Harrison, Harry - Planet Of No Return

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This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this

book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely

coincidental.

thereof in any form.

First Tor printing: January 1982 A TOR Book

Published by Tom Doherty Associates, Inc. 49 West 24 Street New York, N.Y.

10010

Cover art by Michael Whelan Interior Illustration by Rick DeMarco

ISBN: 0-812-53981-8 CAN. ED.: 0-812-53982-6

Printed in the United States of America 0987654321

PLANET

NO RETURN

TABLE OF CONTENTS

ONE MAN ALONE..................................11

THE SMELL OF DEATH...........................19

A DESPERATE PLAN ...............................31

D-DAY MINUS ONE,

BAREHANDED INTO HELL ....................57

ALIEN ENCOUNTER ...............................73

FIRST CONTACT.....................................83

A DEADLY SURPRISE..............................93

ELECTRONIC INQUISITION................-111

TAKING CHARGE.................................125

TREK INTO DANGER...........................135

DISCOVERY!.........................................151

THE ENEMY REVEALED........................163

MACHINES THAT MURDER.................175

CANYON QUEST .................................187

SECRET OF THE BLACK COLUMN ......197

THE KILLERS.........................................205

INTO THE MILITARY MIND.

.213

END OF A MISSION.............................223

ONE One Man Alone

As the small spacecraft plunged into the first thin traces of the planet's

atmosphere it began to glow and burn like a falling meteor. Within seconds the

glow spread, quickly changing from red to white as the fractional heat

increased. Although the alloy of the metal skin was unbelievably strong it had

never been intended to resist temperatures as high as these. Sheets of flame

radiated from the nose cone as the metal was torn away, incinerated. Then,

just when it appeared that the entire ship would be engulfed in fire and

destroyed, the even brighter flames of braking jets lanced through the burning

gas. If the craft had been falling out of control it would surely have been

destroyed. But the pilot knew what he was doing, had waited until the last

possible moment before destruction before firing his engines. To slow the

ship's fall just enough to keep the temperature from rising any higher.

PLANET OF NO RETURN

Down through the thick clouds it dropped, down towards the grass covered plain

that hurtled ever closer with alarming speed. When it appeared that a fatal

crash was inevitable the rockets fired again, hammering at the ship with

multiple G decellera-tion. Still falling rapidly, despite the roaring jets,

the ship struck the ground with a resounding crash, depressing the landing

shock absorbers to their limit.

As the clouds of steam and dust blew away, a small metal hatch at the apex of

the bow ground open and an optic head slowly emerged. It began rotating in a

slow circle, scanning the vast sea of grass, the distant trees, the seemingly

empty landscape. A herd of animals moved in the distance, bounding away in

panic and quickly vanishing from sight. The optic head moved on—finally coming

to rest on the nearby ruins of the shattered war machines: a vast area of

destruction in the cratered plain.

It was a scene of disaster. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of the crumpled and

gigantic weapons of war were scattered over the battlefield. All of them

punctured, bent, torn by immense forces. It was a graveyard of destruction

that stretched away almost to the horizon. The optic head scanned back and

forth over the rusted hulks, stopped, then drew back into the ship and its

cover plate snapped shut. Long minutes passed before the silence was broken by

the squeal of metal on metal as the airlock ground slowly open.

More time passed before the man emerged slowly from the opening. His motions

were cautious, the muzzle of the ion rifle he held was questing out before him

like a hungry animal. He wore heavy

One Man Alone

space armor with a sealed helmet that used a TV unit for vision. Slowly,

without taking his attention from the landscape or his finger from the

trigger, the man lowered his free hand and touched the radio button on his

wrist.

"I'm continuing my report from outside the ship now. I'm going slow until I

get my breath back. My bones ache. I made the landing in free fall and held it

at that for just as long as I could. It was a fast landing but I took at least

15 G's on touchdown. If I was detected on the way down there is no evidence of

it yet. I'm going to keep talking as I go. This broadcast is being recorded on

my deepspacer up above me in planetary orbit. So no matter what happens to me

there is going to be a record kept. I'm not going to do an incompetent job

like Marcill."

He didn't regret saying it, putting his feelings about the dead man in the

record. If Marcill had taken any precautions at all he might still be alive.

But precautions or no the fool should have found a way to leave some message.

But there was nothing, absolutely nothing to indicate what had happened, not a

single word that might have helped him now. Hartig snorted through his

nostrils at the thought. Landing on a new planet was a danger every time, no

matter how peaceful it looked. And this one, Selm-II, was certainly no

different. Far from peaceful looking. It had been Marcill's first assignment.

And his last. The man had reported in from planetary orbit and had recorded

his proposed landing position on the surface. And nothing else after that. A

fool. He had never been heard from again. That was when the decision had been

made to call a specialist in. This was Hartig's seventeenth planet

PLANET OF NO RETURN

contact. He intended to use all of his experience to see to it that it wasn't

his last as well.

"I can see why Marcill picked this spot. There's nothing but grass, empty

plain stretching out in all directions. But right here, next to this landing

site, there has been a battle—and not too long ago either. The remains of the

fighting are just in front of me. There appear to be war machines of various

kinds, pretty impressive things at one time, but all of them blasted apart and

rusting now. I'm going to take a closer look at them."

Hartig sealed the lock and started warily towards the littered battlefield,

reporting as he went. "These machines are big, the nearest one to me must be

at least fifty yards long. It has tractor treads and is "mounted with a single

turret with a large gun. That's destroyed now. No identification visible from

this distance. I'm going to take a closer look at it. But I can tell you

frankly that I don't like this. There were no cities visible from space, no

broadcasts or transmissions on any of the communication bands. Yet here is

this battlefield and these wrecks. And they're not toys. These things are the

products of a very advanced technology. Nor are they any kind of illusion.

This thing is solid metal—and it has been blown open by something even

solider. Still no insignia or identification anywhere on it that I can see.

I'm going to take a look inside. There are no hatches visible from where I'm

standing, but there is a hole blown in the side big enough to drive a truck

through. I'm going through it now. There may be documents inside, certainly

ought to be labels of some kind on the controls ..."

Hartig stopped, frozen, one gloved hand clutching

PLANET OF NO RETURN

the jagged rim of metal around the opening. Had he heard something? With

careful motions he raised the gain on his external microphone. But all he

could hear now was the wind sighing through the metal skeletons. Nothing else.

He listened for awhile, then shrugged and turned to climb through the gaping

wound into the machine.

With startling suddenness a distant mechanical clanking echoed from the metal

corpses of the battlefield. Hartig turned and dropped, his gun pointing and

ready.

"There's something out there, moving. Can't see it yet—but I can hear it

clearly enough. I've switched the external mike to this circuit so the sound

will be recorded too. It's getting louder, wheels, treads maybe, squeaking and

clanking. A machine . . . there!"

With a crash of metal against metal the thing appeared from among the ruined

machines. It was smaller than most of the others, no more than five yards

long, and hurtled along with frightening speed. Smoothly black and sinister.

Hartig raised his gun, then eased his finger from the trigger when he saw that

it was turning away from him. Twisting about and accelerating at the same

time.

"It's heading towards my landing ship! It may have detected it when I sat

down. Found it by radiation, radar, something. I'm using my remote unit to set

all the defenses aboard. As soon as that thing gets within range it will be

blasted . . . there!"

Explosion after explosion sounded as the rapid-fire guns aboard the lifeship

poured out their deadly fire. The ground shook and fragments of rock and

One Man Alone

dirt where hurled into the air. The guns stopped_ and in an instant began

firing again as the machine emerged from the dust. Apparently unharmed.

"That thing is fast and tough, but the primaries will get it . .

An even greater explosion shook the ground, clanging .through the metal walls

around him; a shower of red dust floated down. Hartig stared out, frozen, then

began talking again in a toneless voice.

"That was my ship going up. It took just a single shot from that damned thing.

Our guns couldn't touch it. Now it's turning in this direction. It must be

tracking my radio signal, heat radiation, something. No point in turning the

radio off now. It's coming this way—straight at me. I'm shooting now but it

doesn't seem to affect it. I can't see any ports or windows facing this way.

The crew must see by TV relay. I'm trying to shoot out some protrusions on the

thing's front. They may be pickups. Instrumentation of some kind. Doesn't seem

to slow it down—"

The sound of the explosion terminated abruptly as the radio broadcast ended.

In orbit, high above, the control center in the deep spacer began to search

automatically for the radio signal, but without any success. Then it tried all

of the other broadcast channels. There was nothing. With mechanical tenacity

it started over once again and searched with maximum gain, but detected

nothing other than atmospherics. After one hour it repeated the search, and

every hour after that for the next twenty-four. When this part of the program

had been completed it turned on the FTL radio as it had been instructed and

sent out the broadcast it had

PLANET OF NO RETURN

recorded from the man on the ground. When this had been accomplished it would

down the power on all of its circuits to minimum maintenance, then wait with

infinite patience for its next command.

TWO The Smell of Death

"What is it? What's wrong?" Lea asked. Her shoulder had felt the sudden

tensing of Brion's body where it touched him. They were lying back on the deep

lounge, completely relaxed, gazing out of the viewing port at the star-filled

darkness of interstellar space. His great arm was about her thin body and she

was very aware of its sudden rigidity.

"Nothing is wrong, nothing at all. Will you look at those colors ..."

"Listen, you darling big slab of muscle, you may be the best weightlifter in

the galaxy—but you are also the worst liar. Something has happened. Something

I don't know about."

Brion hesitated a moment, then nodded. "There's someone close by, someone who

hasn't been here before. Someone bringing trouble."

"I believe in your empathetic abilities, I've seen them at work. So I know

that you can sense other

20 PLANET OF NO RETURN

peoples emotions. But we're in deep space, moving between two suns light years

apart—so how can there be anyone new aboard this ship ..." She stopped and

looked suddenly out at the stars. "A drop sphere, of course. This must be a

rendezvous, not just a normal orientation. Is there another FTL ship out

there? With someone transfering from it in a drop sphere?"

"Not coming—already arrived. He's on board now. And he's coming this way,

towards us. I don't like anything about this. I don't like the man—or the

message that he is bringing."

With a single flowing motion Brion was on his feet, facing about, fists

clenched. Although he was well over six feet tall and weighed nearly three-

hundred pounds, he moved like a cat. Lea looked up at the solid mass of him

towering over her and could almost feel the tension herself.

"You can't be sure," she said quietly. "Undoubtedly you are right about

someone coming aboard. But it doesn't necessarily mean that it has anything

to do with us . .

"One man dead, two men perhaps. And this one who is coming, he smells of death

himself. He's here

now."

Lea gasped as she heard the lounge door sliding open behind her. She looked

over her shoulder fearfully, staring at the opening, not knowing what to

expect. There was the shuffle of a soft footstep, then a thud. Shuffle, thud.

Closer and louder. Then a man appeared in the open doorway, hesitated there as

he looked about, blinking as though he had trouble

seeing. It took a decided effort for Lea to conceal her

The Smell of Death

instant feeling of repulsion; she had to force herself not to look away. The

man's single eye moved slowly past her to fix on Brion, Then he started

forward again, his twisted foot dragging, the crutch coming down heavily with

each step. Whatever force had injured his legs must have also torn away the

right side of his face. It was bright pink where a new growth of skin; a patch

covered the empty eye socket. His right arm was also missing, but an arm bud

had been grafted to his clavicle and within a year he would have a complete,

new arm. But right now it was only partly grown, a baby's arm only about a

foot long that dangled helplessly from his shoulder. He limped close, slight

and twisted, to stand before Brion's hulking form.

"I'm Carver," he said, his name a frightful parody of his condition. "I'm here

to see you, Brandd."

"I know." The tension drained from Brion's body as suddenly as it had

appeared. "Sit down and rest."

Lea could not stop herself from moving aside as Carver dropped, sighing, onto

the lounge beside her. She could hear his heavy breathing, see the

perspiration standing out on his skin as he fumbled a capsule from his pocket

and put it into his mouth. He looked sideways at her and nodded. "Doctor Lea

Morees," he said. "They want you too."

"Culrel?" Brion asked. Carver nodded.

"The Cultural Relationships Foundation. I understand you have worked with us

before?"

"We did. It was an emergency ..."

"It's always an emergency. Something very important has come up. I was sent to

see you."

"Why us? We've just come from a hell-hole of a planet named Dis. Lea has been

ill. We were prom-

PLANET OF NO RETURN

ised some more time before we would be contacted. We agreed to work for your

people again, but not right now ..."

"I told you—it's always an emergency." Carver's voice was hoarse and he

pressed his good hand between his knees to stop the trembling. It was pain or

fatigue—or both—and he was not giving in to it. "I've just come from another

one of these emergencies, as you can see, or I would be going myself. If it

makes you feel any better I know what happened to you both on Dis so I offered

to take care of this one myself. They laughed at me. I don't think it was very

funny. Are you both ready now?" He turned to face Brion as he said it.

"You can't force Lea to go, not now. I'll take care of it myself." Carver

shook his head.

"You're to go as a team, the orders were specific about that. Shared talents,

a synergistic union

"I'm going with Brion," Dea said. I'm feeling much better. By the time we get

wherever we're going I'll be back to normal."

"That's very pleasing to hear. As you know we are a fully voluntary

organization." He ignored Brion's snort of derision as he struggled a flat

plastic box from the pocket of his tunic. "As I am sure you are aware, almost

all of our assignments deal only with cultures that are in trouble, societies

on planets that have been cut off from the mainstream of human contact for

thousands of years. We don't go near newly rediscovered planets—that's the job

of Planetary Survey. They go in first, then turn their records over to us.

They're a rough outfit, I did four years with Plansurv before I transferred to

Culrel."

The Smell of Death

He smiled grimly. "I thought this new job would be easier. Plansurv has a

problem and they have asked us for help. In cases like this we always say yes.

Are you ready to look at these records now?"

"I'll get a viewer from our cabin," Brion said.

Carver nodded wearily, too tired to speak.

"Would you like me to order you something?" Lea asked as Brion went out of the

lounge.

"Yes, thank you, a drink of some kind. I'll wash down a pill with it—feel

better in a few minutes. But no alcohol, I can't take any of that yet."

She felt his eyes on her as she phoned passenger control and gave her order to

the computer. When she had finished the call she put back the phone and turned

sharply to face him.

"Well—do you like what you see?"

"Sorry. I didn't mean to stare. But I read your history in the records. I

never met anyone from Earth before."

"What did you expect—two heads?"

"I said that I was sorry. Before I left my home world and went into space I

really believed that the whole story of Earth was just another religious

myth."

"Well, now you can see for yourself that we are real undernourished flesh and

blood. Underfed citizens of an overcrowded and worn out planet. Probably just

what we deserve, I imagine you would say."

"No. I might have at one time. No more. I'm sure that the Earth Empire was

guilty of a number of excesses, just the sort of thing we read about in our

school books. No one's in doubt about that. But all of that's just history

now, ancient history thousands of years in the past. What is of much greater

impor-

The Smell of Death

tance to me is the fate of all the planets that were cut off after the

Breakdown. It wasn't until I saw for myself what had happened to some of them

that I knew what an unyielding and harsh universe it could be. Mankind

basically belongs only on Earth. You may feel personally inferior because the

overcrowding and limited resources have caused an overall reduction in your

size. But you belong on Earth—and are a product of Earth. A number of us may

appear larger or stronger than you—but this is because we have been forced to

adapt to some cruel and violent worlds. I've become used to that—I even accept

it as the norm. It wasn't until I saw you that I realized that the home of

mankind was still a reality." He smiled a crooked grin.

"Please don't think me foolish for saying this," he said, "but I experienced a

sensation of both pleasure—and relief—when I met you. Like a child discovering

his long-lost parents. I'm afraid I'm not saying this very well. It's like

coming home after a long voyage. I have seen the way mankind has adapted to a

score of planets. Meeting you is, in a funny way a reassuring bit of

knowledge. Our home is still there. I am very happy to meet you."

"I believe you, Carver." She smiled. "And I'm forced to admit that I'm

beginning to like you too. Though I have to admit that you are not too good to

look at."

He laughed and leaned back, sipping at the cold drink that had been delivered

automatically to the table at his side. "Give me a year and you'll never

recognize me."

"I am sure that will be true. I'm a biologist, an exobiologist, so I know in

theory what can be done

PLANET OF NO RETURN

with restoration growth, I'm sure that you will be as good as new after some

time. But that's just theory—I've never seen it in practice before. We're not

rich on Earth, so few of us can afford massive reconstruction like yours,"

"This is one of the few benefits of working for Culrel. They put you back

together again no matter how badty you get butchered. I'm going to have a new

eye behind this patch in a few months."

"How very nice. But speaking personally I would like to avoid all the benefits

of this kind of reconstruction if you don't mind."

"Good luck in that—I don't blame you."

They both looked up as Brion returned with the viewer. He took the recording

cartridge from Carver and slipped it into the mechanism. He and Lea bent close

as the screen lit up. Carver collapsed back and listened to the recording

while he sipped at his glass. He had heard it often before and he dozed a bit

through the early material, but snapped awake as it approached the end.

Hartig's recorded voice continued to speak, sounding calm and precise,

although he faced certain extinction, still trying to the last to leave a

record for those who would follow after him. Lea was horrified as the

recording ended and the screen cleared; Brion's impassive face displayed no

emotion as he turned to Carver.

"And Culrel wants us to go to this planet, Selm-II?" He asked. Carver nodded.

"Why? This looks more like a job for the troops. Shouldn't they be sending

something large and well armed that can take care of itself?"

"No. That's exactly what we don't want. Experience has proven that armed

intrusion is never the

PLANET OF NO RETURN

answer. War does not work. War kills. What we need is knowledge, information.

We must know what is happening on this planet. We need skilled people like you

two. Perhaps Dis was your first assignment, something that you were drafted

into against your wishes. But you succeeded magnificently, doing what the

specialists themselves said couldn't be done. We want you to put those talents

to use here. I'll not deny that it could be terribly dangerous. But it must be

done."

"I hadn't planned on living forever," Lea said, then leaned over to order some

strong drinks. Her flippancy did not fool Brion.

"I'll go by myself," he said. "I can do this better alone."

"Oh no you can't, you great big brainless slab of muscle. You're not bright

enough to be let out alone. I go with you or you don't go. Try to go by

yourself and I will shoot you right here to save the expense of transporting

you there just to be knocked off."

Brion smiled at this. "Your sympathy and understanding are most touching. I

agree. Your logical arguments have convinced me that that it would be best if

we went together."

"Good." She grabbed up the glass as soon as it appeared from the dispenser and

drank deeply from it. "What's the next step, Carver?"

"A difficult one. We must convince the captain of this ship to change course

and divert to Selm-II. An operational craft will be in orbit around the planet

by now and will be waiting for us there."

"What's difficult about that?" Brion asked.

"lean see that you have never met the captain of a deep spacer before. They

are all very firm minded.

The Smell of Death

And in absolute command while in flight. We can't force him to change course.

We can only convince him."

"I'll convince him," Brion said, standing and looming large over them both.

"We've taken on this assignment and no little spaceship driver is going to

stand in our way."

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摘要：

Thisisaworkoffiction.Allthecharactersandeventsportrayedinthisbookarefictional,andanyresemblancetorealpeopleorincidentsispurelycoincidental.PLANETOFNORETURNCopyright©1982byHarryHarrisonAllrightsreserved,includingtherighttoreproducethisbookorportionsthereofinanyform.FirstTorprinting:January1982ATORBoo...

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