Silent Running

SILENT RUNNING

The great ship plunges on through the tides of space. Inside, an anguished man ponders what to do. Unless he murders his friends, the children of Earth are doomed to an eternity of sterile dust. Never again will flowers bud and blossom. Never again will arching trees shade and shelter. And if he kills his shipmates, what then? Marooned in outer space,
will
there be a future for him or the forest?

A fantastic look at the world
beyond
2001!

The great ship plunges on through space. Inside, an anguished man ponders his alternatives. Shall he murder his friends or murder the forest? Are there other options? He must decide quickly . . . time is running out.

Copyright© 1972 by Universal City Studios, Inc.

All rights reserved.

Published by Scholastic Book Services,
a division of Scholastic Magazines, Inc.

1st printing September, 1972

Printed in the U.S.A.

TO MY WIFE, GAIL, WITH LOVE

 ONE 

I
n eerie silence the giant spaceship,
Valley Forge,
plunged through weightlessness on its way to orbit the sun. Light shone down on the craft, searching the metal body, streaming through the transparent latticed canopy of Dome One, bringing vibrant life to the forest of young trees and plants.

Beneath the canopy of Dome One, blades of grass rippled in a slight breeze. Forest noises filled the air, along with the faint sounds of falling water.

A huge caterpillar munched on a vast leaf, as a sprinkle of water hit, splashed, then slid down the stem. The sounds of water increased.

Standing waist-deep in a small, lovely pond, Freeman Lowell splashed around, whistling an old tune. He was deeply happy and at home in the forest, and intimate with all of its secrets. He was vitally concerned with every detail of this growing, developing forest of young trees and plants, of insects and small animals.

For one day a voice would take
Valley Forge’s
forests back to Earth, as well as those of
Berkshire
and
Sequoia
riding orbit with it. New trees would be planted, and shrubs and flowers set out. The dying, polluted Earth would be saved.

Lowell, lean and brown, dived beneath the falls that fed the pool, then eased his lithe body to the bank to dress. He wandered along a slatted pathway, watering a group of dense tropical ferns. Lowell had a lean, ascetic face, intense blue eyes, and a warm smile that came most often when working in his forest.

Whistling the same tune, he slowly proceeded along the path to a little patch of grass. Stooping down he cuddled a black and white rabbit in his arms, stroking its ears.

“How are you today, hunh—feelin’ good?” He fished in his pocket. “I’ll bet you’d like something to eat, wouldn’t you?”

He fished deeper. “Here, I’ve got something in my pocket. Here, some goodies.” He spread his hand containing a few nuts. “Here, I’ll set the table for you. That’s good!”

Putting the rabbit gently on the grass, he moved on among the various trees and plants that had little plaques mounted in the ground beside them. The markers specifically identified them, and their country of origin.

Lowell spotted something and bent to look more closely. He lovingly and gently inspected a delicate flower for possible damage. Satisfied finally, he smelled its fragrance with delight.

He straightened and looked around him at the immense forest.

Lowell was dwarfed beneath tall reeds and bamboo trees. He looked up at the huge geodesic roof which enclosed the forest.

Stars shone brightly outside and a cluster of lights near the dome’s peak illuminated the foliage with eerily beautiful shafts of Rembrandt-like lighting. It must be night, he decided.

Around him now worked little drones, Litton-Radclifie L.R. 260’s. They were dwarflike metal robots about three feet high. They had a window for an eye and just below it a lens. From just beneath the lens, a motorized arm worked back and forth while they moved around the hull on short stumps of legs, obeying their programed orders.

Lowell paid them no attention.

From a distance, Lowell suddenly heard the whine of engines and the screech of rubber tires rounding a corner. The sound was hollow, as though in a long tube, and it was growing louder. Lowell swung to face it with a look of anger.

All at once, three small rubber-tired vehicles raced from the mouth of the tunnel connecting Dome One with
Valley Forge’s
cargo hold. They were driven by three young men. Clean-shaven with crew cuts, they were dressed in jumpsuit-type uniforms similar to Lowell’s. But there the similarity ended.

They hooted and yelled as they approached Lowell standing in their path. They were Keenan and Barker, who were quite young, and Wolf, somewhat older.

Marty Keenan led the rest. He was thin and dark with flashing blue eyes and a cynical mouth. “Hey, Flowerface!” He yelled, cutting close to Lowell, “Get out of my way!”

Lowell glanced protectively at his plants. “Careful!” he cautioned, then tried to hold his ground as Keenan raced past.

Barker swerved his car, missed Lowell and ran headlong into a long row of broad-leafed plants.

Andy Barker was heavier than Keenan. His face was regular, his eyes a smoldering brown and his lips full. He hated the whole project, and lived for the day when he could go back to Earth and Los Angeles, and cars, cars, cars.

The third car, driven by Wolf—heavyset and alert, with a ruddy face—took the turn too wide and side-drifted into a small flower bed. His left front wheel crushed the flower that Lowell had earlier bent to examine.

“Wahoo!” Keenan yelled, waving his hat and grinning at Lowell.

Lowell brought a hand up to his shocked eyes. “That’s enough!” he burst out. He grabbed a rake and headed for his tormentor.

Keenan barely regained his traction in time to avoid Lowell, then his car lurched forward.

Barker’s car, which had narrowly missed Lowell, maneuvered out of the ruined plants.

“Olé!” he called and started away.

Lowell reached for a nearby rake and flung it at Barker’s receding back. Anger overwhelmed him.

John Wolf, not so rowdy as Keenan and Barker, slowed his car and stepped out.

“Nice try, Lowell,” he said, watching Keenan speed away. “You almost got him.”

“Damn it, Wolf,” Lowell swung to him. “Can’t you keep those two guys out of my garden?”

Wolf, big-boned, rather somber, smiled slightly. His brown luminous eyes fell on Lowell’s. Secretly he admired Lowell, without quite realizing why he should be so uptight about a forest.

“Okay, I’ll try to head them off next time—Hey!” He bent to examine something at his feet. “These cantaloupes are really coming along!”

Lowell’s long angular face softened. He smiled back.

“Thanks—I wish you’d try some. They’re really special.”

Again came the whine of motors.

Keenan was racing at the final turn before the tunnel neck and neck with Barker. Keenan made it first into the tunnel, forcing Barker headlong into a deep bed of rare ferns. Barker quickly reversed, tearing out more foliage, then sped into the tunnel, his engine whining hungrily.

A drone moved past Lowell, moving mechanically, toward the damaged area.

Wordlessly, Wolf climbed into his car and drove toward the tunnel.

Lowell too made his way along the path to enter the tunnel and walk through it to the cargo area. He moved past row on row of module cargo containers, coded and marked and towering thirty feet to the ceiling.

Before him Barker and Keenan still raced madly around the cargo area, their engines whining electrically, their tires screeching. They yelled and whooped at each other in crazy glee.

“Hey!” Barker yelled to Keenan, with a look toward Lowell. “Did you see him throw that rake?”

Keenan nodded. “Yeah. He’ll go nuts when he sees your water hazard in Dome 6.”

But finally their race began to lag as their spirits dampened. Climbing from their cars, they seemed to feel a little guilty.

Wolf drove up and got out, then faced the two boys. “Don’t you guys think you should lay off a little?”

Barker grinned sheepishly. “Aw, we were just having some fun.”

“What else is there to do?” demanded Keenan.

“Well,” Wolf faced him soberly, “this isn’t supposed to be a vacation.”

Keenan motioned toward two drones working over an empty cargo module, lifting it to a place on the rack above them. “With those little guys and others like them around, I don’t know why they need us at all.”

Barker’s face mirrored an edginess, apparent in them all. “We’ve been up here in space six months, Wolfie, with another six to go. Doesn’t that get to you at all?”

Wolf’s face softened. “Okay, but stay out of Lowell’s cantaloupes, will you?”

Barker leaned into his car and brought out a cantaloupe, tossing it to Wolf, exclaiming, “Ugh! What do I do with this?”

Wolf caught it. “You’re supposed to eat ’em, not play with them.” He smiled broadly and turned toward the stairway, continuing, “Don’t you know that fresh fruit puts zip in you?” He lobbed the cantaloupe back to Barker but the throw was over his head. The cantaloupe landed with a “splat!” and burst open, exposing its ripe insides.

Laughing, the three men, followed by a serious Lowell, walked up a stairway leading to the command and living quarters directly above the cargo hold.

On the stairs Barker pointed to some dirt and grimaced, saying under his breath, “Lowell’s manury boots again.”

“Yeah,” Keenan nodded. “He ought to be more careful. We all have to live here.”

Lowell said nothing. His face softened toward them. They were good kids. It was just that he was so engrossed in his work.

They all walked down a long corridor, conversing. They passed a drone which automatically moved out of their way.

“You know, Wolfie,” Keenan said, “with a little luck when we get back, they might condemn this old tub and sell it for scrap.”

Wolf slapped the wall affectionately. “Who’d buy it?”

“Lowell, then he wouldn’t have to keep re-enlisting,” Keenan shot back.

Wolf shook his head, then lowering his voice, went on, “Lowell’s had eight years in precise orbit around the sun—with no women, not even men, to talk to about his plants.”