Title: Satellite of Death
Author: Garrett, Randall
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Satellite of Death" ***


                          SATELLITE OF DEATH

                          By Randall Garrett

               Five men were stationed on Earth's space
            satellite when the alien starship moored itself
            nearby. So the question--who would investigate?

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                             December 1957
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


There were five aboard the orbiting wheel in the sky--an American, a
Russian, a Frenchman, an Englishman, an Indian. Their job was to keep
watch--over each other. The Wheel held enough fission-fusion bombs to
blast all of Earth but the five watchdogs saw to it that those bombs
remained stored, a potential threat and no more to aggressors below.

And then Gregson and Lal discovered the alien spaceship moored outside
Supplementary Airlock One.

It looked like no spaceship they had ever set eyes on before. Gregson,
the American, said, "You see that thing out there?"

The Indian, Lal, nodded and rubbed his aquiline nose reflectively. "I
see it--but what is it?"

"Spaceship of some kind," said Gregson. "Damndest-looking spaceship
I've ever seen, though. Looks like it's moored near the airlock.
Wonder if we have visitors?"

He peered at the ship. It had little in common with the unstreamlined
dumbbells Earth used for spaceflight; it was slim and tapering, with no
visible rocket orifices; it was made of some strange iridescent metal
that glimmered in the moonlight.

"Let's investigate," Gregson said.

"We should call the others," said Lal. "All five should be on hand."

"You're right." Gregson touched his belt-stud, giving the signal that
called all five crewmen to hand. They appeared quickly--Lasseux,
Beveridge, Golovunoff. Silently, Gregson pointed through the view-plate
at the newcomer.

After a long look Beveridge shook his head. "That didn't come from
Earth," the Englishman said. "Not unless they've developed an entirely
new drive principle. And look at the design...."

"That's an alien spaceship, all right," Lasseux said.

"From the stars," added Golovunoff. A cold chill seemed to sweep
through the space satellite as he spoke the words.

Quietly Gregson said, "We'd better go out there and see what's inside.
Since Lal and I saw the ship first, we'll be the ones to go look."

"No," said Golovunoff. "I wish to go also."

"I'd rather like to get first look too," said Beveridge.

"I think we'd all better go," Lasseux suggested. "The station can
operate without us for a while. And we'll never agree on who's to go,
eh?"

       *       *       *       *       *

Five figures in spacesuits clustered about the alien ship. At
close range its iridescent skin looked other-worldly and vaguely
frightening, gleaming purple and green and dull-bronze by moonlight. A
quartz window gave a view of the ship's interior.

"I don't see anyone in there," said Gregson. "You?"

"Looks empty to me," commented Beveridge.

"Empty! Impossible!" said Lasseux vehemently. "Empty spaceships do not
pilot themselves across the void to Earth. Empty spaceships do not
complicatedly moor themselves outside a space satellite's airlock.
Empty spaceships...."

"That's enough, Lasseux," growled the Russian. "Whether it makes sense
or no, that spaceship's empty."

"Let's find the hatch," suggested Lal. "Perhaps there's someone injured
inside, out of the line of sight."

The five Earthmen covered the surface of the ship, looking for an
exterior hatch control. Beveridge found it first--a narrow lever
extruding a few inches from the skin of the alien vessel. He called
to the others, then yanked down on the lever. The hatch pivoted back,
opening into an airlock.

There was the usual moment of Alphonse-Gaston as the five crewmen
jockeyed for position, none willing to let any of the others get ahead
of him on anything. Then Lasseux slipped through and into the alien
spaceship, followed by Gregson and Beveridge almost simultaneously, and
then Golovunoff and Lal.

The ship _was_ empty.

There was not the slightest sign of life. The five men roamed through
the vessel, noting the utterly alien control-panel, the strange
furnishings, the peculiar fixtures and appurtenances. But the ship was
void of life.

Finally they returned to the Wheel and, puzzled, discussed the
situation.

"It makes no sense," objected Lasseux. The small Frenchman was plainly
obsessed with the inconsistency of the thing. "The ship crosses the
interstellar void ... alone? Can remote control extend so far?"

"Looks like it did," said Gregson.

"Impossible!" Lasseux sputtered.

"In any case," said Beveridge, "we have a prize--a gift from the stars.
An alien spaceship, free and without strings of any kind. We should
notify Earth of our find."

"Do you suppose," said Lal, "that the pilot of that ship may be around
yet?"

"Huh?" From Gregson and Beveridge at the same time.

"What I mean is, suppose that pilot is not like you and me--suppose,
that is, that he is invisible? Perhaps he is still aboard his ship, and
we passed over him unknowing? Or perhaps he has come right in here with
us and listens to our very words?"

Gregson shuddered. "You've got a wild imagination, Lal. But we have
enough problems on our hands without worrying about ghosts from outer
space."

"I said not ghosts--"

"Enough," boomed Golovunoff. "We can continue this silly quarrel
indefinitely. Let us assume, since we see no one and nothing aboard the
ship, that it arrived empty. And therefore that it is ours for study."

"Do empty ships moor themselves to airlock hatches?" asked the
Frenchman sarcastically. "I tell you Lal's right--there must have been
intelligence guiding that ship!"

Gregson shook his head. "No. Listen to me, will you? We built this
satellite station jointly, as a global watch-station. But does that
mean that everything the satellite discovers is to be shared equally?"

"Of course," said Beveridge.

"Then how do we divide that spaceship into five equal parts? Whose
country gets it?"

There was a moment's silence. Then Lal said, "We'll turn it over to
the United Nations. They can let all nations examine it freely."

For once there was general agreement. "Good idea," Gregson said
approvingly, and then the five went back to their tasks aboard the
satellite.

       *       *       *       *       *

The satellite had been in space less than a year. The development
of spaceflight had put an end to the possibility of war on Earth by
bringing into being a watchdog for the uneasy planet.

Put a satellite in the sky. Arm it with enough fission-fusion bombs
to blast any country to flinders. Man it with a squad chosen from
the leading countries of the world and let them keep watch over one
another. Any threat of aggression on the mother planet could easily be
squashed by the more potent threat of blazing vengeance from the skies.
The satellite was the guardian of the world's peace.

The five men chosen to be the first crew were almost ideal for
the job--sensitive, intelligent men, skilled in the techniques of
spaceflight, loyal to the countries of their birth. There wouldn't be
any chance of collusion among them, of a conspiracy against one country
or against Earth itself, as some feared.

Their tasks for the hours immediately after the discovery of the
strange spaceship were mostly routine; Lal dictated a comprehensive
report on the spaceship and beamed it to United Nations Headquarters on
Earth, while Beveridge and Golovunoff, spacesuited, filmed the alien
ship from every conceivable angle, inside and out. Lasseux and Gregson
tended to the workings of the satellite, overseeing the cybernetic
governors which had the actual responsibility of operating the big
wheel in the sky.

Lasseux was cook that night, according to the strict rotation that had
been set up. The men ate a strange meal; their spirits seemed oddly
dampened by the spaceship that had so unpredictably come into their
midst. Lal's words preyed on them despite themselves. Suppose there had
been an invisible alien aboard that ship? Suppose he lurked aboard the
wheel this very moment?

"Suppose," said Beveridge suddenly, "that alien ship was an invasion
scout."

"What's that?" Gregson asked.

"What I mean is, the advance guard of an invasion force. The alien
finds the satellite and, being telepathic, parks here a while to
see what's going on." He giggled self-consciously. "I'm speaking
imaginatively, of course. The alien moors here and reads our minds;
finds out we have a load of bombs here that can blow up the works down
there. So he comes drifting out of the ship and takes over someone of
us here. When no one else is looking--_poof!_--Earth is destroyed like
that!" Again Beveridge giggled.

Gregson looked at him sourly. "You better leave those crazy magazines
alone, Beveridge."

But Lasseux interjected, "We should devote careful attention to what he
has said. There may be a grain of truth in it. After all, _who moored
the spaceship_?"

A moment's silence. Then the Russian said, "Assuming one of us is an
alien--not that I believe Beveridge's fanciful story--how would we
know? Until Earth is destroyed, that is?"

"That's just it," said Lal gloomily. "We _wouldn't_ know. Not until it
was too late."

       *       *       *       *       *

What began as Beveridge's dinner-table joke soon became an
earnestly-held belief. Perhaps it was the strain of life aboard the
satellite, 10,000 miles above the Earth's surface. Perhaps the tensions
of a year's isolation from the rest of humanity were taking their toll.
But, from a dinner-table jest, the concept soon became a source of
serious discussion. And tension.

Tension wrapped cold fingers around them as the days passed. They
agreed to operate in teams, never to let one out of another's sight,
always to keep constant watch ... for there was no way of telling which
of them harbored in his body or his mind Earth's potential destroyer.

Two days passed this way, and a third. Then Lal went for a walk in
space--without a suit.

"He cracked," Gregson said, staring at the Indian's corpse. "This crazy
alien business--it just broke him apart."

"Yes," Lasseux said moodily. "The tension ... the looking and
spying ... he couldn't take it any more. Our first casualty. But not
the last, I fear."

Beveridge and Gregson brought Lal's body in--it was orbiting around the
Wheel--and a brief funeral service was conducted. The Indian's body was
fed to the atomic converters that ran the station and consumed in an
instant's blaze of light.

Lasseux radioed Earth and gave them a full account of the tragedy. He
was told that a replacement for Lal would be on his way within a week
or two.

"Now there are just four of us," he said, turning from the radio. "It
will make keeping watch easier. I will team with Golovunoff for the
rest of the day; you two English-speakers can work together."

They did. It was a cold, cheerless day. The little Indian had
everyone's spirits.

Then Beveridge suggested, "Perhaps Lal was the one carrying the alien.
When he discovered the truth he ran out into space, killing himself and
the alien...?"

"No," Gregson said. "Why would he wait so long? Lal was the type to do
such a thing the moment he found out. Besides, the alien wouldn't be
bothered by space if it has no body."

"Damn; you're right. Just trying to cheer things, old man. Just
trying...."

Suddenly the sound of a pistol-shot echoed through the chambers of
the space satellite. The crewmen always carried pistols as safeguards
against one another.

"You hear that?" Gregson said.

Beveridge nodded.

Moments later Lasseux came running into the chamber, muttering
excitedly and incoherently to himself in French. He carried a smoking
gun in his hand. Gregson and Beveridge immediately drew but Lasseux
raised his other hand and dropped the gun.

"Calm yourself!" Gregson ordered, shaking Lasseux roughly. "Calm down!
What happened!"

The flow of French finally ceased. Lasseux made a visible effort to
master himself and said. "Golovunoff--the Russian--_he_ was the alien!"[1]

[Footnote 1: Transcriber's Note: This paragraph seemed to be a printer
error. A portion was removed for better readability. The original text
of this paragraph was "The flow of French finally ceased. Lasseux made
a visible effort added an exotic spark to the group that was missing
now and the tragic nature of his death dampened to master himself and
said. "Golovunoff--the Russian--_he_ was the alien!"]

"What?"

"I saw him change shape," Lasseux gasped. "He seemed to waver for a
moment when he thought I wasn't looking. The edges of his body blurred.
It was awful! Then he saw me--and I shot him!"

"Is he dead?"

"Yes! Yes! I sealed off the chamber, so the alien couldn't escape if
it's still alive." Lasseux was trembling violently. Beveridge and
Gregson, pale, stared at him.

"Two men dead," Gregson said. "And we don't know if we've killed the
creature yet. Or if there really is a creature," he added more silently
to himself.

Then--"Great God! _Lasseux!_"

Gregson gaped. The Frenchman was ... _wavering_. It was the only way to
describe it. He seemed to be blurring and shifting mistily, but only
for an instant.

An instant was long enough. Gregson had his gun out and pumped three
shots into Lasseux's body. The Frenchman looked incredulously at him a
moment, then crumpled.

Gregson took four steps back and let the gun drop from his nerveless
fingers. "It was a trick," he said in a half-whisper. "He killed the
Russian and made up the story about him--but he couldn't control his
own wavering! Lucky thing I got him first, wasn't it?" He turned to
Beveridge for confirmation, but the Englishman was gazing at him
sternly, coldly, almost angrily.

"He _was_ wavering, wasn't he?" Gregson asked. "You saw it too--that
sort of blurring?" The American knotted his hands tensely. "Well, now
the alien's dead--unless it's taken a new host. You don't think that's
possible, do you, Beveridge? I mean, if you shoot the body it's in, can
it hop to the next person like that? Do you think...."

"Yes," said the Englishman. "I think so."

He was wavering.

But _he_ held the gun.

Gregson yelled once and charged madly toward Beveridge. The bullet
caught him in mid-run and sent him spinning back toward the crumpled
corpse of Lasseux. Coldly, Beveridge fired twice more, then stopped
wavering.

Ten minutes later, the rain of bombs began to shower down on Earth.



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