Silent Running (2 page)

Keenan nodded. “Yeah, he gave me a ring-a-ding speech this a.m. about how they’re getting ready to refoliate the earth with these very forests.”

“Yes,” Barker nodded. “Me, too. They’ll do it with the six forests under
Valley Forge
domes, six of
Berkshire
and six of the same from
Sequoia,
both orbiting in formation beside us.” Barker paused, then added, “At least that’s his story.”

Lowell seemed almost not to hear their scoffing talk. Glancing from his window he could see
Berkshire
and
Sequoia,
sister ships of
Valley Forge,
right out there sailing along. His face became transfigured. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it to follow the others into a recreation room.

Wolf and Keenan, still chattering, flopped on their couches. Lowell methodically sat down at a table and began making some notes in a thick black book labeled, JOURNAL.

Barker walked over to the versatron and adjusted a mechanical playing arm. The versatron was a sort of pool table except that it possessed a playing arm that could be set. It could be made very difficult or easy, at the whim of the player. Now Barker had set it for an expert.

“How many times,” Barker turned to Keenan, “has this thing beaten you?”

Keenan grinned. What he really wanted to do was get back to New York, get his Porsche, and run up Storm King Highway to his dad’s estate. He wanted to look out over the Hudson River, polluted as it was by his dad’s paper mill, see hundreds of acres of land and say, “Some day this will be mine to blow.”

Now he eyed Barker and said sharply, “It’s adjusted too fast and you know it. Bark! Bark!”

He was kidding but his voice had an edge.

“Yeah!” Barker said.

“Yeah!” Keenan nodded.

They were just making fun, but back of it lay the boredom, the uneasiness of wondering when they’d be called back to Earth.

Suddenly the dam burst within them. Keenan leaped up. Barker came for him. They locked in a wild embrace trying to throw one another to the floor. Chairs flew.

Lowell’s table skidded with Barker’s flying foot. His journal flew under the couch as though it had wings.

The two men—Keenan in his navy-blue jumpsuit and Barker in white—locked tight. In the silence of the streaming ship, they grunted and strained. Sweat stood out on their faces.

They dropped to the floor. First Keenan was pinned, then Barker. At length they began to laugh, and rose to spring apart and laugh some more.

“Kid stuff!” Wolf told Lowell.

Lowell, whose father had been the eminent Californian, Dr. Clayton Lowell, world-renowned authority on air-borne infections, nodded understandingly. Silently he rose and recovered his journal from beneath the couch. Righting the table he sat down.

“Kid stuff!” But it told too much. Fervently he hoped a voice from Earth would summon
Valley Forge
and
Berkshire
and
Sequoia.
It must soon be time to replant. It had to come sometime. Why not now?

Keenan, still puffing, grinned at Barker, then jerked a thumb toward Lowell. “There’s one guy here who can really play the versatron.”

“With lots of time to practice,” Wolf added.

It was clear to all that while the versatron was a sort of billiards, it was much harder to master.

Barker adjusted its speed to very slow, then swung back to Keenan. “How about that now? Think you can handle it?” Everybody, including Lowell, laughed.

Suddenly at the door a drone appeared with an armload of vegetables and melons. It was obvious that he’d been programed to deliver them.

Lowell moved eagerly forward to take them, then walked slowly through the recreation room door and down a corridor toward the kitchen.

Wolf called after him, “Hey, Lowell, how about a little game of poker?”

“Maybe later,” Lowell called back and moved on. Entering the kitchen, he walked past the table to put the vegetables in the sink. He turned on the water, punched a button on the wall with his elbow and began to wash the vegetables while the window in front of him silently beckoned him to an incredible panoramic view of the night sky.

Lowell gazed out while washing the vegetables, and suddenly the public address system came to pulsating life with a rush of static and the shrill beep of a bosun’s whistle as it readied itself for an announcement.

Lowell went on washing the vegetables, even though he glanced out of the window now and then to catch a glimpse of the mighty
Berkshire
riding parallel orbit. On its hull he saw a huge painted American flag, and a fifty-foot-high sign reading:

U.S.A.
NORTHEAST DECIDUOUS
(WARREN)
BERKSHIRE SECTION 777

It was a sister ship to the one he was riding, Lowell knew, except that on this hull the faded black letters fully fifty feet in height read:

U.S.A.
SOUTHEAST SUBTROPICAL
(BAHIA-HONDA)
VALLEY FORGE SECTION 313

Lowell turned to walk down through the
Valley Forge,
his mind still on the public address communication. He reached the giant hold and paused to grasp an upright pipe. Without being aware of it, his hands tightened with his thoughts. So much rode on the announcement: his work, his life, the lives of all people on Earth, really.

Then a voice said:

“ATTENTION . . . ATTENTION . . . CONSERVATION FREIGHTERS ‘VALLEY FORGE’, ‘BERKSHIRE’, ‘SEQUOIA’ . . . STAND BY FOR EXECUTIVE DIRECTIVE ANNOUNCEMENT AT 2100 HOURS . . .”

 TWO 

W
ith the fading of the announcer’s voice, Lowell sighed. There was nothing to do but wait until 2100 hours. He walked back through the cargo hold, then up the steps and back along the corridor to the kitchen.

Inside, he moved again to the window to stare out at the mighty hull of the
Valley Forge.
His hands tightened on the sill. The message would be a summons from home he told himself. It must be. Earth was ready for help from all the eighteen forests of
Valley Forge, Berkshire,
and
Sequoia.

He continued to stare out over the ship. He could never quite get used to its size. It was even greater than the largest seagoing freighter. It was made up of several distinctly different sections interconnected by an intricate space-frame network.

Six thrilling geodesic domes dominated the forward bulk of the ship, while the core of the vessel was a complex maze of giant tanks, ducts, and catwalks, trailed by another space-frame grid interspersed with faceted octahedron modules.

Lowell let his gaze follow along the catwalks and bridges. The metal surfaces were like mirrors of gold and silver, with piping and ducts and louvers of opalescent white and matte black. “Stark and dazzlingly beautiful in the raw sunlight,” Lowell murmured.

He looked along the hull with affection noting that it was worn and patched, faded from years in space—then caught his breath. For there beyond the hull, in staggering perspective, hung Saturn, her rings nearly filling the window frame.

Suddenly in the foreground, a drone appeared, walking soundlessly down a catwalk with an odd rocking gait. He was worn and patched, like the other drones around the hull, bearing a stenciled number—2—and, like the ship, had grown old in service.

Lowell watched with fondness as the drone passed over the huge, faded black lettering on the side of the ship’s hull. Suddenly the drone stopped, and its manipulator emerged with a gleaming silver disc. He tilted forward and there was a flash of blue-white incandescence as it welded the disc to a meteoroid fracture in the ship’s hull.

“Wow!” Lowell exclaimed watching the drone work. “Some little guy!”

The drone straightened. Its manipulator arm retracted and it passed by on its unending search for damage. Finally it disappeared slowly over the curvature of the hull.

Lowell looked beyond the
Valley Forge
and saw in the distance a third sister ship riding parallel orbit. The ship seemed identical to
Valley Forge
and
Berkshire
and on its hull lay the same painted American flag and faded black lettering that read:

U.S.A.
NORTHWEST CONIFEROUS
(LOMAX)
SEQUOIA SECTION 244

In the foreground now two more drones appeared, then passed out of Lowell’s view, on their way to some programed job.

He looked off into space again, reassuring himself that on the opposite side of
Valley Forge
rode the third ship that Lowell had seen before.

“Three wonderful ships,” Lowell breathed, his hands tightening further on the window sill. “Loaded with healthy plants and trees, ready, waiting . . .”

Lowell walked from the kitchen to the corridor, then down to his room. He flung himself on his cot and lay gazing up at the ceiling.

Hours passed and finally he could stand the waiting no longer. Rising, he sought the recreation room, just across from Main Control.

Keenan, Barker, and Wolf were playing poker. Stacks of chips lay before each player. It was late evening, and though they were all keyed up, it was obvious they were all just killing time.

Lowell sank to a chair. “Deal me in,” he suggested quietly. Wolf looked at his face, tight with strain. “You too?” he asked, and laughed too loud.

Keenan shuffled the cards, passed them to Barker to cut, then dealt. Each player scanned his hand.

“Two cards,” Barker said.

“Two beauties coming up,” Keenan said and dealt him two cards.

“I’ll play these,” Lowell said.

Keenan grinned. “The Cantaloupe Kid is pat,” he said. “Him who’s got stars in his eyes, looking for the message.”

“Cut it out, Keenan,” Wolf said, then added, “I’ll take three.”

Lowell looked at his cards, but he was conscious of the radio close by. The message to return to Earth would come any time now. It must come! It must be what he’d been waiting for—for eight years.

Keenan said, “Deck’s still open . . . dealer takes one card . . . your bet, Barker.”

“Fifty,” Barker said and threw a chip into the pot.

“Raise a hundred,” Lowell said softly.

“Call,” came Wolf’s voice.

Keenan squeezed off his cards. “I’ll call the Kid.”

“I fold.” Barker threw in his cards.

Lowell spread his hand on the table, face up revealing a straight to the King.

“Beats me,” Wolf grunted.

“Me too,” Keenan added.

Lowell raked in the pot. His hands were not steady. His mind was on the radio message. He looked toward the radio, then back to the table.

“Me too, Cantaloupe Kid.” Barker jumped up. “I wish they’d hurry up with that transmission. I want to go to bed.”

“Go ahead,” Keenan snapped.

“You know I can’t sleep unless Lowell tucks me in,” Barker said.

Keenan and Wolf couldn’t help laughing.

“Drop dead, Barker,” Lowell said softly.

Barker swung around. “If I’d been up here eight years, I might consider it.”

Lowell smiled slightly. “Be that as it may, I suggest you stay awake a little longer. The transmission might rekindle your will to live.”

“You think it will be a recall?” Wolf faced Lowell.

Lowell’s face grew guarded. “Let’s just say I think my communications may finally bear some fruit.”

“Cantaloupes, by any chance?” Barker jibed.

Lowell nodded, his face serious. “They’re probably ready to reestablish the parks and forest system.”

“With you no doubt as director?” Barker put in.

Lowell’s face darkened. This remark struck home. “Who else is more qualified? I’ve given my life to this project.”

“Really,” Keenan said, “it’s more likely they’re going to announce cutbacks.”

“Cutbacks!” Lowell stood up, his face incredulous. “No—no way!”

“Lowell, you’re dreaming,” Barker cut in.

“Some one has to,” Lowell said, hotly. “Some one’s got to care, to make sure that these forests survive. What kind of world will it be if all this incredible life is permanently lost?”

Wolf reasoned, “It’s been too long, Lowell. People don’t care. There are more important things now.”

“Besides,” Keenan put in, “it’s just not possible to change the half-life on those poisons over night.”

Wolf nodded. “You can’t filter the whole Earth, Lowell. It’s amazing they converted these freighters and saved as many samples as they did.”

Barker touched Lowell’s quivering shoulder. “Wake up, buddy . . . You’re caretaking an empty dream.”

Lowell shot back, “Oh, really?”

Wolf tried to stop it. “Let’s relax,” he soothed. “For all we know, it’s probably just a routine checkout.”

Keenan nodded toward Lowell. “Well, he’s not getting this week’s mental health award, Wolfie.”

Barker reached for the cards. “C’mon let’s play poker . . . Your deal, Star Eyes.” Lowell took up the deck and the game went on.

A drone entered, unnoticed by all but Lowell, and began straightening up and collecting empty glasses.

But finally it was too much for them all. They threw down their cards and formed a semicircle before the main console, tense, waiting . . .

A clock/calendar on the wall read:

21:00 Wednesday 14 November

All at once the radio filled the room with whistling, howling static which finally gave way to a very distant-sounding voice . . . Lowell tried to tune it in, but Barker took over.

Then came a radio voice:

“ ‘VALLEY FORGE,’ ‘BERKSHIRE,’ ‘SEQUOIA’ . . . ‘VALLEY FORGE,’ ‘BERKSHIRE,’ ‘SEQUOIA’ . . . THIS IS COM CENTRAL . . . CHANNEL OPEN FOR EXECUTIVE ORDER A.U.C. 3423 . . .

There followed a long pause, then more static, then:

“ ‘VALLEY FORGE,’ ‘BERKSHIRE,’ ‘SEQUOIA’ . . . ‘VALLEY FORGE,’ ‘BERKSHIRE,’ ‘SEQUOIA’ . . . THIS IS COM CENTRAL . . . CHANNEL OPEN FOR EXECUTIVE ORDER A.U.C. 3423 . . .

There followed a long pause with whistling and static, then:

“IMMEDIATE ALL PERSONNEL SOUTHEAST SUB-TROPICAL (BAHIA-HONDA) ‘VALLEY FORGE’ SECTION 414 IMPLEMENT ABANDON AND DESTRUCT DIRECTIVE A.U.C. RED . . . COMMENCING 0900 HOURS, ARM AND LOAD EXPLOSIVE SQUIBS ON ALL FOREST UNITS . . . COMMENCING 1000 HOURS ‘BERKSHIRE’ AND ‘SEQUOIA’ ESTABLISH SAFE DISTANCING . . . COMMENCING 1100 HOURS AFFECT JETTISON AND AUTO-DESTRUCT OF ALL FOREST UNITS . . . REPEAT, COMMENCING 1100 HOURS AFFECT JETTISON AND AUTO-DESTRUCT OF ALL FOREST UNITS . . .”