Barrington Bayley SF Gateway Omnibus: The Soul of the Robot, The Knights of the Limits, The Fall of Chronopolis

They stepped over the bodies of two dead crewmen and into a scorched area where smoke drifted and the smell of hot metal was in the air. The bulkhead separating the drive-room from the rest of the ship seemed to have melted and only now had solidified. Within the drive-room itself there was fair calm, despite the destruction that had been wreaked. Aton saw the body of Ensign Lankar, who a short time before had been proudly displaying his knowledge of the time-drive, laid out neatly alongside one wall with several others.

To the searing effects of the Hegemonic energy beam had been added the punishment of the torpedo explosion. A gyro was stuttering and giving off a deep tremoring hum from behind the thick steel casings. Aton understood at once that the situation was very bad.

‘Are we able to move?’ he asked.

A young, officer, saluting hastily, shook his head. ‘No chance, sir. It’s as much as we can do to maintain ship’s field.’

‘What chance of phasing into ortho?’

The other looked doubtful. ‘Perhaps. Do you want us to try?’

‘No,’ said Aton. It would do no good. Even if they managed to escape from the ship, without the requisite equipment to keep them phased most of the crew would be thrown back into the strat after a short period of time. And there was clearly no possibility of cruising to the nearest node, where orthophasing could be made natural and permanent.

So it all depended on someone coming to their rescue.

How was Lieutenant Krish getting on in the com room?

He looked around for a com, found one that worked, and dialled. The com speaker crackled. A voice spoke through faintly, unintelligibly.

And then the floor rose under his feet. There was a whoomph, followed by a noise that vibrated on his eardrums to such an extent that he had the momentary impression of existing inside a deep, solid silence. Flung against the opposite wall, dazed, he watched in fascination as the floor and ceiling strained towards each other with a grating sound that made him think of giant bones breaking.

The blast of the explosion seemed to continue in a prolonged smashing and cracking. The collapse of the already weakened ship’s skeleton – and timeships always suffered a good deal of physical stress in the strat – was accelerating.

Lieutenant Krish crawled towards him and helped him to his feet. ‘Another torpedo,’ Aton said breathlessly. ‘I’m afraid we’re finished.’

The movement of the ceiling towards the deck had ceased for the moment, but he did not think the drive-room would be habitable for long. He staggered to the instrument boards. An engineer joined him and they stared together at the flickering dials.

The engineer hammered his fist on the board in frustration. ‘The ship field is breaking down,’ he declared woodenly.

‘How long will it hold?’

‘I wouldn’t give it another ten minutes.’

Aton went immediately to the com set and dialled a general alert. In a loud, firm voice he announced, ‘This is the captain speaking. Take to the rafts. This is the captain speaking. Take to the rafts.’

He repeated the message several times, then turned to the stricken faces of the surviving drive-room crew. ‘The ranking engineer will stay to do what he can to hold the field steady,’ he ordered. The engineer nodded, and Aton told him, ‘I will relieve you in five to ten minutes. The rest of you, get to a raft.’

Aton already knew that his own life was lost, but that hardly seemed to matter. It was his duty, now, to see that everyone still alive aboard the Smasher of Enemies made it to a life raft.

Before the ortho field failed. An almost impossible job.

The party advanced through the warped corridors, exploring the various departments and pulling survivors from the wreckage. The wounded they helped along or else carried on improvised stretchers. Aton knew that time was fast running out – even discounting yet a third torpedo strike, which, considering the evident helplessness of the vessel, seemed all too distinct a possibility.

When they came near to one of the ship’s six life-raft stations Aton took Lieutenant Krish with him and set off towards the stern. There was no certainty that his order to abandon ship had reached all sections; he decided he would make one swift reconnaissance to ensure that the order was being carried out in a disciplined fashion, then return to the drive-room and take over there, giving the engineer a chance to reach the nearest raft.

Near Section 3 they heard a commotion that sounded even over the loud creaking of the tortured girder frame. Aton drew his beamer, signalling to Krish to do the same. They rounded a corner.

Sergeant Quelle, wearing one of the ship’s only two protective suits, strode resolutely along the corridor. Behind him, like a swarm of bubbles in his wake, the heretics of the Traumatic sect ran in a chattering, terrified crowd.