Sound of Terror Page 2
flight.
"Rog, Red Three, go ahead," came Control's voice from below.
"Uh, Control, I have a flash and smoke cloud on a bearing of three-sevendegrees."
"Red Three, what altitude? What altitude?"
"None," said the fighter pilot. "On the deck."
After a moment, Johnny climbed unsteadily to his feet in the midst of abooming silence. He made his way back along the catwalk to the head,where he retched violently until the tears came to his eyes.
* * * * *
Three weeks later, Johnny sat in Doctor Lambert's office. He watched thelean, graying psychologist turn off the tape recorder, watched himmethodically tamp tobacco in his pipe.
"That's all she wrote, Johnny," said Lambert, finally. "That recordingof Mitch's voice is just about all we have. The Ship was under fullpower when it hit. There wasn't much left."
Johnny looked absently out the window at the gleaming needle of Ship IIbeside the flimsy-looking gantry. Full power was a lot of power.
The psychologist followed Johnny's eyes. "Beautiful," he said, and theword brought to Johnny's mind the wide-eyed pale face of Mitch's wife,staring at him.
"That Ship is the best we can make her," Lambert said. "Engineering isas certain as they can be that there was no structural failure on ShipI."
"So?" Johnny said, still staring at the Ship. Even at this distance, hecould almost believe he could see his own lean face reflected in theshining metal.
"So we look somewhere else for the cause of failure," said Lambert.
"Where?" said Johnny. He turned back, saw that the psychologist wasputting a new reel on the tape recorder.
"The weak link in the control system," Lambert said.
"There weren't any."
"One."
"What?"
"Mitch Campbell."
Johnny stood, angry. "Mitch was good. Damn good."
The psychologist looked up, and his eyes were tired. "I know it," hesaid calmly. "Listen to this." He started the machine playing the newtape.
Johnny listened to it through. The voice that came out was high andwavering. It shook, it chattered, words were indistinguishable. It wasthin with tension, and it rang in Johnny's ears with unwantedfamiliarity.
"What's it sound like to you?" Lambert asked when it had finished.
"Like Mitch's voice," Johnny admitted reluctantly.
"It did to me, too. What do you think it is?"
"Don't know," said Johnny shortly. "Might be a pilot whose plane isshaking apart."
"No."
"I don't know."
Lambert sat back down behind his desk and sucked on his pipestem. Heregarded Johnny impassively, seeming to consider some problem remotefrom the room.
Abruptly, he stood again and went to the window, watching the ant-likeactivity around the base of Ship II.
"That was a madman's voice," he said. "I made the recording while I wasinterning at a state institution."
"So?"
"Mad with fear," Lambert said. "Pure. Simple. Unadulterated. That wasthe sound of terror you heard, Johnny. Terror such as few humans haveever known. That man knew such fear he could not remain sane and livewith it."
_I had a true wife but I left her ... oh, oh, oh._
"You think Mitch--"
"You said yourself the voices were alike." Lambert pointed out.
"I don't believe it."
"Don't have to," said Lambert, turning from the window. "But I'll tellyou something, Johnny. That Ship--" he hooked his thumb out thewindow--"is a very big toy. Maybe too big."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning it's possible we've reached beyond Man's limitations. Meaningit's possible we've built something too big for a man to handle and staysane. Maybe we've finally gone too far."
"Maybe."
"I don't insist it's true," said the psychologist. "It's an idea. Fear.Fear of the unknown, maybe. Too much fear to hold."
"You think I'll crack?" asked Johnny.
The psychologist didn't answer directly. "It's an idea, as I said. Ijust wanted you to think it over."
"I will," said Johnny. He stood again, his jaw held tight. "Is thatall?"
"Yes, Colonel, that's all," said Lambert.
When Johnny left, the psychologist sat in brooding silence, staringmorosely at a trail of blue smoke rising from his pipe bowl. He satthere until the afternoon light faded from the desert base. Then hestood in the darkened office, sighed, lit his pipe and went home. He wasvery tired.
* * * * *
Six weeks later, Johnny Youngbear walked out of the Control blockhouseinto the cold desert morning, carrying his helmet under his arm.
He ran his eyes swiftly up the length of Ship II, trying to forget thoseother eyes staring at his back from the blockhouse. The Ship rippled andgleamed, alive, eager, the thundering power in her belly waiting to beborn.
_Oh, you bitch! You beautiful bitch_, Johnny thought. _Pregnant withpower like a goddess with a god's child. Bitch, bitch, bitch! I loveyou. I hate you. You kill me._
The crew-chief walked by his side. "Nice morning, Colonel," he said.
"Very," said Johnny.
_I had a true wife but I left her ... oh, oh, oh. For you, you beautifulbitch._
"Say something, Colonel?" asked the crew-chief.
"No. Song running through my head," he explained.
"Yeah," the other man chuckled. "I know how it is."
They strapped him into the padded control chair, the controls arrangedaround him in a neat semicircle, easy to reach.
_This is my day._
They left him. Alone. _Once around lightly._
The loneliness was in his belly, aching like a tumor.
"... read me?" Control's voice in his earphones.
"Loud and clear," he said absently.
"... minus two minutes ... mark!" A different voice. So many differentvoices. They knew him, they talked to him. But he was alone with hisbitch.
_I had a true wife but--_
"... minus one minute ... mark!"
_This is my day I had a true wife--_
"... three ... two ... one ... mark!"
There was the sound of a world dying in his mind, the sound of thunder,the sound of a sun splitting, the sound of a goddess giving birth, withpain with agony in loneliness.
A giant's fist came from out of nothingness and smashed into his body.His chest was compressed, his face was flattened, he could not getenough air to breathe. The heavy sledge of acceleration crushed him backinto the padded chair, inexorable, implacable, relentless, heavy. Hisvision clouded in red and he thought he would die. Instead, he spokeinto the lip mike, resenting it bitterly.
"Acceleration ... nine gee." He looked at the gauge that shimmered redlybefore him, disbelieving. "Altitude 20,000."
He blacked out, sinking helplessly into the black plush night ofunawareness. _I had a true I had I had--_
Awakening to pain, he glanced at the gauges. He had been gone only asplit second.
"Altitude 28,000, acceleration pressure dropping."
His face began to resume its normal shape as the acceleration dropped."... six gee," he said, and breathing was easier. The giant reluctantlybegan to withdraw his massive fist from Johnny's face.
He tipped a lever, watched the artificial horizon tilt slightly. "Aircontrol surfaces respond," he said. But soon there would be no air forthe surfaces to move against, and then he would control by flicking thepower that rumbled behind him.
"Altitude 40,000 ...
"... 85,000 ...
"... 100,000...." The sky was glistening black, he was passing from theearth's envelope of air into the nothingness that was space. Now.
Now.
Now it was time to change angle, flatten the ship out, bring it intoposition to run around the earth. _Once around lightly._
There was a high-pitched scream in his earphones. He remembered it hadbeen there for long, and wondered if he had told Control.
He flicked the switch that ignited the powerful steering rockets, andthe whine grew louder, unbearably loud. It sang to him, his bitch sang,_I had a true wife, but I left her ... oh, oh, oh._
He began to feel a light tingle over his body, tiny needles delicatelyjabbing every inch. His face became wooden, felt prickly. He tried tolick his lips and could feel no sensation there. His vision foggedagain, and he knew it was not from acceleration this time, it wassomething else.
Something else.
_What's it like out there?_
His belly told him. Fear.
He reached