Blazing Sun Read online

  It was true that the spring over 20 light-years had succeeded but it had cost them dearly. C1 realized how dearly when M-3 came in with his involuntary guest.

  "Who's that?" he asked calmly.

  The first officer went pale but said nothing.

  "The sleepers are awake, C1," answered the radio in a choked voice.

  "Where did you find him?"

  "He came out of the cold chamber. They overpowered a robot that I sent in. It also opened the hatch for them. I left E-4 and E-7 behind as guards. We must reinforce them at once if we want to avoid a catastrophe.

  O-1 took hold of himself. He nodded to C1 and hurried out of the control room.

  Ceshal felt himself taken unawares. "What are you thinking of?" he demanded, pointing to the door. "Surely you don't intend to set armed men against unarmed people? Do you know who I am? I am Commodore Ceshal, the leader of this expedition. You are my subordinates. I'll see to it that..."

  "I fear that you misunderstand the situation," M-3 broke in. "You were commander of this ship, 10,000 years ago. Then you allowed the robots to take over and all but breed people with which to later settle a planet following their plans. The robots were to be the masters, the people to be the, servants. We refused to submit to the rule of the robots and won. And now you climb out of the grave and claim to be the commander..."

  C1 nodded to the medic. He was thankful to him for the support. "You see, my dear friend, your moral claims are tenuous indeed. If you really were commander of this ship once, that was a long time ago. At the moment, that happens to be me. It was under my leadership that the revolt against the robots was carried out."

  "I am Commodore Ceshal..."

  "Very well," replied C1. "Call yourself what you like. But see that your people remain in the ice-sphere. We'll reach a planet in just three weeks and land. Then everything else will take care of itself from then on..."

  "Three weeks!" cried Ceshal losing self-control. "You're insane, man! Well all be frozen to death, choked to death or starved to death in three weeks! You're the one who woke us up too soon. Now see that we don't perish!"

  C1 could not dispute Ceshal's argument. Of course he bore the responsibility for the awakening of the sleeping generations but neither did he see any way to help them without endangering himself and his crew.

  "We have neither enough food nor clothing on board for so many people, Ceshal. Of course well try to alleviate the worst suffering. We'll distribute blankets. Emergency rations will be given out. But I demand utmost discipline. None of the sleepers may leave mid-deck. We'll post guards. I think that it's possible this way to..."

  "You want to fire on the old Arkonides?" demanded Ceshal, outraged. "You forget that we are the pure-blooded descendents of the ruling families. Our blood is related to that of the Imperator..."

  "Imperator?" contemptuously snapped O-1, who had just returned to the control room and had heard the last words. "What's your Imperator to us? We live according to the laws of the ship, like those before us. Who was it who brought us to this pass? You!"

  Ceshal realized that his arguments were now inappropriate. "Let's not talk about guilt but about the future. Our future! When did you last have contact over hypercom with ships of the Imperium?"

  C1 looked at Ceshal without understanding. "Contact with other ships? Do you mean there are other ships?"

  Ceshal began to realize it would not be simple to reach an understanding. Between him and the descendents yawned a vast gulf of that which was forgotten and that which was never known. Just as he was about to launch into an explanation, a shrill ringing sounded.

  It came from the corner of the control room. The first officer hurried to the vidscreen and turned a few knobs. When the screen lit up, a face appeared that was known even to Ceshal.

  "E-7, what happened? Where are you calling from? I mean, you..."

  "Middle deck! We weren't able to keep the ancestors back, O-1! They simply overran E-4 when he tried to stand in front of them with his weapon in his hand. I was able to get to safety in time and close the mid-deck hatch. They won't get through that very quickly."

  "Have all hatches manned, E-7! The ancestors must be prevented by force of arms from overrunning the whole ship. That would be the end."

  "With the help of the robots we'll be able to do it," affirmed the technician and disappeared from the vidscreen.

  Rendered mute by fear, Commodore Ceshal had heard the exchange. It was clear to him that the awakening Arkonides could not be crowded together into cramped quarters without an explosion ensuing. At least his companions in misery had been able to flee the icy sleeping chamber. The middle deck was large. It included the 12 circular halls with the preparation equipment, the glass containers, and some machine rooms. With the most economical distribution and strict organization, it should be possible to accommodate the awakened Arkonides within that area...

  "Well?" demanded C1 angrily. "What do you say now, Arkonide? All hell is breaking loose down below in the ship—and it's all your fault."

  "Oh, sure, who else's fault could it be?" asked Ceshal bitterly. "Let me go back to my people now so that I can calm them. Perhaps we'll get by with the middle deck."

  "You’ll have to get by with it," C1 told him sternly. "I will suppress any attempt at a breakout with all means at my disposal. You will receive rations through the hatches but only when you follow all my orders. Also, I'll arrange for blankets and pieces of clothing to be distributed. There won't be enough but at least the women won't have to go around naked. Warm air will be directed in sufficient quantity to the middle-deck. I hope that will cover everything necessary to make life for you as bearable as possible."

  "Thanks," answered Ceshal and it was not easy for him to say the word. In his eyes, C1 was an ignorant barbarian which an incomprehensible chance event had made commander. The Imperator of Arkon and his scientific advisers had assumed correctly when they foresaw a degeneration in the race. If there was only some way to find out how much time had really gone by in the meantime...

  "You can return to your people, Commodore Ceshal." C1 nodded condescendingly to the man clad only in a blanket and went back to the vidscreen to issue new instructions.

  M-3 took Ceshal by the arm. "Come with me. I think you're needed down below."

  Everywhere in the corridors they met armed men hurrying to their stations. Robots laden with rations, blankets and pieces of clothing stepped into the antigrav lifts and dropped down to the middle deck.

  "You see," said the doctor as they waited for the lift to be free, "we don't have any intention of ignoring you down here and letting you go to your ruin. You must understand that anarchy would mean death to us all."

  Secretly, Ceshal had to agree with him but his pride refused to allow him to show it. Reluctantly, he nodded. "One day you'll be happy to call upon our help. We know how to live better than you who were born on the ship and have never before seen a planet. You'll need us when there's a civilization to be built and contact to be made with the Imperium."

  "Imperium! Who knows if it still exists? Wouldn't it have shown us some concern by this time?"

  Ceshal did not answer. That was just the point that had already given him enough problems. Something must not be altogether in order with the Imperium; otherwise the fact of the severed communications was inexplicable. It must have happened when the robots took over. And the Imperium had tolerated it.

  The lift became free and they sank down into the depths towards the center of the ship. The posted guards, heavily armed, let them pass by. A light portable cannon had been mounted in front of the hatch. The mouth was trained towards the closed door.

  M-3 stopped. "We'll open the door, Ceshal. You'll order your people to step back and let you in. If even one member of the crowd takes a step in our direction, he'll be killed instantly. We are forced to do this, Ceshal, if we don't all want to die. Now, are you ready?"

  Ceshal looked the doctor in the eye. "You consider us as primitive as you are
," he said. "Do you really think it would be so bad if we became masters of the ship again?"

  M-3 saw the gaze of the other man trained on him, so his answer did not quite completely reflect his convictions. "You would only cause turmoil. Our present generation is more moderate and perhaps more primitive than yours is, but we will certainly act more than you. Besides, we don't have any choice. Now go."

  He waved to the two guards next to the door.

  The hatch could be manually operated. Only in case of an alarm did the remote control system go into effect and the hatch became operable by the commander.

  A crack grew visible.

  But only for a second. Then the crack became a wide opening, ripped apart by two or three thousand naked sleepers.

  "Stop!" cried Ceshal, shocked, raising his arms. "Stay there!"

  But his words were lost in the cries of the desperate Arkonides pushed ahead by a still unseen mass of people. M-3 could see that his men could hardly stand on the floor; they were no longer in control of their movements. But they were in the forefront and so the first targets of the cannon crew.

  Not even M-3 could prevent the battle.

  Nude figures leaped through the energy fire and the rising smoke, throwing themselves, scorning death, upon the armed guards and pushing them down by dint of sheer numbers.

  Ceshal saw his only chance. He turned around and went with the current against the ship's crew, which turned and fled in panic-stricken fear. He himself was the one who beat M-3 down with his bare fist and watched him disappear under the trampling feet of the naked sleepers. His blanket had long since fallen off his shoulders. Unclad like all of the others, he fought his way to freedom.

  But the alarm was already sounding throughout the ship.

  The next bulkhead sealed itself automatically.

  But the first generation had considerably enlarged its territory. An additional section of the sphere's shell belonged to them.

  Commodore Ceshal was sighing in relief when he suddenly saw Alos. "Cyberneticist Alos—over here!" He waited until Alos had come up to him. "Do you know your way from here? Can we reach any essential parts of the ship without having to go through any other hatches?"

  The Cyberneticist lowered his hand—which held an iron bar. "The air renewal, Commodore. Is it important enough for your purposes?"

  "Yes," said Ceshal, no longer repressing the triumphant gleam in his eyes. "The air renewal system is important enough. With that, the first generation is again in control of the ship."

  And he revealed his battle plan to Alos.

  4/ A SHIFT OF COMMAND ON THE SHIP OF ANCESTORS

  The white star on the vidscreen had grown larger.

  With the help of O-1 and O-2, the navigation officer had made her calculations and reached the unsettling conclusion that in a few days the ship would be captured by the enormous gravitational field of the star.

  However, the engines were defective. They no longer reacted. That meant the ship would not stop until it fell into the star and vaporized.

  The technicians labored unceasingly in the engine rooms, trying for at least a change in course. Their efforts remained without success. The ship proceeded undisturbed along its path, inexorably approaching its destruction. The long trip was threatening to have an abrupt and fearful ending.

  In the midst of this hopelessness came another piece of bad news: the air in the ship was getting worse and no longer renewing itself.

  C1 called the technicians together for a conference in the control room and learned that the air renewal system lay in the section occupied by the awakened sleepers. That made the situation clear.

  The commander called the 'rebels' over the intercom, which was still functioning perfectly. When the vidscreen lit up, he recognized Ceshal in the company of other men dressed in blankets and work uniforms. Without exception they were armed.

  "Ah, the commander! Our manner of warfare is no longer a secret, it seems. Do you have a suggestion for us?"

  C1 ignored the mockery. He spoke earnestly. "We'll only have 10 more days for our war, I fear.

  We're falling into a white star. The engines have failed. They must have been damaged in the transition—the same transition that woke you. My suggestion is that we make peace."

  Ceshal smiled coldly. "You speak of peace, Commander, and seal us off in the innermost part of the ship. We hardly have room now and only half of us have awakened. When the rest come out of the cold chamber there will be a catastrophe. Open all the hatches to the outer regions or we'll let you choke to death."

  C1 shook his head. He raised a piece of paper on which a few numbers were written. "You surely have a mathematician there who can verify my calculations. If I open up the ship and if all the sleepers awake, we'll be lost. If we ration the food on hand it'll last for a week. But we won't reach the nearest planet for at least three weeks even if the engines are repaired. Therefore, I make the following suggestion: close the freezing chamber! Let no one else outside! We must sacrifice those who are still sleeping to survive ourselves."

  Ceshal looked at C1, shocked. Then he shook his head. "Your suggestion is refused, Commander. We'd rather let you suffocate than sacrifice 50,000 Arkonides. I admit that it will be crowded in the ship but not so crowded that we'll trample ourselves to death. There is enough room for all of us in the meeting rooms, storerooms, hangars and corridors. The food rations will last until the landing if we divide them and direct all available energy into the synthetic food-producing equipment. If we work together, Commander, it's possible that well all come out of this. In any event, I'm putting forward one main condition: you will personally reinstall me in my former office, which is still rightfully mine. I am commodore of this ship."

  C1 tried to take a deep breath but he nearly choked on it. He suddenly noticed how bad the air had grown. A few more hours now... maybe.

  "We'll give you food—in return for air to breathe!"

  Ceshal smiled coldly and shook his head. "No conditions, Commander! If anyone will be setting them forth, we will! Air is more important than food; we can hold out longer than you can. When you've suffocated, we'll reopen the ventilators. We too have the necessary knowledge and scientists to repair the engines. Well...?"

  C1 looked away from the screen and glanced around the control room. He met faces that were utterly at a loss. Even the always-so-clever and self-confident O-1 seemed to have exhausted his wits. He simply shrugged.

  The commander turned back to the vidscreen. "Alright, Ceshal, I'm going to have the hatches opened. Come with some technicians to the control room. We can discuss everything here calmly. See to it that your people behave themselves and don't plunder the supply rooms. Otherwise they'll be shot immediately."

  "You should not forget that we have no weapons of our own, Commander." C1 was secretly surprised that Ceshal still called him 'commander' but since he knew no other name for him, he had no choice. "But have no fear. I have some capable officers in the first generation. They'll arrange for calm and order. But also for an effective counterattack if one is necessary."

  "The rest we'll leave to Fate," said C1, gesturing to his first officer. "We will now open the main hatch. Have the air system put back into operation at once. And come quickly to the control room. We don't have much time."

  The various ship's cameras, vidscreens and incoming intercom reports kept C1 informed as to what was going on aboard the ship. The 10,000-person crew watched the peaceful invasion of naked people in helpless dismay but their feeling of desperation grew as the human stream pouring from the hatch simply did not end. The intruders lost themselves in the endless corridors of the inner ship, of course, but their numbers were constantly being replaced.

  Officers of both parties saw to order. Those on one side could be recognized by their uniforms, those on the other by their blankets.

  Commodore Ceshal scientist Ekral, technician Tunuter and Cyberneticist Alos were brought to the control room by a liaison officer. On the way they met armed
troops sent to keep order, their grim faces boding nothing good.

  Somewhere the first energy weapons discharged hissingly.

  "It's starting already," said the officer apprehensively. "I hope we can get to the control room in time. I can't..."

  They never learned what he could not do.

  Up ahead, a new troop of swiftly assembled militia came around the corner of the corridor. When the leader spotted the four men wearing blankets, he brought up his gun. Perhaps he thought the officer in the middle was a prisoner of the ancestors.

  "Halt!"

  Commodore Ceshal stretched his hand out towards them.

  The five soldiers were so surprised by the gesture that only one of them was able to fire his gun. It was an imprecise, unaimed shot, striking the officer who was to bring Ceshal and his men to the control room.

  They hurried over the dead body as fast as they could to the nearest lift. It would not be good for anyone to find them there. No one would believe it was self-defense. They would be blamed even for the death of the liaison officer.

  They knew the ship, for it only seemed a few days to them since the robots took over and put them into deep-sleep. And yet it must have been thousands of years, thousands of years in which their descendants had been fruitful and multiplied.

  When they reached the vicinity of the control room they heard the ventilators in the hall ceiling sucking up the bad air. It was high time because one could now hardly breathe. Cool, fresh air streamed in from the shafts. It brought life and confidence.

  Two administration officers met Ceshal and his three companions before they reached the entrance of the control room and demanded their weapons.

  Ekral's expression showed dark disapproval. He held his energy pistol in the hand hanging loosely at his side but no one could tell how quickly he might raise it.

  Ceshal shook his head. "We aren't your prisoners, lieutenant. Your commander has promised us complete freedom of movement. Anyway, any resistance against this ship's commander will soon be strictly punished—just like in the old days. Let us through Lieutenant!"