Part 9 (1/2)

Tielman raised an eyebrow. ”Well?”

”Tell that bus driver Tielman that he can kindly schedule his next hop so as not to coincide with my coffee break. I've spilled boiling liquid all over my-I think I'll skip the next part.”

The other bridge crew chuckled. Tielman just brooded over the display tank, waiting for problems to arise, as they always did.

Burleigh said, ”Oh, no-s.p.a.ce it, Captain, I just can't understand you. What is there to worry about?”

”Something will go wrong. It always does. The only question is how much damage it will do.”

”You aren't a barrel of laughs, sir.”

”I'm not paid to be,” Tielman said bleakly.

The s.h.i.+p surged on, far outrunning the light of Earth's sun.

It was a simple mission, designed to give the Prandtl Drive a thorough workout. The Flying Pig's course was a straight line in toward the heart of the galaxy-though the plan was to turn back long before the Core would be reached.

The Pig would accelerate up to a predetermined maximum speed-a speed at which she would be the fastest-ever human s.h.i.+p, a speed at which it would take little more than four weeks to cross the galaxy from side to side-and then the Prandtl Drive would be shut down. As the s.h.i.+p coasted, the drive would be switched to deceleration mode and restarted, and the Pig's speed would be whittled down to nothing. On the return journey the maneuverability and control of the drive would be tested.

Simple.

The first part of the voyage pa.s.sed without any major problems. When the Pig crashed through the previous human speed record, Tielman allowed his crewmen to hold a small celebration, though he insisted that a full watch be maintained at all times. The maximum speed was reached without a hitch. The drive was shut down and checked over as the s.h.i.+p coasted before deceleration.

Then came the moment for the drive to be restarted.

Tielman resumed his seat on the bridge. The main display tank glowed a steady green. Crewmen busied themselves confidently over last-moment checks. ”Any problems, Burleigh?”

”None, sir. All departments have checked in.”

A soft bell chimed. A crewman called out, ”Ten seconds to restart. . . . Eight.”

Tielman sat and brooded.

”Six. Four. All lights green. Two. One. Restart . . .”

The s.h.i.+p convulsed like a wounded animal. The green glow of the main tank flickered and was drowned by virulent red.

I knew it, Tielman thought. His fist crashed onto a large scarlet b.u.t.ton set into the arm of his chair, and a siren wailed throughout the s.h.i.+p. ”Damage report!”

The bridge crew reacted to the situation as they had been trained. Each officer checked out the systems under his or her responsibility. A neutral white began to seep into the deep red areas in the display tank as the root of the damage was isolated, until eventually all that remained of the original ma.s.s of red was a small, stubborn crimson sphere.

Less than a minute after the beginning of the trouble, Burleigh was able to turn to his captain. ”Sir, the trouble's with the drive. The quantum fuse blew. There's little damage, but the drive's dead.”

Tielman pressed his lips together. So his s.h.i.+p was hurtling through the galaxy, faster than any s.h.i.+p had traveled before-and he had no way to slow it down, still less turn it around. ”Terrific. Burleigh, come with me.” He left the bridge.

In the drive control room, Breen and his a.s.sistants were running methodically through an elaborate checkout procedure. When Tielman and Burleigh entered the room, Breen rose, his face twisted. ”Captain, what can I say, I-”

Tielman asked brusquely, ”What happened?”

Running a hand through graying hair, Breen said, ”The fault wasn't with the drive itself. It didn't overload! It's hard to believe, but the defective component was actually that quantum fuse-the one that-”

”I know which quantum fuse,” Tielman said quietly.

”Why the thing didn't blow when we left the yard is a mystery to me. When I sent through the juice to restart the drive, a fault in the fuse's cauchium lining started a feedback loop. The drive began to spike, and the fuse itself blew out. But the fault was with the fuse itself. See?” Breen presented the culprit: the fuse, a metal-gray cylinder whose blankness was now marred by a black band around its center. ”Well and truly blown.”

”Then we can't restart the drive,” Tielman said.

”No, sir.”

Burleigh laughed. ”And it's all because of the failure of the one component on the s.h.i.+p for which we don't have a backup. What are the odds?” But he shut up when Tielman glared at him.

Breen said, ”Look, Captain, I'm sorry-”

”Save it. What options do we have? Is there any way to bypa.s.s that fuse?”

Breen looked doubtful. ”We'll check, of course. But the quantum fuse is a pretty integral fail-safe. The drive isn't designed to run without it.”

Burleigh, who had kept contact with the bridge, touched Tiel-man's arm. ”Excuse me, Captain. Astrogation are asking to see you-urgent.”

”What now?” Tielman turned to Breen. ”Do what you can. Come on, Burleigh.”

Burleigh hurried at Tielman's side as he strode toward Astrogation. ”Captain, I don't see what the panic's about. All right, we're out of motive power, but we've plenty of supplies on board. All we have to do is wait, and-”

”'Wait'? Burleigh, at this moment the Pig is moving faster than any s.h.i.+p before her. How long do you think it would take to outfit another s.h.i.+p with a second Prandtl prototype? Six months? A year? Until then there is no s.h.i.+p in the galaxy that can catch the Pig. And meanwhile, in eight days we're going to be hurtling into the Galaxy Core.” They turned into Astrogation. ”Within a month-a.s.suming we survive the Core-we'll be outside the galaxy altogether. Another month after that and our supplies will be running out. And so you see-”

A soft voice interposed: it was Gregg, the bald, plump, mustachioed head of Astrogation. ”Actually I think you'll find we've less time than that, Captain, once I've made my own little contribution to the general hilarity.”

”What do you mean?”

Gregg led them over to the centerpiece of the Astrogation Department. It was a chest-high cube containing a beautifully detailed three-dimensional image of the galaxy. ”One of those things, I'm afraid,” said Gregg. ”Here's our course up to now-” A straight green thread appeared amid the disc of stars. ”And here's an extrapolation of that course, now that we're plummeting along it helplessly.” The thread lengthened toward the Core-then came to an abrupt end, well before it had reached the galactic center.

Tielman asked, ”Why the termination?”

Gregg magnified the image of the end of the green thread. Stars exploded out of the image, and Tielman endured a brief, unforgettable sensation of enormous speed.

The thread ended in a red point.

Gregg said simply, ”That's a red giant star. Somewhat bigger than Betelgeuse. If you want, I'll give you its catalog number.”

Tielman knew where this was leading. ”And it's in our way, isn't it?”

”In approximately two and one quarter days from now, we will hit the giant at a point about thirty degrees north of its equator.” Gregg sighed. ”The stars do get crowded as you approach the Core. Still, it's a big place, and you might expect to get through without running into anything.”

”Oh, I wouldn't expect that at all,” Tielman said.

”It's not our lucky day, is it?” Gregg said sadly.

Burleigh said, ”I can guess what you're thinking, Captain. 'I told you so' doesn't even begin to cover it, does it?”

”For the first time since we left Earth you're absolutely right, Mr. Burleigh.”