Keith Laumer - Thunderhead

It was a small room, with an uneven floor, exposed, hand-hewn ceiling beams, a rough fieldstone fireplace. There was furniture: a narrow bunk, a table, a bookcase, straight-backed chairs, all meticulously dusted. A pot of sickly snow-flowers stood in the center of the table. A thick quartz window in a vacuum-tight alloy frame was set in the south walla salvaged DV port from a deep-space liner. The view through the window was of black night, whirling snowflakes, a moonlit mountain peak thrusting up towards the sprawling configuration of the constellation Angina Doloris.

Beside the window, a compact Navy issue WFP transmitter was set up on a small gray-metal desk. The man standing before it was tall, wide-shouldered, with graying hair, still straight-backed, but thickening through the body now. He studied the half-dozen instrument faces, then seated himself, began noting their readings in a worn notebook. As he worked, the teen-aged boy who stood beside him watched intently.

Ive been working on my Blue codes, Lieutenant Carnaby, the lad was saying. Ill bet I could pass the Academy exam now. His eager tone changed. You spose Ill ever get the chance, Lieutenant?

Sure, Terry, Carnaby said. His voice was deep, husky. A Navy ships bound to call here, any time now.

The boy stood by as Carnaby depressed the tape key which would send the recorded call letters of the one-man station flashing outward as a shaped wavefront, propagated at the square of the speed of light.

Lieutenant, the boy said, every night you send out your call. How come you never get an answer?

Carnaby shook his head. I dont know, Terry. Maybe theyre too busy fighting the Djann to check in with every little JN beacon station on the Outline.

You said after five years they were supposed to come back and pick you up, the boy persisted. Why

There was a sharp, wavering tone from the round, wiremesh covered speaker. A dull red light winked on, blinked in a rapid flutter, settled down to a steady glow. The audio signal firmed to a raucous buzz.

Lieutenant! Terry blurted. Somethings coming in!

Swiftly, Carnaby thumbed the big S-R key to RECEIVE, flipped the selector lever to UNSC, snapped a switch tagged RCD.

riority, to all stations, a voice faint with distance whispered through a rasp and crackle of star-static. Cincsec One-two-oh to Cincfleet Nine serial one-oh-four stations copy Terem Aldo Terem pha this message two Part One

What is it, Lieutenant? The boys voice broke with excitement.

A Fleet Action signal, Carnaby said tensely. An all-station, recorded. Im taping it; if they repeat it a couple of times, Ill get it all.

They listened, heads close to the speaker grille; the voice faded and swelled. It reached the end of the message, began again: Red priority tions incsec One-two

The message repeated five times; then the voice ceased. The wavering carrier hum went on another five seconds, cut off. The red light winked out. Carnaby flipped over the SEND key, twisted the selector to VOC-SQ.

JN 37 Ace Trey to Cincsec One-two-oh, he transmitted in a tense voice. Acknowledging receipt Fleet TX 104. Request clarification.

Then he waited, his face taut, for a reply to his transmission, which had been automatically taped, condensed to a one-microsecond squawk, and repeated ten times at one-second intervals.

No good, Carnaby shook his head after a silent minute had passed. From the sound of the Fleet beam, Cincsec One-two-oh must be a long way from here.

Try again, Lieutenant! Tell em youre here, tell em its time they came back for you! Tell em

They cant hear me, Terry. Carnabys face was tight. I havent got the power to punch across that kind of distance. He keyed the playback. The filtered composite signal came through clearly now:

Red priority to all stations. Cincsec One-two-oh to Rim HQ via Cincfleet Nine-two. All Fleet stations copy. Pass to Terem Aldo Cerise, Terem Alpha Two, and ancillaries. This message in two parts. Part one: CTF Forty-one reports breakthrough of Djann armed tender on standard vector three-three-seven, mark; three-oh-five, mark; oh-four-two. This is a Category One Alert. Code G applies. Class Four through Nine stations stand by on Status Green. Part Two. Inner Warning Line units divert all traffic lanes three-four through seven-one. Outer Beacon Line stations activate main beacon, pulsing code schedule gamma eight. Message ends. All stations acknowledge.

Whats all that mean, Lieutenant? Terrys eyes seemed to bulge with excitement.

It means Im going to get some exercise, Terry.

Exercise how?

Carnaby took out a handkerchief and wiped it across his forehead. That was a general order from Sector Command. Looks like theyve got a rogue bogie on the loose. Ive got to put the beacon on the air.

He turned to look out through the window toward the towering ramparts of the nine-thousand-foot volcanic peak gleaming white in the light of the small, brilliant moon. Terry followed Carnabys glance.

Gosh, Lieutenantyou mean you got to climb old Thunderhead?

Thats where I set the beacon up, Terry, Carnaby said mildly. On the highest ground around.

Surebut your flitter was working then!

Its not such a tough climb, Terry. Ive made it a few times, just to check on things. He was studying the rugged contour of the moonlit steep, which resembled nothing so much as a mass of snowy cumulus. There was snow on the high ledges, but the wind would have scoured the east face clear.

Not in the last five years, you havent, Lieutenant! Terry sounded agitated.

I havent had a Category One Alert, either, Carnaby smiled.

Maybe they didnt mean you, Terry said.

They called for Outer Beacon Line stations. Thats me.

They dont expect you to do it on foot, Terry protested. Not this time o year!

Carnaby looked at the boy, smiling slightly. I guess maybe they do, Terry.

Then theyre wrong! Terrys thin face looked pale. Dont go, Lieutenant!

Its my job, Terry. Its what Im here for. You know that.

What if you never got the message? Terry countered. What if the radio went on the blink, like all the rest of the stuff you brought in here with youthe flitter, and the food unit, and the scooter? Then nobodyd expect you to get yourself killed

But it didnt, Carnaby reminded him gently.

Terry stared at the older man; his mouth worked as though he wanted to speak, but couldnt find the words. Ill go with you, he said.

Carnaby shook his head. Thanks, Terry. But youre just a boy. I need a man along on this trip.

Terrys narrow face tightened. Boy, hell, he said defiantly. Im seventeen!

I didnt mean anything, Terry. Just that I need a man whos had some trail experience.

Howm I going to get any trail experience, Lieutenant, if I dont start sometime?

Better to start with an easier climb than Thunderhead, Carnaby said gently. You better go along home now, Terry. Your uncle will be getting worried.

When when you leaving, Lieutenant?

Early. Ill need all the daylight I can get to make Hallidays Roost by sundown.

After the boy had gone, Carnaby went to the storage room at the rear of the small house, checked over the meager store of issue supplies. He examined the cold-suit, shook his head over the brittleness of the wiring. At least it had been a loose fit; hed still be able to get into it.

He left the house then, walked alone up the steep, unpaved street, past the half-dozen ramshackle stores that made up the business district of the single surviving settlement on the frontier planet Longone.

At Maveriks store, the evenings card game had broken up, but half a dozen men still sat around the old hydrogen space heater. They looked up casually.