To The Stars

“Linear accelerator,” Jan said. “Just like the ones on the Moon.”

“Exactly the same. The large Lunar models take containers filled with ore and shoot them right out of the Moon’s gravity, to the Lagrange satellite colonies for processing. As you see a magnetic field is created in the first electromagnet ring. It suspends the iron sphere. Then, when the series of electromagnets are activated, they act as a linear motor, moving the sphere along faster and faster until it shoots out of the far end.” He turned and picked up a larger sphere that nestled comfortably in his hand.

“This seems to be the most practical size we have discovered by trial and error. It weighs a little under three kilograms, which is almost exactly six pounds in one of the more archaic systems of measurement. When I was researching this project I was helped a good deal by early ballistic texts that dealt with muzzle velocities and like terms. I was fascinated to find out that primitive sea battles were actually fought with solid shot of just this weight. History has many lessons for us.”

“How far have you gone with the project?” Jan asked.

“Four deep spacers have been converted to cannon ships. This is one of them. Named after one of the earliest theoreticians of the science who made such incredible drawings of his weapons. Leonardo da Vinci. We have loaded these ships with hundreds of thousands of cannonballs which have been forged in space from satellite iron. Most easily too. The specified mass of molten iron is released in free fall, whereupon its surface tension forms it into a perfect sphere. The secret weapons run the length of the ships and project from each end. The entire ship is rotated to aim the cannon, with aiming and firing controlled by the navigation computer. It all works well except for one small fault.”

“What’s that?”

“Bugs in the control circuitry. The spheres must be launched within microseconds of each other to be effective. But we haven’t been able to do this yet.”

Jan threw the cannonball back onto the bench and smiled. “Let me see your documentation and your diagrams and I’ll do my best to get rid of your bugs.”

“Instantly! You will win this war for us yet!”

Seventeen

“The fruit is ripe for harvesting,” the old man said. “The longer we leave it the more we will lose.”

“There are a lot more important things you can lose,” his daughter said. “Like your head, maybe. Come on, Tata, the others are all waiting.”

The old man sighed with resignation and followed her out to the kibbutz truck. He was the last one to arrive and the others pushed over to make room for him on the crowded wooden benches. The firebox had been loaded with resinous pine logs an hour earlier so there was a good head of steam. As soon as he had the signal that they were all aboard, the driver opened the throttle and they moved out. Past the buildings where the lights still burned warmly and down the winding lane through the orchards and out onto the main road. They drove in darkness, but the smooth surface was easy to see in the dim light from the star-filled sky.

They crossed the Syrian border a little after midnight, the transponder in the truck answering the request from the detection circuits with its identification code; the computer in Tel Aviv made a note of its departure. Just before they reached El Quneitra the truck turned in to a deep wadi that wound back from the road. The darkness was intense between its high walls and the driver felt his way along, stopping suddenly when a light blinked ahead. There were camels waiting here and murmured guttural greetings as the passengers disembarked. The driver waited in the cab as they went by, some of them reaching up to pat his arm, others murmuring a few words. When they had all vanished in the darkness he reversed out and drove the truck back to the empty buildings of the kibbutz, reaching there just before dawn. He was the volunteer who was staying on.

“Like a city of the dead when I came through on the way here,” the painter said. “A very frightening proposition to one of any imagination at all. Streets empty of children, only a few vehicles moving, one or two other pedestrians. It was dusk and the lights were coming on in the houses which at first I found very cheering. That is until I looked into the windows of one as I passed and saw that it was empty. It was the computers doing it, and I felt even more uncomfortable. Hold that corner of the stencil tight, if it’s not asking too much, Heimyonkel.” He swung the spray gun back and forth with practiced skill. “When do you go?”

“Tonight. The family is already out.”

“Kiss your wife for me and tell her to think of a lonely bachelor in her dreams, alone and preparing for destiny among the shadowy hangars of Lod Airport.”

“You volunteered.”

“So I volunteered. That doesn’t mean I have to be laughing with joy does it? All right, take it down.”