Macroscope

Not only in poetry! Ivo thought. The entire society is governed by mediocrity. We never learn.

Several other prominent magazines rejected “Corn.”

Were they absolutely blind?

At last Lippincott’s Magazine accepted it. Publication made Lanier’s poetic fame; henceforth he was known, though still poor and ill.

The year was 1875, and he was thirty-three years old. He would not live to forty.

Ivo must have slept, for the exploratory party was back already.

“What a bomb!” Afra exclaimed. “There’s enough armament there to blast a fleet. Chemical, laser, and things we won’t invent for centuries! All of it on standby.”

“I don’t understand,” Beatryx said.

“It’s a battlewagon, dear,” Groton explained. “But somebody turned it off. All but the sensory equipment.”

“It could have blasted Neptune to bits!” Afra said. The potential violence seemed to fascinate her. “It has — I think they’re gravity-bombs. Devices that would throw the fields associated with matter into complete chaos. Whoever built that wagon really knew how to fight a war!”

Ivo decided to get into the conversation. “It must be there to protect the destroyer. But why would they deactivate it? If enemies had boarded it and turned it off, they would have gone on to squelch the destroyer too.”

“And why build such an arsenal, if not to be used?” Groton said. “I can’t make sense of it either.”

Afra was not fazed. “We know where the answer is.”

“Did it occur to you that we may not much like the answer, when and if we find it?” Groton, at least, seemed to be taking the matter seriously.

“It’s in the stars. Who am I to object?”

The two-mile bulk of the destroyer itself seemed more like a small planet, compared to the satellite. Though the gravitic field about it was monstrous, intensity had not increased proportionately as they approached its surface, and the weight of the ship was only a quarter what it would have been on Earth. This still made for tricky maneuvering, since the macroscope housing was vulnerable in gravity. But indentations in the sides of the sphere resembled docking facilities, so they piloted Joseph in instead of establishing a tight orbit. The builders had evidently expected visitors, and had made the approach convenient.

Ivo gave up counting the incongruities of the situation. Better simply to accept what offered, as the others were doing.

The dock was a tubelike affair open at each end, as though a missile had passed cleanly through the rim. The gravity was minimal inside — just enough to hold Joseph in place at the center of the tube. The macroscope housing thus never had to rest in an awkward position; the ship was able to “land” with it attached.

Groton and Afra do

Three minutes later their cheerful reports began coming in. “Very well organized,” Groton remarked. “Very businesslike. There seem to be magnetic moorings we can attach to the hull. Why not?”

“And pressure-locks,” Afra said, her voice girlishly thrilled. “Harold, you anchor Joseph while I figure out the settings.”

“Right.” The sounds of his exertions came through, and the clank of tools, audible without benefit of earphone. Ivo wondered how this was possible, in the exterior vacuum, then realized that the sonic vibrations were being transmitted through the hardware and into the. ship. Groton was holding on to something, and standing somewhere, so contacts were plentiful.

Then came the knock of another contact with Joseph’s hull. The ship had been secured.

“I’m setting it for Earth-normal pressure and composition,” Afra said. “I don’t even have to remember the oxygen-nitrogen ratio or the fine points; it has a gas-analyzer. One sample puff from my suit—”

“Let’s not trust it too far,” Groton cautioned. “Don’t forget this is the destroyer.”

“Don’t get worked up, daddy. If it let us get this far, it isn’t going to trick us with a mickey now. I’m going in.”

Ivo wondered. Wasn’t it possible that the destroyer cared less about infringing individuals than about dangerous species or cultures? This had the aspect of flypaper — or, if occupied, of the spider’s lair.

But if it had them, it had them. No incidental caution could protect them within its bowels, if personal malignance waited. They could be snuffed out in a thousand casual ways. Had they wanted security, they should have stayed well clear of the destroyer. Thousands of light-years clear.

“Removing suit,” Afra said. A pause. “Air’s good. Shall I go on into the interior?”

“Not without checking it!” Groton said. “That’s only the airlock, you know. What’s inside could ruin your delicate complexion. It might be hundred percent ammonia at five degrees Kelvin.”

“No it mightn’t. The system has been keyed to the lock. The entire wing has been pressurized to match my sample. I tell you, these galactics are experienced.”

“What do you think, folks?” Groton asked dubiously.

Ivo remembered that he was on this circuit too. “She’ll have to get out of the lock before anybody else uses it. Might as well go in.”

“You, dear?” Groton inquired.

“Whatever you think, dear,” Beatryx said. She had faith in her husband’s judgment, and Ivo envied her that.

“Come on out, then, both of you. We should take on this particular adventure as a group. I’ll wait here for you while Miss Impetuous shows the way.”

“Goats are naturally inquisitive,” Afra said.

Goat = Capricorn, her astrological sign, Ivo thought. Groton must have showed her her chart, during one of their… private discussions. And did Beatryx know that she was Pisces — a poor fish?

They dressed and climbed out. Ivo assisted Beatryx, but not with any palm on the bottom.

Groton stood on a platform resembling that of a train station. Massive cables reached from the rounded ceiling to Joseph on either side.

“Just swing over on the spare,” Groton recommended. “The gravity increases near the lock. You could jump, but why take chances?”

Ivo wondered again whether the humor were conscious. How much difference could one more chance make, now?

They swung over. This was his first physical contact with an alien artifact, since he had not visited the satellite, and he was vaguely disappointed both at its ordinary substance and at the continuing casualness with which the others adjusted to the situation. This was supposed to be the moment of climax — Alien Contact! — and nobody noticed.

Or was he merely put out because he had become a minor figure in a major adventure? After this, if they survived, Afra would be able to handle the travel signal (at least until they reencountered the existent destroyer field, which would take thousands of years to dissipate even at light speed;) and so she would have no further need of Ivo.

“Okay, I’ll go through and you follow in turn,” Groton said. “No problem with these controls—” He went on to demonstrate.

“Hurry up!” Afra said from the inside. “I’m itching to look about in here.”

Had this degenerated into a child’s game of “Spaceman”? Girl astronaut wanted them to hurry because she was impatient to explore!

He thought he heard Schön laughing. Little Ivo had thought to manage this adventure himself, and only succeeded in making himself unimportant. Ivo was no Lanier, he was not likely to achieve fame on his own. Schön, on the other hand—

They don’t need you, either, he thought furiously at the lurking personality. Schön did not reply.

The interior was, as Afra had claimed, pressurized. He and Beatryx joined the other two in summer clothing, depositing their suits in bi