THE MOTHBALLED SPACESHIP
I'll just swing in a bit closer," Meta said, touching the controls of the Pyrran spacer. "I wouldn't if I were you," Jason said resignedly, knowing that a note of caution was close to a challenge to a Pyrran.
"Let us not be afraid this far away," Kerk said, as Jason had predicted. Kerk leaned close to look at the viewscreen. "It is big, I'll admit, three kilometers long at least, and probably the last space battleship existing. But it is over five thousand years old, and we are two hundred kilometers away from it. "
A tiny orange glow winked into brief existence on the distant battleship, and at the same instant the Pyrran ship lurched heavily. Red panic lights flared on the control panel.
"How old did you say it was?" Jason asked innocently, and received in return a sizzling look from the now-silent Kerk.
Meta sent the ship turning away in a wide curve and checked the warning circuitry. "Port fin severely damaged, hull units out in three areas. Repairs will have to be made in null-g before we make a planetfall again."
"Very good. I'm glad we were hit," Jason dinAlt said. "Perhaps now we will exercise enough caution to come out of this alive with the promised five hundred million credits. So set us on a course to the fleet commander so we can find out all the grisly bits they forgot to tell us when we arranged this job by jump-space communication."
Admiral Djukich, the commander of the Earth forces, was a small man who appeared even smaller before the glowering strength of the Pyrran personality. Shrinking back when Kerk leaned over his desk toward him and spoke coldly. "We can leave now and the Rim Hordes will sweep through this system and that will be the end of you."
"No, it will not happen. We have the resources. We can build a fleet, buy ships, but it will be a long and tedious task. Far easier to use this Empire battleship."
"Easy?" Jason asked, raising one eyebrow. "How many have been killed attempting to enter it?"
"Well, easy is perhaps not the correct word. There are difficulties, certain problems. forty-seven people in all."
"Is that why you sent the message to Felicity?" Jason asked.
"Yes, assuredly. Our heavy-metals industry has been purchasing from your planet, that's how they heard of the Pyr-rans. How less than a hundred of you conquered an entire world. We thought we would ask you to undertake this task of entering the ship."
"You were a little unclear as to who was aboard the ship and preventing anyone else from coming near."
"Yes, well, that is what you might call the heart of our little problem. There's no one aboard.." His smile had a definite artificial quality as the Pyrrans leaned close. "Please, let me explain. This planet was once one of the most important in the Empire. Although at least eleven other worlds claim themselves as the first home of mankind, we of Earth are much more certain that we are the original. This battleship seems proof enough. When the Fourth War of Galactic Expansion was over, it was mothballed here. Has remained so ever since, unneeded until this moment."
Kerk snorted with disbelief. "I will not believe that an unmanned, mothballed ship five millennia old has killed forty-seven people."
"I believe it most sincerely," Jason said. "And so will you as soon as you give it a little thought. Out there is three kilometers of almost indestructible fighting ship. It is propelled by the largest engines ever manufactured — which means the largest spaceship atomic generators as well. And of course the largest guns, the most advanced defensive and offensive weaponry ever conceived. Along with secondary batteries with parallel fail-safe circuitry, battle computers — ahh, you're smiling at last. A Pyrran dream of heaven — the most destructive single weapon ever conceived. What a pleasure to board a thing like this, to enter the control room, to be in control."
Kerk and Meta were grinning happily, eyes misty, nodding their heads in total agreement. Then the smiles faded as he went on. "But this ship has now been mothballed. Everything shut down and preserved for an emergency — everything, that is, except the power plant and the ship's armament. Part of the mothballing was obviously provision for the ship's computer to remain on the alert. To guard the ship against meteorites and any other chance encounters in space. In particular against anyone who felt he needed a spare battleship. We were warned off with a single shot. I don't doubt that it could have blasted us out of space just as easily. If this ship were manned and on the defensive, then nothing could be done about getting near it. Much less entering it. But this is not the case. We must outthink a computer, a machine. While it won't be easy, it should be possible." He turned and smiled at Admiral Dju-kich. "We'll take the job. The price has doubled. It will be one billion credits."
"Impossible! The sum is too great; the budget won't allow. "
"Rim Hordes, coming closer, bent on rapine and destruction. To stop them you order some spacers from the shipyard; schedules are late — they don't arrive on time. The Horde fleet descends. They break down this door and here, right in this office blood. "
"Stop!" the admiral gasped weakly, his face blanched white. A desk commander who had never seen action, as Jason had guessed.
"The contract is yours — but you have a deadline. Thirty days. One minute after that and you don't get a deci of a credit. Do you agree?"
Jason looked up at Kerk and Meta, who with instant warrior's decisions made their minds up, nodding at the same time.
"Done," Jason said. "But the billion is free and clear. We'll need supplies, aid from your space navy, material and perhaps men as well to back us up. You will supply what we need."
"It could be expensive," Admiral Djukich groaned, chewing at his lower lip. "Blood…" Jason whispered, and the admiral broke into a fine sweat as he reluctantly agreed.
"I'll have the papers drawn up. When can you begin?"
"We've begun. Shake hands on it and we'll sign later." He pumped the admiral's weak hand enthusiastically. "Now, I don't suppose you have anything like a manual that tells us how to get into the ship?"
"If we had that we wouldn't have called you here. We have gone to the archives and found nothing. All the facts we did discover are on record and available to you — for what they are worth."
"Not much if you killed forty-seven volunteers. Five thousand years is a long time, and even the most efficient bureaucracy loses things over that kind of distance. And of course the one thing you cannot mothball are instructions how to unmothball a ship. But we will find a way! Pyrrans never quit, never. If you will have the records sent to our quarters, my colleagues and I will now withdraw and make our plans for the job. We shall beat your deadline."
"How?" Kerk asked as soon as the door of their apartment had closed behind them.
"I haven't the slightest idea," Jason admitted, smiling happily at their cold scowls. "Now, let us pour some drinks and put our thinking caps on. This is a job that may end up needing brute force, but it will have to begin with man's intellectual superiority over the machines he has invented. I'll take a large one with ice if you are pouring, darling."
"Serve yourself," Meta snapped. "If you had no idea how we were to proceed, why did you accept?"
Glass rattled against glass and strong beverage gurgled. Jason sighed. "I accepted because it is a chance for us to get some ready cash, which the budget is badly in need of. If we can't crack into the damn thing, then all we have lost is thirty days of our time."
He drank and remembered the hard-learned lesson that reasoned argument was usually a waste of time with Pyrrans and that there were better ways to quickly resolve a situation. "You people aren't scared of this ship, are you?"