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“We don’t know,” Bickel said.
“And with that computer, the answer could be garbage,” Timberlake said.
“But the problem isn’t garbage,” Flattery said. “I’m getting direct reports.”
“Speed and mass are our major variables,” Bickel said. “Mass reference is cockeyed. Something outside their rated spectrum is colliding with our sensors. That’d throw the—”
“Prepare for retro-firing,” Flattery said.
“Wouldn’t it be wiser to turn ship?” Timberlake asked. He kicked the manual cocoon switch and the action couch snapped securely around him.
“Raj’s right,” Bickel said. “Use minimum change. Something’s happening for which we have no experience.”
“I am starting retro with micro-emission,” Flattery said. “Prue, monitor the track graph. Tim, watch our mass reference. I am recording for later analysis.”
“If there is a later,” Timberlake muttered.
Flattery ignored him. “John, monitor hull temperature and Doppler comparison.”
“Right.” Bickel cleared his throat, thinking how crude was this quartered division of functions when compared with a properly working ship-control robobrain. The umbilicus crew was a pack of limping cripples by comparison … and in a situation where they needed to run and dodge and balance with the ability of an athlete.
“Starting retro,” Flattery said.
He moved the micro-controls one notch.
Action couches made a slight adjustment to the change. It registered as a creeping movement of their repeater consoles against the conduits, pipes, and instruments of the fixed walls.
“Track graph report,” Flattery said.
“Speed is dropping unevenly,” Prudence answered. “Fits and jerks.”
Bickel, watching the edge of his repeater where it aligned with the edge of a wall plate, could see the bucking movement of the ship as a series of tiny jerks. His hands on the console keys sensed a tremor in the ship.
“Tell me when the graph levels off,” Flattery said. “Mass reference report.”
“Uneven,” Timberlake said. “Graph average is dropping, but the direct register is going up and down … it’s .008, .0095 … .0069 …”
“Let me know if it levels,” Flattery said.
Without being asked, Bickel said, “There’s a microincrease in temperature along the first quadrant, stern. Compensation system is taking care of it adequately. Doppler reference shows an actual speed decrease of .00904 plus.”
“Mark,” Flattery said.
“S over C confirms,” Prudence said.
Flattery advanced the micro-control another notch, feeling perspiration along his back and neck collecting too fast for his suit to compensate.
“Track,” he said.
“Graph is now dipping below the fixed reference,” -said. “Still dropping unevenly.”
“Ion reading,” Flattery said.
“One over four point two eight double ought one,” Timberlake answered. “Agreement with emission rate is positive. Retro normal.”
“Rate of down-graph is now even on the track,” Prudence said.
“Mass reference is level and .000001001 out of agreement,” Timberlake said.
“Hull temperature?” Flattery asked.
“Holding” Bickel allowed himself a deep breath. Changes in hull temperature where they should not occur, changes in their speed without a positive explanation—these were more alarming than a physical breakdown that they could touch with their hands and repair.
Flattery heard the sigh and thought: The Tin Egg had a close call. But close to what? Does Bickel know? Did he tell us everything he got from the computer? Even so, how can we trust computer information now?
But Flattery recalled another part of Hempstead’s possibly garbled message: “Unknown area derived mathematically.”
What if that were pretty close to Hempstead’s actual words? Flattery asked himself. An unknown of some kind derived mathematically. The ship had encountered a mass/ speed problem.
Bickel said, “Raj, drop the speed another two points and hold. We’ll want regular checks on mass/speed variations from here on out.”
“Complying,” Flattery said. “Report in order.” He turned to the micro-controls, dropped them two more notches.
“Track graph declines on an even slope,” Prudence said.
“Mass reference agrees,” Timberlake said. “Ion emission normal.”
“Temperature holding normal,” Bickel reported. “Doppler comparison is positive-zero.”
Bickel looked at those two thin black needles of the Doppler comparator. They were what put the bite in this emergency. They provided positive checks on speed through Doppler reference to fixed astronomical bodies. The Doppler comparison and change in speed had agreed one-for-one.
Bickel felt he knew only one area of probability to explain what had happened, but the area involved a theory that had always been treated as a kind of mathematical game. You first had to assume the universe contained two groups of matter, each moving faster than the speed of light in relation to the other. Then the Cavendish extrapolation on gravitational theory produced negative transformations. Wide holes were opened in the Newtonian theory that two bodies always attract each other with a force proportional to the square of the distance between them.
It was that word always and the implication that all matter exerted gravitational attraction, Bickel thought.
“I do not understand what happened,” Flattery said, “but I have the distinct feeling we were close to the brink.”
“The brink of what?” Prudence demanded. Fear was plain in her voice.
“We were close to running wild out of the solar system,” Bickel said. “Out of control, unable to maneuver. Quite likely, we were close to being hurtled into another dimension.”
“Without a prayer of escape,” Timberlake said.
“The negative transformations in grav theory,” Prudence whispered.
“What?” Timberlake barked.
“The implicit energy exchange for enormous mass shifts near the speed of light,” Prudence answered him. “The negative forms in the equations don’t all cancel out until you build hypothetical transformations beyond the speed of light. There is a region of mass/speed change wherein two bodies theoretically repel each other rather than attract.”
“Now,” Bickel said, “how do we tell Hempstead and his boys about this without blowing the whole show?”
“We’ve already blown the whole show,” Timberlake growled. “The computer—”
“Isn’t necessarily wrecked,” Bickel said. “Our life systems still work. Ship servos and sensors appear to be in order. I get consistent replies to demands for information.”
“Consistent doesn’t mean correct,” Timberlake said.
“Was Hempstead telling us to cease and desist?” Flattery asked. “If he was …”
“We don’t know,” Bickel said. “As long as we don’t know, we don’t have to obey.”
Or disobey, Flattery thought. “How is it the computer seems to function on information demand, but not for AAT translation?”
“That could mean only one band to debug,” Prudence said. “If it does …” She broke off staring at Bickel.
Bickel had his eyes closed. Perspiration beaded his. The circuitry was as clear in his mind as though projected there from outside himself. He had never completely disconnected the Ox from the AAT system which they had used for the Ox’s interpretive routines.
An empty sensation expanded through his chest as he realized every signal from outside into the AAT had gone through the Ox into the computer—there to be lost, there to mix up the AAT translator loops.
“You didn’t disconnect the plugboard from the Ox,” Timberlake whispered.
“But my computer readout comes through my AAT board,” Bickel said. He could hear the desperation in his own voice. “Every program demand I put on the computer went through those same Ox circuits
!”
“You were using subroutines with known addresses,” Prudence pointed out.
“And everything you asked for has been scattered through the entire system and lost,” Timberlake said.
“Has it?” Bickel asked. He opened his eyes. There was only one logical way to be certain, of course. It would not do any more damage than already had been done … if there was damage.
We didn’t think of Bickel cutting us off from UMB this way, Flattery thought. Destroying the translator loops!
Without the translator system to decode the multirepetitive laser-burst messages, the umbilicus crew might just as well use hand signals for its messages to and from Moonbase. Bickel could build a radio transmitter, of course. It would take only a few watts to punch a message across these distances, but no preparations had been made at UMB for such a communications method. And the number of eavesdroppers would be enormous.
Carefully, because he had to be certain the first time, Bickel switched five patches in his AAT board, triple-checked them.
