No Moving Parts

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  NO MOVING PARTS

  By MURRAY F. YACO

  ILLUSTRATED by GRAYAM

  We call them trouble-shooters. They called 'em Gypsies.Either way, they were hep to that whole bit about....]

  Hansen was sitting at the control board in the single building onCommunications Relay Station 43.4SC, when the emergency light flashedon for the first time in two hundred years.

  With textbook-recommended swiftness, he located the position of the shipsending the call, identified the ship and the name of its captain, andmade contact.

  "This is Hansen on 43.4SC. Put me through to Captain Fromer."

  "Fromer here," said an incredible deep voice, "what the devil do you want?"

  "What do I want?" asked the astonished Hansen. "It was you, sir, who sentthe emergency call."

  "I did no such thing," said Fromer with great certainty.

  "But the light flashed--"

  "How long have you been out of school?" Fromer asked.

  "Almost a year, sir, but that doesn't change the fact that--"

  "That you're imagining things and that you've been sitting on that asteroidhoping that something would happen to break the monotony. Now leave me thehell alone or I'll put you on report."

  "Now look here," Hansen began, practically beside himself with frustration,"I saw that emergency light go on. Maybe it was activated automaticallywhen something went out of order on your ship."

  "I don't allow emergencies on the Euclid Queen," said Fromer with growinganger. "Now, if you don't--"

  Hansen spared himself the indignity of being cut off. He broke contacthimself. He sighed, reached for a book entitled _Emergency ProcedureRules_, and settled back in his chair.

  Fifteen minutes later the emergency light flashed on for the second time intwo hundred years. With its red glow illuminating his freckled excitedface, Hansen triumphantly placed another call to the Euclid Queen.

  "This is Hansen on 43.4SC. Let me speak to Captain Fromer, please."

  "Er--the Captain has asked me to contact you. I'm the navigator. I was justabout to call you. We have a small problem that--"

  "I'll speak to the Captain," Hansen repeated grimly.

  "Now see here. I'm perfectly capable of handling this situation. Actually,it's hardly even an emergency. You were, it seems, signaled automaticallywhen--"

  "If you'll check your emergency procedures," Hansen said, holding his thumbin the Rule Book, "you'll note that the Relay Station Attendant contactsthe Captain personally during all emergencies. Of course, if you want toviolate--"

  "Look, old man," said the navigator, now sounding on the verge of tears,"try to realize the spot I'm in. Fromer has ordered me to handle this thingwithout his assistance. He seems to feel that you have a grudge of somekind--"

  "If you don't put me in touch with Captain Fromer in five minutes, I'll putthrough a call to Sector Headquarters." Hansen signaled off contact. If heknew nothing else about the situation, he knew that he had the upper hand.

  * * * * *

  Five minutes later Captain Fromer called him back. "I am calling inaccordance with emergency procedures," Fromer said between clinched teeth."The situation is this: We are reporting an emergency--"

  "What class emergency?" Hansen interrupted.

  "Class?" asked Fromer, obviously caught off guard.

  "Yes, Captain. There are three classes of emergencies. Major class, whichwould include death and injury. Mechanical class, including malfunction ofHegler units and such. And General class--"

  "Yes, yes, of course, General class by all means," Fromer said hurriedly."You see, it's hardly even an emergency. We--"

  "Just what is the nature of the trouble, Captain?"

  "Why, uh, well it seems that we were doing a preliminary landing procedurecheck, and ..."

  "Yes, go on."

  "Why, er, it seems that we can't get the door open."

  It was Hansen's turn to be taken aback. "You're pulling my leg, sir."

  "I most certainly am not," Captain Fromer said emphatically.

  "You really mean that you can't open the door?"

  "I'm afraid so. Something's wrong with the mechanism. Our technical staffhas never encountered a problem like this, and they advise me that anyattempt at repair might possibly result in the opposite situation."

  "You mean not being able to get the door closed?"

  "Precisely. In other words, we can't land."

  "I see. Then I'm afraid there's nothing I can do except advise SectorHeadquarters to send an emergency repair crew."

  Captain Fromer sighed. "I'm afraid so, too. How long will it take for amessage to get there with your transmitting equipment?"

  "Two days, Captain. At a guess, there'll be a ship alongside within theweek. You'll be maintaining your present position, I assume?"

  "Oh, we'll be here, all right," Fromer said bitterly. Then he cut contact.

  * * * * *

  As the single occupant of a large asteroid with nothing but time andboredom on his hands, Hansen was enjoying the whole situation immensely. Heallowed himself the luxury of several dozen fantasies in which his name wasmentioned prominently in galaxy-wide reports of the episode. He imaginedthat Captain Fromer was also creating vivid accounts--of quite anothersort--that would soon be amusing several hundred billion news-hungrycitizens of the Federation.

  When the repair ship arrived, it came, to Hansen's astonishment, to theasteroid, and not alongside Fromer's ship. He soon found out that there wassomeone else who shared the Captain's embarrassment.

  "I'm Bullard," said a tall, thin, mournful man. "Mind if I sit?"

  "Help yourself," Hansen waved a hand toward the meager accommodations. Hehad no idea why a Senior Engineer was being so deferential, but he enjoyedthe feeling of power.

  "You're probably wondering about a lot of things," Bullard began sadly."Frankly, we don't have any ideas about how we can fix Captain Fromer'sdoor." He waited to let that sink in. Then he continued: "It took us threedays back at the base to find out that when these ships were built, almostfive hundred years ago, nobody bothered to include detail drawings of thedoor mechanism."

  "But why? You certainly know how to build--"

  "We know how to build Star Class ships, sure. We've built a few in thepast century or two. There's never been need for replacement, really.These ships are designed to last forever. The original fleet wasconceived to fill the System's needs for a full thousand years."

  "But the doors on the few ships that have been built. How--"

  "The ship's we've built were exact duplicates of Captain Fromer'sship--except for the door." Bullard's long face radiated despair. "Noone ever questioned why the door mechanism wasn't included in theoriginal plans. We simply designed another type--a different type--ofdoor."

  "Well, you certainly can find out how this particular door works, can'tyou?"

  "I hope so," Bullard said, wringing his hands. "But we have a couple ofother problems. Number one, Captain Fromer has an extremely importantpassenger aboard. None other than His Exalted Excellency, R'thagna Bar.He is--or was--on his way home after concluding a treaty of friendshipwith the President of the Federation."

  Hansen managed a whistle.

  "Furthermore," Bullard continued, "His Excellency _has to be home soon_ toget there in time for the mating season. This occurs once in a lifetime,I'm told, and this is his only chance to continue the ancestral rule--"

  "Wait a minute," Hansen said. "Are you trying to say that you can't solve asimple problem like getting him home and g
etting him out of the ship? Youcan always cut it in two, can't you?"

  "These ships were made to last forever," Bullard explained. "The hull is,of course, pseudo-met, but, not the kind of pseudo-met used for otherapplications. In short, about the only way you'll get in that ship is tovaporize it."

  "But can't you simply disassemble the door mechanism? My God, howcomplicated can it be?"

  "We're going to try to do just