Crandall glanced at Buzzel. “Was that crate the only source of power?”
Buzzel hesitated. “No,” he said, “there’s an internal source for the limbs and the conveyor. But there’s no other drive.”
Crandall glanced back at the screen and roughly guessed at the suit’s speed and course. He turned to the ship’s officer and asked him to work out a more exact estimate, then he snapped on the communications screen.
The pilot’s voice spoke in Crandall’s ear. “Sir, I could swing in and try to get a tow cable on that thing.”
“No,” said Crandall, “Just keep it in sight.”
Crandall got the cruiser Vengeance on the communications screen.
“Is Monitor on station near VI?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I want you to put her on an interception course.” Crandall turned to the ship’s officer, who read off estimated course and speed of the delGrange suit. Crandall glanced back at the communications screen. “Can you do it?”
“Yes, sir. Monitor’s near at hand.”
“How long will it take?”
“About an hour, sir.”
“Fine,” said Crandall. “Thank you.” He snapped off the screen, and glanced at Buzzel.
“Maybe we should talk things over again.”
* * *
Crandall and Buzzel stared at each other across the table in the little conference room.
Buzzel said, “Maybe we’re going to get cracked ribs here after all.”
“What’s happened?”
“There are just two alternatives. Either that suit flew off by itself, in which case we’ve got the chance of a terrific mess, or else one of the suit operators stole it. And that opens up possibilities almost as bad.”
“Why?”
“The operators are picked for certain outstanding traits. Intelligence isn’t the most important of these, but the operators can’t be fools, either. The suits are worth, roughly, half-a-billion apiece. But to try to steal one for money, a man would need the mentality of a cretin.”
Crandall nodded.
“All right,” said Buzzel. “Grant that the operator has the sense to see he’ll never get out away from Cygnes without being spotted and stopped. Why else should he try to get away with a suit?”
Crandall scowled, and Buzzel fidgeted. Crandall said, “My purpose in coming out here was to examine one of those suits. Now there isn’t time. Have you looked one of them over yet?”
Buzzel said, “I operated one this morning.”
“What was it like?”
“You put on a suit of tight, close-fitting skin, go in through an air lock, and lie down in a special form-fitting seat. A capsule comes down over the seat. A very soft cap fits over your nose and mouth, and fine needles pierce your arteries and veins. The capsule fills with a warm liquid, and oxygen comes through a hose to the cap at your mouth. A nutrient solution and certain drugs pass through the needles.”
Buzzel shivered. “Bodily activity drops to a minimum. The operator floats in this soft, close capsule. Through a series of highly sensitive mutual inductances, information—in the form of sensation concerning the position of the limbs of the delGrange suit—is relayed to his brain. This principle is carried through elaborately. If someone applies light pressure, or a mild corrosive, to the exterior skin of the suit, it feels like an itching sensation. More pressure gives the effect of a pinch. Strong pressures or corrosion produces severe pain. The operator loses awareness of his body. He comes to sense the delGrange suit as his body.”
Buzzel added, “The trouble is, one of the most important qualifications for an operator is his ability to identify with the machine he operates. Some people are fascinated by machines. Ground cars, airplanes, spacers—away back in history they rode horses as if they and the horse were one. Put a splendid horse out in the yard and tell one of these people he can’t touch it—”
Crandall nodded thoughtfully.
“Always in the past,” said Buzzel, “we’ve had trouble with operator fatigue. Sooner or later it disrupts the identification. But delGrange is a perfectionist.” Buzzel moodily studied his fingernails. “What we seem to have here is the maximum of identification with the minimum of operator fatigue. The cyberneticists spotted it this morning, and they and Paley had a small war over it. I stuck with Paley. So did the rest of Administration.”
“But” said Crandall, “now that an operator has come and tried to make off with one of the suits—”
Buzzel nodded drearily. “Maybe the cyberneticists had something.”
Crandall sat back.
Buzzel said, “Picture what may come about thirty days from now. All that time the operators’ identification with the suits will be increasing. Suit failure is practically nil. Then, all of a sudden, they’re supposed to come up, and get out of the suits.” Buzzel put the fingernails of one hand in his mouth and bit down.
“How long,” said Crandall, “can they last if they don’t come up?”
“Fifty days at most. That is, fifty days, all told.”
“Twenty days more after the thirty are up?”
“At best. The suits ought to be restocked every thirty days.” Buzzel took a deep breath. “There could be,” he said, “a hundred and fifty billion dollars worth of equipment sitting around down there two months from now with dead men inside of it.” He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead.
Crandall looked up at the ceiling. “Whoever happens to be in charge of Planetary Development here when that happens will get strung up by the heels, I imagine?”
Buzzel said, “The publicity could be terrible.” He looked around uneasily. “There would have to be a scapegoat.”
Crandall felt his mouth start to bend up cheerfully at the corners, and blanked his face. He glanced at his watch. “You’d better tell me in detail what one of those mechanical suits can do. Then we’d better get back to the control room.”
The Monitor, a black spherical mass at the center of a giant spoked wheel, swung up onto the screen from below. Six squat tugs were spaced around the rim of the huge wheel, faced against the direction of motion, their rockets blazing as they struggled to brake the massive ship.
Crandall spoke to the Monitor’s commanding officer. “Do you see that thing like a big steel box with a shallow glass cup on one end?”
“Yes, sir.”
“As you can see, it is going to fall into an orbit around Cygnes VI, dip in closer, and burn up in the atmosphere. We have to stop it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Unfortunately,” said Crandall, “it’s equipped with drills, breakers, pile drivers, power crushers, and similar equipment, either recessed in the body of the thing or at the tips of those arms attached to it.”
The eyes of Monitor’s commanding officer narrowed to slits as he glanced aside at his own viewscreen. “Any guns on the thing?”
Crandall glanced at Buzzel, then back at the officer. “No. But if it got close enough to drill a hole in your hull, it could pack it with atomite and set it off, all in about three-tenths of a second. I imagine that would be just as good.”
The officer glanced from his viewscreen back to Crandall. “Sir, you let me yank a few of those arms out by the roots and we’ll have an easier time of it.”
Crandall turned to Buzzel, who looked pale and sick. Buzzel made half-a-dozen objections before Crandall could cut him off. “No good,” said Crandall, glancing back to the officer. “You might let the air out. That could kill the operator.”
“Sir, if he won’t obey orders—”
“We want some information he’s got.”
“Oh. Well—Suppose I can snap off a few of those arms about half-way down. The tools are in the ends, aren’t they?”
Crandall looked at Buzzel. Buzzel gave a weak nod.
“If you can do it,” said Crandall. “But the main idea is to see to it that that thing doesn’t go on down toward VI. And we want the operator alive, if possible.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If you can disable it so we can get in and get the operator out, so much the better. But the main point is—keep it away from VI. And look out for it. It may move faster than you expect once it gets hold of something.”
The officer’s lips drew back, showing large white teeth. “Don’t worry, sir. We’ll take care of it.” He saluted and stepped out of range of the communications screen. Crandall switched his gaze to the viewscreen showing the delGrange suit and the Monitor swinging up from below.
A muffled volley of orders came from the direction of the communications screen. Two of the six tugs spaced around the rim of Monitor’s drive wheel detached themselves and darted away. The other four moved to again space themselves evenly around the rim. The Monitor slowly swung toward the delGrange suit. The suit reached out with several of its long flexible arms and cut loose the cables holding the wreckage of its propulsion unit.
From overhead, a tug drifted down trailing a long cable.