Copyright (C) 2004 by David Baumann, Jon Cooper, and Mike Dodd.
THE RUNAWAY ASTEROID
THE STARMAN SERIES
by Michael D. Cooper
MUTINY ON MARSTHE RUNAWAY ASTEROIDJOURNEY TO THE TENTH PLANETDESCENT INTO EUROPATHE LOST RACE OF MARSDOOMSDAY HORIZON
(The seventh book, THE STARLIGHT MANEUVER,and other volumes are in preparation.)
The short stories-The Flight of the Olympia,The City of Dust, SETI,A Matter of Time,and Return to Europa-are available in the first five issues of the Inter*Stellar, the fanzine for the Starman series.
A novelette outside the main storyline,The Lost Tomorrow,is serialized in "The Starman Chronicles."
All items may be ordered through theStarman web site at www.StarmanSeries.com.
David Foster Number Two
THE RUNAWAY ASTEROID
by Michael D. Cooper
Artwork by Nick Baumann
A David Foster Starman AdventureCopyright (c) 2004David Baumann, Jon Cooper, and Mike Doddall rights reservedABCDE "A Baumann-Cooper-Dodd Enterprise"
The Starman Team dedicates this bookto
Fred Woodworth
a rare and gifted individual who practices generosity in a world ofacquisitiveness, courage in a world of indifference, honesty in aworld of opportunism, and personal responsibility in a world ofbuck-passing; an artist and craftsman few in this era know how toappreciate; who has done as much as any and more than most to advancethe cause of series books; and whose genius has abundantly proven thatthe books deplored by librarians of a previous age are treasures thatshaped several generations and made their readers better people. ToFred Woodworth of Tucson, Arizona, the series book world owes a debtthat can never be repaid.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The Starman team wishes to thank
STEPHEN AVERY for coining the term "greegles." Though these remarkable beings will probably not reappear for several books, their place in the Starman series is an essential part of the saga.
TOM NARWID, amateur astronomer, for supplying the photograph which we used for the endpapers. The scene was taken through his backyard telescope in Cottonwood, Arizona.
KEVIN ANETSBERGER for preparing Tom's spectacular, multi-colored original photograph for publication by reducing it to two colors.
_________
The number of fans of the Starman series is growing each day, and we appreciate the contributions many of them have made to the project. Their assistance, encouragement, and technical support have helped to improve the storyline and scientific accuracy of the Starman adventures.
INTRODUCTION
The Starman Team dedicated its first book, Assault On Mars, to Joseph Greene, the late author of the Dig Allen series which was the inspiration for the Starman series. A complimentary copy was sent to his son Paul, who was moved by the tribute. We then asked Paul to write an introduction to The Runaway Asteroid. The following is his response-surely one of the most unusual introductions in any book anywhere, and one we are privileged to share with our readers.
Dear Dad,
A most remarkable invention is weaving the world together in a way we never anticipated while you were on Earth, and it netted your writing. Fans of your books for juveniles, The Digby Allen series, were able to connect to each other, share their enthusiasm for your novels, and were inspired to continue the voyage. Led by Jonathan Cooper, the intrepid mastermind of the creative crew, they made a commitment to write their own vision of the future. Thoughtfully, they credit you as having shoulders broad enough for them to stand on and see the centuries beyond. The invention that has made this possible is called the internet. There seems no need to explain what it is here, but part of its magic is that it can permit people to connect to each other independently of time and space.
The themes of Dig Allen from the 1960's have worked like the internet in that they functioned independently of time and space, only much more slowly. You presented your ideas in books as ideas are posted on the internet. The authors of Starman were drawn to the themes in your books and then each other in cyberspace, which acts as both the bookshelf and caf? for today's ideas and authors. The creators of Starman saw value in your stories and tried to get the publisher to renew the series. Sadly, your old publisher ignored them and blocked the revival, as though they were so much space junk.
No one owns a theme. But the creators of Starman have shown that they share some of the beliefs that you express in your subjects. Their young men of the stars prove that they too are brave, adventurous and willing to sacrifice for freedom and justice. With a loyalty toward each other that would create envy in every generation, they test themselves against cunning scoundrels. As they conquer villains, they, and we along with them, learn whether they measure up. Will they prove themselves worthy as young people have done for all time? Young readers can have a chance to preview something about their own lives and the world they will live in. And just as you believed, somehow the human race survives. If the world of Starman is an accurate guess on the future, then the good guys, the ones in the white spacesuits, will continue to prevail and produce more young people to keep the dream alive. I hope that some of the next generation of courageous young people will read this series.
Your fans don't know that you started writing seriously relatively early in life, in the 1920's and '30's, first as a teen for your personal pleasure and then on your school newspaper at New Utrecht High School in Brooklyn, New York. Did having to learn the English language after speaking Russian until the age of seven help you become a better writer? Were your poems and letters to Mom valuable both to her and to your professional development? Did the comic books you authored during the Golden Age of comics give you a better sense of story-telling and dialogue or did it degrade your love of language? I know that writing television scripts and other creative projects supported the family during the difficult years of the 1950's, but how did it affect your later work with Digby Allen? So many of your themes are repeated and reworked in several of your creations right through to the late 1980's. Who would guess that you once wrote a paper on the use of the raven in several of Shakespeare's plays? Or that you wrote biology text to accompany a new medium, slides made from strips of 35-mm film? Would admirers realize that you were most interested in world events, but read the sports section of the New York Times first, everyday? I'm certain your fans wouldn't have read the American Elsewhen Almanac, a compilation of bits of Americana and commentary that you published in the 1980's.
I want to thank the authors of Starman for giving me the opportunity to write the introduction to their second novel. If there is a way to communicate to you across the veil between our dimensional world and the one in which you now reside, then it must be through the pages of a book. After the love of family, I don't believe anything was more precious to you than books, so maybe this letter will be able to cross the divide. Just as I proofread the drafts of Digby Allen before you sent them to the publisher, your granddaughter and grandson proofread this. Perhaps that will act like a mystical booster rocket to get these pages to you.
And to future space pioneers, may the solar winds be at your back.
Love,
Paul
October 20, 2000
THE RUNAWAY ASTEROID
1: Controlled Fury
"THEY'RE getting closer! They're almost on us! We won't make it into the Belt on time!" The navigator of the Silver Spear was on the verge of panic. His frenzied hands moved over the controls.
"Keep going! Keep up full speed! Make sure that we get there ahead of them!" Lurton Zimbardo's voice was even and controlled, but it was obvious that he was barely containing his volatile fury. His commands were not to be questioned. His nostrils flared, the musc
les around his lips were taut, he kept his fists clenched and pounded a persistent rhythm on his ship's control panel. His breath sounded as if he could inhale and exhale the room's entire atmosphere. It was only his iron self-control that kept his crew from giving in to their fears.
Behind them just moments away Starman David "Zip" Foster's ship, the Star Ranger, was closing the gap. The pursuit had been going on for two days, since the Silver Spear had blasted off from Eagle City on Mars and escaped while the rest of the pirates were rounded up by Earth's forces. Zip Foster, accompanied by Starmen Mark Seaton and Joe Taylor and their companion Steve Cliff, had followed less than fifteen minutes later. The brief lead that Lurton Zimbardo's ship had was enough to keep the Silver Spear out of the clutches of their pursuers, but not by much. The crew of the Spear was suffering acutely from sleeplessness and mounting anxiety.
Only days earlier, Lurton Zimbardo had been second-in-command under Troy Putnam. Together they had organized over 500 men and attempted to take control of the capital city of Mars in a sudden attack. Had they succeeded, the pirates could have held the people of the Earth-Moon system hostage to their demands. The Starmen and their allies had thwarted the pirates' plan. Most of the pirates, including their leader, had been captured. Zimbardo, however, had escaped with a few others. With the Starmen in close pursuit, he was desperately trying to outrun them and return to the pirates' base in the Asteroid Belt.
The Belt loomed up. The first few chunks of rock were visible now to the unaided eyes of those on the deck of the Silver Spear. In seconds, they were among them. The navigator screamed as the ship whipped by a pitted rock a quarter of a mile long, missing it by a few yards.
"Fool!" shouted Zimbardo. "Turn on the automatic pilot!" The navigator's eyes were the size of saucers. Immobile with terror, he didn't respond to Zimbardo's command. The former second-in-command of the pirates pushed him out of the chair, took over, and activated the switch that cut in the automatic pilot. Lurton Zimbardo was not physically imposing, but more than made up for his slight build with an immensely strong will and a decisive nature that was merciless whenever it served him.
He knew they were going too fast even for the automatic pilot to keep the ship safe once they entered the thick sweep of the asteroids. He also knew that the Belt was their only hope of escaping the Starmen on their trail. Powered by adrenaline, his senses were functioning at their peak. With amazing alacrity and intensity, Zimbardo aided the automatic pilot and threaded the Silver Spear through the weaving asteroids. It almost seemed as if he were in a trance.
Soon a dark asteroid loomed ahead, roughly shaped like a potato, forty-five miles long and twenty-five wide, rotating slowly around its longest axis. It was nearly invisible both to the eye and to the instruments, but Zimbardo knew where it was. He barked out a command. The Silver Spear slowed quickly, and moments later a huge airlock door opened in one of the poles of the asteroid. Zimbardo piloted the ship into the airlock, through the stone tunnel that led into the interior of the asteroid, and then touched down.
The thin, wiry man raced for the control room as fast as he could run, pushing men out of the way and heeding no one who called out to him. Once inside, he quickly pressed a series of buttons and entered a numeric code. Once it was entered and confirmed, he made a fist and slammed it hard on a large red button. Immediately all the radar screens were covered with snow.
Zimbardo relaxed for the first time in days. He exhaled quietly and actually smiled. He took a deep breath and smiled more broadly.
"Sir?" asked one of the technicians who had watched the procedure.
"I detonated a hydrogen bomb on a neighboring asteroid a couple of hundred miles from here. Part of a backup plan for keeping this place hidden. It will clog all radar screens for a few minutes. By the time they clear, no one will be able to find us or this asteroid."
Zimbardo's relaxed state did not last long. He swelled up with energy again, strode to another console, and tapped in a series of commands.
"Come here, Gene," he ordered as his fingers flew over the keyboard. The man he addressed quickly came to stand by the pirate leader. He was a well-built young man in his late twenties with short curly brown hair, finely chiseled features, and an obvious desire to please. He was well trained in the technology of space control systems. After he had proven his competence in the field, Troy Putnam had made him his chief control officer.
Zimbardo continued. "Follow these coordinates at this speed. Don't alter the course for any reason without my permission."
Gene looked at the planning board where the numbers were posted in a pleasant green light. "That course will take us out of the Belt, Mr. Zimbardo. Is that what you want?"
"That's what I want. It's time to move away from here. If anything out of the ordinary happens, let me know immediately. Find me by using my personal code on the communicator-no general announcement. Keep watch especially for any spacecraft-especially any spacecraft!"
"Yes sir!" Gene took his place and the others returned to their duties.
Once he saw that the crew members were well settled, he picked up the intercom and ordered his leaders to assemble in a meeting room in five minutes. From the few dozen pirates left, he had hand-selected five competent leaders to be his lieutenants: Gebbeth, Crass, Lather, Bolcher, and Slant.
In less than that time, Lurton Zimbardo was sitting at a table with the five other men. All but Zimbardo looked haggard. The pirates were demoralized and upset. Victory on Mars and beyond had been within their grasp, but it had all been blundered away. A band of several hundred men who had planned and worked for several years had been reduced to a few dozen. Their dreams of power and prominence, shaped and fueled by their captain Troy Putnam, had been utterly destroyed. Now Putnam was in custody on Mars, along with the rest of the pirates who had been captured by Earth's forces.
"Troy Putnam was a fool," Zimbardo announced in a quiet voice edged with steel. "His plan might have worked-might have worked, if I had had more part in planning-but he was no more than a conceited ignoramus! The Starmen walked in on him and took him completely by surprise! I can just imagine how his face must have looked as he realized his plan was over and he was led off to jail. A fool! We are better off without him!"
"Better off without him?" asked one man in a dull voice. "What do you mean, Lurton? Better off for what?"
"Don't be a fool yourself, Crass!" Zimbardo sneered. "You think we're finished here? We will still get what we want and it won't be very difficult! We don't need Putnam and we don't need a few hundred men, either! You can be thankful you're here instead of locked in a stone room in Eagle City eating square, plain, healthy meals off of a metal tray! The collapse of Putnam's big dream is the best thing that could have happened for us!"
A muscular, unsmiling man on Zimbardo's right swung his gaze to the speaker. "It sounds as if you have a plan, Mr. Zimbardo." The man was in his early thirties and resembled a street fighter. His carefully combed dark hair made him look almost strikingly handsome, but his eyes were black and humorless.
Zimbardo turned toward the man. "Yes, I have a plan. You, Gebbeth, will be my chief assistant and the pilot of the Tartarus, my personal ship. I can depend on you. Space Command's celebration on Mars will be extremely short-lived."
"You were always the strong one, Lurton," said another. "I kind of always figured you for the real leader, and I always wished it was you instead of Putnam."
"Now you got your wish, Bolcher. I've taken charge. I'm moving this asteroid out of its orbit into a place outside the Belt. Here's my plan."
Almost an hour later, the men left the meeting room, smiling, joking, and stepping lightly. Their fatigue was gone, their discouragement forgotten.
Lurton Zimbardo was the last to leave. Now that things were moving in the direction he wanted, he allowed his fatigue to take over. Encouraged by the support of his assistants, he felt he could rest at last. He walked down the halls, past various doors and entered an elevator. The display scr
een offered only the few floors in use by the pirates but Zimbardo had another destination in mind. Alone in the elevator, he punched in a special code which only he knew. When the proper sequence was displayed, he pressed "Enter." As the elevator began to move, the new leader of the pirates relaxed even further. The others would not know where he was, and he would be undisturbed.
He could barely sense the elevator's motion. He didn't know how far into the asteroid's interior he was moving, but he knew what he would find when he reached his destination. The door opened and Zimbardo stepped out. A quick walk down a short corridor brought him to a double door. Embossed on the doors was a huge, rich, golden symbol-a lush planet with about 80% blue oceans, a few continents, and thick cloud cover. Three small moons were arranged at the upper left, set at the points of an equilateral triangle. Zimbardo had been intrigued by the design when he'd first found it, but now he hastened through the doors without noticing it. He was eager to get into the Chamber beyond.
As Lurton stepped into the room, he gasped. His dozen prior visits still had not taken the surprise out of the room. Each time he stepped into the Chamber he seemed to be setting foot into another world; he knew he was still inside the asteroid but his senses told him otherwise.
Lurton seemed to be standing on a high mountain overlooking a vast plain on some forgotten planet. A pale blue sky was overhead and a light wind was blowing. Down below on the plain he saw a river snaking its way through a green forest; if he listened carefully he could hear the water. In the distance he saw a fantastic alien metropolis of beautiful glass skyscrapers; he could just barely make out ships hovering over it and small vehicles driving around in the distance. Clouds sailed gently overhead; it was near dusk.
He knew that the room was actually no more than about a hundred feet square, but the display was seamless. For all the world he seemed to be standing on another planet on a late, peaceful afternoon. He had never been able to find out how the room worked or where the wind came from, but he suspected the display was generated by some sort of holographic projectors far in advance of anything he had ever seen or heard of.
Lurton guessed that the scene was from the home planet of the asteroid's builders; perhaps the distant city was their capital. He had spent hours watching the room and never tired of it, for the scene always changed. After a certain number of hours dusk fell and the city lights came on. He had watched different kinds of weather and seen glorious sunsets and sunrises. Occasionally he caught a glimpse of a huge alien starship. He had seen many strange things in the Chamber and he was sure that he had not seen them all.
Lurton liked coming here when he was upset or annoyed; the room had a peaceful air that rested and soothed him. He was certainly in need of that now. He hadn't slept in over fifty hours and could easily have lain down in what seemed like soft turf and fallen deeply asleep, but the ethereal beauty of the Chamber's vision was restful and he didn't want to close his eyes for an instant while he was inside.
He thought back to the day when he'd found the room. The asteroid had been drifting and uninhabited for who knows how many thousands of years when a solitary asteroid miner had found it and discovered that it was hollow. He had told a few others about his find and eventually Troy Putnam learned of it. Zimbardo grudgingly admitted to himself that Troy was a genius-a weak, impractical genius, but a genius nonetheless. Putnam had found the miner and persuaded him to bring him to the nearly-invisible asteroid. He had even learned how to use many of the asteroid's capabilities, and then had made it the base for his foolish attempt to take over Mars.
Shortly after the pirates had taken residence, Troy Putnam had directed Lurton to explore the asteroid beyond the few floors the pirates used and find out everything he could about it. It was a trying assignment. The first few floors comprised a connected unit and the elevator codes were easy to learn. Moving anywhere else was a matter of trial and error, and the access codes were complex.
One day Zimbardo had found the Chamber. There was very little that could arouse any kind of sensitivity in the wiry, energetic man, but the Chamber could do so. Maybe it was because no one else knew about it and no one could see him wrapped in the depths of the emotions the room could inspire. The Chamber was not the only secret of the asteroid which Lurton had retained for himself, but it was certainly the best one.
At last the peace and enchantment of the Chamber overcame Lurton's resistance to slumber. He sat down and rested with his back against a tree, gazing over the landscape at the alien city. The massive trunk was slightly rough but not uncomfortable. Huge roots spread out in all directions before disappearing into the grassy soil. Branches laden with broad leaves made a shadow-filled canopy over the pirate leader.
As he felt sleep coming on, he fumed one more time at the Starmen and the stupidity of Troy Putnam. He mulled over his plan and smiled a little. The Starmen would live to regret what they had done to him. His eyes closed and his breathing became deep and regular. At last the pirates' new leader slept.
Above him a few birds chirped peacefully. A short distance away a brook murmured in lyric gentleness. The sky over the city gradually turned from flawless blue through lavender into violet, and silver stars emerged.
2: Sent to Ceres
THE SPLENDOR of the Asteroid Belt stretched away in all directions, and the piercing light of uncountable stars filled the background. Such a view was possible only in airless space. Starman David Foster was staring out of the window of his ship, the Star Ranger, but he was not really seeing anything. His brow was furrowed with an uneasy doubt.
"Still no sign of 'em, Zip," announced Joe Taylor. The lanky six-footer had eased naturally into the position of pilot under David's direction. Joe had flown everything from ancient biplanes to interplanetary rockets. He understood the principles of propulsion and flight, and with amazing facility could learn to fly almost any vehicle designed for traveling through an atmosphere or the vacuum of space.
Mark Seaton had naturally become the navigator and engine master of the Starman crew. He specialized in engines and large, complex machinery. He had always had a talent for understanding machines, and he knew the workings of the average rocket from stem to stern.
David Foster, like all Starmen, was able to navigate and fly his own ship, but had a specialty in Deep Space exploration and survival skills. Whenever he was faced with a problem, he could think it through and come up with a solution with the equipment available. He was a natural leader. He excelled at organization and decision-making, and Joe and Mark were glad to be a part of the Starman team under Zip's leadership.
Joe continued to relate his observations. "I've scanned as far as the instruments can reach, and there's just nothing out there in any direction-except the Earth ships, of course. They should be here in about three hours."
"No debris?"
"No, Zip. I've found where the explosion took place and examined that more carefully than any other area. It was a violent blow. I think about a third of an asteroid was turned into dust when it went off, and that's powerful enough to vaporize any ship that was carrying a weapon with that kind of potential."
Zip shook his head as if warding off a buzzing insect. "All right. Nothing we can do about it." He turned to the third Starman on the crew. "Mark," he called out. "Would you send a report to Mars please and ask Commander De Koven what he wants us to do?"
"Okay, Zip."
Mark prepared the message and sent it off. The response would come through after a delay of several minutes. As they waited, Joe said, "You seem uneasy, Zip. What's there to worry about?"
"I just like completion. That ship we were chasing carried the last of the pirates from Mars, and I'd just feel a lot better if there were some debris, some evidence that they hadn't escaped."
"Zip," came a deep voice from the lounge next to the flight deck, "there's a lot of uncertainties in life, 'specially life in space. I been around a lot and believe me, the exception is when you really know everything that happened-and that's
never."
"Sure, Steve," answered Zip, raising his voice. "I know. But I don't like it."
"You'll probably be uneasy most of your life then. C'mon, be like me. Lie down, relax, take a nap. You've been rushing for days now, especially the last couple when we were shooting through the void at top speed. Give it up now, boy. You can't do anything more."
Zip didn't answer, but he walked into the lounge. Steve Cliff was completely relaxed, with his feet propped on a table. His huge frame was sunk into the sofa deeper than Zip would have thought possible. Zip picked up a book that Mark had been reading, and lay down. In less than a minute, he was asleep with the open book face down on his chest.