the Ship
decelerated into a circumsolar orbit, and a very neat one at that, I'd
say there was a strong possibility that the Ship is in a derelict or at
least distressed condition . . ."
"A ship in distress usually signals for help. As loudly and as often
as possible."
"If they were telepathic," said McCullough, joining in, "they might expect
their distress to be plain for all to hear."
"If they were telepathic they would know that we weren't."
Berryman shot the doctor a brief, sympathetic glance, then went on quickly,
"They can't or won't react to the usual methods of attracting attention
and their ship appears to be in a powered-down condition. I think it is
time we knocked on the nearest airlock door and walked in -- politely,
of course, and with all due caution.
"I suggest leaving the doctor on watch," Berryman went on, "while Walters
and I have a look at the big seal which is passing under us just now.
It looks like a cargo lock big enough to take P-Two from here, and there
is a smaller lock -- for personnel, I expect -- set into the large one.
I think we could open it. After all, there are only so many ways to open
a door . . ."
Morrison was silent for so long that they wondered if he was going to
wait for instructions from Earth before giving permission. But finally
he said, "I agree that we should take some more positive action,
but I'm concerned about the possibility of booby traps. Unintentional
booby traps in the shape of mechanisms whose operating principles are
so alien as to be a danger to you."
"We'll be careful, sir," said Berryman.
"We're only going to open a door," Walters whispered disparagingly to
the doctor, but not quietly enough.
"Pandora thought the same thing, Walters, you might remember that!
However, you have permission to land on the Ship's hull and open an airlock.
Take your time about preparations -- there must be no avoidable accidents.
And you, Berryman, will remain on watch. I can't risk losing both pilots,
Walters and the doctor can go -- if they don't mind, that is . . ."
Put like that and with countless millions listening, they had, of course,
no choice.
But the strange thing was that McCullough did not feel afraid -- tense
and impatient with all the waiting around, perhaps, but not really
afraid. Earlier, when they had been approaching the Ship for the first
time, he had been expecting literally anything and he had been more
afraid than he had believed it possible for any man to be. Perhaps it had
been what some people called a moment of truth. But when the moment of
truth spreads itself out over twenty-six hours, there is a considerable
dilution of effect.
McCullough launched himself in the wake of the pilot, slowly and carefully
so that his magnets would stick to the alien hull rather than bounce off,
and a few minutes later they made a gentle, sprawling contact. McCullough
detached his wrist magnets and slowly straightened up.
It was only then that it hit him.
This metal plating beneath his feet had been shaped and processed from
ore dug out of the earth, but not the Earth. From his position
by the airlock the hull looked so enormous that he seemed almost to
be standing on a metallic planet complete with a range of beautiful
transparent hills. The sun was shining through one of the blister hills,
distorted by refraction into a gaudy smear which threw blurred highlights
off whatever it was that the blister contained. And this whole vast
fabrication was the product of a design staff and engineers who were not
of Earth. At no stage in its construction had the people from McDonnell
or BAC had a single thing to do with it.
Its reason for being might be as strange and alien as its makers, whoever
and whatever they might be, but McCullough felt that its basic purpose
could be easily understood by human beings of a certain