Maddox said, ‘Was he on the right track? Can the alien metal give protection?’

  ‘No.’ Bain picked up a folder and checked the notations. ‘Do you want the details? Over a grand total of twenty-three tests the figures are —’

  ‘Never mind the figures, Ted. In your opinion to continue working with the metal for that object is to waste time. Right?’

  Bain nodded. ‘Yes, Commander. If the aliens used it to block the aging process, then their metabolism must have been far different from our own.’

  Claire said, ‘Are there any other casualties, Ted?’

  ‘Two, neither fatal.’ He gestured towards the intensive care unit. ‘Lang Ki and Stuart Allen. Both outside workers.’

  ‘Treatment?’

  ‘Complete blood-changes, massive injections of hormones, drips of saline and glucose, marrow-implants to restore red-corpuscle production, anti-calcium treatment and wide-range antibiotics injected at frequent intervals.’ Bain made a helpless gesture. ‘I don’t think anything we can try will work. If it did we’d have made an advance in geriatrics. The most we can hope for is to stave off the inevitable.’

  To give a little more life, a greater extension which needn’t be the benefit it seemed. Had Lang Ki also left a wife and children? Had Stuart Allen? Were they, like Demetriov, the victims of an unconscious urge to commit suicide?

  Or were they no more than the victims of carelessness?

  ‘There is to be no further work outside in space,’ said Maddox. ‘All personnel restricted to ship and all unessential workers to be kept confined to the lower levels. Those working close to the outside to be rotated at frequent intervals.’ He snatched the communicator from his belt. ‘Eric?’

  Manton stared from the tiny screen.

  ‘What is it, Carl?’

  ‘An emergency conference in my office in ten minutes. Bring all available data on the present situation with special emphasis on the rate of energy flow from targets to main body.’ Maddox pressed a button. ‘Bronson?’

  ‘Here, Commander.’

  ‘Adjust all atomic piles to the maximum production of plutonium.’

  ‘All?’ The atomic engineer looked startled. ‘Remember the storage problems, Commander.’

  ‘All,’ said Maddox. ‘Use automatics and take risks with the non-essential equipment if you must, but I want top-production.’

  As he pressed another button Claire said, ‘What’s in your mind, Carl?’

  ‘Survival.’

  ‘By producing plutonium?’ She blinked as, ignoring the question, he relayed a stream of orders to other sections of the ship. ‘Carl! What are you doing?’

  ‘Come to the conference,’ he snapped. ‘And find out.’

  It was a meeting dominated by one man and she realised that, subconsciously, he had made his decision long before taking his place behind his wide desk. The doors were closed but, beyond, in Mission Control, the instruments were watching their common enemy. The green, brain-like mass of the Omphalos. The enigmatic thing that held them trapped, was sucking away energy and life, which had to be destroyed.

  As Maddox emphasised the point she realised that she had expected it. Had even accepted it.

  Manton alone was dubious.

  ‘If, as you say, it has rudimentary awareness, Carl, then destroying it without regard would be in the nature of an immoral act. Have we the right to use violence? Must life always be gained at the expense of another’s?’

  Maddox said, slowly, ‘Eric, we have no choice. Men are dead and dying because of it. The aliens were wiped out. No one knows how many other life forms and races that thing has destroyed. It is killing us and, to save ourselves, we must render it harmless. I am willing to listen to any other feasible alternative. You have one?’

  ‘Can we communicate with it in some way?’ Bronson of atomics ran his hand through his thinning hair. ‘Have we tried?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Without success?’

  ‘I’ve been in touch with it as close as I believe any intelligent creature can be.’ Maddox’s face hardened as he remembered the seeming eternity of loneliness, the numbing pressure of all things associated with death, the deaths he had mentally experienced, the hunger he had sensed, the ferocity. ‘I don’t know if we can call it alive as we use the term, perhaps it is nothing more than a reactive device, the result of an experiment, perhaps, something which lies beyond our knowledge and previous experience. But I do know, and know it with every fibre of my being, that unless we destroy it, it will destroy us. To me the choice is simple. Eric?’

  ‘As you say, Carl.’

  ‘Claire?’

  ‘I agree.’

  Bronson said, before he was asked. ‘The safety of the ship comes first, Commander — but can we destroy it? Can we even hurt it?’

  ‘I think we can.’ Maddox glanced at Manton. ‘You have the figures, Eric. We know the energy potential available to us. If we use it correctly we have a chance.’ He ended, bleakly, ‘It’s the only one we have.’

  *

  Douglas West had been the first to volunteer. Now he sat at the controls of the Pinnace on the launching pad watching the brilliant display in his screens. The defence shield arching over him was a dome of scintillating rainbows, sparkling, coruscating, heart-stoppingly beautiful. It would, he hoped, protect him from becoming prematurely old. Manton had said that it would, that the balance of energies now achieved would, at least, stave off the fate suffered by Guthrie and Demetriov. That he would not end on a cot as Ki and Allen had done and now they too were dead and three others had taken their place. The last, he hoped and had justification. They had worked on the outside hull. Since the ban no other cases had been reported.

  ‘Ready, Douglas?’

  Frank Weight talking from the screen. West nodded then said, ‘Ready when you are.’

  ‘Right. On five. Mark!’ His voice held no expression as he gave the count. ‘Zero. Now!’

  The screen died and, as it did, the engines of the Pinnace flared to full power, the vessel rising to swing out and away from the danger of the cone, the defence shield glowing again as soon as the area was clear. A system designed to gain maximum protection and one, they all hoped, which would do just that.

  On the planetoid Maddox watched as the Pinnace landed. He stood on the smooth, curved surface, some distance from the shaft they had found, the ground all around littered with stacked boxes and equipment. Two other Pinnaces were grounded to one side and, as West’s vessel landed, one of them lifted and headed back towards the Ad Astra.

  ‘Carey?’ Maddox spoke into his radio. ‘Is that you?’

  ‘Yes, Commander.’

  ‘Remember to hand over to Lomas when you arrive. You’ve done three flights and that’s enough.’

  ‘I can manage, Commander.’

  ‘You’ll do as I order!’ Maddox made no attempt to soften his tone. ‘If you want to gain fifty years in a few minutes that’s your concern; I’m worried about the Pinnace. If you want to be a hero, then do it without risking the ship. Understood?’

  ‘Commander, I —’

  ‘You’re a fool,’ Maddox interrupted. Then added, more softly, ‘And our mission needs all the fools like you it can get. I don’t want to waste one. You’ve served your stint, man. Get back, put Lomas in charge of the Pinnace and report to Medical for checking. No arguments, now. Do it!’

  He turned as the Pinnace vanished from sight and stepped towards the head of the shaft. On all sides men were busy moving the crates, handling them with exaggerated care, never placing them too close to each other. At the head of the shaft technicians emptied the boxes and handed their contents down to others who moved them along the tunnels.

  They had worked for hours like a horde of busy ants shifting scraps of leaves to form an underground farm. But these things they carried were not leaves and they would build no farm. Down in the chamber which held the dead aliens, buried deep beneath the surface and sealed by the stubborn metal, a tremendous bomb was in process of manufacture.

  A fission bomb which would emulate the sun in its fury.

  ‘Carl?’ Manton climbed slowly from the shaft, rising up a metal ladder which had made progress easier than the original hoops. His voice was fatigued, the way he moved betrayed his tiredness, the way he stood.

  ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Well, but —’

  ‘Follow me. Let’s get into Holt’s Pinnace and take a break. You could do with some coffee.’

  ‘I can manage.’

  ‘You too?’ Maddox grunted his irritation. ‘The place is swarming with crazy idiots who want to work themselves to death. Come and get some coffee, Eric. That’s an order.’

  One Manton was glad to obey. Later, sitting in the Pinnace with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand, he admitted that he was tired.

  ‘I’m not surprised.’ said Maddox. ‘How long has it been since you last slept?’

  ‘About as long as you’ve been awake, Carl.’

  ‘Which makes us two of a kind.’ Maddox took a sip of his own coffee. ‘How much longer will it be?’

  He was talking of the bomb and Manton knew it. He said, ‘We’ve almost got everything into place down below. The initial fission device is set and now we’re arranging the rest. It’s a big charge, Carl.’

  ‘It needs to be.’

  ‘But not big enough to volatise this planetoid.’

  Maddox said, impatiently, ‘I know that, Eric, but it doesn’t have to. You worked out the figures and decided on the megaton-scale necessary. It’s close but it will have to do.’

  ‘I’d like another two loads set in place just to make sure. There are too many variables which we haven’t been able to take into full account. The core, for example. It could be of unsuspected density.’

  ‘We’ll have to use what we’ve got, Eric.’

  ‘But, Carl —’

  ‘We have no choice. Did you know that three more have fallen from age-sickness?’

  ‘I know, but the defence shield will prevent further cases.’

  ‘As far as we know — but how can we be sure? The power may fail, the energy-beam take more than we can deliver, circumstances may change at any moment. We’ve got to act while we have the chance.’

  Rising, Maddox paced the confines of the passenger compartment. How to explain the fear which engulfed him? The conviction that already they were on borrowed time?

  ‘Commander!’ Holt called from the command module. ‘The Omphalos — come and look!’

  It hung in space as he remembered, greenly glowing, marked with the dark tracery of lines which gave the appearance of convolutions, divided into the resemblance of a human brain. And then it pulsed.

  ‘Carl!’ Manton leaned towards the screen. ‘It — It —’

  How to describe the sudden inflation and deflation of apparently solid matter? The previously noted pulsations had been minor, the product of an interplay of light or the interpretation of a dazzled mind. But this had been no gentle undulation.

  ‘God!’ Holt was a big man with no concept of personal fear but now his voice held a strained terror. ‘It moved! Commander — the damn thing’s alive!’

  *

  The drugs were bitter to the taste, tablets which he swallowed and washed down with a sickly liquid. Dope to keep him awake and aware, to force tired muscles to respond, eyes to see, his brain to think.

  ‘Carl, you shouldn’t take all these things.’ Claire had been reluctant to give them, yielding only to his direct order, his thinly veiled anger at her reluctance to obey. ‘You’ll pay for this later.’

  ‘Sure — now, don’t bother me.’

  ‘Carl —’

  ‘Claire, we’re fighting time. Give what drugs are needed and spare me your lectures. Don’t you understand, woman? We’re fighting for our lives!’

  Against a thing which could not exist but, incredibly, did.

  Maddox stared at it where it rested in the screens. Around him in Mission Control everyone seemed to be holding their breath, waiting, standing poised on the brink of extinction.

  ‘The Omphalos has increased to one fifth its previous size,’ Weight reported. ‘Is now pulsing at twice the rate observed when it commenced.’

  ‘Rose?’

  ‘Energy loss mounting, Commander. The rate is nearing totality.’

  Complete absorption, the energy drained as fast as it was produced and when the defence shield went down all would be helplessly exposed to the aging action of the alien forces.

  Time!

  It was running against them, wasted by necessity, precious seconds turning into minutes, into hours.

  How much longer did they have?

  ‘What news from the Pinnace, Frank?’

  ‘On its way, Commander. All remaining personnel aboard together with Professor Manton.’

  ‘Have him report here as soon as he docks. Get me defence.’ Maddox waited as an auxiliary screen blurred to steady, to picture the taut face of a Security guard.

  ‘Commander?’

  ‘Report on readiness for action.’

  ‘All as ordered. Tubes aimed and ready. Missiles primed and all warheads with treble charges.’ Hesitating he added, ‘If we fire as ordered we’ll be stripped of all capability.’

  ‘If you don’t we’ll be dead.’

  Maddox shook his head as the screen darkened. Too many drugs taken too quickly had fogged his vision and etched at his self-control, but he’d had no choice and neither had the others. Weight, red-eyed, face slack with weariness. Rose, looking like a ghost, Saha a grim and silent figure, Claire, reproachful and yet helpless to do more than what she had.

  And now she could do nothing but wait.

  Wait as West’s Pinnace came into view, darting in to land as the screen lowered, settling as again the shield lifted, the lights dimming, almost dying, restored as Weight adjusted his instruments.

  Close — and the shield had lost its previous brilliance. Even now she could be growing old with accelerated speed, bones becoming brittle, blood thinning, glands withering, life and the lust for life drained and sucked by the alien thing to which this constricted universe belonged.

  How long had it traversed space?

  A tiny thing at the beginning, perhaps, feeding on energy, growing, developing, aware of food-sources, catching them with its beams, reducing them into energy which it stole. Eating them.

  A roving parasite of the void.

  A danger sealed into a space of its own by some race owning a tremendously high technology but lacking the inclination to destroy. Instead they had warped the very fabric of the continuum to form an escape-proof cage and had set it about with warnings as to what it contained.

  ‘Eric!’ Maddox turned as Manton entered Mission Control and came towards him. ‘Is everything ready?’

  ‘Yes.’ Manton glanced at the chronometer. Firing commences in one hour thirty-three minutes.’

  ‘So long?’

  ‘The planetoid must be in the right position for the plan to work. The Computer gave position and timing. Right, Nelson?’

  ‘Yes, Professor.’ Saha rubbed at his reddened eyes. ‘Any deviation from the plan will result in lost efficiency.’

  A lowering of the already slim margin of potential success, but the odds against them were growing all the time. Maddox glanced at the dials, saw the needles edging towards the red, the warning flash of signal lights.

  ‘Cut all unessential power to all areas, Frank.’

  ‘I’ve saved all I can, Commander.’

  ‘Save more. Switch to emergency battery power if you have to. Just remember that we’ll need full power fed into the shield when we blow.’

  Weight acknowledged with a nod and Maddox moved to where Claire stood watching the screens. The greenish light, now a blazing flame, touched her face and accentuated the strong contours of jaw and cheeks, the wide-set of the eyes.

  She whispered, ‘That pulsing, Carl. It’s like the pound of a heart.’

  Or the kick of a child impatient to be born. Yet how could familiar concepts apply? The Omphalos was not a creature giving birth nor yet a creature being born. It was expanding, growing as an organic thing would grow, and yet it was not organic.

  Maddox remembered the sensations he had experienced when lost in the illusions he had known while in close proximity to the green bulk. Had he experienced the stored knowledge of actual beings? The deaths — had they been actual memories of minds absorbed by the Omphalos?

  A germ, he thought, caught in a human bloodstream, drawn to the brain, entrammelled in the cortex, sharing, in part, the stir and process of thought.

  Did a man consider the fate of what he ate?

  Would he care if it was aware?

  *

  ‘Thirteen minutes, Commander.’ Rose Armstrong was tense, uneasily aware of the superstition connected to the number. Now, if at all, any bad luck would surely become manifest. Despite her resolution not to look, she lifted her eyes to where the main screen depicted the Omphalos. It was twice its original size now, pulsating, greenly malevolent. A predator poised and ready to strike. A bomb on the edge of explosion.

  ‘Rose!’

  Weight had been watching her and at the sound of his voice she started, dropping her eyes from the hypnotic image, concentrating again on her instruments.

  ‘Sorry, Frank.’

  ‘Time?’

  ‘Eleven minutes,’ At least the unlucky number had been safely passed. ‘Energy loss mounting. Some traces of temperature differential noted from the central body.’

  ‘High?’ Manton fired the question.

  ‘No. It’s varying from zero to twelve degrees Celsius.’

  ‘Any radiation?’

  ‘Slight traces, Professor, but our own energy-loss is affecting the readings.’

  ‘But they are positive?’

  Manton grunted as she nodded. To Maddox he said, ‘You realise what this means, Carl? The external layers of the Omphalos must be splitting. The result, perhaps, of the massive increase in its energy-intake since we entered its space. It is obviously adapting to meet the new circumstances.’