached for the control panel before him and pressed three switches with careful precision and deliberation. An alarm sounded in the open air and was relayed on the television screen, the men on the ground above moved aside, their breath steaming in the air like so many kettles on the boil, as the concrete covers slid apart. Faintly from somewhere beneath the floor of the control room a high whining sound was heard. Kalitzkin pressed the first of the purple buttons, which went down and engaged in the ‘on’ position with a loud click. At once a tremor started to run through the compartment, faint at first but growing stronger. All the technicians were now closely watching the proliferation of dials and gauges, or listening intently, like doctors with their stethoscopes, through earphones. Kalitzkin, who was currently watching the readings on his own control panel, glanced up now and again at the dominating television screen showing the earth above. Shaw and Rencke both had their attention fully on the screen now; the huge round plate appeared after a brief interval, filling the whole space where the covers had been, and then moved on, slow now, purposeful, menacing, until it stood on its stalk some sixty feet above ground level. Shaw watched in fascination. Then the high whining note and the tremors ceased, ending, as the thick metal shaft reached its maximum height, in a jar that shook the whole of the control room.
Kalitzkin said, “When we first home the Masurov Beam on to Skyprobe, the plate will be at its present height. As the capsule comes nearer, we shall retract the plate until it is at ground level, as it was when your helicopter landed. Meanwhile, I have something else to show you.” His hand dropped to the red-painted wheel beside the panel. He began to turn this; there was a hum as the power-assisted mechanism operated and the television screen showed the metal plate dropping on its stalk, and the stalk itself inclining, until the operating face was angled fifty degrees with the ground.
Kalitzkin let go the handwheel and glanced at Shaw. “In a moment,” he said, “I shall connect the power and the plate will come alive. I have so directed its angle, as you can see, that its force will be felt only upon the earth of this one island. What I have to show you is an almost accidental side-effect of my invention, but I believe you will be very much surprised and impressed by what happens!” He was trembling with excited anticipation now, eager to show off his toy. “Please watch the screen very closely.”
He bent towards a microphone and, speaking in Russian, said, “Stage One complete… stand by for Stage Two. Report in sequence, starting now.”
He waited; brief reports were passed on a tannoy system and one by one tiny lights began to glow on the control panel. When all were fit Kalitzkin, speaking again into his microphone, announced: “Stage Two.” He began counting: "… ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, zero.” On zero, with a steady and deliberate movement of his hand, he depressed the second of the two purple buttons. Simultaneously the lights in the control room dimmed and a single bright-red lamp glowed above Kalitzkin’s panel. And almost at once there came from the television screen one of the weirdest sounds Shaw had ever heard, the sound of a hailstorm much magnified, and the whole surface of the metal plate seemed suddenly to have grown an irregular covering of what looked at first sight like a shaggy fur coat but which Shaw soon realized was in fact a whole mass of metal, small particles that had been drawn irresistibly through the air to impinge upon, and stick to, the plate. As he watched the surface covering grew deeper, and now and then some larger object was drawn in to hurtle visibly across the screen and embed itself in the rest. It was a terrifying mass of metal on the move. Kalitzkin, looking at his face, saw his expression. With triumph in his voice the Russian said, “You see? The beam has acted as a magnet and is attracting to itself all that there is of metal in its path. There are metal ores on this island, you understand — the plate has in effect excavated them from out of the earth! Some of the smaller fragments are travelling at very nearly the speed of fight! Now, Commander, perhaps you have some idea of what my invention is able to achieve — even, as I have said, in the field of mere side-effect?”