The Black Hole

  Booth glared at him momentarily. Then he seemed to think things through and relaxed, nodding agreement. We still have time, he told himself. He was certain that he could eventually convince Holland that his, Harry Booth's, plan was best for all concerned.

  If he could convince Holland, then Pizer would automatically go along.

  McCrae could be persuaded. Durant . . . Alex would be a problem. His judgment was blinded by Reinhardt's visions. But he was only one man, and more inclined to fight with his intellect than with a weapon. Weapons were likely to be important in the upcoming discussions, Booth knew.

  Not only would they return as heroes, he would be reporting the greatest story in a hundred years.

  GHOST SHIP CYGNUS RETURNS! . . . reported by Harrison G. Booth. No . . . HARRISON G. BOOTH REPORTS . . . return of the ghost ship Cygnus.

  That sounded better. He returned his attention to the viewport, much pleased with himself.

  Reinhardt entered the pressurized cylinder, Maximillian following close behind. Ahead, the probe ship could be seen locking into the Cygnus's reception terminal. Soon it will all begin, Reinhardt mused. The culmination of my life's work. The answer to one of science's greatest mysteries will be revealed.

  The possibility he might die did not concern him. If it had, he would have returned to Earth long ago. He feared only ignorance, not death. The latter he knew for what it was: a cessation of the flow of certain fluids, the degradation of internal electric impulses which conveyed stimuli, and the eventual dissolution of various organic molecular structures into dust.

  He shook his head sadly. He could not fathom other men's fear of dying. Why, how could they be so concerned with existing, when for the most part their existence was a waste? They contributed nothing, achieved nothing, merely took up space. Everything they did, every action of their meager lives, was geared toward inefficient utilization of their environment for petty personal ends. Yet they continued to insist their way of life constituted a civilization.

  The cylinder moved toward the probe terminal.

  Vincent drifted silently alongside Bob. Both machines traveled as slowly as possible so as to minimize the noise produced by their repellers. Bob's tended to grind from time to time.

  Vincent was going to see the evidence that would confirm Bob's incredible revelation. The older robot had insisted, so that no doubt would be left in the minds of Vincent's human crewmates.

  They slowed to a halt by a closed door. Bob repeated the admonition for silence, then activated the door. It slid back soundlessly. They drifted into a large room. Bob reclosed the door behind them.

  They were gazing into a roughly circular chamber lit by many-colored lights. Deeper lights, powerful precision lasers, were firing down at a cylindrical platform. The platform turned slowly as the lights played upon it. Several humanoid robots were working at nearby consoles or over the round table.

  When they moved, Vincent caught a glimpse of their stations, computer consoles of the most intricate design. As the platform-table continued to revolve, the watching robots had a clear view of what rested atop it.

  Several humanoid shapes lay within indentations in the platform. Their heads were the same as those of the humanoids operating the instrumentation, but the bodies lying in the indentations were not. Vincent's sensors informed him that they were not, as he had hoped, superb replicas of human forms. They were human forms. What lay behind the mirrored faceplates that covered each skull, he preferred not to speculate on.

  Lasers flashed at regular intervals, and other devices functioned. All were conducted by the robed, face-plated shapes at the consoles. It was a compact symphony of remote surgery, advanced cybernetics and complete moral dessication.

  "These poor creatures are what's left of the original human crew," Bob whispered as softly as he could. "They are kept alive by a technique of Reinhardt's I don't pretend to understand."

  "They are humans, then?"

  "More robot now than human, Vincent." The old robot sounded forlorn. "There was nothing a mere B.O.B. unit like myself could have done. Reinhardt had constructed Maximillian as a therapeutic research project, or so he told the other humans. With Maximillian's aid, he was able to take over the ship. He and Maximillian had secretly reprogrammed the other robots to help him. They were not responsible . . . he'd altered their circuitry and memories radically. This altered programming did not manifest itself until the time he'd chosen for the takeover, when then: secret, special programming was keyed by a selected phrase spoken only by Reinhardt.

  "Those humans who survived—you see what's left of them working around the ship. Occasionally some die, despite the best efforts of Reinhardt's programmed surgeons. Some die from natural causes, I'm sure, but I believe others experience a flash of reality and kill themselves."

  "Only a flash? Couldn't some of them," Vincent asked hopefully, "still retain enough to be returned to a normal state?"

  "I doubt it," Bob said sadly. "Their brains have been altered to do Reinhardt's bidding. They retain no individual will, react to nothing save the task they are assigned to. When I was able to isolate myself with one, I tried to communicate. None has ever responded to me."

  "How come you weren't reprogrammed by Reinhardt along with all the other robots?"

  "It was through no cleverness of my own. But for an accident of circumstance, I would be as obedient as any you have encountered. You see, I was lying dormant in the back of the maintenance area when Reinhardt reprogrammed the robots in my section of the ship. My task was originally performed by humans, so I may not have been on any of his lists. I was reac-tivated several days after the humans had been killed . . . or brought here to be altered. By that time Reinhardt was in complete command of the Cygnus. He was too occupied with other tasks to consider that he might have missed one potentially uncooperative robot. I have taken care not to draw attention to my independent nature.

  "Regardless, he would have been right not to be concerned. A single unreprogrammed mechanical or two could be no threat to him. Not with the sentries already under his command and Maximillian to do his bidding."

  There was no aura of vengeance to Bob's words. Such extreme memory-emotions were denied mechanicals. But Vincent thought he could detect a certain dissatisfaction.

  "There must be something . . ." he began.

  The door opened behind them. Two sentry robots stood there. A rapid display of lights raced across their external monitoring units as they reacted to the presence of Vincent and Bob in the restricted area.

  "They must know I've told you," Bob said hurriedly. "Your presence alongside me is enough. We're done for."

  "Get down."

  Bob cut his repellers and fell almost to the deck as the sentries' weapons rose to firing position. Before either could shoot, Vincent's own lasers flared several times. Both sentries were knocked back into the anteroom, clear of the surgery. They spewed droplets of liquid metal and sparking internal modules.

  Oblivious to anything not directly affecting their designated task, the humanoid surgeons continued operating. Vincent led Bob through the now open door, closed it quickly behind them. They concealed the two punctured metal shapes as best they could, then started up the corridor.

  Perhaps when this new information was laid before him, Captain Holland would initiate action somewhat more compelling than conversation.

  Durant paced the dining room, ignoring the food and the view outside. How to make them believe? he thought frantically. How to show them the importance of Reinhardt and what he proposed to attempt? So far Dan and Harry had offered nothing against the commander except groundless suspicions. He had to convince them!

  "What's wrong with you people?" His frustration poured out. "The man has given us our lives—or have you already forgotten that his generosity is enabling us to repair the Palomino? Or that once he was sure we meant him no harm"—and he glared accusingly at Booth—"he's been a perfect host? More than that, he's offered to let us take back to Earth deta
ils of his fantastic accomplishments and discoveries, knowing he can never be certain we'll see he receives proper credit for them."

  Holland looked sympathetic, but still said what had to be said. "That doesn't obviate the fact that he's technically a pirate operating a stolen ship, Alex."

  "We don't know that!" Durant slammed a fist on the table, rattling crystalware and spilling gravy on the immaculate imitation-lace tablecloth. "He says the others abandoned ship and tried to return home. They may still be on their way, if they had trouble with their supralight engines."

  "I think we have enough evidence to believe otherwise, Alex."

  "Circumstantial, Dan! Only circumstantial. I've seen no reason to think that—"

  Holland interrupted him. "I've seen enough to make me worry. Both about the actual fate of the missing crew and about Reinhardt's state of mind."

  "Don't be so blasted superior. Men like Reinhardt are a special breed. They push back the frontiers of human knowledge. Sure, that can be a little unsettling at times."

  Holland gave him a long look. "You mean, one set of rules for those pushing back the frontiers and another for those of us who simply want to live with them?"

  "Don't put words in my mouth. Where would we be without men like Reinhardt?"

  "Healthier," said Pizer. "I'm not anti-research, Alex. You know that. Only against uncontrolled research. Like uncontrolled fusion. You can get burned both ways."

  "Reinhardt says he's checked everything."

  "Charlie doesn't mean that," Holland explained. "Science needs a system of checks and balances just like law. Here, Reinhardt is both." He shook his head slowly. "In my book, that's research without control. It's Reinhardt's other activities that worry me most, not this intended suicidal plunge into the black hole."

  "Other activities?" Durant's brows drew together. "What are you talking about, Dan?"

  Reinhardt waited expectantly, watching the doorway opposite. The probe ship, now docked, rested nearby.

  The door leading from the umbilical passageway opened. Quietly, the humanoid pilot of the probe joined them. Reinhardt looked him over, then said impassively, "Maximillian will take you to debriefing. I want to check out personally your ship's instrumentation and the information you recorded."

  He stepped past the pilot. The pilot did not acknowledge the movement. He waited somnolently until Maximillian closed the door leading to the ship. Together, the two machines began the passage by cylinder.

  The two destroyed sentries could not be seen from the upper end of the corridor, Vincent noted with relief. His careful snipping of circuitry and module links had rendered their communications systems inoperative, should they somehow regain mechanical consciousness. Bob now carried their weapons.

  "How long before they start searching for those two?"

  Bob considered. "That depends on their duty schedule. They function round the clock save for one fifteen-minute maintenance checkup per day."

  "What about periodic reporting in to some central security station?"

  "I don't know." Bob sounded helpless. "That's not the sort of information provided to a clerical robot. If they do send such reports, they could be due any time."

  "Then we have to move fast. I'd rather not risk provoking any more sentries, but we can't take the time to be diplomatic." He gestured back at the bulky desk concealing the incapacitated robots. "Those two may already have been missed."

  ". . . and so if he neglected his duty to the bureaucracy, it was to perform a higher duty," Durant was arguing strenuously. "I ask you once more, do you have any facts to support your macabre speculations? Granted the man's an eccentric as well as a genius, but he's not the mad scientist of some second-rate horror play. He's willing and eager to share his knowledge with us."

  "So?" Holland continued to worry about Durant. His defense and praise of Reinhardt had turned from lavish to slavish.

  "So I won't allow you to rush us off this ship, Dan."

  "And I won't give you any more time to see the light, Alex. We're leaving. All of us, together."

  Durant stared back at him. "That's really up to Dr. Reinhardt, isn't it?"

  No one had noticed McCrae. She was standing more than silently off to one side of the table. She was not withdrawn, nor was she daydreaming. She was working. The others continued to debate with facts, to argue without knowledge.

  "Dan . . ."

  Holland barely heard the ethereal murmur, but he recognized that tone of voice instantly. Recognized also the faraway look on her face. So did Pizer, and Booth, and Durant. Conversation ceased.

  "What is it, Kate?"

  "Vincent wants you to meet him in the reception lounge near the Palomino right away. Also Mr. Pizer."

  Holland was already heading for the dining-room door. To his relief, he found it unlocked. "Let's go, Charlie."

  Downing the last sip of wine in his goblet, Booth rose from his seat. "I think I'll tag along, if you don't mind."

  They located the elevator leading downward. As he emerged into a familiar corridor, Holland put out a restraining arm, then edged back into the elevator cab to join his colleagues.

  "What's the trouble?" Pizer whispered. By way of reply, Holland gestured with a nod down the corridor. At the far end, they could see Maximillian and the probe pilot disappearing around a far bend.

  Booth took a step in their direction, but Holland moved out to block his path. "Now now, Harry. That's not our party."

  "But the probe pilot," Booth protested. "If he's been to the event horizon and succeeded in returning, it means—"

  "To us it means nothing. Not now. Let's move." Booth hesitated an instant, then nodded. They hurried toward the cylindrical tubeway and the air cars that could carry them quickly to the Palomino.

  Vincent was acutely aware of the weight of the laser weapons in his hands, but he kept them down. The sentry robots searching the nearby rooms were now moving away instead of toward him.

  "Let's hope they continue searching in the wrong direction," he said to old Bob. Both robots moved out of the concealing alcove and jetted up the corridor.

  Most of his audience had departed, but Durant was still full of words and arguments. McCrae had to bear the force of them alone.

  "He stands to accomplish," her wide-eyed colleague was saying as he stared out the viewport at the black hole, "one of the final discoveries that has so far eluded mankind. Our knowledge of stellar physics has grown tremendously in the past couple of centuries, Kate. Yet we still know nothing about the processes at work inside the event horizon of a black hole. We know little more than the first discoverers of the phenomenon. Reinhardt stands to fill in that blank in our knowledge."

  "Or die in the attempt," McCrae said dryly. She paused a moment, regarded her friend with a mixture of concern and contempt. "I'm beginning to think you really do want to go with him, Alex. Do you want to die that badly?"

  "It's not a question of dying."

  "That's what Reinhardt kept saying. Alex, I like to think I'm as professional and curious as the next scientist. But when curiosity swamps your natural sense of self-preservation, there's something addled in your mental clock."

  Durant hardly seemed to hear her, enraptured as he was by the sight of the black hole and the vision of exploring its innermost secrets that Reinhardt had conjured up for them. "It could be the most fantastic achievement since the dawn of creation," he muttered, with fine lack of perspective. "Eric the Red, Columbus, Armstrong, Kinoyoshi . . . we could eclipse them all."

  The door opened and he broke off as Reinhardt entered. The commander of the Cygnus quickly surveyed the room, then spoke to McCrae. "Where are the others?"

  She saw no reason to lie. He might already know, and be testing her. "Called back to our ship."

  For an instant Reinhardt seemed confused. "There was no means of communica—ah, yes. The esplink you share with the robot. Extraordinary. A technique which was developed after I left Earth. It was only a matter of time before biophysic
s matched the strides made by its inorganic counterparts. What seems to be wrong, for your companions to be called away from their meal?"

  She shook her head. "Vincent didn't spell it out. Something having to do with the repairs, I'd guess. When you're working on something as sensitive as the atmospheric regeneration system, using makeshift spare parts, you've got to expect some trouble. It's the kind of repair work that ought to be done in an orbital yard, by qualified technicians. I'm not surprised they're having difficulties."

  "Let's hope they're solved quickly," Reinhardt said. "We are almost ready to embark on mankind's greatest journey of exploration. I'd rather not be delayed."

  Greatest, perhaps, she thought. Riskiest for certain. She turned her gaze to the viewport.

  Reinhardt noted the look. "The danger is incidental when measured against the possibility of being the first to possess the great truths of the unknown. To learn perhaps the secret of mankind's oldest dream."

  "What truth are you pursuing inside the black hole, Doctor?" She frowned at him. "You seem to have something specific in mind. Does the bear actually have some idea of what he hopes to find on the other side of the mountain?"

  He smiled back at her. "Beyond the mountains, my dear. Beyond is a new beginning . . . a Universe that may be suspended in time, where long-cherished laws of nature do not apply."

  "You live by the laws of nature. What if these prove inhospitable?"

  "I can learn to master new ones. I am prepared to cope with whatever I may discover. Especially if I find what I hope to find."

  "Which is?" Durant asked expectantly.

  "Eternal life. You know that time slows the nearer one travels to the core of a black hole, that seconds inside the event horizon can equal years on Earth?"

  "I see where you're leading, Doctor." McCrae tried to give the fantastic theory dispassionate consideration. "True, you could live forty years in the hole while a millennium passes on Earth, but the forty years would still be only forty years . . . to you. They would not extend your real lifetime."