Skyport, p.1
Skyport, page 1
06-04-2023
Bubble In Space
Lee Powers conceived and designed it— the giant bubble suspended above Earth, a satellite that symbolized Man’s first attempt to live in space.
Cecil Kettner built it with his wealth— in a bid for limitless power. But when he realized he might lose control of the vast project in a corporation battle, Kettner decided to make one last dangerous gamble….
CURT SIODMAK is the author of the notable Donovan’s Brain. Born in Germany, he has lived in Switzerland, London, and more recently, California. The hardcover edition of Skyport originally appeared with Crown Publishers, Inc.
SKYPORT
BY CURT SIODMAK
A SIGNET BOOK
Published by THE NEW AMERICAN LIBRARY
© 1959, by Curt Siodmak
All rights reserved. No part of this book
may be reproduced without permission.
For information address Crown Publishers, Inc.,
419 Park Avenue South, New York 16, New York.
Published as a SIGNET BOOK By
Arrangement with Crown Publishers, Inc.
First Printing, June, 1961
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SIGNET BOOKS are published by
The New American Library of World Literature, Inc.
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PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
1
Dr. Lee F. Powers turned his small sports car over to the attendant and entered Cecil Kettner’s garden through a large wrought-iron gate. The white-graveled garden path was treated with luminous paint. An ultra-short light beam activated the pebbles and made them glow like cats’ eyes. As Lee walked along the iridescent flow of small stones, he discovered Kettner’s mansion behind a cluster of enormous, newly planted cypress trees.
The building floated like a giant glass bubble suspended in clouds. Erected in space, it created the impression of being free of the earth’s gravity. It was the kind of house that a man who built missiles to fly into outer space would own.
Sven Sorensen, the architect, had understood his client’s thoughts and had created them in tangible materials. Lee had always admired Sorensen’s boundless imagination, which made him reject any reference to the classic forms that had dominated architecture since the day men moved out of caves.
Lee passed the first guests, women in exquisite evening dresses and men in tuxedos. A score of butlers were serving drinks, pushing silvery wagons that rolled over the lawn in perfect balance.
Lee walked past a girl in a tight-fitting blue dress, who looked at him from under a heavy weight of dark hair. Her eyes matched the color of her gown, as if they were cut of the same material. She talked to her escort, whom Lee saw only from the back. But her teeth gleamed in the inviting smile Lee often found in women’s faces; it was a tribute to his looks, an acknowledgment of his masculinity. He was tall, fitting the tuxedo well. He always walked erect because of an old back injury he had received in a plane crack-up, and his posture made him seem taller than he was, putting an aura of aloofness around him. He was aware of it and fought it unsuccessfully.
The laughter, the humming of voices, excluded and isolated him. His feeling of expectation and his pent-up energy left him. For a moment he was conscious only of the enormity of the task of putting over a 300,000,000-dollar project. Its realization depended on one conversation with one man during a garden party! The thought was ridiculous. The project moved back from the realm of possibility into that of fantasy.
Impatient with his doubt, Lee sauntered over to a cluster of people gathered around a portable barbecue.
“Here’s my boy,” Sven Sorensen called out, stepping out of the group of guests. He was thin and blond, and wore a tuxedo made of silver threads which glowed like the pebbled road. His well-formed hands punctuated his words with small, pronounced gestures.
“Monica Kettner, this is my friend Lee Powers,” Sven said, and Lee looked down into the face of the young girl at Sven’s elbow. Again he encountered the smile he knew so well on women’s faces. Dark brown hair glistened over slightly slanted eyes, and the smart gown accentuated a slim, well-rounded figure. Pretty, antiseptic orchid, he thought. Well-groomed women always aroused his anger. He had often tried to analyze this antagonism, which he knew was unreasonable, but so far he had not found its root. This girl at Sven’s side was not earth-bound; she belonged in the large glass bubble the architect had erected for her father.
“Lee Powers?” she said, and stretched out her hand. Lee felt a strong handshake. “Sven has talked about you so often and intimately that I almost questioned his motives. Now that I see you, I change my mind. You look like a man, a real male, you know. There are not too many around these days. Welcome to the Monica circle.”
“Sven must have conditioned you too,” Lee said. “He’s too good a salesman not to sell his friends to you. But he didn’t tell me Mr. Kettner had a daughter.”
“How unfair! I know everything about you—within reason, of course.” As she talked she studied Lee, apparently hoping to reconcile her impression with what she had heard and read about him.
“I’ll leave you two alone,” Sven said hurriedly, anxious to get away from a conversation that might get him into trouble. “She likes you. Oh! Make love to her. She’s susceptible to it.”
“Don’t go,” Lee called out, but Sven had already left. Lee disliked playing games, solving human charades, fencing with small talk. He felt secure in front of a blackboard covered with mathematical symbols. There he could express himself.
The girl sensed his discomfort and impatience.
“Hungry? No, you didn’t come here to eat. Or to talk to me,” she said soberly, and cut through Lee’s defenses. “But don’t interfere with Sven’s methods. He adores intrigue; so do I. You have my help with Father, for whatever my help is worth.”
Her hand touched his arm and her face was tense with a sudden malevolence.
“Thank you,” Lee said dryly. “Sven had promised he wouldn’t tell anybody about my project.”
Monica took a few steps forward, away from him, and Lee hastened to follow her.
“He doesn’t keep secrets from me. I promised not to tell you that I knew. But I don’t feel bad about telling, really. Sven is so selfish that it doesn’t matter what one does to him. It isn’t so much you and your idea he is going to sell to Father. He uses you and Father and me and all of Father’s influence and connections—for himself. Sven Sorensen, architect, tackling the greatest challenge a builder in our age can conceive. Sven Sorensen, merchant of dreams!”
Her eyes had the bottomless deep blue of the Irish. They seemed to smolder, dominating the face that now looked small and pale. Her forehead furrowed as she lifted her head to him. The luminous light of the artificially glowing lawn accentuated her jaw and the high cheekbones. She seemed unreal, like Sven’s glass house, like the balmy California night, like the fragrance of hot-house flowers that seemed to cling to her. Lee felt as if he had been transported into an unreal world. He had come here to discuss business, not to be company to an ornamental girl.
He looked toward the house, hoping Sven would return and take him to Kettner.
“Be patient,” the girl said, sensitive to his thoughts. “Sven will be back soon. Let him conduct the orchestra. We’re only the instruments. Father is the first violin. I’m a tiny instrument, the one that makes a noise only once.”
Lee couldn’t help laughing.
“And what is that?”
“An instrument of percussion, a triangle. A little thing which a man who beats the kettledrums has by his side, on a stand. But you—” she stopped, and again looked at him appraisingly. Her eyes had become dark and cloudy.
“What instrument am I supposed to be?”
“You wrote the symphony. So far it’s only on paper. Now you depend on the musicians.”
Suddenly Lee heard his name whispered. The voice was close behind him.
“Lee Powers, Dr. Lee Powers, will you please come to the house? Mr. Kettner is expecting you.” Sven’s voice sounded suppressed, as if it were coming out of the ground. Lee wheeled around and the girl laughed.
“It’s only a loud-speaker. The whole garden is sprinkled with them—in case Father wants anybody in a hurry. Come on.”
“Is every word being put on tape?” Lee inquired, having the uncomfortable feeling that everything that had been said had been overheard. “This place is bugged!”
“No, we took care not to have any ants on our grounds.” Her face was mischievous, younger than her years, and she tugged his arm, walking half a step ahead. “Look at that crowd. Five hundred guests! If all those people here were to die tomorrow of a strange disease, we wouldn’t have any missile experts left in America!”
The small pebbled road joined a larger one. They passed a swimming pool that extended to the building, which was a glass bubble that rose like a giant mushroom on a conic stem. A convex cupola, throwing off blue light, topped the structure. Two entrances like drawbridges led to the broadest expanse. In places, the glass-covered sides glowed with light. Other areas were dark.
“Like it?” the girl asked with mock seriousness. “Now be careful. Remember, Sven is your friend and I can’t keep a secret.”
“Fantastic and impressive,” Lee said, awed. “A house transported from another planet. I can’t believe yet that people really live in there.”
“ I do!” Mockery did not leave her voice. “It has its ad-
vantages. See the black panels? The rooms can be blacked out by mercury vapors that rise like curtains between two sheets of polarized glass. Press a button and it wraps you up. Clever, isn’t it? Saves cleaning drapes.”
“And those drawbridges? When are they pulled up and lowered?”
“The house turns on bearings like a Lazy Susan. Father likes sunshine. Since he can’t make the sun move to his liking, he turns the house. I never know what the view will be when I wake up in the morning.”
“Sven has original ideas!” Lee said with respect.
“To be candid about it, the idea was mine,” the girl replied. “I tried to make a joke, but you don’t want to do that when Sven’s around. Let this be a warning to you.” “Too late. I mentioned mine to him!”
“And here you are at the threshold of an adventure that may cost you your health. And make me marry for money, if Father goes broke! Come along.”
She stretched out a hand which, though small, was hard like a boy’s. Her fingers held his affirmatively.
“Friends?” she asked. In her voice there was an uneasiness that her smile and casual tone could not completely cover.
“I don’t know what I could offer,” Lee said, trying to understand the girl and her eagerness to please. “I don’t really exist. I’m buried under a great mass of mathematical formulas. And if I start with my project, I suppose I’ll just suffocate.”
Monica glanced at him curiously, then led him to the drawbridge. Suddenly the ground under Lee’s feet began to move. A traveling band began to carry him slowly toward the house. He felt the girl’s firm grip on his elbow, and as he regained his balance he heard her giggle.
“I should’ve warned you—but I wanted to see how you react to surprise.”
“Very funny,” Lee said.
“I’m twenty, which is a shortcoming in some respects,” Monica said apologetically. “I always try to act grown-up. But then I slip back. I can’t help that. But you sometimes act a little pompous, don’t you?” She tried to diminish her words with a smile. “Do you always walk so straight with your head in the clouds?”
“I’ve had a broken back,” Lee explained. “It still hurts if I don’t walk—with my head in the clouds.”
At once her expression became shocked, as if she had committed a child’s prank that had turned into disaster.
“Don’t be so upset,” Lee consoled her, startled by her violent reaction. “I resent it myself.”
The moving band deposited them at the threshold of the house. A dark glass panel slid back, and a large circular room opened like a stage set in an ultra-modern play. The walls glowed, illuminated by hidden light sources. Rays traveled along the transparent reliefs which supported the large cupola. The room had an almost overpowering tranquility, like the open sky over a silent desert. A peculiar quietness permeated it, a serenity which transferred itself to Lee.
“I would like to live in this room,” he said, his voice scarcely audible.
“Yes … a room built for men,” she answered. “Don’t the Mohammedans have a Seventh Heaven where no women are permitted to enter? But horses are allowed.”
The trace of bitterness in her voice made Lee look at her. But she smiled at him, showing her even teeth. “Meet Father. There he is, with Sven. This is your hour, Dr. Powers. I made my little sound. If you want me to tingle again, call.”
At the far end of the room stood two men. They had watched Lee’s reaction as if he were a test case.
“Don’t leave,” Lee pleaded, starting toward Sven and Cecil Kettner.
“It never entered my mind.” The girl spoke in a low voice that did not carry far. “And don’t let Father charm you with his urbanity. It’s an act.”
“Dr. Powers,” Kettner said, extending his hand. He was relaxed and casual. “The room is impressive, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It has no disturbing vibrations. A man could be alone in here without feeling lonely.”
Kettner listened as if Lee had put his own innermost thoughts into words.
“I simply lowered the echo frequency from one-point-six seconds to one-point-one,” Sven explained. “One-point-six is normal. When we built it, we had five-point-two seconds. Sound in here echoed back like in a plane hangar.”
Kettner pointed to a chair. He was a lean man in his early fifties. His face was lined, his eyes lying deeply in large sockets as if hiding there. His hair was thick, only slightly grayed, and brushed tightly over a fine skull.
As Lee sank into one of the soft deep chairs, the back tilted forward slowly, the sides moved, narrowing the seat, and the whole chair lowered a few inches to a comfortable height. Kettner watched Lee’s reaction with a satisfied smile.
“Startling, isn’t it?”
“Monstrous!” Lee said, recovering from his surprise.
Kettner sat down. Monica perched on the back of his seat, looking down at Lee. Sven lighted a cigarette, watching the two men as if they were puppets he had brought on a stage, marionettes which had come to life.
“I told Sorensen to build me a home, not a house. A dwelling that would not only help me think, but would be an expression of my personality. He took the job on the condition that I wouldn’t be permitted to see the building before it was finished. Believe me, there were nights when I wanted just to drive by, but I fought the temptation. Now I know he was right. I’d have panicked. A drink?”
“We usually have a couple at this time of the evening,” Sven answered for Lee.
“Mine is Martini,” Monica prompted from her perch.
Lee hesitated. He did not want to impair his alertness.
“Today we won’t talk business,” Kettner said. “I’ll call in a conference tomorrow afternoon at Intercontinental.”
“Scotch and water,” Lee decided. The large room enfolded him, and a contentment he had not felt in years descended on him. Relaxed, he stretched his legs and the chair at once moved down a couple of inches. He was certain that Kettner would accept his project. This man was sane, down-to-earth, enterprising. He would never have become chairman of Intercontinental if he had been lacking in vision.
Kettner spoke into a hidden microphone.
“Please bring a batch of Martinis, Scotch and water, and you drink Pernot, don’t you, Sven?”
“Always,” Sven said. “My stomach is shot.”
Casually Kettner turned to Lee. “Sven talked about you as if you were Rutherford, Einstein, and Niels Bohr wrapped in one.”
“Sven sometimes exaggerates,” Lee said with a grin. “This may be one of those times.”
“Your research in metallurgy has revolutionized our concepts about missiles,” Kettner said. “But forgive me—although I promised myself and Monica not to talk business tonight, I still must ask you one pertinent question. Just tell me the general idea you have in mind—the idea Sven and my daughter keep so mysteriously to themselves. What is this thing that’s so revolutionary and daring? Fantastic and at the same time logical? I’m quoting, of course, my daughter.”
He looked steadily at Lee. His eyes brightened as if an inner light had been turned on.
Lee glanced at the architect and the girl. He found response in their faces.
“I need your assistance in building a hotel in outer space,” he said artlessly.
2
The telephone rang shrilly in Lee’s bedroom. The strident sound mixed with his dream: A rocket was taking off smoothly at first, and he experienced the elation of technical accomplishment as the three hundred thousand parts synchronized. Then the projectile wavered and disintegrated. The strident sound was its death cry. Lee woke with a start. The luminous clock at his bedside showed half-past two in the morning. Again the telephone rang with impersonal urgency. He groped for the receiver.
“This is Monica,” a faraway voice said crisply. “Were you asleep?”
“Usually I am at this time of the night,” Lee replied, alerted by the wide-awakefulness of the voice. “What’s up?” “Trouble,” the clear, urgent voice said. “Father doesn’t want to support the idea. I warned you not to trust his smooth line. You never really know what he’s thinking.” “Then the conference is off?”
