ADDRESS CENTAURI
by
F. L. WALLACE
Published by GALAXY
PUBLISHING CORP. New
York 14, New York
A
Galaxy Science Fiction Novel by special arrangement with Gnome Press
Based on
"Accidental Flight," Published in book form by Gnome
copyright 1952 by Galaxy Pub- Press, copyright 1955 by F. L.
lishing Corp. Wallace.
Galaxy
Science Fiction Novels are
sturdy, inexpensive editions of choice works in this field, both original and
reprint, selected by the editors of Galaxy Science Fiction Magazine.
Cover by Wallace A. Wood
Printed in the U.S.A. by The Guinn Company New York 14, N. Y.
1
LIGHT flickered. It was uncomfortably bright.
Doctor
Cameron gazed intently at the top of the desk. It wasn't easy to be diplomatic.
"The request was turned over to the Medicouncil,"
he said. "I
assure you it was studied
thoroughly before it was reported back to the Solar Committee."
Docchi edged forward, his face
alight with anticipation.
The
doctor kept his eyes averted. The man was damnably disconcerting—had no right
to be alive. In the depths of the sea there were certain creatures like him and
on a warm summer evening there was still another parallel, but never any human
with such an infirmity. "I'm afraid you know what the answer is. A flat no for the present."
Docchi sagged and his arms hung limp. "That's
the answer?"
"It's
not as hopeless as you think. Decisions can be changed. It won't be the first
time."
"Sure,"
said Docchi. "We'll wait and wait until it's
finally changed. We've got centuries, haven't we?" His face was blazing.
It had slipped out of control though he wasn't aware of it. Beneath the skin
certain cells had been modified, there were substances in his body that the
ordinary individual didn't have. And when there was an extreme flow of nervous
energy the response was—light. His metabolism was akin to that of a firefly.
Cameron
meddled with buttons. It was impossible to keep the lighting at a decent level.
Docchi was a nuisance.
"Why?"
questioned Docchi. "We're capable, you know
that. How could they refuse?"
That
was something he didn't want asked because there was no answer both of them
would accept. Sometimes a blunt reply was the best evasion. "Do you think
they'd take you? Or Nona, Jordan, or Anti?"
Docchi winced, his arms quivering uselessly. "Maybe not.
But we told you we're willing to let experts
decide. There's nearly a thousand of us. They should
be able to get one qualified crew."
"Perhaps. I'm not going to say." Cameron abandoned the light as beyond his
control. "Most of you are biocompen-sators. I
concede it's a factor in your favor. But you must realize there are many
things against you." He squinted at the desk top. Below the solid surface
there was a drawer and in the drawer there was—that was what he was trying to
see or determine. The more he looked the less clear anything seemed to be. He
tried to make his voice crisp and professional. "You're wasting time
discussing this with me. I've merely passed the decision on. I'm not
responsible for it and I can't do anything for you."
Docchi stood up, his face colorless and bright. But
the inner illumination was no indication of hope.
Doctor
Cameron looked at him directly for the first time. It wasn't as bad as he
expected. "I suggest you calm down. Be patient and wait. You'll be
surprised how often you get what you want."
"You'd
be surprised how we get what we want," said Docchi.
He turned away, lurching toward the door which opened automatically and closed
behind him.
Again
Cameron concentrated on the desk, trying to look through it. He wrote down the
sequence he expected to find, lingering over it to make sure he didn't force
the pictures that came into his mind. He opened the drawer and compared the
Rhine cards with what he'd written, frowning in disappointment. No matter how
he tried he never got better than average results. Perhaps there was something
to telepathy but he'd never found it. Anyway it was clear he wasn't one of the
gifted few.
He
shut the drawer. It was a private game, a method to keep from becoming involved
in Docchi's problems, to avoid emotional
entanglement with people he had nothing in common with. He didn't enjoy
depriving weak and helpless men and women of what little hope they had. It was
their lack of strength that made them so difficult to handle.
He reached for the telecom. "Get Medicouncilor Thorton," he
told the operator. "Direct if you can; indirect if you have to. I'll hold
on."
Approximate
mean diameter thirty miles, the asteroid was listed on the charts as Handicap
Haven with a mark that indicated except in emergency no one not authorized was
to land there. Those who were confined to it were willing to admit they were
handicapped but they didn't call it haven. They used other terms, none
suggesting sanctuary.
It
was a hospital, of course, but even more it was a convalescent home—the
permanent kind. Healthy and vigorous humanity had reserved the remote
planetoid, a whirling bleak rock of no other value, and built large
installations there for less fortunate people. It was a noble gesture but like
many gestures the reality fell short of the intentions. And not many people
outside the Haven itself realized wherein it was a failure.
The
robot operator broke into his thoughts. "Medicoun-cilor
Thorton has been located."
An
older man looked out of the screen, competent, forceful. "I'm on my way
to the satellites of Jupiter. I'll be in direct range for the next half
hour." At such distances transmission and reception were practically
instantaneous. Cameron was assured of uninterrupted conversation. "It's a
good thing you called. Have you got the Solar Committee reply?"
"This morning. I saw no reason to hold it up. I just finished giving Docchi the news."
"Dispatch. I like that. Get the disagreeable job done with." The medicouncilor searched through the desk in front of him
without success. "Never mind. I'll find the
information later. Now. How did Docchi
react?"
"He didn't like it. He was mad clear
through."
"That speaks well for his bounce."
"They
all have spirit. Nothing to use it on," said Dr. Cameron. "I confess
I didn't look at him often though he was quite presentable, even handsome in a
startling sort of way."
Thornton
nodded brusquely. "Presentable. Does that mean he had arms?"
"Today he did. Is it important?"
"I think so. He expected a favorable reply and wanted to look his best, as nearly normal as possible.
In view of that I'm surprised he didn't threaten you."
Cameron
tried to recall the incident. "I think he did, mildly. He said something
to the effect that I'd be surprised how they got
what they wanted."
"So you anticipate trouble. That's why
you called?"
"I don't know. I want your
opinion."
"You're
on the scene, doctor. You get the important nuances," said the medicouncilor hastily. "However it's my considered
judgment they won't start anything immediately. It takes time to get over the
shock of refusal. They can't do anything. Individually they're helpless and
collectively there aren't parts for a dozen sound bodies on the asteroid."
"I'll
have to agree," said Dr. Cameron. "But there's something that
bothers me. I've looked over the records. No accidental has ever liked being
here, and that covers quite a few years."
"Nobody appreciates
the hospital until he's sick, doctor."
"I
know. That's partly what's wrong. They're no longer ill and yet they have to
stay here. What worries me is that there's never been such open discontent as
now."
"I
hope I don't have to point out that someone's stirring them up. Find out who and keep a close watch. As a doctor you can find
pretexts, a different diet, a series of tests. You can
keep the person coming to you every day."
"I've
found out. There's a self-elected group of four, Doc-chi, Nona, Anti and
Jordan. I believe they're supposed to be the local recreation committee."
The medicouncilor smiled. "An apt
camouflage. It keeps them amused."
"I
thought so too but now I'm convinced they're no longer harmless. I'd like
permission to break up the group. Humanely of course."
"I always welcome new
ideas."
In
spite of what he'd said the medicouncilor probably
did have an open mind. "Start with those it's possible to do the most
with. Docchi, for instance. With prosthetic arms, he appears normal
except for that uncanny fluorescence. Granted that the last
is repulsive to the average person. We can't correct the condition
medically but we can make it into an asset."
"An asset? Very neat, if it can be done." The medicoun-cilor's
expression said it couldn't be.
"Gland
opera," said Cameron, hurrying on. "The most popular program in the
solar system, telepaths, teleports, pyrotics and so
forth the heroes. Fake of course, makeup and trick camera shots.
"But
Docchi can be made into a real star. The death-ray
man, say. When his face shines men fall dead or paralyzed. He'd have a
tremendous following of kids."
"Children,"
mused the medicouncilor.
"Are you serious about exposing them to his influence? Do you really want
them to see him?"
"He'd
have a chance to return to society in a way that would be acceptable to
him," said Cameron defensively. He shouldn't have specifically mentioned
kids.
"To
him, perhaps," reflected the medicouncilor.
"It's an ingenious idea, doctor, one which does credit to your humani-tarianism. But I'm afraid of the public's reception.
Have you gone into Docchi's medical history?"
"I
glanced at it before I called him in." The man was unusual, even in a
place that specialized in the abnormal. Docchi had
been an electrochemical engineer with a degree in cold lighting. On his way to
a brilliant career, he had been the victim of a particularly messy accident.
The details hadn't been described but Cameron could supplement them with his
imagination. He'd been badly mangled and tossed into a tank of the basic cold
lighting fluid.
There
was life left in the body; it flickered but never went entirely out. His arms
were gone and his ribs were crushed into his spinal column. Regeneration wasn't
easy; a partial rib cage could be built up, but no more than that. He had no
shoulder muscles and only a minimum in his back and now, much later, that was
why he tired easily and why the prosthetic arms with which he'd been fitted
were merely ornamental, there was nothing which could move them.
And
then there was the cold lighting fluid. To begin with it was semi-organic which, perhaps, was the reason he had remained alive so long when
he should have died. It had preserved him, had in part replaced his
blood, permeating every tissue. By the time Docchi
had been found his body had adapted to the cold lighting substance. And the
adaptation couldn't be reversed and it was self-perpetuating. Life was hardier
than most men realized but occasionally it was also perverse.
"Then
you know what he's like," said the medicouncilor,
shaking his head. "Our profession can't sponsor such a freakish display
of his misfortune. No doubt he'd be successful on the program you mention. But
there's more to life than financial achievement or the rather peculiar
admiration that would be certain to follow him. As an actor he'd have a niche.
But can you imagine, doctor, the dead silence that would occur when he walks
into a social gathering of normal people?"
"I
see," said Cameron, though he didn't—not eye to eye. He didn't agree with Thorton but there wasn't much he could do to alter the
other's conviction at the moment. There was a long fight ahead of him.
"I'll forget about Docchi. But there's another
way to break up the group."
The medicouncilor
interrupted. "Nona?"
"Yes. I'm not sure she really belongs
here."
"Every
young doctor thinks the same," said the medicouncilor
kindly. "Usually they wait until their term is nearly up before they
suggest that she'd respond better if she were returned to normal society. I
think I know what response they have in mind." Thorton
smiled in a fatherly fashion. "No offense, doctor, but it happens so often
I'm thinking of inserting a note in our briefing program. Something
to the effect that the new medical director should avoid the beautiful and
self-possessed moron."
"Is
she stupid?" asked Cameron stubbornly. "It's my impression that
she's not."
"Clever
with her hands," agreed the medicouncilor. "People
in her mental classification, which is very low, sometimes are. But don't
confuse manual dexterity with intelligence. For one thing she doesn't have the
brain structure for the real article.
"She's
definitely not normal. She can't talk or hear, and never will. Her larynx is
missing and though we could replace it,' it wouldn't help if we did. We'd have
to change her entire brain structure to accommodate it and we're not that good
at the present."
"I
was thinking about the nerve dissimilarities," began Cameron.
"A
superior mutation, is that what you were going to say? You can forget that.
It's much more of an anomaly, in the nature of cleft palates, which were once
common—poor prenatal nutrition or traumas. These we can correct rather easily
but Nona is surgically beyond us. There always is something beyond us, you
know." The medicouncilor glanced at the
chronometer beside him.
Cameron
saw the time too but continued. It ought to be settled. It would do no good to
bring up Helen Keller; the medicouncilor would use
that evidence against him. The Keller techniques had been studied and
reinterpreted for Nona's benefit. That much was in her medical record. They had
been tried on Nona, and they hadn't worked. It made no difference that he,
Cameron, thought there were certain flaws in the way the old techniques had
been applied. Thorton would not allow that the
previous practitioners could have been wrong. "I've been wondering if we
haven't tried to force her to conform. She can be intelligent without
understanding what we say or knowing how to read and write."
"How?"
demanded the medicouncilor. "The most important
tool humans have is language. Through this we pass along all knowledge." Thorton paused, reflecting. "Unless you're referring
to this Gland Opera stuff you mentioned. I believe you are, though personally I
prefer to call it Rhine Opera."
"I've
been thinking of that," admitted Cameron. "Maybe if there was someone
else like her she wouldn't need to talk the way we do. Anyway I'd like to make
some tests, with your permission. I'll need some new equipment."
The medicouncilor found the sheet he'd been looking for from
time to time. He creased it absently. "Go ahead with those tests if it
will make you feel better. I'll personally approve the requisition. It doesn't
mean you'll get everything you want. Others have to sign too. However you ought
to know you're not the first to think she's telepathic or something related to that phenomena."
"I've
seen that in the record too. But I think I can be the first one to prove
it."
"I'm glad you're enthusiastic. But don't
lose sight of the main objective. Even if she is telepathic, and so far as we're concerned she's not, would she be better
suited to life outside?"
He
had one answer—but the medicouncilor believed in another.
"Perhaps you're right. She'll have to stay here no matter what
happens."
"She
will. It would solve your problems if you could break up the group, but don't
count on it. You'll have to leam to manage them as
they are."
"I'll see that they don't cause any
trouble," said Cameron.
"I'm
sure you will." The medicouncilor's manner
didn't ooze confidence. "If you need help we can send in
reinforcements."
"I
don't anticipate that much difficulty," said Cameron hastily. "I'll
keep them running around in circles."
"Confusion is the best policy,"
agreed the medicouncilor.
He unfolded the sheet and looked down at it. "Oh yes, be-
fore it's too late I'd better tell you I'm sending details of new
treatments for a number of deficients---------- "
The
picture collapsed into meaningless swirls of color. For an instant the voice
was distinguishable again before it too was drowned by noise. "Did you
understand what I said, doctor? If it isn't clear contact me. Deviation can be
fatal."
"I
can't keep the ship in focus," said the robot. "If you wish to
continue the conversation it will have to be relayed through the nearest main
station. At present that's Mars."
It
was inconvenient to wait several minutes for each reply. Besides the medicouncilor couldn't or wouldn't help him. He wanted the
status quo maintained; nothing else would satisfy him. It was the function of
the medical director to see that it was. "We're through," said
Cameron.
He
sat there after the telecom clicked off. What were the deficients
the medicouncilor had talked about? A subdivision of
the accidentals of course, but it wasn't a medical term he was familiar with. Probably a semi-slang description. The medicouncilor
had been associated with accidentals so long that- he assumed every doctor
would know at once what he meant.
Deficients. Mentally Cameron turned the word over. If it
was used accurately it could indicate only one thing. He'd see when the medicouncilor's report came in. He could always ask for
more information if it wasn't clear.
The
doctor got heavily to his feet—and he actually was heavier. It wasn't a
psychological reaction. He made a mental note of it. He'd have to investigate
the gravity surge.
In a
way accidentals were pathetic, patchwork humans, half or quarter men and women,
fractional organisms which masqueraded as people. The illusion died hard for
them, harder than that which remained of their bodies,
and those bodies were unbelievably tough. Medicine and surgery were partly to
blame. Techniques were too good or not good enough, depending on the
viewpoint—doctor or patient.
Too good in that the most horribly injured person, if he were found
alive, could be kept alive. Not good enough because a certain per cent of the injured couldn't be
returned to society completely sound and whole. The miracles of healing were
incomplete.
There
weren't many humans who were broken beyond repair, but though the details
varied in every respect, the results were monotonously the same. For the most
part disease had been eliminated. Everyone was healthy—except those who'd been
hurt in accidents and who couldn't be resurgeried and
regenerated into the beautiful mold characteristic of the entire population.
And those few were sent to the asteroid.
They
didn't like it. They didn't like being confined to
Handicap Haven. They were sensitive and they didn't want to go back. They knew
how conspicuous they'd be, hobbling and crawling among the multitudes of
beautiful men and women who inhabited the planets. The accidentals didn't want
to return.
What
they did want was ridiculous. They had talked about, hoped, and finally
embodied it in a petition. They had requested rockets to make the first long
hard journey to Alpha and Proxima Centauri. Man was
restricted to the solar system and had no way of getting to even the nearest
stars. They thought they could break through the barrier. Some accidentals
would go and some would remain behind, lonelier except for their share in the
dangerous enterprise.
It was a particularly uncontrollable form of
self-deception. They were the broken people, without a face they could call
their own, who wore their hearts not on their sleeves but in a blood-pumping
chamber,, those without limbs or organs— or too many.
The categories were endless. No accidental was like any other.
The self-deception was vicious precisely
because the accidentals were qualified.
Of all the billions of solar citizens they alone could make the long journey there and return. But there were other factors that ruled them
out. It was never safe to discuss the first reason with them because the second
would have to be explained. Cameron himself wasn't sadistic and no one else was
interested enough to inform them.
2
DOCCHI
sat beside the pool. It would be pleasant if he could forget where he was. It
was pastoral though not quite a scene from earth. The horizon was too near and
the sky was shallow and only seemed to be bright. Darkness lurked outside.
A
small tree stretched shade overhead. Waves lapped and made gurgling sounds
against the banks. But there was no plant life of any kind, and no fish swam in
the liquid. It looked like water but wasn't—the pool held acid. And floating in
it, all but submerged, was a shape. The records in the hospital said it was a
woman.
"Anti, they turned us down," said Docchi bitterly.
"What
did you expect?" rumbled the creature in the pool. Wavelets of acid danced
across the surface, stirred by her voice.
"I didn't expect that."
"You don't know the Medicouncil very well."
"I guess I don't." He stared
sullenly at the fluid. It was faintly blue. "I have the feeling they
didn't consider it, that they held the request for a time and then answered no
without looking at it."
"Now you're beginning to leam. Wait till you've been here as long as I have."
Morosely he kicked an anemic tuft of grass.
Plants didn't do well here either. They too were exiled, far from the sun,
removed from the soil they originated in. The conditions they grew in were
artificial. "Why did they turn us down?" said Docchi.
"Answer it yourself. Remember what the Medicouncil is like. Different things are important to
them. The main thing is that we don't have to follow their example. There's
no-need to be irrational even though they are."
"I
wish I knew what to do," said Docchi. "It
meant so much to us."
"We can wait, outlast the
attitude," said Anti, moving slowly. It was the only way she could move.
Most of her bulk was beneath the surface.
"Cameron suggested waiting."
Reflectively Docchi added: "It's true we are biocompensators."
"They
always bring in biocompensation," muttered Anti
restlessly. "I'm getting tired of that excuse. Time passes just as
slow."
"But what else is there? Shall we draw
up another request?"
"Memorandum
number ten? Let's not be naive. Things get lost when
we send them to the Medicouncil. Their filing system
is in terrible shape."
"Lost
or distorted," grunted Docchi angrily. The grass
he'd kicked already had begun to wilt. It wasn't hardy in this environment.
Few things were.
"Maybe
we ought to give the Medicouncil a rest. I'm sure
they don't want to hear from us again."
Docchi moved closer to the pool. "Then you
think we should go ahead with the plan we discussed before we sent in the
petition? Good. I'll call the others together and tell them what happened.
They'll agree that we have to do it."
"Then
why call them? More talk, that's all. Besides I don't see why we should warn
Cameron what we're up to."
Docchi glanced at her worriedly. "Do you think
someone would report it? I'm certain everyone feels as I do."
"Not
everyone. There's bound to be dissent," said And
placidly. "But I wasn't thinking of people."
"Oh
that," said Docchi. "We can block that source
any time we need to." It was a relief to know that he could trust the
accidentals. Unanimity was important and some of the reasons weren't obvious.
"Maybe
you can and maybe you can't," said Anti. "But why make it difficult,
why waste time?"
Docchi got up awkwardly but he wasn't clumsy once
he was on his feet. "I'll get Jordan. I know I'll need arms."
"Depends on what you
mean," said Anti.
"Both," said Docchi, smiling. "We're a dangerous weapon."
She
called out as he walked away. "I'll see you when you leave for far
Centauri."
"Sooner than that,
Anti. Much sooner."
Stars
were beginning to wink. Twilight brought out the shadows and tracery of the
structure that supported the transparent dome overhead. Soon controlled slow
rotation would bring near darkness to this side of the asteroid. The sun was
small at this distance but even so it was a tie to the familiar scenes of
earth. Before long it would be lost.
Cameron leaned back and looked speculatively
at the gravity engineer, Vogel. The engineer could give him considerable assistance. There was no
reason why he shouldn't but anyone who voluntarily had remained on the asteroid
as long as Vogel was a doubtful quantity. He didn't distrust him, the man was
strange.
"I've
been busy trying to keep the place running smoothly. I hope you don't mind that
I haven't been able to discuss your job at length," said the doctor,
watching him closely.
"Naw, I don't mind," said Vogel. "Medical
directors come and go. I stay on. It's easier than getting another job."
"I
know. By now you should know the place pretty well. I sometimes think you could
do my work with half the trouble."
"Ain't in the least curious about medicine and never bothered
to learn," grunted Vogel. "I keep my stuff running and that's all. I
don't interfere 'with nobody and they don't come around and get friendly with
me."
Cameron believed it. The statement fit the
personality. He needn't be concerned about fraternization. "There are a
few things that puzzle me," he began. "That's why I called you in.
Usually we maintain about half earth-normal gravity. Is that correct?"
The engineer nodded and grunted assent.
"I'm
not sure why half gravity is used. Perhaps it's easier on the weakened bodies
of the accidentals. Or there may be economic factors. Either way it's not
important as long as half gravity is what we get."
"You want to know why we use that figure?"
"If you can tell me without getting too technical, yes. I feel I should leam everything I can about the
place."
The
engineer warmed up, seeming to enjoy himself. "Ain't
no reason except the gravity units themselves," Vogel said.
"Theoretically we can get anything we want. Practically we take whatever
comes out, anything from a quarter to full earth gravity."
"You
have no control over it?" This contradicted what he'd heard. His
information was that gravity generators were the product of an awesome bit of
scientific development. It seemed inconceivable that they should be so
haphazardly directed.
"Sure
we got control," answered the engineer, grinning. "We can turn them
off or on. If gravity varies, that's too bad. We take the fluctuation or we
don't get anything."
Cameron frowned; the man knew what he was
doing or he
wouldn't be here. His position was of only slightly less im-
portance than that of the medical director—and where
it mat-
tered the Medicouncil
wouldn't tolerate incompetence. And
yet-------
The
engineer rumbled on. "You were talking how the generators were designed
especially for the asteroid. Some fancy medical reason why it's easier on the
accidentals to have a lesser gravity plus a certain amount of change. Me, I dunno. I guess the designers couldn't help what was built
and the reason was dug up later."
Cameron concealed his irritation. He wanted
information, not a heart to heart confession. Back on earth he had been told it was for the benefit of the accidentals. He'd reserved
judgment then and saw no reason not to do so now. "All practical sciences
try to justify what they can't escape but would like to. Medicine, I'm sure, is
no exception."
He
paused thoughtfully. "I understand there are three separate generators on
the asteroid. One runs for forty-five minutes while two are idle. When the
first one stops another one cuts in. The operations are supposed to be
synchronized. I don't have to tell you that they're not. Not long ago you felt
your weight increase suddenly. I know I did. What is wrong?"
"Nothing
wrong," said the engineer soothingly. "You get fluctuations while one
generator is running. You get a gravity surge when one generator is supposed to
drop out but doesn't. The companion machine adds to it, that's all."
"They're
supposed to be that way? Overlapping so that for a time we have earth or earth
and a half gravity?"
"Better
than having none," said Vogel with heavy pride. "Used
to happen quite often, before I came. You can ask any of the old timers.
I fixed that though."
He
didn't like the direction his questions were taking him. "What did you
do?" he asked suspiciously.
"Nothing,"
said the engineer uncomfortably. "Nothing I can think of. I guess the
machines just got used to having me around."
There
were people who tended to anthropomorphize anything they came in contact with
and Vogel was one of them. It made no difference to him that he was talking
about insensate machines. He would continue to endow them with personality.
"This is the best you can say, that we'll get a wild variation of gravity,
sometimes none?"
"It's
not supposed to work that way but nobody's ever done
better with a setup like this," said Vogel defensively. "If you want
you can check the company that makes these units."
"I'm
not trying to challenge your knowledge and I'm not anxious to make myself look
silly. I do want to make sure I don't overlook anything. You see, I think
there's a possibility of sabotage."
'The engineer's grin was wider than the
remark required.
Cameron swiveled the chair around and leaned
on the desk. "All right," he said tiredly, "tell me why the idea
of sabotage is so funny."
"It
would have to be someone living here," said the big engineer. "He
wouldn't like it if it jumped up to nine G, which it could. I think he'd let it
alone. But there are better reasons. Do you know how each gravity unit is put
together?"
"Not in detail."
The
gravity generating, unit was not a unit. It was built in three parts. First
there was a power source, which could be anything
as long as it supplied ample energy. The basic supply on the asteroid was a
nuclear pile, buried deep in the core. Handicap Haven would have to be taken
apart, stone by stone, before it could be reached.
Part
two were the gravity coils, which actually originated and directed the gravity.
They were simple and very nearly indestructible. They could be destroyed but
they couldn't be altered and still produce the field.
The
third part was the control unit, the real heart of the gravity generating system.
It calculated the relationship between the power flowing through the coils and
the created field in any one microsecond. It used the computed relationship to
alter the power flowing in the next microsecond to get the same gravity. If the
power didn't change the field died instantly. The control unit was thus
actually a computer, one of the best made, accurate and fast beyond belief.
The
engineer rubbed his chin. "Now I guess you can see why it doesn't always
behave as we want it to."
He
looked questioningly at Cameron, expecting a reply. "I'm afraid I
can't," said the doctor.
"If
it was one of your patients you'd understand," said Vogel. "Fatigue. The gravity control unit is an intricate computer
and it gets tired. It has to rest an hour and a half to do forty-five minutes
work. It can't keep running all the time any more than any delicate machine
can. It has to be shut down to clear the circuits.
"Naturally
they don't want anyone tinkering with it. It's sealed and non-repairable. Crack
the case open and it disintegrates. But first you've got to open it. Now I
know that it can be done, but not without a lot of high-powered equipment that
I could detect if it was anywhere on the asteroid."
In
spite of the engineer's attitude it didn't seem completely foolproof. But
Cameron had to admit that it was probable none of the accidentals could tamper
with it. "I'll forget about gravity," he said. "Next, what about
hand weapons? What's available?"
"Nothing. No knives even. Maybe a stray bar or so of
metal." Vogel scratched his head. "There is something that's
dangerous though. I dunno whether you could classify
it as a weapon."
Cameron
was instantly alert. "If it's dangerous someone can find a way to use it.
What is it?"
"The asteroid itself. Nobody can physically touch any part of the gravity system. But I've
often wondered if an impulse couldn't be squeezed into the computer. If anybody
can do that he can change direction of the field." Vogel's voice was
grave. "Somebody could pick up Handicap Haven and throw it anywhere he
wanted. At earth, say. Thirty miles in diameter is a big hunk of rock."
This
was the kind of information Cameron had been looking for, though the big
engineer seemed to regard the occasion as merely a long overdue social call.
"What's the possibility?"
Vogel
grinned. "Thought I'd scare you. Used to wake up sweating myself. Got so bad I had to find
out about it."
"Can or can't it be done?" demanded
the doctor.
"Naw. It's too big to take a chance with. They got
monitors set up all over, moons of Jupiter, Mars, earth, Venus. This or any
other gravity computer gets dizzy, the monitor overrides it. If that fails they
send a jammer impulse and freeze it up tight. It can't get away until the
monitor lets loose."
Cameron's
mind was already busy elsewhere. Vogel was loquacious and would talk all night
if encouraged. It wasn't that he lacked information but he had no sense of what
was important. "You don't know how you've helped me," the doctor
said, standing up. "We'll have to get together again."
He
watched the engineer depart for the gravity generating chamber below the
surface of the asteroid. The day had started badly and wasn't getting better. Docchi to Thorton to Vogel.
All
the shades of shortsightedness, the convalescent's, authority's,
and finally the technician who refused to see beyond his dials. A fine
progression, but somewhere the curve ought to turn upward.
The post on Handicap Haven wasn't pleasant
but there were advantages—advancement was proportional to the disagreeable-ness of the place. After shepherding accidentals for a year
any other assignment would be a snap. Ten months to go before the year was over
and if Cameron could survive with nothing to mar his administration he was in
line for something better, definitely better. This was where the Medicouncil sent promising young doctors.
Cameron
flipped on the telecom. "Connect me with the rocket dome. Get the
pilot."
When
the robot answered it wasn't encouraging. "There's no answer. I'm sorry.
I'll notify you when he comes in."
"Trace
him," he snapped. "If he's not near the rocket he's somewhere in the
main dome. I don't care how you do it, get him."
A
few seconds of silence followed. The answer was puzzling. "There's no record
that the pilot has left the rocket dome."
His
heart skipped and his breathing was constricted. He spoke carefully. "Scan
the whole area. Look every place, even if you think he can't be there. I've got
to have the pilot."
"Scanning
isn't possible. The system is out of operation in that area. I'm trying to
check why."
That
was bad. He could feel muscles tighten that he didn't know he had. "All right. Send out repair robots." They'd get
the job done—they always did. But they were intolerably slow and just now he
needed speed.
"Mobile
repair units were dispatched as soon as scanning failed to work. Is this an
emergency? If so I can alert the staff."
He
thought about it. He needed help, plenty of it. But was there any one he could
depend on? Vogel? He'd probably be ready for action.
But to call on him would leave the gravity generating plant unprotected. And if
he told the engineer what he suspected, Vogel would insist on mixing in with
it. He was too vital where he was.
Who else? The sour middle-aged nurse who'd
signed up because she wanted quick credits toward retirement? She slept
through most of her shift and considering her efficiency perhaps it was just
as well she did. Or the sweet young trainee— her diploma said she'd completed
her training, but you couldn't lie to a doctor—who had bravely volunteered
because someone ought to help poor unfortunate men? Not a word about women of
course. She always walked in when Cameron was examining a patient, male, but
she had the deplorable habit of swooning when she saw blood. Fainting was too
vulgar for her and, as Cameron had once told her, so was the profession of her
choice.
These
were the people the emergency signal would alert. He would do better to rely on
robots. They weren't much help but at least they wouldn't get hysterically in
his way. Oh yes, there was the pilot too, but he couldn't be located.
The
damned place was undermanned and always had been. Nobody wanted to be stationed
here except those who were mildly psychotic or inefficient and lazy. There was
one exception. Ambitious young doctors had been known to ask for the position.
Mentally Cameron berated himself. Ambition wasn't far from psychosis, or at
times it could produce results as bad. If anything serious happened here he'd
begin and end his career bandaging scratches at a children's playground.
"This
is not an emergency," he said. "However leave word in gravity with
Vogel. Tell him to put on his electronic guards. I don't want him to let anyone
get near the place."
"Is that all?"
"Send
out six geepees. I'll pick them up near the entrance
to the rocket dome."
"Repair robots are already in the area.
Will they do as well?"
"They
won't. I want general purpose robots for another reason. Send the latest
huskiest models we have." They were not bright but they were strong and
could move fast. He clicked off the picture. What did he have to be afraid of?
For the most part they were a beaten ragged bunch of humans. He would feel
sorry for them if he wasn't apprehensive about his future.
3
DOCCHI
waited near the rocket dome. He wasn't hiding but he did make himself
inconspicuous among the carefully nurtured shrubbery. Plants failed to give
the illusion of an earth landscape—in part because some of them were Venusian or Martian imports—but at least the greenery added
to the oxygen supply of the asteroid.
"That's
a good job," commented Docchi. "I thought
Nona could do it."
Jordan
could feel him relax as he watched the event. "A mechanical marvel,"
he agreed. "But we can gab about that later. I think you ought to get
going."
Docchi glanced around and then went boldly into the
passageway that connected the main dome with the much smaller rocket dome that
was adjacent to it. Normally it was never completely dark in the inhabited part
of the asteroid, modulated twilight was considered
more conducive to the slumber of the grievously infirm. It was the benevolent MedicounciPs theory that a little light would keep away bad
dreams. But this wasn't twilight as they neared the rocket dome. It was a full
scale rehearsal for the darkness of interstellar space.
Docchi stopped at the emergency airlock which
loomed formidably solid in front of them. "Let's hope," he said.
"We can forget about it if Nona didn't manage to cut this out of the circuit."
"She
seemed to understand, didn't she? What more do you want?" Jordan twisted
around Docchi and reached out. The great slab moved
easily in the grooves. It was open. "The trouble with you is that you lack
confidence, in yourself and in genius."
Docchi didn't answer. He was listening intently,
trying to interpret the faint sounds ahead of him.
"Okay,
I hear it," whispered Jordan. "Let's get way inside before he comes
near us."
Docchi went cautiously into the darkness of the
rocket dome, feeling his way. He'd never recover in time if he stumbled and
fell. He tried to force the luminescence into his face. Occasionally he could
control his altered metabolism, and now was the time he needed it.
He
was nervous and that hindered his accuracy. He couldn't be sure the light was
right, enough so that he'd be noticed, not so much that the details of his
appearance would be plain. He wished he could ask Jordan, but Jordan was in no
position to tell him.
The
footsteps came nearer and so did profanity, rich in volume but rather meager in
imaginative symbolism. Docchi flashed his face once,
as bright as he could manage, and then lowered the intensity immediately.
The footsteps stopped. "Docchi?"
"No. Just a lonely little light bulb out for an evening stroll."
The
rocket pilot's laughter wasn't altogether friendly. "Sure it's you. I'd
recognize you at the bottom of the sea. What I mean was what are you doing
here?"
"I
saw the lights go out in the rocket dome. The airlock at the entrance was open
so I came. I thought I might be able to help."
"The
lights are off all right. Everything. Even the standby system. First time in my life even the hand
beams wouldn't go on." The pilot moved closer. The deadly little toaster
was in his hand. "Thanks, but you can't help. You'd better get out. It's
against regulations for patients to be in here. You might steal a rocket or
something."
Docchi ignored the weapon. "What was the
cause, a high velocity meteor strike?"
The pilot grunted. "I'd have heard if it
was."
"And you didn't hear a thing?"
"Nothing." The pilot peered intently at Docchi, a barely visible silhouette. "Well, I see you're getting smart these
days. You should do it all the time. Wear your arms. You look better that way
even if you can't use them. You look hundred per cent better, almost . .
." His voice faded.
"Almost
human?" asked Docchi kindly. "Nothing like,
say a pair of legs and a very good if slightly used spinal column with
a lightning bug face stuck on top? You didn't have this in mind?"
"I
didn't say it. I'm used to you. I can't help it if you're overly sensitive. I
don't suppose it's your fault." His voice got higher. "Anyway I told
you to get going. You don't belong in here."
"But
I don't want to go," said Docchi. "I'm not
afraid of the dark. Are you? I'm looking for some comer to brighten. Can I let
a little light in your life?"
"I'm
supposed to report psycho talk, Docchi, and damned if
I won't. Personally I always suspected you. Get out of here before I take your
fake hand and drag you out."
"Now
you've hurt my feelings," said Docchi
reproachfully, stepping nimbly away.
"Don't
say you didn't try to make me mad," growled the pilot, lunging after him.
What he took hold of wasn't an imitation hand, delicately molded and colored
to duplicate skin. The hand he touched was real and the muscles in it were more
than a match for his own. It was surprise, at first, that
caused him to scream.
Docchi bent double and the dark figure on his back
came over his head like a knife from a sheath. The pilot was lifted off his
feet and slammed to the floor.
"Jordan," gurgled the pilot.
"It's
me," said Jordan. He wrapped one arm around the pilot's throat and clamped
tight. With the other he felt for the toaster the pilot still held but hadn't
time to use. Effortlessly he tore it away and hammered the man unconscious
with the butt. He stopped just short of smashing the skull. Docchi
stood ineffectually by, kicking where he could, but the action was fast and he
had no anr>£.
But
Jordan didn't need help. "Let there be light," he said when he was finished,
and there was—a feeble flickering illumination from Docchi.
Jordan
balanced himself with his hands. He had a strong head and massive powerful arms
and shoulders. His body stopped below his chest, there was no more. A round
metal capsule contained his digestive organs. Accidentals were indeed the odds
and ends of creation, and of Jordan one end was missing. But the part that
remained made up for the loss.
"Dead?" Docchi glanced
down at the pilot.
Jordan
rocked forward and listened for the heartbeat. "Nah," he said.
"I was going to clout him again but I remembered we can't afford to kill
anybody."
"See
that you don't forget," said Docchi. He stifled
an exclamation as something coiled around his leg. Jumping forward he broke
loose from the thing that caught him.
"Repair
robot," chuckled Jordan, looking around. "The place is lousy with
them."
Docchi blinked on and off in confusion and the
robot rolled clumsily toward him.
"Friendly
creature," commented Jordan. "I think it wants to tinker with your lighting
system."
Docchi shook off the squat contrivance which, after
it touched his flesh, whirred puzzledly to itself.
The job was beyond its capacity but it didn't leave. "What'll we do with
him?" asked Docchi, staring at the pilot.
"He needs attention," said Jordan. "Not the kind I gave him." He balanced the
toaster in his hand and burned a small hole in the little wheeled monster. Extensibles emerged from the side of the machine and
carefully explored the damaged area. The extensibles
slid back into the machine and presently came out again with a small torch. It
began welding the hole.
Meanwhile
Jordan pulled the unconscious man toward him. He leaned against the machine for
leverage and raised the inert pilot over his head and laid him gently on the
top flat surface. The reaction from the robot was immediate. Another extensible
reached out to investigate the body. Jordan welded the joints solid. Three
times he repeated the process until the pilot was securely fastened to the
robot.
"It
doesn't know when it's licked," said Jordan. "It'll stay there
repairing itself until it's completely sound. However I can do something about
that." He adjusted the toaster beam to an imperceptible thickness and
deftly sliced through the control case, removing a circular section. He thrust
his hand inside and ripped out circuits. "No further self-repair," he
said cheerfully. "Docchi, I'll need your help. I
think it's a good idea to route the robot around the main dome a few times
before it delivers the pilot to the hospital. No point giving ourselves away
before we're ready."
Docchi bent over to help him and with some trouble
the proper sequence was implanted. The robot stood motionless as the newest
commands shuttled erratically through damaged but not inoperative circuits.
Finally it screeched softly and began to roll drunkenly away.
"Get
on my back," said Docchi doggedly. "You
know we've got to hurry."
"You're
tired," said Jordan. "Half gravity or not, you can't carry me
farther." He worked swiftly and the harness that had supported him on Docchi's back fell to the floor. "Stay down and
listen," growled Jordan as Docchi attempted to
get up.
Docchi listened. "Geepees."
"Yeah,"
said Jordan. "I wonder who they're after. You'll have to move fast to get
to the rocket."
"What
can I do when I get there? By myself nothing. You'll
have to help me."
"Get
on your back and neither of us get there?" said
Jordan. "You can figure out something later. Start moving."
"I'm not leaving
you," said Docchi.
A
huge paw clamped on the back of his head. "Now you listen," said
Jordan fiercely. "Together we were a better man than the pilot—your legs
and my arms. Now we got to separate but we can still prove we're better than
Cameron and all his geepees."
"We're
not trying to prove anything," said Docchi.
"It's a question of urgent principle. Right now there are men who can go
to the stars and it's up to us to let the rest of mankind know it."
A
brilliant light sliced through the darkness and swept around the rocket dome,
revealing beams and columns of the structure. "Maybe you're not trying to
prove anything personal," said Jordan. "I am. The rest of us are.
Otherwise why shouldn't we let them go on spoon feeding us, rocking us to sleep
every night?" Impatiently he hitched himself along the ground until he
came to a column.
"You can't hide behind
that," said Docchi.
"Not behind it. On top
I can. With no legs that's where I belong." He grasped the steel member in his great hands and in the
light gravity ascended rapidly. "Careful," called Docchi.
"What
have I got to be careful about?" Jordan's voice floated down from the lacy
structure. And it was no longer directly overhead. Jordan was moving away along
the beams that stretched from column to column. For those who knew of it there
was an unsuspected roadway above. Jordan had it to himself and the geepees would never find him.
It
was foolish to become elated over such a trivial thing. Jordan wasn't there yet
and what he'd do when he arrived was problematical. But it did prove—yes, there
was already proof of some sort for him. Docchi set
out, walking faster and faster until he was running He wouldn't have thought it possible but he was able to increase the
distance between himself and the pursuing robots.
Even
so he didn't have much time to look around when he reached the rocket. The
first glimpse of the ship was disheartening. Passenger and freight locks were
still closed. Nona either hadn't understood their instructions completely or
she hadn't been able to carry them out. Probably the first.
She'd disrupted the circuits, light and scanning, with no tools except her
hands. Her skill with machines she couldn't have known about previously was
sometimes uncanny. But it was too much to expect that she'd have the rocket
ready for them to walk into.
It
was up to Docchi to get in by himself. If he was ever
going to it would have to be by his own efforts. Momentarily he wished for the
toaster they'd taken from the pilot, and then dropped the wish before it was
fully formed. With the toaster he might have managed to soften the inside catch
at the entrance. And the thought itself was an indication of how his mind
rebelled at reality—he had no arms and he couldn't have used the toaster. It
was right and proper that Jordan had kept the weapon. It was of value to him.
Docchi searched frantically, trying to comprehend
the complex installation around him in a
glance. There had to be some provision made for opening the ship when no one
was inside, a device which would send an impulse to actuate the catches.
He'd
be lucky if he could operate it, but luck had been with him so far.
But
if there was an external control he failed to find it. And the approaching
lights warned that his chances were diminishing. That there was any time left
was Cameron's mistake—he'd ordered the geepees to
look too thoroughly as they came along. They were capable of faster pursuit.
This mistake was on Cameron and he might make more.
From
the sounds that drifted to him Docchi surmised that
Jordan was still at large, perhaps nearby. Did the doctor know this? Probably
not—he'd tend to underestimate the accidentals.
Docchi descended into the shallow landing pit. It
was remarkably ill suited for concealment. The walls were smooth, glazed with
a faintly green substance, and there were no doors or niches anywhere. Yet he
had to be somewhere near the ship and this was as
close as he could get. It wouldn't do to wander away—Cameron would post a robot
guard around the ship and he wouldn't be able to get back through. He had to
hide at once.
He
leaned against the stern tube cluster, the metal pressing hard into the thin
flesh that covered his back. Seconds passed before he realized that the tubes
were the answer. He turned around to look at them. A small boy could climb
inside and crawl out of sight. So could a grown man who had no shoulders or
arms to get wedged in the narrow cylinder.
It
was difficult to get into them. He tried a lower tube, bending down and
thrusting his head in. He wriggled and shoved with his feet until he was almost
entirely in. His feet were still out and so he bent his knees to get better
purchase and forced himself further in. He didn't stop until he was certain he
couldn't be seen by anyone who didn't specifically peer into the tube.
He
waited there, listening. A geepee came down noisily
into the landing pit. The absence of any other sound indicated to Docchi that it probably was radio controlled. The robot
clambered around, searching. The noise abated soon but it became apparent that
the geepee wasn't going to leave. It had been
stationed to watch the pit.
Docchi couldn't get out. He was caught in the pit.
He fought back the claustrophobia that swirled through his mind. It was nothing
to be afraid of; he could assure his rescue, or capture, by shouting. The robot
would drag him out instantly.
But
that was not the only way. The tube extended forward as well as back. The inner
end of the tube was closed with a combustion chamber which was singed and would swing away. The ship hadn't been used for
months and there was a distinct possibility that the tubes were open at the other end. He might get through.
He stopped to catch his breath. The metal
conducted sound well, almost magnifying it. In the interval, over his own
breathing, he heard the characteristic sputter, like frying, that the toaster
beam made when it struck metal. A great clatter followed.
"Get him," shouted Cameron.
"He's up there."
Jordan
had arrived and succeeded in disabling a geepee. And
Cameron would find out that he wasn't easily captured. The diversion came when Docchi needed it.
"Don't
use heat," ordered Cameron. "Get lights on him. Drive him up higher.
Corner him an(j g0 Up
and get him."
Docchi had been wrong; the geepees
were voice controlled, not by radio. It would make it easier once he got
inside. If he ever did get in the ship. But he had to
hurry. Jordan couldn't elude the robots forever.
Docchi shoved on less cautiously. The robot in the
pit had joined the others and he needn't fear detection. It became harder to
advance, though. He had expected it but he didn't know it would be this hard to
push through the narrowing tube.
His
legs slipped and it didn't matter, somehow he inched along. Blood pounded
furiously but his head slid out of the end of the tube—and he was looking at
the inside of the ship.
He
gazed longingly at the combustion cap a few feet away. If he had hands he could
grasp it and pull himself out. But if he had, he'd never have gotten this far.
He closed his eyes to rest for a moment and then continued wriggling, his back
arching with the effort. He was nearly through now, only his legs were in the
tube. He kicked once, hard, and fell to the floor.
He lay there until his head cleared and his
breath came back. He rolled over, bent his knees, and stood up, staggering
forward through the corridor to the control compartment. The rocket was his but
he didn't want it for himself, and by himself he couldn't use it.
He
studied the instrument panel carefully. It had been a long time since he'd
operated a ship. A long time and two arms ago. When he
thought he understood he bent down and thrust his chin against a dial.
Laboriously he rotated his head, turning the dial to the setting he wanted.
Then he sat down and kicked on a switch. The ship rocked—and rose a few inches.
He
was betting that Cameron wouldn't notice it. The doctor ought to be too busy
trying to capture Jordan. But if Cameron did see what was happening, he had
thirty seconds in which to stop Docchi. It wasn't
enough. Things looked good for their plan.
"Rocket
landing," said Docchi when the alloted thirty seconds had passed. "Emergency
instructions. Repeat, emergency instructions.
Stand by." Technically the ship was in flight, though by very little, and
the frequency he was using was assurance that the message would be heard, and
heeded.
"AH
energized geepees lend assistance. This order supersedes any previous command. Additional equipment is
necessary to prepare for a possible crash landing." After listing what
equipment was needed Docchi sat down and chuckled.
He
waited for another few minutes and then flicked on the external lights with his
knee. He got up and went to the passenger entrance, brushing against the switch
on the way. The passenger ramp swung down and he stood boldly at the entrance,
looking out. The whole rocket dome was floodlighted by the ship, beams and
columns standing out in sharp detail. It was an impressive structure now, even
beautiful, though he remembered hating it once, coming in.
"All right, Jordan, it's safe to come
down," he called.
Jordan
dangled overhead. He swung along until he reached a column and slid down. Awkwardly he propelled himself across the floor
and up the ramp. Balancing himself with his hands he looked up at Docchi.
"Well, monster," he grinned.
"How did you do it?"
"Monster yourself," said Docchi. "I crawled through the rocket tube."
"I
saw you start in," said Jordan. "I wasn't sure you'd make it. Even
when the ship rose I wasn't certain until you came out." Jordan scratched
his cheek. "What I meant was: how did you get rid of Cameron?"
"Doctors
usually aren't mechanically inclined," said Docchi.
"Cameron was no exception. He forgot an emergency rocket landing cancels
any verbal orders. So I took the ship up a few inches. Geepees
aren't very bright and it wouldn't matter if they were. As long as the ship was
in the air and I said I was coming in for a landing they had to obey."
Jordan
nodded delightedly. "Poor doc," he said. "It wasn't that he was
dumb. There was nothing he could do when you outsmarted him."
"He
should have anticipated it," said Docchi.
"He could have splashed heat against a gravity generator. This would have
created an emergency condition in the main dome, artificial of course, but it
would have outweighed the one I set up. He'd have had priority, not me, and he
could have directed the robots from gravity center."
"I
wouldn't have thought of
it," said Jordan. "Anyway, how did you get the robots to rush off,
carrying Cameron with them?"
"I
didn't have to do anything. As long as the pilot of the incoming ship declares
he may crash, the geepees must remove all humans
from the danger zone, willing or not. They'd have taken you too if they could
have reached you but they had to abandon that idea when I ordered crash
equipment."
"Glad
they did," said Jordan. "Wouldn't want to hear what Cameron's saying.
Besides it's safer inside the ship." He swung himself in, touching the
hull fondly, peering down the corridor with grave wonder. "It's ours
now," he said. "But what about the others?
How do we get them?"
"Anti's
taken care of. Geepees aren't built to question anything
and in their mind she's listed as emergency landing material. They'll bring
her. And Nona is supposed to be waiting with Anti." Docchi's
face showed misgiving. "I think we made it clear she was supposed to stay
there."
"What if she didn't understand?"
"I'm
sure she did," said Docchi. "It wasn't
complicated. Meanwhile you'd better get ready to lift ship."
Jordan
disappeared, heading toward the control compartment. Docchi
stationed himself at the passenger lock. He had said the instructions weren't
hard to understand, and they weren't—for anyone else. But to Nona the world was
upside down; the simplest things often she didn't comprehend—and the reverse
was true. He hoped she hadn't got mixed up.
He
had little time to dwell on it. The geepees were
coming back. He heard them first and saw them seconds
later. They came into sight half carrying, half pushing a huge rectangular
tank. With ingenuity that was unexpected in robots they had mounted it on four
of their smaller bretheren, the squat repair robots.
This served to support the tremendous weight.
The
tank was filled with blue liquid. Twisted pipes dangled from the ends—it had
been torn from the pit in the ground, lifted up from the foundation. Broken
plants still clung to a narrow ledge on top and moist soil adhered to the
sides. Wracked out of shape and askew, the tank was intact and did not leak.
Five geepees pushed it rapidly toward the ship,
mechanically oblivious to the disheveled man who shouted and struck at them, incoherent
with frustrated rage.
"Jordan, open the freight lock."
In
response the ship rose a few more inches and hung quivering. To the rear a
section of the ship hinged outward and downward to form a ramp. The ship was
ready and the cargo had arrived.
Docchi remained at the passenger entrance. Cameron
was an idiot. He should have stayed in the main dome once the geepees had released him. His presence was unwelcome, more
than he may have realized. Still, they'd gotten rid of him once and it ought to
work again.
It
was Nona who worried Docchi. She hadn't accompanied
the robots and she wasn't to be seen. It didn't look as if Cameron had found
her there and managed to confine her to the hospital. It had happened too fast;
the doctor was lucky to have kept up with the geepees.
Docchi started uncertainly down the ramp and came
back. She wasn't around, he could see that, and it was too late to go back to
the main dome.
The
tank neared the ship, the forward section sliding onto the ramp. The motion
slowed as the geepees' effort slackened. Then the
robots stopped altogether, straightening up in bewilderment.
The
tank rolled backward. The geepees got out of the way,
shaking and buzzing, looking questioningly around. Simultaneously, it seemed,
they saw Docchi. Their intentions were obvious but he
forestalled them, leaping back in the ship. "Close the passenger
entrance," he shouted.
Jordan
appeared at the far end of the corridor. "Sure. What's wrong?"
"Vogel, the
engineer. He must have seen the geepees on scanning when they entered the main dome. He's
trying to do what Cameron should have thought of but didn't have sense."
Jordan
went away and the passenger ramp rose with ponderous slowness, clamping shut
with metallic finality. As soon as he saw there was no danger there Docchi hurried to the control compartment.
"Now we can't see what
to do," complained Jordan.
"Maybe,"
said Docchi. "Try to get something on the
telecom."
From
the angle it was difficult to see anything. The receptor tubes were close to
the hull, and the ship curved backward, filling most of the screen. By rotating
the view they managed to pick up a comer of the tank. Apparently it was resting
where Docchi had last seen it. He couldn't be sure but
he thought it hadn't been moved.
"I
don't know whether we can bring it in," said Jordan nervously. "Maybe
we should leave it. We'll make out by ourselves."
"Leave
without the tank? Not a chance. Vogel hasn't got complete control of
the robots yet." It seemed to be true. They were huddled away from the
ship, looking alternately at the rocket and the tank, nearly motionless,
paralyzed.
"Yeah, but he'll have them soon. Look at
them."
"I
am, which is why I think he's having trouble. Give me
full power on the emergency radio."
"What good will it do?
He's got priority."
"He's got it, but can he push it through
to them? It's my idea that he can't, that he's at the wrong angle to put much power
in his signal. There's a lot of steel between him and the robots and that's
weakening his beam."
"Maybe
you've got something," said Jordan. "I'll bum the emergency stuff
out. If it doesn't work we won't need it again anyway." He flipped the
dials until the lights above them were blazing fiercely.
"Energized
geepees are requested to lend assistance. This is an
emergency. Place the tank in the ship. At once. At once."
Geepees were not designed to sift contradictory
commands at nearly the same level of urgency. Their reasoning ability was
feeble but the mechanism that enabled them to think at all was complicated. In
one respect they resembled humans: borderline decisions were difficult. A ship in distress—an asteroid in danger. Both called for
the robot to destroy itself if necessary. It seemed as if that was all that
would be accomplished.
"More power," whispered Docchi.
"There ain't
more," answered Jordan, but somehow he coaxed an extra trickle out of the
reserves.
Marionettes. But they were always that, puppets on invisible wires. And now this
string led toward one action. Another, intrinsically more important but
suddenly less powerful, pulled for something else. Circuits burned in
electronic brains. Micro-rays fluttered under the stress. They didn't know.
They just didn't know.
But there had to be a choice.
Stiffly
the geepees moved in and grasped the tank. The
quality of their decision was strained. They were pushing themselves more than
the tank but inch by inch the huge twisted structure rolled up the ramp.
"When
it's completely on, raise the ramp." Docchi
wasn't aware that he could hardly be heard.
The
cargo ramp began to lift up. The tank gained speed as it rolled forward into
the ship. "Geepees, the job is finished. Save yourselves," shouted Docchi.
He saw a swirl of metallic bodies as they leaped from the ramp.
Jordan breathed deeply. "That did it. I
don't think they can hurt us now."
"It's
not over. Get ship-to-station communication, if there's any radio left."
"I'll
be surprised if there is," muttered Jordan, but his skepticism was without
basis. The radio was still functioning. He made the adjustments.
Docchi was matter of fact. "Vogel, we're going
out. Don't try to stop us. Give us clearance and save the dome some
damage."
There was no reply.
"He's
bluffing/' said Jordan. "He knows the airlocks in the
main dome will close automatically if we break through."
"Sure,"
said Docchi. "Everyone in the main dome is safe—
if everyone is in there. Vogel, do you know
where Cameron is? Are you certain a nurse or an accidental hasn't wandered in
here to see what's wrong? We'll give you time to think about it."
Again
they waited and waited. Each second was tangible, the precious duration that
lives and events were measured with—and the measure was exceedingly slow.
Meanwhile Jordan flipped on the telecom and searched the rocket dome. They saw
nothing; there was not even a geepee in sight. Docchi watched the screen impassively; what he thought
didn't show on his face.
And
still there was no reply from the engineer in the gravity station.
"AH
right. We've given you a chance," said Docchi.
His voice was brittle. "You know what we're going to do. If anybody gets
hurt you can take the credit." He turned away from the screen.
"Jordan, let's go. Hit the shell with the bow."
Jordan
grasped the levers. The ship hardly quivered as it tilted upward and leaped
away. It roared in the air and then fell silent as it passed into space. And
the silenee was worse than any sound—it was filled
with the imagined hiss of air escaping from a great hole in the transparent
covering of the dome.
Jordan sat at the controls. "Did
he?"
"He
had to. He wouldn't risk killing some innocent person." "I don't
know," said Jordan. "If you'd said he wouldn't want his pretty
machinery banged up it would be easier to believe."
"I didn't hear anything. We would have
if we'd hit."
"It
was fast. Could we tell? Maybe Vogel played it safe and had the inner shell out
of the way even if he didn't give us the automatic signal. In that event it's
all right because it would close as soon as we got out of the way even if we
did rip through the outer shell. All the air wouldn't escape." Jordan sat
there for a moment, silently reviewing his own arguments.
He twisted the lever and the ship leaped
forward. "Cameron I don't mind. He had time to get away and he knew what
we were going to do. I keep thinking Nona might have been there."
"He
opened it," said Docchi harshly. "We didn't
hit the dome. I didn't hear anything. Nona wasn't there." His face was gray, there was no light at all in it. "Come on,"
he said, walking away.
Jordan rocked back and forth. The hemisphere
that held what remained of his body was suited for it. He set the auto-controls
and reduced the gravity to quarter normal. He bent his arms
and shoved himself into the air", deftly catching a guide rail, swinging
along it.
It
was pure chance that he glanced toward the back of the ship instead of forward
as he entered the corridor after Docchi. There was a
light blinking at a cabin door.
It was occupied.
4
JORDAN
caught up before Docchi reached the cargo hold. In
lesser gravity he was more active and could move freely. Now
his handicap was almost unnoticeable, seemed to have disappeared. The
same was not true of Docchi. It required less effort
to walk but there was also a profound unsettling effect that made him cautious
and uncertain.
Docchi heard him coming and waited, bracing himself
against the wall in case the gravity should momentarily change. Jordan still
carried the weapon he'd taken from the pilot. It was clipped to the sacklike garment, dangling from his midsection which, for
him, was just below his shoulders. Down the passageway he came, swinging from
the guide rails with easy grace though the gravity on the ship was as erratic
as on the asteroid.
Jordan
halted, hanging on with one hand. "We have a passenger.
Someone we didn't know about."
Docchi stiffened. "Who?"
he asked. But the answer was already on Jordan's face.
"Nona," he said in relief. He slumped forward. "How did she get
on?"
"A
good question," said Jordan. "But there isn't any answer and never will be. It's my guess that after she jammed the
lights and scanners in the rocket dome she went to the ship and it looked
inviting. So she went in. She wouldn't let a little thing like a lock that
couldn't be opened stop her."
"It's
a good guess," agreed Docchi. "She's
exceedingly curious."
"We
may as well make the picture complete. Once in the ship she felt tired. She
found a comfortable cabin and fell asleep. She can't hear anything so our
little skirmish with the geepees didn't bother
her."
"I
can't argue with you. It'll do until a tetter
explanation comes along."
"But
I wish she'd waited a few minutes to take her nap. She'd have saved us a lot of
trouble. She didn't know you'd be able to crawl through the tubes—and neither
did you until you'd actually done it."
"What
do you want?" said Docchi. "She did more
than we did. We depend too much on her. Next thing we'll expect her to escort us personally to the stars."
"I wasn't criticizing her," protested
Jordan.
"Maybe not. You've got to remember her mind works differently. It never occurred
to her that we'd have difficulty with something that was so simple to her. At
the same time she's completely unable to grasp our concepts." He
straightened up. "We'd better get going if we don't want Anti to start
yelling."
The
cargo hold was sizable. It had to be to hold the tank, which was now quite
battered and twisted. But the tank was sturdily built and looked as if it would
hold together for ages to come. There was some doubt as to whether the
ship would. The wall opposite the ramp was badly bent where the tank
ADDRESS:
CENT AU RI
37
had
plowed into it and the storage racks were demolished. Odds and ends of
equipment lay in scattered heaps on the floor.
"Anti," called Docchi.
"Here."
"Are you hurt?"
"Never
felt a thing," came the cheerful reply. It was
not surprising; her surplus flesh was adequate protection against deceleration.
Jordan began to scale the side of the tank,
reaching the top and peering over. "She seems to be all right," he
called down. "Part of the acid's gone. Otherwise there's no damage."
"Of course not," replied Anti.
"What did I say?"
It
was perhaps more serious than she realized. She might personally dislike it,
but acid was necessary to her life. And some of it had been splashed from the
tank. Where it had spilled metal was corroding rapidly. By itself this was no
cause for alarm. The ship was built for a multitude of strange environments
and the scavenging system would handle acid as readily as water, neutralizing
it and disposing of it where it would do no harm. But the supply had to be
conserved. There was no more.
"What
are you waiting for?" Anti rumbled with impatience. "Get me out of
here. I've stewed in this disgusting soup long enough."
"We
were thinking how we could get you out. We'll figure out a way."
"You
let me do the thinking. You just get busy. After you left I decided there must
be some way to live outside the tank and of course when I bent my mind to it
there was a way. After all, who knows more about my condition than me?"
"You're the expert.
Tell us what to do."
"Oh
I will. All I need from you is no gravity and I'll take care of the rest. I've
got muscles, more than you think. I can walk as long as my bones don't break
from the weight."
Light
gravity was bad, none at all was worse for Docchi.
Having no arms he'd be helpless. The prospect of floating free without being
able to grasp anything was terrifying. He forced down his fear. Anti had to
have it and so he could get used to null gravity.
"We'll get around to it," he
promised. "Before we do we'll have to drain and store the acid."
"I
don't care what you do with it," said Anti. "All I know is that I
don't want to be in it."
Jordan
was already working. He swung off the tank and was busy expelling water from an
auxiliary compartment into space. As soon as the compartment was empty he led a
hose from it to the tank. A pump vibrated and the acid level in the tank began
to fall.
Docchi felt the ship lurch familiarly. The ship was
older than he thought, the gravity generator more out
of date. "Hurry," he called to Jordan.
In
time they'd cut it off. But if gravity went out before they were ready they
were in for rough moments. Free floating globes of highly corrosive acid,
scattered throughout the ship by air currents, could be as destructive as high
velocity meteor clusters.
Jordan
tinkered with the pump and then jammed the lever as far as it would go, holding
it there. "I think we'll make it," he said above the screech of the
pump. The machinery gasped, but it won. The throbbing broke into a vacant
clatter that betokened the tank was empty. Jordan had the hose rolled away
before the gravity generator let the feeling of weight trickle off into
nothingness.
As soon as she was weightless Anti rose out
of the tank.
In
all the time Docchi had known her he had seen no more
than a face framed in blue acid. Where it was necessary periodic surgery had
trimmed the flesh away. For the rest, she lived submerged in a corrosive fluid
that destroyed the wild tissue as fast as it grew. Anyway,
nearly as fast.
"Well, junkman, look at a real
freak," snapped Anti.
He had anticipated—and he was wrong in what
he thought. It was true humans weren't meant to grow so large, but Jupiter
wasn't repulsive merely because it was the bulging giant of planets. It was
unbelievable and overwhelming when seen close up but it was not obscene. It
took getting used to but he could stand the sight of Anti.
"How long can you live out of the
acid?" he stammered.
"Can't live out of it," said Anti
loftily. "So I take it with me. If you weren't as unobservant as most men
you'd see how I do it."
"It's
a robe of some kind," said Docchi carefully
after studying it.
"Exactly. A surgical robe, the only thing I have to my
name. Maybe it's the only garment in the solar system that will fit me. Anyway,
if you've really examined it you'll notice it's made of a spongelike
substance. It holds enough acid to last at least thirty-six hours."
She grasped a rail and propelled herself
toward the passageway. For most people it was spacious enough but not for
Anti. However she could squeeze through. And satellites, one glowing and the
other swinging in an eccentric orbit, followed after the Jupiter of humans.
Nona was standing in front of the instrument
panel when they came back. It was more or less like all panels built since
designers first got the hang of what could really be done with seemingly simple
components. There was a bewildering array of lights, levers, dials, and
indicators in front of her but Nona was interested in none of these. There was
a single small switch and dial, separate from the rest, that
held her complete attention. She seemed disturbed by what she saw or failed to
see. Disturbed or excited, it was difficult to guess which.
Anti
stopped. "Look at her. If I didn't know she's as bad as the rest of us, in
fact the only one who was bom that way, it would be
easy to hate her. She's disgustingly normal."
There
was truth in what Anti said—and yet there wasn't. Surgical techniques that
could take bodies apart and put them together with a skill once reserved for
machines had made beauty commonplace. There were no more sagging muscles,
discolored skin, or wrinkles. Even the aged were
attractive and youthful seeming until the day they died, and the day after too.
There were no more ill-formed limbs, misshapen bodies, unsightly hair. Everyone
was handsome or beautiful. No exceptions.
The
accidentals didn't belong, of course. In another day most of them would have
been employed by a circus—if they had first escaped the formaldehyde of the
specimen bottle.
And
Nona didn't belong—doubly. She couldn't be called normal, and she wasn't a
repair job as the other accidentals were. Looked at closely she was an original
as far from the average in one direction as Anti was in the other.
"What's
she staring at?" asked Anti as the others slipped past her into the
compartment. "Is there something wrong with the little dial?"
"That
dial has a curious history," said Docchi.
"It's not useless, it just isn't used. Actually it's an indicator for the
gravity drive which at one time was considered fairly promising. It hasn't been
removed because it might come in handy during an extreme emergency."
"But all that extra weight------------- "
"There's
no weight, Anti. The gravity drive is run from the same generator that supplies
passenger gravity. It's very interesting that Nona should spot it at once. I'm
certain she's never been in a control room before and yet she went straight to
it. She may even have some inkling of what it's for."
Anti
dismissed the intellectual feat. "Well, why are you waiting here? You know
she can't hear us. Go stand in front of her."
"How do I get there?" Docchi had risen a few inches now that Jordan had released
his grip. He was free floating and helpless, sort of a plankton of space.
"A
good engineer would have sense to put on magnetics.
Nona did." Anti grasped his jacket. How she was able to move was
uncertain. The tissues that surrounded the woman were too vast to permit the
perception of individual motions. Nevertheless she proceeded to the center of
the compartment and with her came Docchi.
Nona
turned before they reached her. "My poor boy," sighed Anti. "If
you're trying to conceal your emotions, that's a very
bad job. Anyway, stop glowing like a rainbow and say something."
It
was one time Anti missed. He almost did feel
that way and maybe if she weren't so competent in his own specialty he might
have. It was irritating to study and work for so many years as he had—and then
to be completely outclassed by someone who did neither, to whom certain kinds
of knowledge came so easily it seemed to be inborn. She was attractive but for
him something was missing. "Hello," he said lamely.
Nona smiled at him though
it was Anti she went to.
"No,
not too close, child. Don't touch the surgery robe unless you want your pretty
face to peel off when you're not looking."
Nona
stopped; she was close but she may as well have been miles away. She said
nothing.
Anti
shook her head hopelessly. "I wish she'd learn to read lips or at least
recognize words. What can you say to her?"
"She
knows facial expressions and actions, I think," said Docchi.
"She's pretty good at emotions too. She falls down when it comes to words.
I don't think she knows there is such a thing."
"Then
how does she think?" asked And, and answered her
own question. "Maybe she doesn't."
"Let's
not be as dogmatic as psychologists have been. We know she does. What concepts
she uses is uncertain. Not verbal, nor mathematical anyway—:she's
been tested for that." He frowned puzzledly.
"I don't know what concepts she uses in thinking. I wish I did."
"Save
some of the worry for our present situation," said Anti. "The object
of your concern doesn't seem to need it. At least she isn't interested."
Nona
had wandered back to the instrument panel and was staring at the gravity drive
indicator again. There was really nothing there to hold her attention but her
curiosity was insatiable and childlike.
And
in many ways she seemed immature. And that led to an elusive thought: what
child was she? Not whose child— what child. Her actual parents were known,
obscure technicians and mechanics, descendants themselves of a long line of mechanics
and technicians. Not one notable or distinguished person among them, her family
was decently unknown to fame or misfortune in every branch—until she'd come
along. And what was her place, according to heredity? Docchi
didn't know but he didn't share the official medical view.
With
an effort Docchi stopped thinking about Nona.
"We appealed to the medicouncilor," he
said. "We asked for a ship to go to the nearest star, a rocket, naturally. Even allowing for
a better design than we now have the journey will take a long time—forty or
fifty years going and the same time back. That's entirely too long for a normal
crew, but it wouldn't matter to us. You know what the Medicouncil
did with that request. That's why we're here."
"Why rockets?" interrupted Jordan. "Why not some form of that gravity drive you were talking
about? Seems to me for travel over a long distance it
would be much better."
"As an idea it's very good," said Docchi. "Theoretically there's no upper limit to the
gravity drive except the velocity of light and even that's questionable. If it
would work the time element could be cut in fractions. But the last twenty
years have proved that gravity drives don't work at all outside the solar
system. They work very well close to the sun, start acting up at the orbit of Venus
and are no good at all from earth on out."
"Why don't they?" asked Jordan.
"You said they used the same generator as passenger gravity. Those work
away from the sun."
"Sure
they do," said Docchi impatiently. "Like
ours is working now? Actually ship internal gravity is more erratic than we
had on the asteroid, and that's hardly reliable. For some reason the drive is
always worse than passenger gravity. Don't ask me why. If I knew I wouldn't be
on Handicap Haven. Arms or no arms, biocompensator or
not, I'd be the most important scientist on earth."
"With
multitudes of women competing for your affections," said Anti.
"I think he'd settle for one,"
suggested Jordan.
"Poor
unimaginative man," said Anti. "When I was young I was not so narrow
in my outlook."
"We've
heard about your youth," said Jordan. "I don't believe very much of
it."
"Talk
about your youth and love affairs privately if you want but spare us the
details. Especially now, since there are more important things to attend
to." Docchi glowered at them. "Anyway the
gravity drive is out," he resumed. "At one time they had hopes for it
but no longer. The present function of the generator is to provide gravity inside the ship, for passenger comfort. Nothing else.
"So
it is a rocket ship, slow and clumsy but reliable. It'll get us there. The Medicouncil refused us and so we'll have to go
higher."
"I'm all for it,"
said Anti. "How do we get higher?"
"We've
discussed it before," answered Docchi. "The
Medicouncil is responsible to the Solar Government,
and in tum Solar has been known to yield to devious
little pressures."
"Or not so devious great big pressures. Fine. I'm in
favor," said Anti. "I just wanted to be sure."
"Mars
is close," continued Docchi. "But earth is
more influential. Therefore I recommend it." His voice trailed off and he
stopped and listened, listened.
Anti
listened too but the sound was too faint for her hearing. "What's the
matter?" she said. "I think you're imagining things."
Jordan
leaned forward in his seat and examined the instrument panel carefully before
answering. "That's the trouble, Anti. You're not supposed to hear it, but you should be able to feel vibrations as long as the rocket's
on."
"I don't feel it
either."
"I
know," said Jordan, looking at Docchi. "I
can't understand. There's plenty of fuel."
The momentum of the ship carried it along
after the rockets stopped firing. They were still moving but not very fast and
not in the direction they ultimately had to go. Gingerly Docchi
tried out the magnetic shoes. He was clumsy but no longer helpless in the gravityless ship. He stared futilely at the instruments as
if he could wring out more secrets than the pane};* had electronic access to.
"It's
mechanical trouble of some sort," he said uneasily. "I don't know where to begin."
Before
he could get to it Anti was in the passageway that led from the control
compartment. "Course I'm completely ignorant," she said. "Seems
to me we ought to start with the rocket tubes and trace the trouble from
there."
"I
was going to," said Docchi. "You stay herej Anti. I'll see what's wrong."
She reached nearly from the floor to the
ceiling. She missed by scant inches the sides of the corridor. Locomotion was
easy for her, turning around wasn't. So she didn't turn. "Look,
honey," her voice floated back. "You brought me along for the ride.
That's fine. I'm grateful but I'm not satisfied with just that. Seems to me
I've got to earn my fare. You stay and run the ship. You and Jordan know how. I
don't. I'll find out what's wrong."
"But you won't know what to do."
"I
don't have to. You don't have to be a mechanic to see something's broken. I'll
find it, and when I do you can come and fix it."
He knew when it was useless to argue with
her. "We'll both go," he said. "Jordan will stay at the
controls."
It
was a dingy poorly lighted passageway in an older ship. Handicap Haven didn't
rate the best equipment that was being produced, and even when it was new the
ship had been no prize. On one side of the corridor was the hull of the ship;
on the other a few small cabins. None were occupied. Anti stopped. The long hall ended in a cross corridor that led to the other side
of the ship where a return passage led back to the control compartment.
"We'll
check the stem tubes," he said, still unable to see around her. "Open
the door and we'll look in."
"Can't,"
said Anti. "Tried to but the handle won't turn. There's a red light too.
Does it mean anything?"
He'd
expected something like this but nevertheless his heart sank now that he was
actually confronted with it. "It does. Don't try again. With your strength
you might be unlucky enough to open the door."
"There's
a man for you," said Anti. "First you tell me to open it and then you
don't want me to."
"There's
no air in the rear compartment, Anti. The combustion chamber's been
retracted—that's why the rockets stopped firing. The air rushed out into space
as soon as it happened. That's what the red light means."
"We'd all die if I opened it now?"
"We would."
"Then let's get busy and fix it."
"We will. But we've got to make sure it
doesn't happen again. You see, it wasn't accidental. Someone, or something, was
responsible."
"Are you sure?"
"Very sure. Did you see anyone while we were loading your tank in the ship?"
"Nothing. How could I? I heard Cameron shouting, other noise. But I couldn't see
a thing that wasn't directly overhead, and there wasn't anything."
"I
thought so. A geepee could have got in without anyone seeing him. I didn't count them but I was
certain all of them had dropped outside. I was mistaken; one of them
didn't."
"Why does it have to be a geepee?"
"It
just does, Anti. The combustion chamber was retracted while we were all in the
control compartment. We didn't do it and therefore it had to be someone back
here.
"No
man is strong enough to retract the cap, but if he somehow exerted superhuman
effort, as soon as the chamber cleared the tubes rocket action would cease and
the air in the compartment would exhaust into space."
"So we have a dead geepee
in the rocket compartment."
"A
geepee doesn't die or even become inactive. Lack of
air doesn't hinder it in the least. Not only that, a geepee
might be able to escape from the compartment. It's strong and fast enough to
open the door against the pressure and get out and close it again in less than
a second. We wouldn't notice it because the ship would automatically replenish
the small amount of air that would escape."
Anti
settled down grimly. "Then there's a geepee on
the loose, intent on wrecking us?"
"I'm afraid so."
"Then
what are we standing around for? All we have to do is go back to the controls
and pick up the robot on the radio. We'll make it go in there and repair the
damage it's done."
She
partly turned around and saw Docchi's face.
"Don't tell me," she said, "I should
have thought of it. The radio doesn't work inside the ship."
Docchi nodded reluctantly. "It doesn't. Robots
are never used aboard and so the emergency band is broadcast by the bow
antenna. The hull of the ship is a pretty good insulation."
"Ain't that nice?" said Anti happily. "We've got a
robot hunt ahead of us."
"And our bare hands to hunt it
with."
"Oh
come. It's not as hopeless as that. Look, the robot was back here when the
rockets stopped. It couldn't get by the control compartment without our seeing
it."
"That's
right. There are two corridors leading through the compartment, one on each
side of the ship."
"That's
what I mean. We came down one and there wasn't any geepee.
So it's got to be in the other. If it goes in a cabin a light will shine
outside. It can't hide from us."
"I don't doubt we'll find it. But
what'll we do then?"
"I
was thinking," said Anti. "Can you get past me when I'm standing like
this?"
"No."
"That's
what I thought. Neither can a geepee. All I need is a
toaster, or something that looks like it. I'll drive the robot forward and
Jordan can burn it down." Determinedly she began to move toward the far
corridor. "Hurry back to Jordan and tell him. There ought to be another
weapon on the ship. Should be one for the pilot to use.
Bring it back to me."
Docchi bit his lip and stared at the back of the
huge woman. He knew Anti, and when it was useless to argue with her. "All
right," he answered. "Stay here though. Don't try anything until I
get a toaster for you."
The magnetics on his feet were no substitute for gravity. Docchi couldn't move fast, no human could. He had time to
think as he went along but nothing better suggested itself. A toaster for
Jordan and another for Anti—if there was another.
And
Anti would block the passageway. A geepee might go
through her but it could never squeeze past. The robot would try to get away.
If it came toward Anti she might disable it. But she would be firing directly
into the control compartment. And if she missed even partially—well, the
instruments were delicate.
But
Jordan might get the chance to bring down the robot. Then Anti would be in the
line of fire. No matter how he looked at it, Docchi
was sure the plan was unworkable. They'd have to devise something else.
"Jordan,"
called Docchi as soon as he got there; but Jordan
wasn't in sight. Nona was, still gazing serenely at the gravity indicator.
Nothing seemed capable of breaking through the shell that surrounded her.
Light
was streaming from the opposite corridor. Docchi
hurried over. Jordan was just inside the entrance, the toaster clutched grimly
in his hand. He was hitching his truncated body slowly toward the stem.
Coming
to meet him was Anti—unarmed enormous Anti. She hadn't meant to wait for the
weapon—she was pretty certain there wasn't any—she had merely wanted to get him
out of the way. And she wasn't walking; somehow it seemed more like swimming, a
bulbous huge sea animal moving through the air. She waved what resembled fins
against the wall, with them propelling herself
forward. "Melt it down," she cried.
It
was difficult to make out the vaguely human form of the geepee.
The powerful shining body blended in with the structure of the
ship—unintentional camouflage, though the robot wasn't aware of it. It crouched
at the threshold of a cabin, hesitating between approaching dangers.
Jordan
raised the weapon and lowered it with the same motion. "Get out of the
way." He gestured futilely to Anti.
There
was no place she could go. She was too big to enter a cabin, too massive to let the robot squeeze by even if she wanted. "Never mind. Get him," she called.
The geepee wasn't a genius even by robot standards. But it did
know that heat is deadly and that a human body is a fragile thing. And so it ran toward Anti. Unlike humans it didn't need
special magnetics; such a function was built into it
and the absence or presence of gravity disturbed it not at all. It moved very
fast.
Docchi had to watch though he didn't want to. The
robot exploded into action, launching its body at Anti. But it was the robot
that was thrown back. It had calculated swiftly but incorrectly—relative mass
favored the enormous woman.
The
electronic brain obeyed the original instructions, whatever they were. It got
up and rushed Anti again. Metal arms shot out with dazzling speed and crashed
against the flesh of the huge woman. Docchi could
hear the rattle of blows. No ordinary person could take that punishment and
live.
But
Anti wasn't ordinary. Even for an accidental she was strange, living far inside
a deep armor of flesh. It was possible she never felt the crushing force of
those blows. And she didn't turn away, try to escape. Instead she reached out
and grasped the robot, drawing it to her. And the geepee
lost another advantage, leverage. The bright arms didn't flash so fast nor with such lethal power.
"Gravity," cried Anti. "Give
me all you've got."
Her
strategy was obvious; she was leaning against the struggling machine. And here
at least Docchi could help her. He turned and took
two steps before the surge hit him. Gravity came in waves, each one greater
than that before. The first impulse staggered him, and at the second his knees
buckled and he sank to the floor. After that his eardrums hurt and he thought
he could feel the ship quiver. He knew dazedly that an artificial gravity field
of this magnitude had never been attained—but the knowledge didn't help him
move. He was powerless in the force that held him.
And
it vanished as quickly as it had come. Painfully his hings
expanded, each muscle aching individually. He rolled over and got up, lurching
past Jordan.
Anti
wasn't the inert broken flesh he expected. Already she was moving and was
standing up by the time he got to her. "Oof,"
she grunted, gazing with satisfaction at the twisted shape at her feet. It was
past repair, the body dented and arms and legs bent, the head smashed, the electronic brain in it completely useless.
"Are you hurt?" asked Docchi in awe.
She
waggled the extremities and waited as if for the signal to travel through the
nerves. "Nope," she said finally. "Can't feel
anything broken. Would have been if I'd tried to stand." She moved
back to get a better view of the robot. "That's throwing my weight
around," she said with satisfaction. "At the right
time in the right way. The secret's timing. And I must say you took the
cue well." Her laughter rolled through the ship.
"I didn't have anything to do with the
gravity," said Docchi.
"Who? Jordan—no, he's just getting up."
"Nona,"
said Docchi. "She was the only one who wasn't
doing anything else. She saw what had to be done and got to it before I did.
But I can't figure out how she got so much gravity."
"Ask her," said Anti.
Docchi grimaced, limping into the control room,
followed by Anti and Jordan. Nona was at the gravity panel, her face pleasant
and unconcerned.
The
unprecedented power of the gravity field could be accounted for, of course.
The ship was old and had seen much use. Connections were loose or broken and
had somehow crossed, circuiting more power into the gravity generator than it
was designed for. Miraculously it had held up for a brief time— and that was
all there was to it. And yet the explanation failed to be completely
satisfactory. "I wonder if you had anything to do with it," he said
to her. Nona smiled questioningly.
"Had
to, didn't she?" said Jordan. "She was the only one who could have
turned it on."
"Started it, yes. Increased the power of the field, I don't know," said Docchi. He outlined what he thought had taken place.
"That
sounds logical," agreed Jordan. "But it doesn't matter how it was
done. Gravity engineers would find it interesting. If we had time I'd like to
see how the circuits are crossed. We might discover something new."
"I'm
sure it's interesting," said Anti irritably. "Interesting
to everybody but me. And I'm pragmatic. All I want to know is: when do
we start the rockets? We've got a long way to go."
"There's
something that comes before that, Anti," said Jordan. "A retracted
combustion cap in flight generally means at least one burned out tube." He
made bis way to the instruments, checking them
glumly. "This time it's three."
"You
forgot something yourself, Jordan," said Docchi.
"I was thinking of the robot."
"I thought we'd settled that," said Anti impatiently.
"We
have. But let's follow it through. Where did the robot get instructions? Not
from Vogel via the radio. The ship's hull cuts off that band. And the last we
knew it was in our control."
"Voice,"
said Jordan. "We freed it. Someone else could take it over."
"Who?" said And. "None of
us."
"No. But think back to when we were
loading the tank. We saw it through the telecom and the angle of vision was
bad. You couldn't see anything that wasn't directly overhead. Not only the robot but Cameron also managed to get inside."
Jordan
hefted the weapon. "So we've got another hunt on our hands. Only this time
it's in our favor. Nothing I like better than aiming at a nice normal
doctor."
Docchi glanced at the weapon. "Take it along.
But don't use it. A homicide would ruin us. We could forget what we're going
for. Anyway, you won't actually need it. The ship's
temporarily disabled and he'll consider that damage enough. He'll be ready to
surrender."
He was.
5
THE DOCTOR was at ease, confident.
"You've got the ship and you'ye caught me. How
long do you think you can keep either of us?"
Docchi regarded him levelly. "I don't expect
active cooperation but I'd like to think you'll give us your word not to
hinder us hereafter."
Cameron glared at the toaster. "I won't
promise anything."
"We
can chain him to Anti," suggested Jordan. "That will keep him out of
trouble."
"Don't
wince, Cameron," said Docchi. "She was a
woman once. An attractive one too."
"We
can put him in a spacesuit and lock his hands behind his back,"
said Jordan. "Like the old-fashioned strait jacket."
Cameron laughed loudly. "Go ahead."
Jordan
juggled the toaster. "I can use this to weld with. Let's put hi™ in a cabin and close the door,
permanently. I'll cut a slot to shove food in—a very narrow slot."
"Excellent. That's the solution.
Cameron, do you want to reconsider your decision?"
Cameron
shrugged blithely. "They'll pick you up in a day or less anyway. I'm not
compromising myself if I agree."
"It's
good enough for me," declared And. "A doctor's word is as good as his
oath—Hippocratic or hypocridc."
"Don't
be cynical, And. Doctors have an economic sense as well as the next
person," said Docchi. He turned to Cameron.
"You see, after And grew too massive for her
skeletal structure, doctors reasoned she'd be most comfortable in the absence
of gravity. That was in the early days, before successful ship gravity units
were developed. They put her on an interplanetary ship and kept transferring
her before each landing.
"But
the treatment was troublesome—and expensive. So they devised a new method—the
asteroid and the tank of acid. Not being aquatic by nature, And
resented the change. She still does."
"Don't
blame me for that," said Cameron. "I wasn't responsible."
"It
was before your time," agreed Docchi. He frowned
speculatively at the doctor. "I noticed it at the time but I had other
things to think about. Tell me, why did you laugh when Jordan mentioned
spacesuits?"
Cameron
grinned broadly. "That was my project while you were busy with the
robot."
"To do what? Jordan---------- "
But
Jordan was already on his way. He was gone for some time, minutes that passed
slowly.
"Well?"
asked Docchi on Jordan's return. The question was
hardly necessary; his face told the story.
"Cut to ribbons."
"AU of them? Even the emergency pack?" "That too. He knew where everything was. Nothing can be
repaired."
"So
who cares?" rumbled And. "We don't need spacesuits unless something
happens and we have to go outside the ship."
"Exactly, Anti. How do we replace the defective tubes? From the
outside, of course. By destroying the spacesuits Cameron made sure we
can't."
Anti glowered at the doctor. "And I
suppose you merely had our welfare at heart. Isn't that so, Cameron?"
"You
can think anything you want. I did and I do," said Cameron imperturbably.
"Now be reasonable. We're still in the asteroid zone. In itself that's not
dangerous. Without power to avoid stray rocks it can be very unpleasant. My
advice is to contact the Medicouncil at once. They'll
send a ship to take us in."
"Thanks, no. I don't like Handicap Haven
as well as you," Anti said brusquely. She turned to Docchi.
"Maybe I'm stupid for asking but what's so deadly about being in space
without a spacesuit?"
"Cold. Lack of pressure. Lack of oxygen."
"Is that all? Nothing else?"
His
voice was too loud; it seemed thunderous to him. "Isn't that enough?"
"Maybe not for me. I just wanted to be sure." She beckoned
to Nona and together they went forward, where the space-suits were kept.
"Don't do anything drastic until I get back," she said as she left.
Cameron
scowled puzzledly and started to follow until Jordan
waved the toaster in front of him. "All right, I see it," he growled,
stopping and rubbing his chin. "There's nothing she can do. You know it as
well as I do."
"Do
I? Well, for once I'm inclined to agree with you," said Docchi. "But you never can tell with Anti. Sometimes
she comes up with surprising things. She's not scientifically trained but she
has a good mind, as good as her body once was."
"And how good was that?" asked
Cameron ironically.
"Look
it up in your records," said Jordan shortly. "We don't talk about it
ourselves."
The women didn't come back soon, and when
they did Cameron wasn't sure that the weird creature that floated into the
control compartment with Nona was Anti.
He looked again and saw shudderingly what she had
done to herself. "You do need
psychotherapy," he said bitingly. "When we get back it's the first
thing I'll recommend. Can't you understand how foolhardy you're being?"
"Be quiet," growled Jordan.
"Anti, explain what you've rigged up. I'm not sure we can let you do
it."
"Any
kind of pressure will do as far as the outside of the body is concerned,"
answered Anti, flipping back the helmet. "Mechanical pressure is as
satisfactory as air. I had Nona cut the spacesuit in strips and wind them
around me, very hard. That will keep me from squishing out. Then I found a
helmet that would cover my head when the damaged part was cut away. It won't
hold much air pressure even taped tight to my skin. It doesn't have to as long
as it's pure oxygen."
"So
far it makes sense," admitted Docchi. "But
what can you do about temperature?"
"Do
you think I'm going to worry about cold?" asked Anti. "Me? Way down
below all this flesh? Mountains and mountains of it?"
"I've
heard enough," said Cameron, standing in front of Anti. "Now listen
to me. Stop this nonsense and take off that childish rig. I can't permit you to
ruin my career by deliberate suicide."
"You
and your stinking career," said Jordan disgustedly. "You don't know
what success is and what it means to give it up. Stay out of this. We don't
have to ask your permission to do anything." Cameron retreated from the
toaster and Jordan turned to Anti. "Do you understand what the risk, is,
Anti? You know that it may not work at all?"
"I've
thought about it," said Anti. "On the other hand I've thought about
the asteroid. I don't want to go back."
"We
should have viewers outside," said Docchi. "One directly in back, one on each side. At least we'll
know what's happening."
At
the control panel Jordan began flipping levers. "They're out and
working," he said at last. "Anti, go to the freight ramp. Close your
helmet and wait. I'll let the air out slowly. If everything doesn't work
perfectly let me know on the helmet radio and I'll yank you in immediately.
Once you're outside I'll give you further instructions. You'll find the tools
and equipment that opens to space."
Anti
waddled away. Huge, but she wasn't any bigger than her determination.
Once she was gone Jordan looked down at his
legless body.
"I hate to do this but we've got to be
realistic about it."
"It's the only way we've got a chance," answered Docchi. "Anti's
the only one who can do the job. And I think she'll survive."
Jordan adjusted a dial. "Cameron had better hope she will," he muttered.
"He'll join her if she doesn't."
Docchi glanced hastily at the screen. Anti was
hanging free in space, wrapped and strapped in strips torn from the supposedly
useless spacesuits. And she was also enclosed in more flesh than any human had
borne. The helmet was taped jauntily to her head and the oxygen cylinder was
fastened to her back. And she lived.
"How is she?" he asked anxiously,
unaware that the microphone was open.
"Fine,"
came the reply, faint and reedy. "The air's thin but it's pure."
"Cold?"
"Don't know. Don't feel it yet. Anyway
it can't be worse than the acid. What do I do?"
Jordan
gave her directions while the others watched. It required considerable effort
to find the tools and examine the tubes for defectives, to loosen the tubes in
the sockets and pull them out, sending them spinning into space. It was still
more difficult to replace them, though there was no gravity and Anti was held
firmly to the hull by magnetics.
Anti
had never been a technician of any kind. Cameron was sure of it. She was
ignorant of the commonest terms, the simplest tool. She shouldn't have been
able to do it. And yet she managed nicely, though she didn't know how. The
explanation must be that she did know, that somewhere in her remote past, of
which he was totally uninformed, she had had training which prepared her for
this. Such contradiction was ridiculous. But there was rhythm to her motions,
this giant shapeless creature whose bones would break with weight if she tried
to stand at half gravity.
The
whale plowing through the deeps and waves has the attraction of beauty. It
can't be otherwise for any animal in an environment which it is suited to live
in. And the human race had produced, haphazardly, one unlikely person to whom
interplanetary space was not alien. Anti was at last in her element.
"Now,"
said Jordan, keeping tension out of his voice though it was trembling in his
hand. "Go back to the outside tool compartment. You'll
find a lever near it. Pull. This will set the combustion cap in place."
"Done," said Anti when it was.
"That's all. Come in now."
She
went slowly over the hull to the cargo ramp and while she did Jordan reeled in
the viewers. The lock was no sooner closed to the outside and the air hissing
into the intermediate space than he was there, waiting for the inner lock to
open.
"Are you all right?" he asked
gruffly.
She
flipped back the helmet. There was frost on her eyebrows and her face was
bright and red. "Why shouldn't I be? My hands aren't cold." She
stripped off the heated gloves and waggled her fingers.
"I
can't believe it," protested Cameron with more vehemence than he intended.
"You should be frozen through."
"Why?"
said Anti with gurgling laughter. "It's merely a matter of insulation and
I have plenty of that. More than I want."
Shaking
his head Cameron turned to Docchi. "When I was a
boy I saw a film of a dancer. She did a ballet. I think it was called: Free
Space-Free Life. Something like that. I can't say why
but it came to my mind when Anti was out there. I hadn't thought of it in
years."
He
rubbed his hand over his forehead. "It fascinated me when I first saw it.
I went to it again and again. When I grew older I found out a tragic thing had
happened to the dancer. She was oh a tour of Venus
when the ship she was in was forced down. Searching parties were sent out but
they didn't find anyone except her. And she had been struggling over a fungus
plain for a week. You know what that meant. The great ballerina was a living
spore culture medium."
"Shut up," said
Jordan. "Shut up."
Cameron was engrossed in the remembrance and
didn't seem
to hear. "Naturally she died. I can't recall her name but I can't
forget the ballet. And that's funny because it reminded me of
Anti out there--------- "
"I told you to shut up!" Jordan
exploded a fist in the doctor's face. If there had been more behind the blow
than shoulders and a fragment of a body Cameron's jaw would have been broken.
As it was he floated through the air and crashed against the wall.
Angrily he got to his feet. "I gave my
word I wouldn't cause trouble. I thought the agreement worked both ways."
He glanced significantly at the weapon Jordan carried. "Better keep that
around all the time."
"I
told you," said Jordan. "I told you more than once." After that
he ignored the doctor, thrusting the weapon securely into his garment. He
turned to Anti. "Very good," he said, his anger gone and his voice
courtly. "An excellent performance. One of your best, Antoinette."
"You should have seen me when I was
good," said Anti. The frost had melted from her eyebrows and was trickling
down her cheek. She left with Jordan.
Cameron remained behind. It was too bad about
his ambition. He knew now he was never going to be the spectacular success
he'd once envisioned—not after this escape from Handicap Haven. He'd done all
he could to prevent it but it wouldn't count with the Medicouncil
that he had good intentions. Still, he'd be able to practice somewhere;
doctors were always necessary. There were worse fates—suppose he had to abandon
medicine altogether?
Think
of the ballerina he'd been talking about—she hadn't died as the history tapes
indicated. That much was window dressing; people were supposed to believe it
because it was preferable to the truth. It would have been better for that
woman if she hadn't lived on. By now he had recalled her name: Antoinette.
And
now it was Anti. He could have found it out by checking the records—if
Handicap Haven kept that particular information on file. He was suddenly willing
to bet that it wasn't there. He felt his jaw, which ached throbbingly.
He deserved it. He hadn't really been convinced that they were people too.
"We'll stick to the regular lanes,"
decided Docchi. "I think we'll get closer.
They've no reason to suspect we're heading toward earth. Mars
is more logical, or one of the moons of Jupiter, or another asteroid.
I'm sure they don't know what we're trying to do."
Jordan
shifted uneasily. "I'm against it. They'll pick us up before we have a
chance to do anything."
"There's
nothing to distinguish us from an ordinary earth to Mars rocket. We have a
ship's registry on board. Use it. Take a ship that's in our general class and
thereafter we'll be that ship. If Traffic blips us, and I don't think they will
unless we try to land, we'll have a recording ready. Something like this: 'ME 21 zip crackle 9 reporting. Our communication is acting up. We can't hear you, Traffic'
"That's
quite believable in view of the age and condition of our ship. Don't overdo the
static effects but repeat it with suitable variations and I don't think
they'll bother us."
Shaking
his head dubiously Jordan swung away toward the tiny fabricating shop.
"You seem worried," said Anti as
she came in.
Docchi didn't turn around. "Yeah."
"What's the matter, won't it work?"
"Sure.
There are too many ships. They can't pick us out among so many. Anyway they're
not looking for us around earth. They don't really know why we took the rocket
and escaped."
"Then
why so much concern? Once we're near earth we won't need much time."
His
face was taut and tired. "I thought so too, in the beginning. Things have
changed. The entire Solar Police force has been alerted for us."
"So
the Solar Police really want us? But I still don't understand why that changes
a thing."
"Look,
Anti. We planned to bypass the Medicouncil and take
our case directly to the Solar Government. But if they want us as badly as the
radio indicates they're not going to be sympathetic. Not at
all.
"And
if they're not, if the Solar Government doesn't support us all the way, we'll
never get another chance. Hereafter there'll be guards everywhere on the
asteroid. They'll watch us even when we sleep."
"Well?" said Anti. She seemed
trimmer and more vigorous. "We considered it might turn out this way, didn't we? Let's take the last step first."
Docchi raised his head. "Go to the ultimate
authority? The Solar Government won't like it."
"They won't, but
there's nothing they can do about it."
"Don't
be sure. They can shoot us down. When we stole the ship we automatically became
criminals."
"I
know, but they'll be careful, especially after we make contact. How would it
look if we were blown to bits in front of their eyes, in a billion homes?"
Docchi chuckled grimly. "Very
shrewd. All right, they'll be careful. But is it worth it to us?"
"It is to me."
"Then
it is to me," said Docchi. "I suggest we
start getting ready."
Anti scrutinized him carefully.
"Maybe we ought to fix you up."
"With fake arms and a cosmetikit? No. They'll have to take us as we are, unpretty, even repulsive."
"That's
a better idea. I hadn't thought of the sympathy angle."
"Not sympathy—reality. It means too much to us. I don't want them to approve of us as handsome
unfortunates and then have them change their minds when they discover what
we're really like."
Sitting
in silence, Docchi watched her go. She at least would
benefit. Dr. Cameron apparently hadn't noticed that the exposure to extreme
cold had done more to inhibit her unceasing growth than the acid bath. She
probably would never get back to her former size but some day, if the cold
treatment were properly investigated, she might be able to stand at normal
gravity. For her there was hope. The rest of them had to keep on pretending
that there was.
He
examined the telecom. They were getting closer. No longer a
point of light, earth was a perceptible disc. He could see the outline
of oceans, the shapes of land and the shadows of mountains, the flat ripple where
prairies and plains were; he could imagine people. This was home—once.
Jordan came in. "The radio tape is
rigged up. I haven't had to use it yet. But we have a friend trailing along
behind us, an official friend."
"Has he blipped at us?"
"When I left he hadn't. He keeps hanging
on."
"Is he overtaking us?"
"He'd like to."
"Don't let him."
"With this bag of
bolts?"
"Shake
it apart if you have to," said Docchi
impatiently. "How soon can you slide into a broadcast orbit?"
Jordan
furrowed his forehead. "I didn't think we'd planned on that this time. It
was supposed to be our last resort."
"Anti
and I have talked it over. We agree that this is our last chance. Now's the time to speak up if you've got any objections."
"I've
been listening to the police calls," said Jordan thoughtfully. "No,
I guess I haven't got any objection. Not with a heavy cruiser behind us. None at all."
They came together in the control
compartment. "I don't want a focus exclusively on me," Docchi was saying. "Nor on Nona either, though I know
she's most acceptable. To a world of perfect and beautiful people we may look
strange but they must see us as we are. We have to avoid the family portrait
effect."
"Samples,"
suggested And.
"In
a sense we are, yes. A lot depends on whether they accept those samples."
For
the first time Cameron began to realize what they were attempting.
"Wait," he said urgently. "You're making a mistake. You've got
to listen to me."
"We've
got to do this and we've got to do that," said Jordan. "I'm getting
tired of it. Can't you understand we're giving orders now?"
"That's
right," said Docchi. "Jordan, see that
Cameron stays out of the transmitting angle and doesn't interrupt. We've come
too far to let him influence us."
"Sure. If he makes a sound I'll melt the
teeth out of his mouth." Jordan held the toaster against his side, away
from the telecom but aimed at Cameron.
The
doctor wanted to break in but the weapon, though small, was very real. And
Jordan was ready to use it. That was the only justification for his silence,
that and the fact they'd leam anyway.
"Ready?" said Docchi.
"Flip
the switch and we will be. I've hooked everything on. They can't help
themselves. They've got to listen."
The
rocket slipped out of the approach lanes. It spun down, stem tubes pulsing
brightly, falling toward earth in a tight trajectory. Down, down; the familiar
planet was very large.
"Citizens
of the solar system, everyone on earth," began Docchi.
"This is an unscheduled broadcast. We're using the emergency bands because
for us it is an emergency. I said we, and you want to know who we are. Look at us. Accidentals— that's all we can be.
"We're
not pretty. We know it. But there are other things more important. Accomplishment, contribution to progress. And though it may
seem unlikely to you there are contributions we can make—if we're permitted to
do so.
"But
shut away on a little asteroid we're denied our rights. All we can do is exist in frustration and boredom, kept alive whether we want
to be or not. And yet we can help you as you've helped us—if we're allowed to.
You can't go to the stars yet, but we can. And ultimately, through what we leam, you'll be able to.
"You've
listened to experts who say it can't be done, that rockets are too slow and
that the crew would die of old age before they got back. They're almost right,
but accidentals are the exception. Ordinary people would die but we won't. The Medicouncil has all the facts—they know what we are—and
still they refuse us."
At
the side of the control compartment Cameron moved to protest. Jordan glanced at
him, imperceptibly waggling the weapon. Cameron stopped, the words unspoken.
"Biocompensation," continued Docchi
evenly as if nothing had occurred. "Let me explain what it means in case
information on it has been suppressed. The principle of biocompensation
has long been a matter of conjecture. This is the first age in which medical
techniques are advanced enough to explore it. Every cell and organism tends to
survive as an individual and a species. Injure it and it strives for survival
according to the extent of damage. If it can it will
heal the wound and live on in its present state. Otherwise it propagates almost
immediately. You can verify this by forgetting to water the lawn and watch how
soon it goes to seed.
"Humans aren't plants, you say. And yet
the principle applies. Accidentals are people who have been maimed and mutilated
almost past belief. And our bodies have had the assistance of medical science,
real medical science. Everyone knows how, after
certain illnesses, immunity to that disease can be acquired. And more than
blood fractions are involved in the process. For us blood was supplied as long
as we needed it, machines did our breathing, kidneys replaced, hearts
furnished, glandular products in exact minute quantities, nervous and muscular
systems regenerated—and our bodies responded. They had to respond or none of us
would be here today. And such was the extremity of the struggle—so close did we
come to it that we gained practical immunity to—death."
Sweat
ran down Docchi's face. He longed for hands to wipe
it away.
"Most
accidentals are nearly immortal. Not quite of course; we may die four or five
hundred years from now. Meanwhile there is no reason why we can't be explorers
for you. Rockets are slow. You'd die before you got to Alpha Centauri and back.
We won't. Time means nothing to us.
"Perhaps
better faster rockets will be devised after we leave. You may get there before
we do. We don't mind. We will have tried to repay you the best way we know how
and that will satisfy us."
With
an effort Docchi smiled. The instant he did so he
felt it was a mistake, one he couldn't call back. Even to himself
it seemed more like a snarl.
"You
know where we're kept—that's more polite than saying imprisoned. We don't call
it Handicap Haven. Our name for it is: Junkpile. And we're junkmen. Do you know how we feel?
"I don't know how you can persuade the Medicouncil to let us man an expedition to the stars. We've
appealed and appealed and they've always turned us down. Now that we've let
you know it's up to you. Our future as humans is at stake. Settle it with your
conscience. When you go to sleep think of us out there on the
junkpile."
He
nudged the switch and sat down. His face was gray and his eyes were rimmed and
burning.
"I
don't want to bother you," said Jordan. "What'Il
we do about these?"
Docchi glanced at the telecom. The ships were
uncomfortably close and considerably more numerous than the last time he had
looked. "Take evasive action," he said wearily. "Swing close to
earth and use the planet's gravity to give us a good fast sendoff. We can't let
them take us until people have a chance to make their feelings known."
"Now
that you've finished I want to discuss it with you," said Cameron. There
was an odd tone to his voice.
"Later,"
said Docchi. "Save it. I'm going to sleep. Jordan,
wake me if anything happens. And remember you don't have to listen to this
fellow if you don't want to."
Jordan
nodded contemptuously. "I know what he's like. He's got nothing to say to
me."
Nona,
leaning against the panel, paid no attention to any of them. She seemed to be
listening to something nobody else could hear, she, to whom sound had no
meaning. Docchi's body sagged as he went out. Her
perpetual air of wondering search for something she could never have was not
new but it was no more bearable because of that.
And
while Docchi slept the race went on against a slowly
changing backdrop of stars and planets. Only the darkness remained the same;
it was immutable. The little flecks of light that edged nearer hour after hour
didn't seem cheerful to Jordan. His lips were fixed in a thin hard line. His
expression didn't alter. Presently, long after earth was far behind, he heard Docchi come in again.
"I've been thinking about it," said
Cameron. "Nice speech."
"Yeah." Docchi glanced at the screen. The view didn't
inspire comment.
Cameron was standing at the threshold.
"I may as well tell you," he said reluctantly. "I tried to stop
the broadcast as soon as I found out what was going on. You wouldn't
listen."
He
came on into the control compartment. Nona was huddled in a seat, her face
blankly incurious. Anti was absent, replenishing the acid for her robe.
"Do you know why the Medi-council refused to let
you go?"
"Get to the point."
"Damn
it, I am," said Cameron, sweating. "The Centauri group contains
several planets, just how many we're not sure. From what we know of cosmology
there's a good chance intelligent life exists there, probably not far behind
us in technical development. Whoever goes there will be our representatives to
an alien race. What they
look like isn't important;
it's their concern. But our ambassadors have to meet certain minimum standards.
It's an important occasion, our future relations rest on. Damn it—don't you see
our ambassadors must at least appear to be human beings?"
"You're
not telling us anything new. We know how you feel." Jordan was rigid with
disgust.
"You're
wrong," said Cameron. "You're so wrong. I'm not speaking for myself.
I'm a doctor. The medicouncilors are doctors. We
graft on or regenerate legs and arms and eyes. The tools of our trade are blood
and bones and intestines. We know very well what people look like from the
inside. We're well aware of the thin borderline that separates normal men and
women from accidentals.
"Can't
you still understand what I'm saying? They're perfect, everybody's perfect. Too much so. They can't tolerate small blemishes. More money
is spent for research on acne than to support the whole asteroid. They rush to
us with wrinkles and dandruff. Health, or the appearance of it, has become a
fetish. You may think the people you appealed to are sympathetic but what they
feel is something else."
"What are you driving at?" said Docchi in a low voice.
"Just
this: if it were up to the Medicouncil you'd be on
your way to the Centauris. It isn't. The decision
wasn't made by us. Actually it came directly from the Solar Government. And the
Solar Government never acts contrary to public opinion."
Docchi turned away, his face wrinkled in distaste.
"I didn't think you had the nerve to stand there and say that."
"I
didn't want to. But you've got to know the truth." Cameron twisted his
head uncomfortably. "You're not far from earth. You can still pick up the
reaction to your broadcast. Try it and see."
Jordan
looked at Docchi who nodded imperceptibly. "We
may as well," said Docchi. "It's settled
now, one way or the other. Nothing we can do will change it."
Jordan
searched band after band, eagerly at first. His enthusiasm died and still the
reaction never varied. Private citizen or public
figure, man or woman, the indignation was concealed but nevertheless firm and
unmistakable. There was no doubt accidentals were unfortunate but they were
well taken care of. There was no need to trade on deformity; the era of the
freak show had passed and it never would return.
"Turn it off,"
said Docchi at last.
Numbly Jordan complied.
"Now what?" he
said.
"Why
fight it?" said the doctor. "Go back to the asteroid. It'll be
forgotten."
"Not by us," said Docchi dully. "But there doesn't seem to be any
choice. It would have been better if we had tried to work through the Medicouncil. We misjudged our allies."
"We
knew you had," said Cameron. "We thought we'd let you go on thinking
as you did. It gave you something to hope for, allowed you to feel you weren't
alone. The trouble was that your discontent carried you further than we thought
it could."
"We
did get somewhere," Docchi said. His lethargy
seemed to lift somewhat as he contemplated what they'd achieved. "And
there's no reason we have to stop. Jordan, contact the ships behind us. Tell
them we've got Cameron on board. A hostage. Play him
up as their man. Basically he's not bad. He's not against us as much as the
rest are."
Anti
came into the compartment. Cheerfulness faded from her face. "What's the
matter?"
"Jordan'll
tell you. I want to think."
Docchi closed his eyes and his mind to the whispered
consulfation of Anti and Jordan, to the feeble ultimatum
to the ships behind them. The rocket lurched slightly though the vibration
from the exhaust did not change. There was no cause for alarm,
the flight of a ship was never completely steady. Minor disturbances no longer
affected Docchi.
When
he had it straightened out in his mind he looked around. "If we were
properly fueled and provisioned I would be in favor of heading for Alpha or Proxima. Maybe even Sir-ius.
Distance doesn't matter since we don't care whether we come back." It was
plain he wasn't expending much hope. "But we can't make it with the small
fuel reserve we have. If we can lose the ships behind us we may be able to hide
until we can steal fuel and food."
"What'll
we do with doc?" said Jordan. He too was infected with defeat.
"We'll
have to raid an unguarded outpost, a small mining
asteroid is our best bet. We'll leave him there."
"Yeah,"
said Jordan listlessly. "A good idea, if we can run away from our personal escort. Offhand I don't think we can.
They hesitated when I told them we had Cameron but they didn't drop back.
Look."
He
looked himself and, unbelievingly, looked again. He blinked rapidly but the
screen could report only what there was.
"They're gone," he said, his voice
breaking with excitement.
Almost
instantly Docchi was at his side. "No, they're
still following but they're very far behind." Even as he looked the
pursuing ships shrank visibly, steadily losing ground.
"What's
the relative speed?" said Jordan. He looked at the dials, tapped them,
pounded on them, but the speed wouldn't change. If it hadn't been confirmed by
the screen he'd have said that the needles were stuck or the instruments were
completely unreliable.
"What did you do with the rockets?"
demanded Docchi.
"That's
a foolish question. What could I do? We were already at top speed for this
piece of junk."
And
there was no way to explain the astonishing thing that had happened. They were
all in the control compartment, Cameron, Anti, Jordan and himself. Nona was
there too, sitting huddled up, heatljiestinfe
in her arms. There was no explanation at all, unless— Docchi scanned all the
instruments again. That was when he first noticed it.
Power was pouring into the gravity drive. The
useless, or at least long unused dial was indicating
unheard of consumption. "The gravity drive is working," Docchi said.
"Nonsense," said Anti. "I
don't feel the weight."
"You
don't and won't," said Docchi. "The gravity
drive was installed to propel the ship. When it was proved unsatisfactory for
that purpose it was converted, which was cheaper than removing it.
"The difference between the drive and
ordinary gravity is slight but important. An undirected general field produces weight effects inside
the ship. That's for passenger comfort. A directed field, outside it, will drive it. You can
have one or the other but not both."
"But I didn't turn on the drive,"
said Jordan in bewilderment. "It wouldn't work for more than a few
seconds if I did. That's been proven."
"I'd agree with you except for one
thing. It is working, has been working and shows no sign of stopping." Docchi stared speculatively at Nona. She was curled up but
she wasn't resting. Her body was too tense. "Get her attention," he
said.
Jordan
gently touched her shoulder. She opened her eyes but she wasn't looking at
them. On the panel the needle of a once useless dial rose and fell.
"What's
the matter with the poor dear?" asked Anti. "She's shaking."
"Let her alone," said Docchi. "Let her alone if you don't want to return to
the asteroid." No one moved. No one said anything. Minutes passed and the
ancient ship creaked and quivered and ran away from the fastest rockets in the
system.
"I
think I can explain it," said Docchi at last,
frowning because he couldn't quite. There were things that still eluded him.
"Part of the gravity generating plant—in a sense the key component—is an
electronic computer, capable of making all the calculations and juggling the
proportion of power required to produce directed or undirected gravity
continuously. In other words a brain, a complex mechanical
intelligence. But it was an ignorant intelligence and it couldn't'see vv^y it should perform ad infinitum a complicated and
meaningless routine. It couldn't see why and because it couldn't very simply it
refused to do so.
"It
was something like Nona. She's deaf, can't speak, can't
communicate in any way. Like it she has a very high potential intelligence and
also, in the very same way, she's had difficulty grasping the facts of her
environment. Differently though, she does have some contact with people and she
has learned something. How much she knows is uncertain but it's far beyond what
psychologists credit her with. They just can't measure her type of
knowledge."
"Yeah,"
said Jordan dubiously. "I'll agree about Nona. But what is she
doing?"
"If
there were two humans you'd call it telepathy," said Docchi.
It upset his concepts too. A machine was a machine— a tool to be used. How
could there ever be rapport? "One intelligence is electronic, the other
organic. You'll have to dream up your own term because the only thing I can
think of is extra sensory perception. It's ridiculous but that's what it
is."
Jordan
smiled and flexed his arms. Under the shapeless garment muscles rippled.
"To me it makes sense," he said. "The power was always there but
they didn't know what to do with it." The smile broadened. "It
couldn't have fallen into better hands. We can use the power, or rather Nona
can."
"Power?"
said Anti, rising majestically. "If you mean by that what it sounds like,
I don't care for it. All I want is just enough to take us to Centauri."
"You'll
get there," said Docchi. "A lot of things
seem clearer now. In the past why did the drive work so poorly the further out
it got? I don't think anyone investigated this aspect but if they had I'm sure
they'd have found that the efficiency was inversely proportional to the square
of the distance from the sun.
"It's
what you'd expect from a deaf, blind, mass sensitive brain, the gravity
computer. It wouldn't be aware of the stars. To it the sun would seem the
center of the universe and it would no more leave the system than our remote
ancestors would think of stepping off the edge of a flat world.
"And now that it knows differently the
drive ought to work anywhere. With Nona to direct it, even Sinus isn't
far."
"What
are you thinking about, doc?"
said Jordan carelessly.
"If I were you I'd be figuring a way to
get off the ship. Remember we're going faster than man ever went before." He chuckled.
"Unless, of course, you like our
company and don't want to leave."
"We've got to do some figuring
ourselves," said Docchi. "There's no use
heading where there are no stars.'We'd better
determine our destination."
"A
good idea," said Jordan, hoisting himself up to the charts. He busied
himself with interminable calculations. Gradually his flying fingers slowed and
his head bent lower over the work. Finally he stopped,
his arms hanging slack.
"Got it?"
"Yeah," said Jordan.
"There." Dully he punched the telecom selector and a view took shape
on the screen. In the center glimmered a tiny world, a fragment of a long
exploded planet. The end of their journey was easily
recognizable.
It was Handicap Haven.
"But
why are we going there?" asked Anti. She looked at Docchi
in amazement.
"We're
not going voluntarily," he said, his voice flat and spent. "That's
where the Medicouncil wants us. We forgot about the
monitor system. When Nona activated the gravity drive it was indicated at some
central station. All the Medicouncil had to do was
take the Control
away from Nona."
"We
thought we were running away
from the ships," said
Anti. "We were, but only to beat them back to the junkpile."
"Yeah," said Docchi.
"Nona doesn't know
it yet."
"Well,
it's over. We did our best.
There's no use crying about
it." Yet she was. Anti passed by the girl, patting her gently. "It's
all right, darling. You tried to help us."
Jordan
followed her from the compartment. Cameron remained, coming over to Docchi. "Everything isn't lost," he said
awkwardly. "The rest of you are back where you started but at least Nona
isn't."
"Do
you think she'll benefit?" asked Docchi.
"Someone will, but it won't be
Nona."
"You're wrong. Suddenly she's become
important."
"So is a special experimental machine. Very valuable but totally without rights or feelings. I
don't imagine she'll like her new status."
Silence
met silence. It was the doctor who turned away. "You're sick with
disappointment," he said thickly. "Irrational, you always are when
you glow. I thought we could talk over what was best for her but I can see it's
no use. I'll come back when you're calmer."
Docchi glared sightlessly after him. Cameron was
the only normal who was aware that it was Nona who controlled the gravity
drive. All the outside world realized was that it was
in operation—that at last it was working as originally intended. If they should
dispose of Cameron—
He
shook his head. It wouldn't solve anything. He could fool them for a while,
pretend that he was responsible. But in the end they'd find out. Nona wasn't
capable of deception—and they'd be very insistent with a discovery of this
magnitude.
She
looked up and smiled. She had a right to be happy. Until now she had been
alone as few people ever are. But the first contact had been made and however
unsatisfactory—what could the limited electronic mind say?—in other
circumstances it might have presaged better days. She didn't know she was no
less a captive than the computer.
Abruptly
he turned away. At the telecom he stopped and methodically kicked it apart,
smashing delicate tubes into powder. Before he left he also demolished the
emergency radio. The ship was firmly in the grip of the monitor and it would
take them back. There was nothing they had to do. All that remained for him was
to protect Nona as long as he could. The Medicouncil
would start prying into her mind soon enough. He hoped they'd find what they
were after without too much effort. For her sake he hoped they would.
6
PERFECTLY
synchronized to their speed the outer shell of the dome opened, closing behind
them before they reached the
inner shell. It too gaped wide to swallow them, snapping shut like a quickly
sprung trap. Jordan set the controls in neutral and dropped his hands,
muttering to himself. They glided to a stop over the landing pit, thereafter
settling slowly. Homecoming.
"Cheer up," said Cameron jauntily.
"You're not prisoners."
Nona
alone seemed not to mind. Docchi hadn't said anything
for hours and the light was gone from his face. Anti wasn't with them; she was
back floating in the acid tank. The reentry into the gravity field of the
asteroid made it necessary.
The
ship scraped gently; they were down. Jordan mechanically touched a lever,
flicked a switch. Passenger and freight locks swung open. "Let's go,"
said Cameron. "I imagine there's a reception committee for us."
Even
he was surprised at what was waiting. The little rocket dome held more ships
than normally came in a year. The precise confusion of military discipline was
everywhere. Armed guards lined either side of the landing ramp and more
platoons were in the distance. It was almost amusing to see how dangerous the Medicouncil considered them.
Near
the end of the ramp a large telecom had been set up. If size indicated anything
someone thought this was an important occasion. From the screen, larger than
life, Medicouncilor Thorton
looked out approvingly.
"A
good job, Dr. Cameron," said the medicouncilor
as the procession from the ship halted. "We were quite surprised at the
escape of our accidentals and your disappearance which coincided with it. From
what we were able to piece together, you followed them deliberately. A splendid example of quick thinking, doctor. You deserve
recognition."
"I
thought it was my fault for letting them get so far. I had to try to stop
them."
"No
doubt it was. But you atoned, you atoned. I'm sorry I can't be there in person
to congratulate you but I'll arrive soon." The medicouncilor
paused discreetly. "At first the publicity was bad, very bad. We thought
it unwise to try to conceal it. Of course the broadcast made it impossible to
hide anything. Fortunately the discovery of the gravity drive came along at
just the right time.- When we announced it opinion began swinging in our direction. I don't
mind telling you the net effect is now in our favor."
"I hoped it would be," said
Cameron. "I don't want them to
be hurt. They're all vulnerable, Nona especially, because of
what she is. I've thought quite a bit about how she should be
approached------- "
"I'm sure you have." The medicouncilor smiled faintly. "Don't let your emotions
run away with you. In due time we'll discuss her. For
the present see that she and the other accidentals are returned to their usual
places. Bring Docchi to your office at once. He's to
be questioned privately."
It was a strange request and mentally Cameron
retreated.
"Wait. Are you sure you want Docchi? He's the
engineer
but------- "
"No objections, doctor," said Thorton sternly. "Important people are waiting. Don't
spoil their good opinion of you." The telecom snapped into darkness.
"I
think you heard what he said, Dr. Cameron." The officer at his side was
very polite, perhaps because it emphasized the three big planets on his tunic.
"I
heard," said Cameron irritably. "I don't want to argue with authority
but since I'm in charge of this place I demand that you furnish a guard for
this girl.
"So
you're in charge?" drawled the officer. "You know I've got a funny feeling I'm commander here. My orders said I was to replace you
until further notice. I haven't got that notice." He looked around at his
men and crooked a finger. "Lieutenant, see that the little fella—Jordan, I think his name is—gets a lift back to the
main dome. And you can walk the pretty lady to her room, or whatever it is she
lives in. Don't get too personal though unless she encourages it." He
smiled condescendingly at Cameron. "Anything else I can do to oblige a fellow commander?"
Cameron
glanced at the guards. They were everywhere he looked, smartly uniformed,
alert. There was no indication of amusement in the expressions of those near
enough to have heard the conversation. They were well disciplined.
"Nothing else, General," he said stonily. "Keep her in sight.
You're responsible."
"So I am," remarked the officer
pleasantly, winking at the lieutenant. "Let's go."
Medicouncilor Thorton was
waiting impatiently on the screen in Cameron's office. The attitude suited him
well, as if he'd tried many and found slightly concealed discourtesy best for
the personality of the busy executive. "We'll arrive in about two
hours," he said immediately. "By this I mean a number of top
governmental officials, scientists, and some of our leading industrialists.
Their time is valuable so let's get on with this gravity business."
He caught sight of the commander.
"General Judd, this is a technical matter. I don't think you'll be
interested."
"Very well, sir. I'll stand guard
outside." *
The medicouncilor was silent until the door closed. "Sit
down, Docchi," he said with unexpected
solicitude, pausing to note the effect. "I can sympathize with you. Everything within your reach—and then to return here. Well,
I can understand how you feel. But since you did come back I think we can arrange
to do things for you."
Docchi stared at the screen. A spot of light pulsed
in his cheek and then flared rapidly over his face. "You probably
will," he said casually. "But what about theft
charges? We stole a ship."
"A formality," declared the medicouncilor with earnest simplicity. "With a thing
like the discovery, or rediscovery, of the gravity drive, no one's going to
worry about an obsolete ship. How else could you test your theories except by
trying them out in actual flight?"
The medicouncilor was dulcet, coaxing. "I don't want to
mislead you. Medically we can't do any more for you than we have. However
you'll find yourself the center of a more adequate social life. Friends, work,
whatever you want. In return for this naturally we'll expect your
cooperation."
"Wait," said Cameron, walking to
the screen and standing
squarely in front of it. "I don't think you realize Docchi's
part------- "
"Don't
interrupt," glowered Thorton.
"I want to reach an agreement at once. It will look very good for us if we
can show these famous people how well we work with our patients. Now, Docchi, how much of the drive can you have on paper by the
time we land?"
"He can't have anything," Cameron
started shouting. "I tried
to tell you—he doesn't know----------- "
"Look out," cried Thorton too late.
Cameron's
knees buckled and he clutched his legs in pain. Again Docchi
kicked out and the doctor fell down. Docchi aimed
another savage blow with his foot that grazed the back of Cameron's head. Blood
trickled from his mouth and he stopped trying to get up.
"Docchi,"
screeched Thorton, but there was no answer.
Docchi crashed through the door. The commander was
lounging against the wall, looking around vacantly. Head down Docchi plunged into him. The toaster fell from his belt to
the floor. With scarcely a pause Docchi stamped on it
and continued running.
The
commander got up, retrieving the weapon. He aimed it at the retreating figure
and would have triggered it except that it didn't feel right in his hand. He
lowered it and quickly examined the damaged mechanism. Sweating, he slipped it
gingerly into a tunic pocket.
Muffled
shouts were coming from Cameron's office, growing in vehemence. The general
broke in.
The medicouncilor glared at him from the screen. "I see
that you let him get away."
The
disheveled officer straightened his uniform. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't
think he had that much life in him. I'll alert the guards immediately."
"Never mind now. Revive that man."
The
general wasn't accustomed to resuscitation; saving lives was out of his line.
Nevertheless in a few minutes Cameron was conscious, though somewhat dazed.
"Now, doctor, who does know something about the gravity drive if it
isn't Docchi?"
Cameron
shook his head groggily. "It was an easy mistake," he said. "Cut
off from communication with us the drive began to work. How, why, who did it? Mostly who. Not me, I'm a doctor, not a physicist. Nor
Jordan; he's at best a mechanic.
Therefore it had to be Docchi because he's an
engineer." He
stopped to wipe the blood from his cheek.
"For God's sake tell me," said Thorton. "It couldn't be------------------ "
"No,",..said
Cameron with quiet satisfaction. "It wasn't Anti
either. The last person you'd think of. The little
deaf and
dumb girl the psychologists wouldn't bother
with." "Nona?" said Thorton incredulously.
"I told you," said Cameron and
proceeded to tell him more, filling in the details.
"I
see. We overlooked that possibility," said the medicoun-cilor
gravely. "Not the mechanical genius of an engineer. Instead
the strange telepathic sense of a girl. That puts the problem in a
different light."
"It's
not so difficult though." Cameron rubbed the lump on the back of his head.
The hair was bristling, clotted with blood. "She can't tell us how she
does it. We'll have to find out by experiment, but it won't involve any danger.
The monitor can always control the drive."
The medicouncilor laughed shakily, teetering backward.
"The monitor is worth exactly nothing. We tried it. For a microsecond it
seemed to take over as it always has on other units— but this gravity generator
slipped away. We thought Docchi found a way to
disengage the control circuit."
"But it wasn't Docchi
who told the computer how to do it."
"We
figured it out when we thought it was Docchi,"
growled the medicouncilor wearily. "He was sensible,
that's all. It was the only reasonable thing a man could do, come back and take
advantage of his discovery." He shook his head in perplexed disgust.
"Why the girl returned is beyond me."
"Do you think---------- " said Cameron and then wished he'd left
it unsaid.
"Yes,
by God, I do think." The medicouncilor's fist
crashed down. "Docchi knows why. He found out in
this room and we told him. As soon as he knew he escaped."
Panic
slipped into Thorton's face and then was gone, covered
over almost at once by long habits of sudden decisions. "She could have
taken the ship anywhere she wanted and we couldn't stop her. Since she's here
voluntarily it's obvious what she wants—the asteroid."
The medicouncilor
tried to shove himself out of the screen. "Don't
you ever think, General? There's no real difference between gravity generators
except size and power. What she did on the ship she can do as easily
here."
"Don't
worry," said the startled officer. "I'll get her. I'll find the girl
and Docchi too."
"Never
mind him," choked the medicouncilor. "I
don't care how you do it. Take Nona at once, without delay."
The
time had passed for that command. The great dome overhead trembled and creaked
in countless joints. But the structure held though unexpected stresses were
imposed on it. And the tiny world shivered, groaning and grumbling at the orbit
it had lain too long in. Already that was changing—the asteroid began to move.
VAGUE
shapes were stirring. They walked if they could, crawled
if they couldn't—fantastic and near-fantastic creatures were coming to the
assembly. Large or tiny, on their own legs or borrowed ones they arrived, with
or without arms, faces. The news had spread fast, by voice or written message,
sign language, lip reading, all the conceivable ways that humans communicate,
not the least of which was the vague intuition that something was going on that
the person should know about. The people on Handicap Haven sensed the
emergency.
"Remember
it will be hours or perhaps days before we're safe," said Docchi. His voice was hoarse but he hadn't noticed it yet.
"It's up to us to see that Nona has all the time she needs."
"Where is she hiding?" asked
someone in the crowd.
"I
don't know. I wouldn't tell you if I did. They might pry
it out of you. Right now our sole job is to keep them from finding her."
"How?"
demanded someone else near the front. "Do you expect us to fight the
guards?"
"Not directly," said Docchi. "We have no weapons for that, no armament.
Many of us have no arms in another sense. All we can do is to obstruct their
search. Unless someone can think of something better, this is what I plan:
"I
want all the men, older women and the younger ones who aren't suitable for
reasons I'll explain later. The guards won't be here for half an hour—it will
take that long to get them together and give them orders. When
they do come the first group will attempt to interfere in every possible way
with their search.
"How
you do it I'll leave to your imagination. Appeal to their sympathy as long as
they have any. Put yourself in dangerous situations. They have ethics and at
first they'll be inclined to help you. When they do, try to steal their
weapons. Avoid physical violence as much as you can. We don't want to force
them into retaliation—they'll be so much better at it. Make the most of this
phase of their behavior. It won't last long."
Docchi paused to look over the crowd. "Each of
you will have to decide for himself when to drop passive resistance and start
the real battle. Again, you may be able to think of more things than I can tell
you but here are some suggestions. Try to disrupt the light, scanning and
ventilation systems. They'll be forced to keep them in repair. Perhaps they'll
even attempt to guard all the strategic points. So much the better for us—
there'll be fewer guards to contend with."
"What
about me?" called a woman from far in back.
"What can I do?"
"You're
in for a rough time," Docchi promised. "Is Jeriann here?"
Jeriann elbowed her way through the crowd to his
side. Docchi glanced at her. He'd seen her many times
but never so close. It was hard to believe that she should be here with the
rest of them. "Jeriann," said Docchi to the accidentals,
"is a normal pretty woman—outwardly. However she has no trace of a
digestive system. The maximum time she can go without food and fluid absorption
is ten hours. That's why she's with us and not on earth."
Docchi scanned the group. "I'm looking for a
miracle. Is
there a cosmetechnician who thinks she can perform
one? Bring your kit."
A legless woman propelled herself forward. Docchi conferred at length with her. At first she was startled,
reluctant to try but after persuasion she consented. Under her deft fingers Jeriann was transformed. When she turned around and faced
the crowd she was no longer herself—she was Nona.
"She
can get away with the disguise longer and therefore she'll be the first Nona
they find," explained Docchi. "I think
—hope—that they'll call off the search for a few hours after they take her.
Eventually they'll find out she isn't Nona when they can't get her to stop the
drive. Fingerprints or x-rays would reveal it at once but they'll be so sure
they have her that it won't occur ^o them. Nona is impossible to question as
you know and Jeriann will give as good an imitation
as she can.
"As
soon as they discover that the girl they have is Jeriann
they won't bother to be polite. Guards will like the idea of finding attractive
girls they can manhandle in the line of duty especially if they think it will
help them find Nona. It won't, but I think they'll get too enthusiastic and
that in itself will hold up the search."
No
one moved. The women in the crowd were still, looking at each other in silent
apprehension. Jordan started them. He twisted his head, grimacing. "Let's
get busy," he said somberly.
"Wait,"
said Docchi. "I have one Nona. I need more volunteers,
at least fifty. It doesn't matter whether the person is physically sound or
not, we'll raid the lab for plastic tissue. If you're about her size and can
walk and have at least one arm come forward."
And
slowly, singly and by twos and threes, they came to the platform. There were
few indeed who wouldn't require liberal use of camouflage. It was primarily on
these women their hopes rested.
The
other group followed Jordan out, looking at Docchi
for some sign. When he gave them none they hurried on determinedly. He could
depend on them. The sum total of their ingenuity would produce some results.
Mass production of an individual. Not perfect in every instance—good enough
to pass in most. Docchi watched critically, suggesting occasional touches that
improved the resemblance. "She can't speak or hear," he reminded the
volunteers. "Remember it at all times no matter what they do. Don't scream
for help, we won't be able to. Hide in difficult places. After Jeriann is taken and the search called off and then resumed,
let yourselves be found, one at a time. We can't communicate with you and so
you'll just have to guess when it's your turn. You should be able to tell by
the flurry of activity. That will mean they've discovered the last person they
captured wasn't Nona. Every guard that has to take you in for examination is
one less to search for the girl they really want. They'll have to find Nona
soon or get off the asteroid."
The cosmetechnicians were busy and they couldn't stop. But
there was one who looked up. "Get off?" she asked. "Why?"
He
thought he'd told everyone. She must have arrived late. It was satisfying to
repeat it. "Handicap Haven is leaving the solar system," he said.
Her
fingers flew, molding the beautiful curve of a jaw where there had been none.
Next, plastic lips were applied that were more lifelike than any this woman had
ever created.
Soon Nona was hiding in half a hundred
places.
And one more.
The orbit of Neptune was behind them, far
behind, and still the asteroid accelerated. Two giant gravity generators
strained at the crust and core of the asteroid. The third clamped an abnormally
heavy gravity field around the fragment of an isolated world. Prolonged
physical exertion was awkward and doubly exhausting. It tied right in; the
guards were not and couldn't be very active. Hours turned into a day and the
day passed too—and the generators never faltered. It seemed they never would.
"Have
you figured it out precisely? It's your responsibility, you know," said Docchi ironically. "You share our velocity away from
the sun. You'll have to overcome it before you start going back. If you wait
too long you might not be able to reach earth."
Superficially the genera^ seemed to ignore
him but the muscles
in his jaw twitched. "If we could only turn off that
damned drive."
"That's what we're
trying to do," said Vogel placatingly.
"I know. But if we
could do it without finding her."
The
resident engineer shrugged sickly. "Go ahead. Try it. I don't want to be
around when you do. I know, it sounds easy, just a couple of gravity
generators. But remember there's also a good
sized nuclear pile involved."
"I
know, I know," muttered the general morosely. "Damned
atomics not worth inventing. Nothing you can do with them, always too touchy." He glowered at the darkness overhead.
"On the other hand we can take off and blow this rock apart from a safe distance."
"And lose all hope of
finding her?" taunted Docchi.
"We're losing her
anyway," commented Vogel sourly.
"You're
getting way from the perspective. It's not as bad as that," counselled Docchi. "Now that
you know where the difficulty is you can always build other computers and this
time furnish them with auxiliary senses. Or maybe give them the facts of
elementary astronomy."
"Now
why didn't I think of that?" said Vogel disgustedly. "You don't need
me here, do you, General? If not I'd like to go back to my ship." The
general grunted consent and the engineer left, lurching under the massive
gravity.
"There's
even another solution though it may not appeal to you," said Docchi cautiously. "I can't believe Nona is altogether
unique. There must be others like her, so-called 'born mechanics' whose
understanding of machinery is a form of intelligence we haven't suspected.
Look hard and you may find them, perhaps in the most unlikely or unlovely
bodies." It didn't show but inwardly he was smiling. He was harassing them
effectively from this end. Hope was sometimes the most demoralizing agent.
General Judd growled wearily. "If I
thought you knew where
she is------- "
Docchi stiffened, glowing involuntarily.
"Forget
the dramatics, General," said Cameron with distaste. "Resistance
we'd have had in any event. He's responsible merely for making it more
effective.^
He frowned heavily, continuing. "At the
moment what he's trying to do is obvious. He needn't bother tearing down our
morale though—it's already collapsed. I can't think of a thing we can do that
will help us." He wished the medicouncilor had
been able to land; he needed further instructions. His own role wasn't clear
and he kept thinking, thinking. ...
He should stop thinking. Of course the ship that carried the medicouncilor couldn't actually touch on the asteriod—there were too many important people aboard and
they couldn't risk being taken out of the system. Still, the medicouncilor might have
spared a few minutes to discuss things with him. He knew what he ought to do.
The sun was high in the center of the dome. Sun? It was much more like a very bright star. It cast no
shadows; it was the lights in the dome that did. They nickered and with monotonous
regularity went out again. Each time the general swore constantly and
emotionlessly until service was restored.
A
guard approached, walking warily behind his captive. He saluted negligently.
"I think I've found her, sir."
Cameron
looked at the girl. "I don't think you have. And it seems to me you were
unnecessarily rough."
The guard smirked with bland insolence. "Orders, sir."
"Whose orders?"
"Yours, sir. You said she couldn't talk or make any kind of a sound. It was the easiest way to make sure. She didn't say a thing."
Cameron
turned to the general but saw he'd get no support there. Judd was scowling,
completely indifferent to the guard's behavior.
The
doctor snapped open the sharp scalpel and thrust it savagely deep in the girl's
thigh. She looked at him with a tear-stained face but didn't complain or move a
muscle.
"Plastic
tissue as any fool can plainly see," said Cameron dourly. His rage was
growing.
The
guard stared, twisting his lips. "Let her go," snapped the doctor.
The
girl darted away. The guard saluted stiffly and left, rubbing his hands
against his uniform. He'll go and scrub his hands, because he touched her,
Cameron thought wearily.
"I have a request to make," said Docchi.
"Sure,
sure," said the general cholerically. "We're apt to give you what you
want. If you don't see it, just ask. We'll send out and get it."
"You
might at that." Docchi was smiling openly.
"You're going to leave without Nona, and very soon. When you go, don't
take all the ships. You won't need them but we will, when we get to another
system."
The
general started to reply but his anger was greater than his epithets. There was
nothing left to use, and so he remained silent.
"Don't say anything you'll regret," cautioned Docchi. "When you get back, what will you report? Can you tell your
superiors that you left in good order, while there was still time to continue
the search? Or will they like it better if they know you stayed until the last
minute—so late that you had to transfer your men and abandon some ships? Think
it over. I have your interests at heart."
The
general swallowed with difficulty, his face reddening at first and then
becoming quite white. Wordlessly he stamped away. Cameron looked after the
retreating officer and in a few minutes followed. But he walked slower and the
distance between doctor and officer grew greater. Docchi
was beginning to relax at the nearness of victory and didn't notice where
either of them went.
The last rocket disappeared, leaving a trail
behind that overwhelming darkness soon extinguished. The sun was now one
bright star among many, which one was sometimes difficult to say. And the
asteroid itself seemed subtly to have been transformed, more spacious than it
had been and not so dingy—and it was not hard to find a reason—it had become a
miniature world, a tiny system complete in itself.
"I think we can survive," said Docchi.
"We've got power and
we can replenish the oxygen. We'll have to grow or synthesize
our food but actually the place was set up originally to do just
that. It will take work to make everything serviceable again—
but we've always wanted something more than meaningless rou-
tine." i-..
They were sitting beside the tank, which had
been returned to the usual place. A tree rustled in the artificial breeze and
the grass around them had been torn and trampled by the guards. It seemed more
peaceful because of the violence which had lately swept over them. Now it had
ebbed and it would never come back.
Jordan teetered beside the tree. "We'll
find some way to get Anti out of the tank," he said. "When Nona comes
back maybe we can rig up a null gravity place—something to make Anti more comfortable. And of course we've got to continue the cold
treatment."
"I can wait," said Anti, "I've
already waited a long time."
Docchi glanced around; his eyes were following his
mind, which was wandering and searching.
"Now
there's no need to worry," said Anti. "The guards were rough with
some of the women but plastic tissue doesn't feel pain and so they escaped with
fewer injuries than you'd believe. As for Nona, well, she can look out not
only for herself but the rest of us as well."
It
was almost true; she seemed fragile, ethereal even, but she wasn't. And her
awareness began where that of normal humans left off. And where her perceptions
ended no one knew, least of all herself. Right there was a source of trouble.
"I think we should start looking," said Docchi.
"At the last moment, upset at leaving and not knowing or caring who she
was, one of the
guards
might have--------- " The
enormity of the thought was too
great to complete.
"Listen,"
said Anti. The ground vibrated, felt rather than heard. "As long as the
gravity is functioning can there be any doubt?"
In
his mind there could be. Nona had started it but once the gravity computer was
informed of the nature of the universe there was no reason to suppose that it
wouldn't keep running indefinitely. It existed to perform such tasks. It didn't
actually have volition—but that applied to stopping as well.
"I
think I can convince you," said Jordan. "First you'll have to turn
around."
Docchi scrambled to his feet and there she was
coming toward them, fresh and restfjl. There was a
smudge on her cheek but
she might have got that from some machine she'd stopped to investigate on the
way here. Her curiosity was not limited and there was nothing mechanically so
insignificant that it escaped her attention.
"Where were you?" asked Docchi, expecting no reply. She smiled and for a moment he
thought she knew what he asked. He was relieved that she was safe—and that was
all. Something was missing in the reactions he expected from himself but he
couldn't say where. At one time he had thought—and now he no longer did.
Perhaps it was an expression of the new freedom they had all achieved.
Jordan
looked at him quizzically, half penetrating the screen he'd thrown over his
lack of emotions. "It's not as bad as you think. She understands some
things. Machines."
And
a machine he was not. He wasn't even a complete human. Perhaps that was where
the difference was.
"She's
a born mechanic, such as never existed. It's about time one appeared in the
human race. We've worked with machines long enough to evolve someone who
understands them without having to study and learn. I'm that way myself, a
little. Nothing like her."
They
all knew that. Even on earth they were probably busy revising their
intelligence ratings. "That doesn't change our problem—her problem."
Jordan
hesitated. "The idea's pretty vague but we've made one advance: we know
she can think."
"We always did," said Anti.
"Sure,
we did. But doctors and psychologists weren't convinced and they were the ones
who were studying her. Now it's up to us."
There
was a difference. No matter what they'd thought, previously they'd been
patients, and it was axiomatic that the patient's ideas were largely ignored. Now
they had stepped into a dual role, patient and doctor, subject and
experimenter, the eye at the microscope and the object on the slide.
They
all had second-hand medical training—with long association some of it had
rubbed off on them. There wasn't one-of them who didn't know his own body far
better than the average man. That knowledge, subject^ e though it was, could
be
pooled.
Fortunately they had a well equipped hospital to work with.
"We'll have to get busy on Nona,"
continued Jordan. "Where are we going? She knows but we don't. There's got
to be some way to find out."
ft
hadn't mattered before—it was enough that they were leaving. But once they had
achieved that, new problems were thrusting up every direction they looked.
"What do you suggest?" asked Docchi.
"An oscillograph," said Jordan triumphantly.
Docchi shook his head. "No good. She's been
around them often enough to show an interest if she really feels any."
"Maybe she could learn
to write, actually, on the screen."
"She
hasn't changed and I doubt if her interests have. From what we know she doesn't
use words; she thinks directly in terms of mechanical function. The gravity
computer was the first thing she found complex enough to arouse her
interest."
"But she's always been
near the computer."
"That's
not so. She came here years ago and though there was a computer in the ship
that brought her she wasn't mature enough to use it. Since then she's been kept
away from the main computers the same as the rest of us have been."
Jordan
leaned on his hands and rocked thoughtfully. "She learned all that during
the few hours we were on the ship?"
"It
was days," said Docchi. "Yes, she did. It
was the only opportunity she had." It was a strange language she'd
learned, the code a complex computer used inside itself, the stop, go; current
and no current; the electron stream; the mechanical memory rocked back and
forth magnetically—and all the while the whisper of a steel tape as it coiled
and uncoiled. It was possible that only a computer would ever be able to
understand the girl. And yet she was a creature of flesh, bones, glands,
nerves, and blood flowing through her veins in reponse
to the intangible demands of life.
Anti
stirred restlessly. Waves of acid spilled over the sides and where the fluid
touched, grass curled and blackened. "I said I'd wait but I didn't say I
liked waiting. Why don't you two get busy?"
"I was thinking where |{u begin," said Jordan. He hoisted himself onto a repair robot he'd taken for
himself. It was an uncomfortable vehicle for anyone else but it seemed just
right for him.
Docchi got up; there was no question where to
start. Anything they considered needed something done. In the struggle for
freedom, in their resistance to the guards, they'd overlooked it. They'd have
to reorient their outlook. Perhaps that was the biggest thing that confronted
them.
"Goodbye,"
Anti called out as they left. The picture Docchi
looked back to was unforgettable^the tank and Anti in
it, Nona sitting in blank pensiveness under the tree. One was capable of near
miracles with seemingly little effort, but at times she seemed inert. The other
was raw vitality with an urge to live—but there was hardly any time she could
stand upright.
Docchi hurried along, trying to keep up with
Jordan. He lengthened his pace but still the gap grew. After a while he slowed
down, attempting to assess the damage the guards had done as he passed by
evidence of their destructiveness.
Visibly
they seemed to have torn everything apart but actually not much had been
destroyed. Mostly the repairs would consist in reassembling machines and
structures that had been dismantled. This wasn't the result of consideration.
Until the last moment the general had been certain he'd find Nona and hence
retain possession of the asteroid. If he had, the unnecessary violence would
have been hard to explain. Lucky—because the guards could have
wrecked the place.
They'd
still have difficulty; even able-bodied men would, and they were far from that.
They were not equipped for an expedition of this nature and somehow they'd
have to build what they lacked. Light and heat, the function of power, was
automatic, and the oxygen supply was nearly so. It was with the lesser things
they'd have trouble. Some food had always been brought in, and now that supply
was gone. It would have to be replaced. They could do without other luxuries
now that they had the biggest one—freedom to do what they wanted.
Docchi himself was a good engineer and Nona
couldn't be too highly evaluated. Between them they could convert unnecessary
equipment into something they needed. Two geepees and
a repair robot taken apart and properly reassembled might equal some
inconceivable machine that would go a long way toward solving problems of food,
air, meteor detection or what have you. It was a thought.
Jordan clung perilously to the robot as it
rumbled along. "Where is everyone?" he called back.
"Asleep, I guess," said Docchi.
"Sleeping, when there's so much to be
done?"
Habit
had taken over. The mechanisms of the asteroid were still operating as they
were set to function. The lighting in the dome indicated it was time and so
they slept. But there were no hours, days, weeks, and moments any more, nothing
but necessity to guide them.
"We'll
change this," said Docchi. "Most of us have
been treated as invalids so long we believe it. We'll divide up in groups and
from now on somebody will always be awake, working or watching, or both."
It
was obvious what the watch would be for. Empty space— but how
empty? The region near Sol had been explored but what lay beyond?
Between the sun and Alpha Centauri there might be many interstellar masses
"large enough to smash the asteroid. They'd have to take precautions.
Jordan sent the machine along faster as if to
compensate for
others' inactivity. Presently he stopped abruptly, waiting for
Docchi to catch up. He glanced down in front of his
machine.
"Here's one of them who was very sleepy," he
said. "Un-
less----- "
Docchi looked at her. It was one of the Nonas who hadn't yet removed the disguise. The cosmetechnicians had done their work well and it was
difficult to say who she was. There was a startling resemblance to the girl
they'd just left with Anti. She was curled up in an uncomfortable position and
it was obvious she wasn't there by choice.
Jordan
swung off the machine and felt her pulse. "There is one," he
muttered, carefully looking her over. "Can't see anything," he said
at last. "At first I thought the guards had done it but there's no broken
bones nor, as far as I can tell, internal injuries. She ought to have a medical
examination."
Startled,
Docchi glittered. Medical care was one of the luxuries
they'd have to do without. They needn't fear epidemics;
they
were isolated and their bodies were phenomenally resistant to disease and
anyway the antibiotics they had would quell any known infections. But here was
something they hadn't accounted for. "There are a few people around who
used to be nurses," said Docchi. "We'd
better get them."
"Where?" grunted Jordan. "She
needs attention now."
Jordan
was right; the girl couldn't wait. Part of the difficulty was that there were
so many accidentals with peculiarities. What was safe for one accidental might
be deadly to another. They had to know who the girl was before they could
decide whether to do anything. The disguise had helped them get away but it was
hurting them now. "Can you pry off the
makeup?" he asked.
"Without
the goop they carry in the cosmetic kit? Hardly. I'd
tear her own face off."
It
could mean her death to move her before something was done—but what was that
something? She would know; everyone did. They were all experts on their own
ailments and could give down to the last item on their prescription, diet or
exercise, a concise analysis of what they had to do to maintain their health.
Jordan
shook her gently, harder when that failed. Presently she stirred, her eyes
fluttered and she whispered something.
"Ask
her who she is," said Docchi, but that was
impossible. It had taken strength to respond at all and after she'd used it the
girl had lapsed back in the coma.
"She
didn't say," said Jordan helplessly. "She whispered one word—food.
That was all."
Food. Docchi knelt beside her to check his conclusions. Now that
he was close he could see that her skin was extraordinarily smooth and
lustrous. Her face, arms, legs, even her hands, and if they removed her
clothing the rest of her body would be the same. Her skin and the mention of
food told him what he needed to know. It was Jeriann,
the first volunteer Nona—and the first real casualty.
He
could reconstruct with some accuracy what had happened. After Cameron
discovered who she was she'd been kept in custody and given medical care. As
the search wore on and more guards were sent out to search she had managed to
escape, hiding from the guards. But she had remained hidden too long and had
collapsed trying to get to the hospital.
Hunger
shock, simply that, but with her hunger was a traumatic experience. Having no
digestive system at all she was always close to starvation. "Pick her up.
It won't hurt her," said Docchi. "Let's
rush her to the dispensary."
Jordan
hoisted the limp girl to the top of the repair robot, wrapping extensibles around her, adjusting
them so they held her. He got on beside her, reaching into the controls and
squeezing extra speed out of the makeshift ambulance.
Docchi was not far behind, arriving at the hospital
not long after Jordan and his passenger did. The dispensary was on the first
floor and so Jordan wheeled the robot directly to the door. He dismounted and
lifted Jeriann off.
Inside
the dispensary there was little that had actually been broken. This was
remarkable considering how thoroughly the guards had ransacked the hospital.
But someone with a grim sense of humor had seen to it that the medical
preparations were hopelessly intermixed, scattered over the floor in complete
confusion. For the present emergency it couldn't have been worse if everything had been broken.
Docchi stared down at the litter, his face
twitching as he glanced back at Jeriann.
"It's
in here somewhere," said Jordan. "How do we find it in a hurry?"
"See if there are names or symbols on
them."
Jordan
was close to the floor anyway; he leaned down and began pawing hastily but with
extreme care through the confusion of medicals. Every bit of it was precious
even though they didn't know what it was. Someone could use it, had to have it,
and eventually they'd be able to place whom it was intended for. "No
names," said Jordan as he continued to look.
Docchi was afraid of that, but it was a thought for
the future. Hereafter there would be
names on everything so that even if it got displaced they'd be able to identify
it. The medical administration must have been exceedingly lax. "What
about symbols?" he said quickly.
"There
seem to be some. Don't know what they mean." Jordan brightened. "We
can look in the files."
Docchi bent his body. He'd observed that when he
entered. "Won't do any good. The files are scattered
too." And that was an act of wanton hatred. It hadn't helped the guards
find Nona.
Jordan stopped scrabbling through the piles of miscellaneous bottles,
capsules, and vials. "Then we've got to go for help," he said slowly.
"There's got to be somebody who knows what she takes looks like."
He
couldn't condemn her so easily and that's what it would mean if she wasn't
attended to in the next few minutes. There was a line beyond which the body
couldn't pass without extreme damage, perhaps death. And she'd been close to it
when they found her. Docchi began to review
desperately what he knew of Jeriann. It wasn't much.
There were too many accidentals for him to know all of them.
First,
she never ate or drank. Her needs in this respect were supplied medically. That
was why her skin was so soft and evenly beautiful. It was not a reflection of
inner health. If anything it was due to the method of intake. And that told him what he had to know.
Another
accidental might have guessed it instantly, but there were various kinds of
accidentals, groups within groups, and their peculiarities varied so widely
that few knew what all of them were. In one sense Jeriann
was a deficient.
"I
think we can find it. Look for the largest capsule," said Docchi.
"I
know what you're thinking, but it won't work," said Jordan, sweeping his
arm around to indicate how impossible the request was. "She gets all her
food and water that way so it has to be the largest. But which
one? Some of the preparations are supposed to last for weeks. They might
be bigger than hers."
"It's
simpler than you suppose. I don't know what her schedule is but it must be at
least five times daily, and massive at that. It would be exceedingly painful,
not to say inconvenient, if she got all her food and fluid needs by
injection."
"Absorption
capsules," exclaimed Jordan. "Why didn't I think of that? That makes it easy."
"Don't
be so sure. There are other deficients,"
cautioned Docchi.
Jordan had cleared a space
around him and was already separating the preparations. At first glimpse the
absorption capsules were like any other container—and then they weren't. The
shape was not quite regular and the outside was soft to the touch, almost like
human flesh. That's what it was, almost. And in time, when properly^ applied,
that's what it did become.
Further,
there was a thin film on one side. When this was peeled off and the exposed
surface was pressed against the body, only surgery could remove it.
Jordan
gazed in indecision at the absorption capsules he'd assembled in the cleared
space near Jordan. "Which one is hers?" he said doubtfully.
"They're all alike."
Actually
they weren't. There were subtle differences in size and shape that would enable
anyone who was familiar with it to distinguish his preparation from any other.
Another deficient might say which was Jeriann's
since generally they'd be more observant of these matters. But it did no good
to wish that the girl's friends were here. "We'll have to keep
looking," said Jordan, hitching himself over to the heap of medicals he'd
just gone through.
It
hadn't worked out as well as he'd expected. Reflection should have shown it
wouldn't. The capsules were expensive and difficult to make and so they
wouldn't be used except where the sheer volume and the repetitive nature of the
injection required it. There was probably no case on the asteroid as extreme
as Jeriann's, but once a day instead of five was
still repetition. "There's nothing in that pile," said Docchi harshly. "You've gone through it and I
watched."
Jordan paused; he knew it too. "What'll
we do?"
"Simplify
it. Toss out the smaller ones until only fifteen are left." There was no
real reason for selecting that figure, none but this: in her dazed condition
she'd have time for one glance. If it wasn't there, it just wasn't.
Jordan
complied, exceedingly dextrous when he had to be,
though more than dexterity was involved. Visual comparison had to suffice and
it was never harder to make. "That look about right?" asked Jordan
when he finished.
"It
should be one of them," said Docchi. He was
guessing. They both knew they were. The capsules were set near Jeriann, about the size of a man's fist. One of them, the
one for Jeriann, was remarkably small considering it had to
supply the total needs of a human body. For a fraction of a day only, a fourth
or a sixth, but even so it was little. She must be always hungry. It would
never do to mention food to her.
Jordan
raised her up gently, tilting her limp body so she could see what she had to
choose from. He glanced at Docchi for confirmation
and then began to slap her. Still the consciousness was buried deep. He hit
her harder until breath ran shud-deringly into her
lungs. "Which one?" he asked quickly, as soon as her eyes flickered
open, running over the array of capsules.
He
grabbed the one she seemed to indicate, holding it closer. "Is this
it?" Her eyes dropped shut and she couldn't answer. Jordan laid her down.
He wiped his hands on the sacklike garment.
"She recognized this one," he said, not looking at Docchi.
So she had, but was it recognition of
something that was hers?
"I could see that.
We'll give it to her." "Should I sterilize it or something?"
Jordan
wanted to delay because he wasn't sure. And they couldn't delay, even if it was
the wrong thing. It might be like giving sugar to a person in a diabetic coma,
the certain way of finishing him off faster. And yet with Jeriann
it had to be done. Actually very little time had elapsed since they found her,
five or ten minutes. What they didn't know was how long she'd lain there.
Docchi shook his head. "The absorption capsule
was meant to be administered under any condition. Outside of puncturing it and
squirting in a virus culture there's no way to harm it. It's
self-sterilizing."
"I forgot," said
Jordan. "Where'll I give it to her?"
"Anywhere. Oh, I guess maybe her thigh. It may sink in faster since she's gone so
long without."
Jordan
brushed her skirt up and carefully peeled off the film on one side, making
certain the exposed surface didn't come in contact with his hand. The capsule
contracted as the film came off, rhythmically writhing. The shape changed too;
it was like nothing so much as a giant amoeba. Quickly Jordan thrust the raw
surface of the squirming thing on Jeriann's thigh. It
was not alive but it was capable of motion and it moved a quarter of an inch
before it adhered.
It
stuck there. It was one with the girl, it was her; and the correct injection or not it couldn't be removed. The fluid
in that pseudobody was being injected into Jeriann through the countless pores it covered—through her
skin without a puncture. It was no wonder her skin was radiantly
beautiful—five times a day an area of ten to fifteen square inches. In a short
time her body would be covered, and she never could use the same place on
successive days. She achieved ciarity and flaw-lessness of complexion, but at a price. At
a price.
Jordan
wiped his forehead. "Shouldn't we be seeing some results?" he said
anxiously.
"It
has a long way to go," Docchi assured him. "Into her bloodstream and to her muscles and glands, to her
brain. In a minute now if we don't see some results we'll know we've
failed."
They waited.
8
DOCCHI
slumped in the chair, looking the place over with some satisfaction. The
medical inventory was proceeding quite well; one by one each preparation was
being identified and the local source checked. It wasn't nearly as bad as he
had assumed at first; they were nearly self-sufficient.
One
of the checkers came in. Docchi recognized her
vaguely; he'd seen her around but that was all. He didn't know who she was nor what she did. Unless he was mistaken her arms and legs
were her own, a trifle heavy but shapely enough. If there was anything about
her that was camouflaged with plastic tissue it was her face—-the sullen
glamour was an exaggeration of nature and moreover her expression didn't change
at all as she came nearer. There must be something with her face that couldn't
be corrected surgically and so she'd overcompensated.
"We've
got it all done," she said in a flat throaty voice. Glamour
there too, in about the same degree.
"What?" he said. "Oh
yes, the check of the biologicals. All
identified?" He recalled her name, Maureen something or other.
"Everything
that people claimed. There was some that no one knew what it was. Useless I
suppose, or worse. It ought to be destroyed."
That
was a logical assumption any time save now. Medicine was precious and had to be
hoarded even if they didn't know what it was. "Save it, Maureen. Sooner or
later someone will be in for it."
"They've
all been in. You don't know how they rushed here when they learned the
dispensary had been ransacked by the guards." She smiled with faint
disdain.
He
was beginning to doubt whether her expression came out of the cosmetic kit; it
was applied with extraordinary skill if it had, flexible enough to allow her feo smile without seeming strained. But if it actually was
her face it was monotonous. How long could she keep up the glamour? "Don't
be condescending, Maureen. Of course they were concerned. There are people who
need those preparations to live comfortably, some in order to live at
all."
"I
know," she said. "I've personally contacted all the regular deficients."
She
seemed to know more about it than he did. There was a fraternity of the ailing
and degrees of confraternity. Within the accidentals there were special groups,
allied by the common nature of their infirmity. It was possible she belonged to
some such group or knew someone who did. The latter probably; there seemed to
be nothing seriously wrong with her. "What do you suppose happened? Why is
there some left?" said Docchi. "If
everyone's been here all of it ought to be accounted for."
"They're always
experimenting," said Maureen.
"Who?"
"Doctors,"
she said. "They try the latest ideas out on us and if we survive they use
it on normal people."
There
was some truth in it—not much, but the bitterness was there though earth and
all it stood for was far behind. "Don't blame them. They've got to make
improvements," he said in mild reproof.
"You don't know," said Maureen.
"Anyway, what I was saying is that there is some stuff we
can't place. In each case it substitutes for one or more substances that have
been in use up to now. We don't know who it's for." ■
It
was more serious than he thought, if only in a
negative sense. He straightened up. "How many are missing biologicals?"
"I didn't keep track accurately. Thirty or forty."
A
small number compared to the total. But thirty or forty invalids? And some would be affected seriously, depending on the nature of the
preparation that couldn't be traced to the person who should have it. The man
whose unaided body couldn't utilize calcium would certainly be in for trouble
but not as soon as he who couldn't make use of, say, iron. "We'll find
out," he said with a confidence he didn't altogether feel. "There are
records around and we'll look into them." There were records but it was
uncertain how complete they were after the guards had scattered them. "Do
you know where they're kept?"
She
shook her head, the sullen glamorous smile transfixing her face. "I wish I
did," she said.
He
was struck by the intensity. "Why?" he asked. He wanted to know too
but it wasn't an emotional thing.
"Don't you know? I'm one of them."
One
of what, he was about to ask before he realized she meant she was a deficient
whose salvaged body lacked certain physiological elements. More, she was one
whose preparation couldn't be identified. "Don't worry. It'll take us a
little while to trace everything but we'll have it straightened out in a matter
of days."
"You'd
better," she said, and it was not exactly a threat. There were overtones
he couldn't account for.
Before
he could stop her she began loosening her dress and for the first time he saw
that she wasn't breathing, that she never did. Her dress fluttered as the air
went in and out, sleeping or waking, without volition, responding mechanically
to the needs of her bloodstream. The breathing mechanism was hidden in her
body, replacing her lungs. Moreover it was probably connected to her speech
centers in such a way to release a certain amount to her throat when the
nervous system demanded. Perhaps it accounted for the peculiar vibrant quality of her voice.
She
pointed to the tube that was showing. "It's not just lungs I lack,"
she said. "Everyone, man or woman, manufactures both male and female
hormones, in different proportions of course. Except me.
I don't produce a single male hormone." She stared at him intently.
"Do
you know what that means?" Her voice was rising, terror mingled with
something else. "Without injections in a few months I'll be completely
female. One hundred per cent woman and nothing else."
He
thought he saw her grow more feminine before his eyes; reluctantly he turned
away. Theoretically the completely female person should be repulsive, yet she
wasn't. If anything, pathetic features dominated.
Pure
feminity could destroy her, but how long would it
take? He could discount her own estimate as arbitrary.
She had decided on it in an attempt at self dramatization.
"You're
fortunate," he said, and he couldn't keep his eyes from straying back to
her. "There are plenty of people around, both men and women, who can be
donors. There must be some way to extract the hormones you need from the
bloodstream. Our medical techniques may be crude but we'll manage. Keep that in
mind."
"I
will—will you?" she asked, her lips parted, and it wasn't to breathe because
she couldn't.
He
had the uncomfortable feeling that he knew exactly what she meant and it didn't
have anything to do with what he'd said. Had she even been listening? Probably
she hadn't. A pure male or female creature didn't exist but if one should come
into being it would - scarcely be human. To a human life mattered or death did
but to the pure abstract creature there was only one thing of importance.
He
looked up to see her coming toward him. "I'm afraid," she said,
clasping him to her, carefully keeping the tube free and open. And she was
afraid—it was not dramatization. The studied glamour slipped from her face.
"I don't want to be like this," she whispered. "But if it
happens—help me, please." Her nearness was overpowering, and deadly.
At length she drew away. Terror left her
eyes—and it had
been there, real though with other factors. Even in fear, and he was conscious
of that and her deeper design, she had planned ahead against the time she might
not be wholely human. It was something like to death
to change drastically from a thinking reasoning person to someone who could
react only to one stimulus.
"We'll
see that nothing happens to you," he said with weak assurance. "There
may be a delay but it won't be long. We'll work it out."
She
was regarding him fixedly and he could see she was reverting. What he said
wasn't penetrating. He cleared his throat. '"You're as familiar with the
place as any of us. Look around and see if you can find duplicate records.
There may be a clue in them as to what the new preparations are for."
Clarity returned to her face as he spoke. It would leave again and come back
at decreasing intervals unless or until the hormone deficiency was corrected.
How far she could descend and remain mentally unscathed he didn't know, nor did
he want to find out. "Don't leave until I come back. Do you
understand?"
She
smiled invitingly to show that perhaps she did understand what he said. He
knew now that the sullen glamour was real, and terrifying. She couldn't help
any of her responses. Docchi hurried out; so little
time had elapsed she must be nearly normal.
He
thought of locking the door but there was no way to do that. The essence of a
hospital was free access at all times, and so it was built. Besides, it wasn't
a good idea to try to keep her in. Constraint might produce violent reaction.
Docchi slanted the louvers so that' the place
looked vacant and let it go at that. The best he could hope for was that
Maureen wouldn't think of leaving.
He
walked away. There were villages. Planned or otherwise, over the years dwellings and dormitories had gradually grown around
three main centers. Externally there was not much to distinguish one village
from the other except the distance from the hospital. The buildings nearest
were little more than very large machines which fed, bathed, and tried to
anticipate the intellectual stimulation of the almost helpless tenants. The
houses in the farthest village, except for certain peculiarities, were much
like any comfortable dwelling on earth.
At
the third village he found the house, glancing at the tiny light on the door.
It was glowing; the occupant was at home. The numbered positions flashed on,
indicating further that the person was awake and in bed. This information was
necessary on the asteroid where many people suffered from some disability
which might strike suddenly, leaving them helpless and unattended. Docchi leaned against the button and the light blinked him
in.
Jeriann was sitting up in the middle of the bed; she
seemed healthy and alert. "How do you feel?" he asked as he caught a
chair with his foot and slid it near her.
She made a wry face and
smiled. "Fine."
"No
polite answers, please. Do you feel like work?"
"Now that you're here, no." She laughed outright at his discomfiture.
"Maybe now you'll believe me when I say I'm all right. Do you?"
She
didn't wait for his answer but smoothed the covers around her. "You're the
one who found me, aren't you?"
"Jordan
really. I
was there."
She
didn't attempt to thank him; help was expected. No one knew when his turn would
come. "I guess you're wondering what I was doing there without" my
capsules."
He
wasn't but he'd listen if she felt she had to talk. "It seemed strange you'd
forget something like that. But everyone was confused then."
"Not
me. I knew exactly what I was doing. I was running from some big lunk who kept chasing me all over the dome. He knew I
wasn't Nona because I yelled for him to leave me alone. He didn't pay any
attention and I guess I lost the ab-sorbics just
before he caught me."
"You
don't have to talk about it if it's painful," he said impassively.
"What
do you think?" she said scornfully. "You think I'd let him bother me? I told him to go away or I'd slip my face off. He got sick
right there and let go."
He
smiled at her vigor. "It's a good thing he didn't take you at your word
and let you remove the disguise."
"Thank you, kind sir. Now I know I'm
pretty too." Her manner overcame the apparent sharpness. "Anyway there I was. I'd used
up more energy than usual and I had nothing to take. I didn't make it to the
hospital."
"I
didn't know the details but I imagined something like that. You're lucky we
found you and even more so that we were able to discover your particular absorbics in the dispensary mess."
"Right
both times—but you didn't find my absorption capsules. They weren't there.
Never are. I have to go directly to the lab to get them. Of course I couldn't
expect you to know that."
"Then
what are you doing here, alive?" he asked, frowning. "The wrong thing
should have killed you."
"I'm
not a true deficient, you know. It's not that my body fails to produce
glandular substances. What I lack is food and water and anything that's
composed mostly of that will do, providing it's in a form I can assimilate. When you slapped me and held me up I saw someone
else's capsule but I knew it would do. That person has trouble with a number of
blood sugars and several fluids—not what I require for a complete diet—but it brought me out of the hunger shock."
It
was not ordinary hunger which had caused her to stumble and be unable to get
up; this was acute, a trauma which affected her whole organism. And because it
was such a constant threat, unconsciously or not, she had prepared for it. Deficients knew each other better than any other group.
They were aware which prescription could in an emergency be substituted for
their own. It was unlikely to be used—but that knowledge had paid off for Jeriann.
The
house ticked on as he sat watching her. That was another peculiarity of the
place, aside from the lack of kitchen or any room wherein she could eat. She
didn't need it and so it hadn't been built. She didn't feel hunger except
negatively; it would be easy to die if she should decide to do so. And so, to
reinforce her will to live, a comprehensive schedule had been imposed from
above. But the most rigid personal schedule meant nothing without time. Time
took the place of hunger, of the need for food, of all the savour
in it.
There were clocks on the wall, inconspicuous
dials or larger
ones, integrated in pictures and summed up in designs. There was a huge
circular chronograph on the ceiling; hourglasses and sundials were contrived in
the motif on the floor—and they all seemed actually to function. And when she
slept or whether she didn't, there were arrangements for that too. The house
vibrated, ever so softly, but the attuned senses could hear it, feel it, in
sickness and in health.
"Damn,"
muttered Jeriann as the vibration momentarily grew
louder. She tried to say something to Docchi but her
thoughts were confused and she couldn't concentrate. "Don't mind me,"
she said, smiling ruefully. "I was conditioned to this sort of thing. They
seem to think I've got to be ready on the dot."
She
could see that it wasn't very clear. "There's a clock in my head too.
Everybody has one naturally but mine has been trained. Any natural beat will
regulate the self alarm, even the pounding of my heart, even if I don't think
about it—but the house is more effective. They said I had to have it if I expected to live."
It
was obvious who they
were, the psychotechnicians who had attended her after her original
accident. They were right but Docchi could see that
it might become annoying.
The
ticking grew in volume and the house shook and though Jeriann
tried to ignore it, it would not let her be. "Time," tolled the house, though the word was unspoken, "time
time time." To Docchi
it was subdued and soft but it had a different effect on Jeriann.
"All
right," she shouted to the tormenter, scrambling out of bed. She dashed
into the next room, scooping up hurriedly an absorbic
capsule that lay unnoticed on a shelf near the door. She was gone for some
time, so long that Docchi was beginning to worry
before she came out.
In
the interim, she had changed into street clothing and the tension that had
marked her departure was gone. "I feel better," she said cheerfully. "Breakfast, such as it was, and a shower."
She
sat opposite him. "I can see you're trying to figure out how I took a
shower when you couldn't hear water running. Special shower.
Don't ask about it."
Docchi had no intention, though he was wondering.
He had his own gadgets to help him get dressed and no one was curious about
them.
"You
came here for something," said Jeriann.
"Thanks for being polite and talking to the patient but now you can tell me
what it is."
He
was considering whether he should ask someone else. It was complex, too
difficult to explain to Nona. Anti, who would have been best, was confined to
the tank. And Jordan wouldn't do at all. That left only Jeriann,
who was capable enough, if she was fully recovered. "Do you know
Maureen?" he asked.
"I do. Can I guess what she's done
now?" said Jeriann dryly.
"Your
guess is probably right, except that she hasn't done it yet. I want to make
certain she doesn't." He thought over Jeriann's
reply. "This isn't the first time this has happened to her?"
"Of course it isn't. She's always
looking for excuses. Long ago, before you came, I think, she managed to throw
the stuff away and pretend she'd taken it. She concealed what she'd done for
three weeks, until the doctor discovered it."
He
hadn't heard this, even as a whispered legend. He'd been too busy trying to
achieve new status for the accidentals to bother with gossip. He didn't know
the people here as well as Jeriann did; he'd have to
draw on her for detailed information. "This time it's not an excuse. The
deficiency prescription isn't there for her to take."
"Nonsense,"
said Jeriann sharply. "I remember thinking in
that split second in the dispensary: If I were only Maureen now, the worst that
could happen to me is that I'd attract attention."
He
glanced at her. She hadn't thought that at all, though it was a reflection of
another sort of bitterness. The girl didn't know how lucky she was in
comparison to others who were seriously handicapped. "Could you go and
take a look?" he asked. "Maureen said it isn't there. I understand
that they do experiment occasionally. The new consignment might have got shoved
aside in the excitement we had a while back—or it might be there under a
different formula that Maureen can't identify." If what Jeriann said was correct, Maureen liked the idea of becoming an all female woman. To her
it might seem an anodyne, surcease from disappointment and things that hadn't
gone right.
"Sure, I'll go," said Jeriann. Her cheerfulness had diminished while he spoke.
Until now she hadn't actually realized there was no longer Earth to signal to
in event of an emergency. "It's true they experiment. And maybe they didn't send the last shipment during our mixup."
She tossed her head, recovering her buoyancy rapidly. "Oh'well,
I'll go and take a look. I know the hospital pretty well."
"Good." Docchi got up.
"Wait
for me," said Jeriann, going to a drawer and
taking things out. She slipped a watch on her arm; there was another in the
rather wide belt she wore. She selected a series of absorption capsules and
dropped them into pouches on the belt that appeared to be merely ornamental
until he saw what went into it. "Lunch, a drink, and an extra one for
emergency," she explained laconically.
"I should think you'd
require more fluid."
She
looked at him disturbingly. "I would, if I had normal metabolism. But
remember I don't need fluid for the digestive process. And then to further
reduce the intake they've included an antiperspirant in what I do get."
He
followed her to the door, where she turned around and looked back at the place
she lived in. It was a small, curious house, completely arranged for the kind
of person she was.
"Are you going to the
hospital with me?" she asked.
"No, there's some work
I've got to do near here."
"Well,
then, thanks for saving my life." She slipped her arms around him and
kissed him, quickly but satisfactorily. Her lips were cool and dry. Very smooth
but dry; her touch was like silk. That was because of her skin.
She
smiled and opened the door. "See you," she said as they parted. She
never once looked back though he did. He was glad, because she might have waved
and it would have been impossible to return it.
Twice,
now, within an hour, he thought as he went along. Maureen of course he could
dismiss since she would respond to anything that was remotely male. It was not
at all the same
reaction from Jeriann, and it pleased him that it
wasn't.
Their
environment had changed. Life on the asteroid had undergone a not so subtle
transformation now that there were no longer any normals
around to be compared with, to make the disastrous self-comparison to. They
could begin to behave healthily and sensibly. It was nice that Jeriann had kissed him and liked it. It was the first
installment of freedom.
The
second installment was going to be harder—to keep that freedom at a level that
meant something. He frowned heavily as he thought of what had to be done.
He
was late. Except for Anti, who was absent and always would be, everyone he knew
was there. In addition there were many others who hardly ever attended. It was
a good sign that they were coming out and mingling; before they had seldom left
their houses. Docchi spotted Jeriann
but there wasn't a vacant seat near her. He sat down toward the rear.
Jordan rapped for silence. "Are there
any questions?"
At
the front a man stood up. Docchi remembered him from months ago, a Jack or Jed Webber. Jed
it was, a quiet felldw with pale blue- eyes and
almost colorless blond hair. Docchi had never heard
him say anything but he was speaking now, emerging from his self-imposed shell.
"Yes," said Webber. "I want to know where we're going."
Jordan
rapped again. "Out of order. Not on the subject.
Anyway the question's not important."
"I
think it is," said the man, shuffling his body awkwardly. He was not exact
in his movements because he'd been sliced very nearly down the middle. Except
for his head he was half man and half machine. Unlike others who'd been injured
past regeneration, he could use his composite body with some degree of skill
because there was one arm and one leg to which the motion of his mechanical
limbs could be coordinated. His skill wasn't as great as it could have been
because he hadn't practiced. The spectre of the ideal
human body had hindered him greatly—in the past. "You don't know where
we're going," insisted the man in a high voice. "We're just moving
but you don't know where."
Docchi got up. "I can answer that question. It
should be answered. We're going to Centauri, either Alpha or Proxima, whichever is most suitable. Is there some place
else you wanted to go?"
The
reply was drowned for a few seconds by an appreciative rumble but Webber was
stubborn and waited until the noise died down. He swayed on his feet and
pointed at Nona. "I suppose you asked her," he said. Nona smiled
dreamily as attention turned to her.
"No.
It would be a joke if we did and we're not interested in playing tricks on
ourselves. You've forgotten one thing, that we do have a telescope."
"A
small one, built as a hobby," Webber said. His voice was uncertain, as
wobbly as his body was.
"True,
but it's better than Gallileo had." He hoped
Webber wouldn't point out that Gallileo hadn't tried
to plot a voyage across space with his instrument.
Actually
there was something strange about the few observations he'd made. He had
reconstructed their path to the best of his ability—not a bad guess since no records had been kept. At the time they had left Sol they
hadn't been heading directly toward the Centauris.
Nona must have used their tangential motion to take them out of the system as
fast as she could and later had looped back toward their present destination.
The sketchy charts Docchi had, indicated the Centauris by plus or minus a few degrees, all the accuracy
he could expect from the telescope. It was in the stars themselves that he had
detected changes he couldn't account for.
At
the far side a woman stood. Jordan nodded to her. "I wasn't asked for my
opinion about all this," she said defiantly. "I don't like it. I want
to go back."
Jordan
cocked his head humorously. "You should have told the guards this while
they were here. They'd have been glad to take you with them."
"I
certainly wouldn't leave with them," she said in surprise. "Look how
they acted while they were here."
"I'm
afraid you're out of luck. We can't turn back because of you."
"Don't
tell me we're marooned here," said the woman vehemently. "The guards
left a couple of scout ships, didn't they? Why can't we take
those back to earth?"
"For the same reason they didn't," said Jordan patiently. "The range of the scouts is
limited, it wouldn't reach then and it won't do it now."
"Pshaw," said the woman.
"You're just arguing. Docchi said the gravity
generator in each ship could be changed to a drive without much work—something
about adding a little star encyclopedia unit. I think that's what he
said."
Docchi started. Had he said that? He must have for
the woman, to have remembered it. He shouldn't have made such a statement,
first because it wasn't so. He had made the possibility of return to earth
seem too easy.
There
was another reason he regretted his rash explanation and it was the opposite of
the first: inadvertently he might have blurted out the secret of the drive. It
was possible to talk too much.
"I'm not the only one," the woman
was insisting. She'd found a point and wouldn't let go. "There are plenty
of others who feel as I do and they'll say so if they're not afraid. Who wants
to go on for years and years, never reaching any place?"
"Look
at the stars." A voice ahead of Docchi answered
her. It was Webber again, the meek little man who never spoke.
"I
don't want to look at the stars," she said
violently. "I never want to see anything but the sun. Our sun. It was good enough for mankind and I
certainly don't care to change it."
"That's
because you don't know," said Webber confidently. "You're afraid and
you don't need to be. When I said look at the stars I meant that those ahead of
us are brighter than the ones behind. Do you know what that means?"
Docchi nodded exultantly to himself; they'd found
their astronomer. He himself had noticed the first part of what Webber
remarked on; he hadn't thought to turn the telescope in the opposite direction
because he wasn't interested in where they'd been. The apparent brightness of
the Centauri system was much greater than it should have been—that's what he
hadn't been able to account for. He could now. It was surprising how much
power the gravity drive could deliver.
"We're
approaching the speed of light," went on Webber. "It won't take
decades to reach a star. We'll be there in a few years."
The woman turned and glared at him but could
find nothing to say. She wasn't convinced but she sat down to cover her
confusion. Around her people began to whisper to each other, their voices
rising with excitement. They'd lived long enough at the rim of the system to
know what stellar distances meant and how much speed could affect their voyage.
Jordan
rapped them into silence. "I've tried to get you to talk on the subject
but you've resolutely refrained. Therefore you'll have to vote on it without
discussion."
The
vote took place, whatever it was. Docchi was unable
to discover what and so he didn't participate. When the count was over Jordan gavelled sharply. "Motion carried. That's all. Meeting
adjourned."
Before
Docchi could protest, people were leaving, carrying
him part of the way with them. He reached the wall and stood there until
traffic subsided, afterwards making his way to Jordan who was talking happily
to Jeriann.
"We did it," said
Jordan, grinning as he came up.
"Did
what? All I heard were people complaining. We had to depend on someone from the
floor to smack them down. Seems to me there were a lot of
important things to discuss."
"Seem
to me we covered everything, which you would have known if you had got here on
time," said Jordan, still grinning. "This is Jeriann's
idea. It was what we were voting on."
Twisting
his head Docchi read the sheet Jordan laid in front
of him. It was a resolution of some sort, that he
gathered from the usual whereases. He scanned it once
and was halfway through again before he caught the import.
"The wages aren't high," remarked
Jordan. "Survival if we
do our job well, grousing if we don't. Otherwise we can keep
on doing just what we have been." He picked up the sheet and
read from it. "Whereas we are bound together by a common
condition and destination—ain't that nice?—and have a
com-
mon plan-------- " Jordan looked up. "Since you're the one they're
talking about
when they refer to the head of the planning committee, just what the hell is our plan?"
There were innumerable small goals that had
to be reached before they could consider themselves self-sufficient, and to
some extent Docchi was capable of summarizing them.
But when it came to a final statement of aims he could only feel his way. Docchi didn't know either.
9
JERIANN
came into the office. "I've got it down to twenty," she said briskly.
"What?"
said Docchi absently.
Management details were unfamiliar to him and he was trying to pick them up as
he went along. The scattered records were in order but some were still
unaccounted for. "Oh. The deficiency biologicals.
Good. How did you do it?"
"I asked them."
"And
they knew? It's surprising. I'd expect them to be familiar with their standard
treatment. But not something that's entirely new."
Jeriann smiled faintly. "I'm not that good. I
did find out what they used to get and then scrounged around in storage until I
found supplies. If the old stuff kept them healthy once it should do so
now."
He
hadn't thought of that, but then he wasn't accustomed to considering the same
things a doctor would. Any trained person would know that sulfa hadn't been
discarded with the discovery of penicillin, nor penicillin with the advent of
the neo-biotics. Docchi
studied her covertly; Jeriann was a competent woman, and an attractive one.
"Of
the remaining twenty we don't have biologicals for, I've determined we can make what eleven need."
Only
nine who were left out. -It was a remarkable advance over a few days ago when
there were forty-two. Nine for whom so far they could do nothing. It was queer
how he worried about them more as the number diminished. Somehow it had
greater significance now that he could remember each face distinctly. "And
Maureen?" he inquired.
Instinctively
Jeriann touched the decorative belt that was so much
more than what it seemed. "I'm afraid I misjudged her. I couldn't locate a
thing for her."
"You're sure she didn't
destroy her prescription?"
'.'I
don't see what difference it makes as long as we don't have it," said Jeriann. "But yes, I'm sure. Once something is brought
in it's simply not possible for a person as ignorant of the system as she is to
track down and destroy every entry relating to it."
"All right. I believe you." He glanced down at the list she'd given him. The
actual figures weren't as optimistic as her report had been. "Wait. I
notice you say here that out of twenty that we don't have supplies for that we
can synthesize biologi-cals for eleven."
She
sat down. "That's what I said. How else can we get them? We've got the
equipment. The asteroid never did depend on earth for very many of our biologicals."
He
knew vaguely how the medical equipment functioned, rather like the commonplace
food synthesizers. "We don't have anyone with experience."
Jeriann shrugged. "I'm not a technician but I
used to help out when there was nothing else to do. I expected to run it."
The
light flashed on his desk but Docchi ignored it.
"Have you thought what an infinitesimal error means?" he asked.
"Of course." He was struck by her calmness. "One atom hooked in the wrong place
and instead of a substance the body must have it becomes a deadly poison. I've
talked it over with the deficients. They agreed to
it. This way they know they have a chance."
"We'll
do something," he acknowledged. "Pick out the worst and work for
their deficiency. Check with me before you give them anything."
"I've
selected them," she said. "There are four extreme cases. They won't
collapse today or tomorrow. Perhaps not in a week. But
we can't let them get close."
"Agreed." The light kept flashing annoyingly in his eyes. Another
complaint. Nodding at Jeriann Docchi nudged the switch and glanced at the screen.
"Anything wrong?" he asked.
It
was Webber. "Nothing much. Jordan and I just
bumped into an old acquaintance. I suppose we'd better bring him in."
"Cameron,"
exclaimed Docchi as Webber moved aside, revealing
the man behind him.
The doctor's clothing was rumpled and he
hadn't shaved but he was calm and assured. "You seem to be running things
now," he said. "I'd like a chance to talk with you."
Docchi didn't answer directly. "Where did you
find him, Webber?"
"He was living out in the open near a
stream which, I imagine, was his water supply. We were checking some of the
stuff the guards didn't wreck when we spotted him. We saw bushes move and went
over to investigate, figuring it might be a gee-pee at loose ends. There was
our man."
"Did he give you any trouble?"
Webber
shrugged. "He wasn't exactly glad to see us. But he must have known there
was no place to hide because he didn't actually try to get away."
"That's
your interpretation," said Cameron, his face beside Webber. "The
truth is I wanted to make sure you had no. way of sending me back with the
general's forces. I was taking plenty of time."
From beyond the screen Jordan snorted.
Cameron
continued. "There was no use going back to earth. My career wasn't exactly
mined—but you can appreciate the difficulties I'd have. Anyway a doctor is
trained to take the most urgent cases, and I thought they were here. I'm sorry
only that I had to be discovered. It spoiled the entry I was going to
make."
Jeriann's face showed what she thought. Relief, and
was there something else? The thought was distasteful if only because it
indicated there was now a normal human present. The deadly comparison was back
with them.
But
it was more than that—how much more was up to him to find out. Docchi kept his emotions far away. It would hardly do to
let Cameron know what he thought. "Well, there's work to do, if that's
what you want. Come up as soon as you can get here."
Cameron cocked his head. "If
they'll let me." "They'll let you." Docchi
switched off the screen and turned to see Jeriann
getting up.
"Don't leave. I want you to check on
him." "Why should we check?" she asked in surprise.
Another one who accepted the doctor at face
value.
There would be plenty of others like her. Perhaps Cameron had remained for the reasons he'd given. If so it ought to be easy to
prove. "Did I say we'd have to watch him? I didn't mean quite that.
Cameron's here and we intend to use him. At the same time we must admit that he
has many conventional ideas. We'll have to give him our slant on what we
need."
She sat down. "I don't
want to waste your time or his."
"You're
not." Docchi pretended to be busy while they
waited. He had to learn whether his suspicions were unfounded. Cameron may have
stayed in the best medical tradition. But there was another tradition less
honorable and it was an equal possibility.
It
was better not to say anything to Jeriann. She
respected the doctor but she wouldn't be blinded by that attitude. She'd report
any untoward thing she saw. And she was attractive. Sooner than anyone else save Nona, who couldn't communicate, she'd learn what the
doctor's true motives were.
Docchi found himself studying her. She didn't have
to be that anxious. He wished she weren't so eager for the doctor to arrive.
Cameron shook his head. "Don't let your
enthusiasm run away with you. I can help the deficients
but if new treatments are developed it will probably be the result of ideas you
people have."
"What about the list? Can we synthesize
for them?"
"I
haven't studied it and I'm not familiar with the medical history of everyone
here. I do know three of the eleven that Jeriann's
selected and in each one she's exactly right. It's merely a matter of testing
the preparations. I'll check but I'm sure she can do it as well as I can."
It
was nice to know that they were doing all right by themselves, that they'd
have gotten along without the doctor. It helped that he was here but they'd
have survived anyway. "Can you do anything for Maureen?" asked Docchi.
"I don't remember her. I'll have to look
it up."
"The records aren't in the best
condition."
"Guards?" Docchi noted that
Cameron scowled. Either he was a good actor or he was sincere. "I tried to get the general to
restrain them but he wouldn't listen."
"No
harm done, I suppose," said Docchi.
He wanted to forget as much of that episode as he could. "However I can
tell you what's wrong with Maureen. No male hormones."
"I
remember." Cameron pondered. "I've never had anything to do with her.
Most of her treatment came direct from Earth. I don't know. I really can't
say."
"Most
glands are paired. Can't you transplant one, or part of one, from some of us?
We'll get donors." '
"Off hand I'd say that if it were possible it would have
been done long ago. For reasons that aren't understood transplants aren't
always effective. Sometimes the body acts to dissolve foreign tissue or, if
there's irritation, grow a tumor around it."
"That's why she's
still a deficient?"
"It's
my guess. They tried transplants but had to cut them out." Cameron turned
to Jeriann. "Do we have equipment for synthetic
hormones?"
"Maybe. I never prepared any."
The
doctor leaned over the desk, flipping through the files until he came to the
section he wanted. "Some test animals. Probably not enough," he said
after studying it briefly. "I'll do something to keep her quiet until- I
can figure out a substitute."
"No experiments on us,
Cameron."
He
smiled wryly. "The history of medicine is a long series of experiments. If
it weren't for that we'd still be in the stone age, medically speaking."
Docchi shrugged. "Suit yourself. Do what you
can with Maureen."
"What about
Anti?"
"We haven't had time to think about
her."
"I'll
see what I can do. If I stumble on anything that seems beneficial I'll let you
know." Cameron turned to leave and Jeriann went
with him.
Docchi watched him go. The doctor was an asset they
hadn't counted on. His presence would help silence the objections of those who
agreed with the woman at the meeting but hadn't said anything yet. This was the
temporary advantage.
But there was still the doubt. Cameron might
have stayed at the general's request. A few serious illnesses or a death here
and there might influence them to turn back. Somehow Docchi
couldn't credit the doctor with such intentions.
Then
what? Well, the doctor might have remained with them on a long, long chance. A
gamble, but he was the kind who took risks.
It
was not suspicion alone that made Docchi suddenly
tired and morose. He wished he could call Jeriann
back on some pretext. She'd gone and she hadn't looked his way when she left.
Anti bobbed gently in the
acid. "What's the contraption?"
"An
idea of mine," said Jordan, lowering the coils carefully so the acid
didn't splash.
Anti
looked at it judically. "Maybe next time you'll
think of something better."
"Don't
be nasty," said Jordan as the coils reached the surface of the liquid and
began to submerge. "Cameron thinks it will work."
"My faith is
shaken."
"It
isn't a question of faith and anyway he's as good a doctor as we've ever
had." Jordan kept lowering until the mechanism reached the bottom. A
single cable over the side of the tank was the only thing visible. Jordan wiped
his hands on the grass. "I was thinking about radiation when this thing
occurred to me."
"Would
you believe it? Once I was young and radiant myself."
"It's
not the same thing." "Don't think I wouldn't trade."
"You won't have to," said Jordan.
"This is my idea, not the doctor's. He merely confirmed it." "In
that case it's bound to work."
Jordan
pulled a tuft of grass loose and tossed it into the tank. It disappeared in a
soundless blaze. To conform with what was expected of
her, Anti blinked. "Don't be so afraid we're going to fail that you can't
listen to what I have to say. Do you want to be cured and not know why? I've
run my legs off to make this gadget."
"A figure of
speech," commented Anti.
"A
figure of speech," agreed Jordan. "To begin with we discovered that
when you were exposed to space the cold caused the fungus flesh to die back
faster than it grew. Right?"
"The
fungus came from Venus," said Anti. "It's only natural it wouldn't grow
well in the cold."
"The
origin doesn't have anything to do with it. Normally it doesn't grow in flesh
and it had to make concessions to live in the human body, the biggest one being
adaptation to body temperature. At the same time the body cells tried to
outgrow it but the faster they grew the more there was for the fungus to live
in. A sort of an inimical symbiosis."
"If you can imagine
inimical symbiosis," said Anti. "I can't."
"You
haven't tried very hard. Anyway, there seems to be a ratio between the amount
of fungus in one connected mass and the vigor. The more there, is the faster it
grows, and conversely."
"Such a pleasant reference," said
Anti. "Mass. Still it's an accurate description
of me, though I can think of a better one. Lump."
She swam, splashing ponderously toward the edge of the tank. "Are you
trying to say that if I can ever get below a certain point my body will be able
to keep the fungus in check?"
"Exactly."
"What's
wrong with the treatment we discovered? Give me an oxygen helmet and tie me to
a cable and let me float outside the dome."
"You
wouldn't float as long as the gravity's on. Besides, we can do it better. In
space you lose heat solely by radiation. Radiation depends on surface and the
larger a body is the more surface it had in proportion."
"Convection
is what you meant," said Anti. "Acid alone helps, but a cold acid would combine treatments."
"A very cold acid. Supercold."
Anti
nodded and nodded and then stopped. "A fine piece of
reasoning except for one thing. When the temperature is decreased
chemical activity slows down."
"That's
the triumph of my gadget," said Jordan. "It's not only a refrigerant
coil but electronically it steps up ionizations as the temperature is lowered.
We sacrifice neither effect."
Soundlessly Anti sank below the surface and
remained there for some time. When she came up acid trickled over her face.
"I had to think. It's been so long since I dared hope," she said.
"When can I walk?"
"I
didn't say you would," said Jordan hastily. "There may be a lower
limit beyond which it's dangerous to continue the cold acid treatment."
"Then
what's the use?" said Anti. "I'm not interested in merely reducing.
I'll still be bigger than a house. I want to get around."
"This
is the first step," explained Jordan patiently. "After this is
successful we'll think of something else."
"What
language," said Anti. "The first step when
obviously I'm nowhere near taking one. Can't you turn off the gravity?"
If
they did it would hinder others, and the odds were nearly a thousand to one. Of
course they might compromise, a short gravityless
period at .intervals. It would be unsatisfactory to everyone but it might give
Anti the encouragement she needed.
Besides,
he was unsure they could
turn off the gravity without
also turning off the drive. Their momentum would carry them along at the same
speed they had been going—but was it wise to tamper with a mechanism that till
now was functioning so smoothly and was so important?
Jordan
shook his head. "I said we'd think of something else and we will. Continue
with this treatment and watch your weight go down."
"Don't
think I'm not aware of your cheerful intentions," said Anti. "How can
you possibly weigh me as long as I have to stay in the tank?"
"The
same way Archimedes did—fluid displacement. I've rigged up a scale so you can
keep track of what's happening." He didn't tell her what the scale was
calibrated in. Absolute figures were disheartening. It was only the progress
which counted.
Anti
looked at the dial near the edge of the tank. "I thought it was just
another gadget." When Jordan didn't answer she looked for him. "Hey,
don't leave me to freeze in this cold goop."
"You're not cold and you know it. You can't feel a thing."
"Don't be so frank," she grumbled.
"Hardly anyone comes to talk to me. I like company."
"Sure,
but I've got to get busy on that other idea." He didn't have one but he
looked very wise and it had the desired effect.
"Guess
I can't stop you," grumbled And. "Tell someone to come and visit with
me."
Again
she looked long at the dial. It was a pleasant surprise to find she was not so
far from average that she could be weighed. Jordan was a gadgeteer
but sometimes his contraptions worked and once in a while his ventures in
psychology were extraordinarily shrewd.
For
instance, the dial.
She
imagined she could feel her toes tingling from the cold —if she still had toes.
Soon they would emerge from the fungus flesh in which they were buried. She
felt she was shedding.
What
did they have that made anything seem possible? Jordan, the
sometimes wonderful gadgeteer. Docchi, a
competent engineer but no more than that. Unsure of himself personally
he had a passion for correcting inequalities. And then there was Cameron, a
good doctor who was trying to realign his principles. He wouldn't have made it
except that he had a powerful attraction ahead of him. Lord knows what he saw
in Nona or she in him.
And
lastly there was Nona herself, to whom big miracles came easier than small
ones. There was a fragile grandeur about her but she knew nothing at all of the
human body, especially her own.
And
this is what they relied on. It was strikingly little to balance against the
forces of earth, which had failed them. And yet it was enough; the accidentals
would not fail.
It
didn't matter what the resources were as long as they weren't aimed in the
right direction. She didn't have figures on the conquest of cancer but the
one-time scourge of mankind could have vanished far sooner if the cost of one
insignificant political gesture had been spent instead to wipe out the disease.
Perhaps
this was one answer. They were struggling not to make beautiful men and women
still more beautiful but to restore those who were less than perfect to some
sort of usefulness, especially in their own evaluadon.
The lights in the dome dimmed appreciably. It
was the lengthening shadows which made the needle on the dial that Anti was
watching quiver and seem to turn downward.
Jordan rode the repair robot away from the
tank. It was more than had ever been done for Anti but it wasn't enough. A
fifty per cent reduction and she still wouldn't be able to walk. He'd have to
check with anyone who had ideas of what to do. He didn't have much hope there;
nobody but himself had given much thought to Anti recently.
The
machine he was on wasn't functioning properly. Ngth-ing
definite, it just wasn't. He was sensitive enough to notice this through his
preoccupation with other problems. It was sluggish to his touch. It was not
unexpected; there was a lot of equipment that was supposed to be foolproof and
wasn't, any number of machines built to last forever which didn't.
Once
it would have been easy to blame technicians for failure to keep the robots in
proper condition. Now he couldn't because he was that technician, the only one.
Nona kept the big stuff working and Docchi helped out
with anything else when he could find them. But minor machines were important
too and this was his province. Robot repair units affected gross corrections on
themselves but weren't capable of detecting defects in the basic repair
circuit. This was his responsibility.
He
stopped the squat machine and opened it. There was nothing wrong that he could
see. Some other time he'd work it over thoroughly. He
climbed back on and touched the controls he added for his own use.
For
a while nothing happened and then an extensible started nailing. It was not
what he'd signalled for. He shoved the lever in the
opposite direction and though it didn't stop the gyrations of the extensible
it did start the treads. The machine rumbled away at greater than ordinary
speed. Jordan would have fallen off if an extensible hadn't steadied him.
Momentarily
he wondered; the last response was not within the machine's capacity. It was
built to repair other machines and, within limits, itself. It had no knowledge
of the frailties of the human body. He wondered at this and then forgot it
completely.
The robot lurched heavily, narrowly missing
one of the columns that supported the dome. A collison
at this speed—well, no, the column wouldn't have been greatly damaged.
Hastily
Jordan reached to shut it off. There was a shower of sparks and the handle grew
hot and sputtered. The grip flashed, fusing, visibly becoming inoperative.
The
robot no longer faltered. Jordan wasn't in immediate danger. He could always
swing off, slide off, or fall. But he ought to stop it before it wrecked itself
or, worse, the dome.
The
dome enclosed a good part of the asteroid but it came to an end somewhere,
curving downward and joining the ground at a flexible seal. Naturally it was
protected against collision and naturally the protection wasn't complete. It
was conceivable that an uncontrolled robot could break through. Jordan clutched
an extensible as the machine jolted and rocked. The nearest place it could
damage the dome was miles away. He'd disable it long before it got there.
He
steadied himself and reached for the panel, prying it open. He thrust his hand
in and the lid slammed shut on his fingers. He yelled and pulled loose, leaving
part of his skin inside. The lid was firmly closed.
He
glowered at the machine. It was an accident that a wildly moving extensible
clamped the lid down as he reached inside. He didn't like those kinds of
accidents; the element of purpose was very strong.
He
hesitated whether he should disable the machine. It was valuable equipment and
they wouldn't get more like it. It would have to last for the duration.
"Easy does it," he muttered but it wasn't easy. His hand slid back to
the toaster—and it wasn't there. The sensible thing was to suppose that it had
been jolted loose. The machine couldn't think in complex terms.
Or
could it? He glanced down; there were indications the robot had been sliced
into and he thought he knew who had done it. It was probably the one he and Docchi had disabled long ago on their escape from the
asteroid. It had been repaired since and the technician who had done so had
altered the circuits.
The
essential thing was to stop it before it caused real damage. He suspected
that, with a number of extensibles curled firmiy around him, there was no danger he'd fall off. Maybe
he couldn't get off if he wanted to.
He
wished he'd encounter someone. He hated to admit it but he needed help. In the
distance he saw people and shouted. They knew him; he was the person who rode
the robot. They waved gaily and said something unintelligible as he sped by. It
was irritating that they didn't see anything amiss.
The
edge of the dome loomed up. They'd been going longer than he'd thought. He
squirmed uneasily; he should have gotten off long ago and used something else
to intercept the errant machine. A geepee, if he'd
had sense enough to get one, could run it down and smash it. His only excuse
was that he hadn't wanted to destroy valuable machinery.
With
tremendous effort he tore himself loose and using the power of his
overdeveloped arms he threw himself off. He covered his head and rolled along
the ground in a tight ball. He was free.
But not for long. The treads whining in reverse, the robot whirled, scooping him up as it
passed by. This time it didn't pause as it headed toward the edge of the dome.
It was all his fault. The dome would seal itself after
the robot plunged through, but not without loss of air—and one good mechanic.
The
machine churned on but surprisingly didn't plow heedlessly into the curved
transparent wall. The extensibles felt the surface,
the speed was checked and the direction changed. The robot moved parallel with
the edge of the dome. It had a better sense of self-preservation than was
common with robots of this type.
It
felt the wall as it rolled along. There was nothing noteworthy about the
surface, smooth, hard, and slightly curved. Another extensible emerged from the
squat body; the tip flashed a light toward the outside.
It
was strange out there. Jordan hadn't often seen it; not many people came to
look out. When the asteroid was in the solar system jagged rocks had gleamed in
the sharp light of the sun. But now the landscape was always dark except when
some curious person wanted to remind himself what the rest of his world was
like. It was a torn and crumpled sight the robot's light displayed, as if some
giant had risen and tossed aside the rocks he slept in. But not completely rumpled; here and there
were smooth areas that some vast engine might have planed flat—or the same
giant had straightened out with a swipe of his hand before departing.
The
robot flicked off the light and turned away. Jordan breathed with relief when
he saw where it was going, toward the central repair depot to which all robots
returned periodically. It would slide into a stall and stop. He would get off.
And he would see to it that the robot was thoroughly checked over before it was
called out again.
The
entrance slot was extremely wide and equally low; it wasn't built for
passengers on the robots. Momentarily the thought flashed across his mind that
he should let himself be scraped off. But it seemed a precipitous way to
dismount and anyway the machine would soon stop and he could get off more
conventionally. Instinct won and Jordan flattened himself as they swept under
the gate. He could feel the masonry twitching at his clothing.
The
slot opened into a circular space in which other robots were stationed in
stalls. In the center were bins of spare parts. Jordan called out, not too
hopefully. Robots were assigned from here on a broadcast band; he didn't think
there were facilities for responding to the human voice.
His
machine headed toward a stall at the rear. This far from the entrance the light
was dim. Jordan wondered why there was any light at all; robots didn't need it.
Upon reflection he decided it was a concession to human limitations.
But
the machine didn't slow down as he expected.. It rumbled
between walls, turned at a sharp angle—and the parking slot was not what it had
seemed. They were in a passageway, narrow and even more dimly lighted. That it
was lighted at all indicated it wasn't a chance fissure. It had been built long
ago and forgotten.
This
was serious. Where was the machine going and when would it stop? He hoped it would stop. An outcropping in the passageway loomed ahead of him; he flung
himself flat. A sharp projection grazed his ear. The tunnel wound on through
solid rock. He was lost by the time it ended.
There were no true directions on the
asteroid. Toward the sun or away from it; toward the
hospital or the rocket dome. These were the principle orientations and
the main one had been left behind—the sun. He didn't know where he was except that it was somewhere under the main dome. He was
sure of this because he was still alive. There was air.
The
passageway terminated in a large cavern. Once he saw it he relaxed. It was a
laboratory and a workshop and he knew whose. There was only one person who
would disassemble nine general purpose robots and arrange their headpieces in a
neat row on a stone slab. Their eyes revolved slowly as the machine rumbled
farther in. He stared back; the intensity with which they gazed at him was
uncomfortable. How long Nona had had this workshop he didn't know. Perhaps it
was here she'd hidden from the guards.
Nine
pair of eyes followed their progress as the machine rolled across the floor.
Jordan glared back. He could see that they were not merely in a row, that they
were hooked together by a complex circuitry that wove an indefinable pattern between
them. The purpose was obscure.
A
repair robot was an idiot outside.the one thing it
was built to do. A general purpose robot, the geepee,
was a higher type. It was a moron. Were nine morons brighter than
one?"With men, not necessarily; stupidity was often merely compounded. But
with mechanical brains, using modules of computation, the combination might
constitute an accurate data evaluating system.
Jordan
squirmed to get a better glimpse of the heads on the slab—and fell off the
machine that held him captive. He was free.
His first impulse was to scurry away. When he
remembered how far he had to go and by what labyrinth route he decided to wait.
Something better might come up. He raised himself and rubbed fine gravel off
his cheek. Dust irritated his nose; he sneezed. Eighteen eyes glowered at him.
The
repair robot ignored him. Having brought him so far and clung possessively, now
it refused to notice him. On the bench there was something new to interest it.
The unshakable directive around which it was built had taken over: there was a
machine which should be fixed.
What? A mechanism of some
sort. Not the nine heads. The repair robot raised a visual stalk and
scanned. Jordan craned but couldn't see to the top of the stone bench.
Extending other stalks the robot began working up high on the unknown
something.
His own curiosity was aroused. Jordan swung
to the bench and, gripping the edge, hoisted himself up. Parts of disassembled
geepees and other electronic devices were scattered
over the slab. He inched carefully along until he could see what his robot, microsenses clicking furiously, was busy with.
It
was disappointing. He had expected to find a complicated machine and instead it
was nothing at all—a strand of woven wire with a rectangular metal piece at one
end. A belt with a buckle
on it. This was what fascinated the repair robot.
Jordan
went closer. The robot hummed and shook, exten-sibles
racing through the scattered parts which it sorted and laid aside for other
stalks to add to the end of the slender strand. It worked on, from time to time
stopping to buzz inquisitively. When nothing happened after these outbursts it
resumed activity. The pattern was clear: the belt was not functioning properly
and the robot was busy repairing it.
Gradually
it slowed and the pauses became longer. It clattered loudly and sputtered, extensibles waving uncontrollably until they seemed to
freeze. The directive completely frustrated, the robot whined once and then
was silent. It was motionless.
Jordan
reached for the object, ready to swing away if. there
was any objection. There wasn't. He examined it closely; it was not a belt. And the rectangular metal piece was not a buckle though it could serve as one. Actually
it was a mechanism of some kind, though what it was supposed to do he couldn't
tell.
It
was one of Nona's experiments. Of that there was little doubt. The strands were
not wires but microparts fastened together and woven
into an intricate pattern. Jordan snorted; the robot hadn't improved on what
Nona had wrought.
He
inspected it thoroughly. He could see where the robot had begun to add parts.
Methodically he unhooked the surplus components. If Nona had thought they
should be on there she would have attached them. They didn't belong.
When
he was down to the original mechanism he looked at it perplexedly. It was
designed to be worn as a belt. He fastened it around his waist and touched the
stud.
By
now he had some idea of what it was intended for. It was not surprising that it
worked perfectly.
He
expected that it would. Nona seldom failed. What Jordan didn't notice and
would never discover—no one would— was that there were three minute parts that
the robot had added, almost too small for the human eye to see. And those three
parts were indispensable. Without them the belt would not function at all. For
the lack of them Nona had discarded the idea as unworkable.
10
JED WEBBER came in noisily. His left foot was
heavy and his left arm swung more than it should. Otherwise there wasn't much
that remained of the timid awkward man of weeks ago.
Docchi looked up. "Did my calculations
check?"
Webber
grinned. "I thought they would but I wanted to be sure. It's one of the Centauris."
"Is that as close as you can come?"
"With that telescope it is. It's pretty
wobbly. Who made it, anyway?" "I did."
Webber
grinned again. "In that case it's pretty damned good." With
difficulty Webber kept himself from looking down but Docchi
could see that his real foot was wriggling.
"Thanks. Did you get an estimate of the
speed?"
Webber
grunted. "Not a spectroscope on the place and without one how can I
measure the light shift?" He rubbed his arm slowly. "Unless you made
one of those too and have it stored away."
"I
don't. I made the telescope when I first came here. I didn't see that it proved
anything even to myself so I stopped." Docchi thought briefly. "There's an analyzer in the
medical lab. You can borrow it but don't change it in any way. We can't risk
ruining the only means we have of checking our synthetics."
"We don't have to know how fast we're
going. We'll get there just as soon. I'll look into that analyzer after my work
period. There's a chance it will do what I want it to."
"What
you're doing is work. You don't have to put in more hours than anyone
else."
Webber
smiled unhappily. "Oh—I'm as lazy as the next person. We're short handed in hard labor. I thought I'd fill in for a
while."
The reference was what he'd expect from
Webber, not at all subtle. "You mean that there's criticism over the
shortage of geepees?"
"I didn't want to say
anything—but yes, there is."
"I've
heard the same complaint. You're not revealing something I don't know." Docchi leaned back. "To you it seems like ingratitude
and I suppose it is. More than anyone else Nona is responsible for what we've
achieved. I don't object to anything she wants—twice as many geepees if she needs them and we have them. We'll get it
back in ways we didn't expect."
"I agree. But not
everyone feels the same way."
"It
doesn't hurt. In times of hardship everyone complains, and they may as well direct
it at her. Actually it's a measure of how important they feel she is—and the
accusations are so ill-founded they can't believe them themselves."
Webber
got up. For the first time since he entered the mechanical and muscular halves
of his body failed to coordinate. "You're right. I thought if I had
something to tell them they'd be less uncertain."
"Perhaps
they would, for a while. I'm not keeping secrets. The truth is I don't know
what she's using the geepees for."
If
the explanation failed to be completely convincing it was because Webber didn't
want to believe. There were others like him. He didn't blame anyone for wanting
an accounting for every piece of equipment on the asteroid. And yet the attitude
was an advantage. Discontent, real or fancied, wouldn't become a problem as
long as it was openly displayed. There would be time to worry if Webber didn't
mention his dissatisfaction. Docchi watched him
leave and then bent over his work.
A few hours and a score of unimportant details later Cameron hurried
in. "Need a couple of lab workers," he said on entering.
"I thought Jeriann
was doing all right."
"She
is—indispensable. We can't have that. Suppose she should get sick? I want her
to teach someone else the synthesizers. She's got too much on her hands."
Docchi hooked his knee on a corner of the desk and
tilted the chair back. "Sounds reasonable. Do you
have anyone in mind?"
"Jeriann says two women have worked with her in the past.
She won't have to start from scratch. She'll give you their names." Cameron
rifled the files and jotted down the information. He folded the sheet,
stuffing it in his pocket. "Here's something for you. We've reduced the
unsolved deficients to three. AH-the rest we can
synthesize for."
From
forty-two to nine and now it was three. It was all the
progress they could hope for, and much of it was due to Cameron. He had
misjudged the doctor's reasons for staying and he was thankful he could admit
it to himself. The man was sincere—and he was also very fond of Nona.
Coupled
with an increased food supply the major hazards were vanishing. Power, of
course, never had been a nipblem and never would be.
There was only one small doubt that remained and though there was no basis for
it he couldn't get it out of his mind. He wished there was some way to reassure
himself.
"We
weren't able to replace everything the deficients
need," Cameron was saying. "However they'll get along on what we
manufacture."
"Then they're still deficients?"
"Hardly,"
said Cameron. "The body's more versatile than you think. Long ago it was
learned that certain vitamins can be created in the body from simpler
substances.
"In
several cases we're depending on an analogous process. We supply simple
compounds and depend on the body to put it together. Afterwards, when we
checked, the body did create the new substance."
"Good. When will you
take the remaining three off the emergency list?"
"Two are minor. It doesn't matter when
we get to them as long as it's within the next few years."
He
didn't have to be told who the third was. Maureen. He'd all but forgotten her.
It was the doctor's responsibility, but he didn't feel that way.
"She's
not causing trouble," emphasized Cameron. "Daily she is growing more
feminine and we'd have positive proof of it except that we've taken
steps."
"Confinement?"
"No, except the solitude of her mind. Hypnotics. We tell
her she's getting the regular injections and it's these which cause her to want
to be left alone."
It
was more stringent than he cared for but he didn't have a better suggestion. "How long can she continue on hypnotics?"
"Depends. The reaction varies with the person. She can tolerate quite a bit
more."
Docchi's face darkened. "You said you can't
transfer tissue from any of us. Is that also true of hormones concentrated from
blood donations?"
"Let's
put it this way: blood won't help Maureen at all. We can't extract the complete
hormone spectrum from blood— the basic factors she must have to utilize the
rest just don't exist there. If I thought it would help I'd have asked for donations
long ago."
Docchi tried to shut out the pictures that were
coming fast. Maureen alone in a room in which she had darkened the windows so
she wouldn't look outside. The door would swing open at the touch of her hand,
but she would never touch it. The lock was intangible and hence unbreakable. It
would break when her mind broke.
"That's
all you've planned," said Docchi, "wait and
see what happens?"
"Hardly. I'm having Jeriann work solely on
synthesizing those hormone fractions we can't extract from blood. If she gets
even a few we'll call for blood and between the two sources we'll have Maureen
out of trouble."
Docchi refrained from asking what chance of success
Jeriann had. It might be better not to know. Before
he could question the doctor further Jordan wandered in, buoyant and cheerful.
Tacitly they let the subject of Maureen drop.
"Where
have you been the last few days?" said Cameron. "I've been wanting you to fix some of my equipment."
"I've been busy tearing down a robot."
"That's important but the hospital comes
first," said Docchi.
"Not
before this one," said Jordan. "It was erratic and I had to get out
those faulty circuits before it decided to look into a nuclear pile. If I'd let
it go there might be no robot, power plant or asteroid. Not to mention a
hospital."
"You're exaggerating."
"No
I'm not. You should have seen it. It had more curiosity than—well, Anti."
"Or
you?" suggested Docchi, smiling faintly at the
man's good nature. "Get to the doctor's equipment when you can."
"I'm
not in a real hurry," said Cameron. "By the way, I saw Anti
yesterday. She's coming along nicely with your treatment, looking almost
human."
"She always did seem human to me,"
said Jordan.
"Sorry. No offense."
"Sure,
I know. It was a compliment." The tension left Jordan again; he was
relaxed and easy. "Anyway, you should see her today. Better yet. I don't
have to rig the scale in her favor. I can let her read the honest
figures."
"Good.
But don't overdo the encouragement. It will make it harder when she finds she
won't be walking for years."
"She'll
be up long before you think," said Jordan mildly but the doctor chuckled
at the wrong time and the mildness vanished. Jordan had come to tell them but
now he couldn't. Cameron thought he was good and so he was but he forgot he
wasn't dealing with ordinary people. His rules just didn't apply to Anti, nor to Nona, Jordan, or even the spectacularly useless
robot. The doctor didn't understand and because of that he'd have to wait, Docchi too.
"I discovered where Nona does most of
her work these days," Jordan muttered. He described whare
it was, omitting the details of how he got there. He was also careful not to
mention anything he saw.
Cameron looked out the window as Jordan
talked. "Glad you told me," he said. "I've been meaning to see
what I could do for her. It might help if I watched her working."
"Very
ordinary," said Jordan. "She putters around—but things fall together
when she touches them."
"I
imagine. I've seen great surgeons operate." Cameron gathered up his notes
and left.
Jordan lingered for a while trying to make up
his mind whether to tell Docchi what he had refrained
from discussing while the doctor was present. He wanted to, but the longer he
kept it to himself the harder it was to share. Eventually Docchi
tired of chatting and bent over his work and Jordan wandered out, his secret
still safe, too safe.
Docchi stopped foggily when he was alone again.
Cameron would soon be trying to help Nona. Somebody had to and he, Docchi, couldn't. It was enough to settle all the prosaic
details that must be attended to if the place were to function properly.
It was a relief to know that he no longer be concerned about her. Nevertheless a
certain grayness descended that didn't lift until Jeriann
came in to check on a patient's file.
11
IN
THE beginning there was silence and it never changed. No sound came to break
the stillness. Darkness changed to light with regularity or not, but in the
particular universe in which she lived there was never any noise nor any
conversation, and music was unknown. She didn't miss it.
There
were also machines in the universe in which she dwelt and these too observed a
dichotomy. Some machines were warm and soft and this distinguished them from
those which were hard and cool. The warm ones started themselves when they were
very small. Later they grew up but they didn't know how they did it. Neither
did she. Once she was little and she didn't remember
doing anything to change it, but it did change.
The hard machines she knew more about. They
didn't always have picture receptors on top. Some were blind and some saw more
than she did, though not quite in the same way. She could never tell by looking
at them which was apt to do which.
(There
was a stupid little running machine that she had discovered once that was
perpetually scurrying about looking for things to do. It would never have
survived on earth because there was an unexpected flaw in it. She herself had
sensed the fault and started to fix it only to realize that here was an unexpected
stroke of luck. Curiosity circuits there were by the million but they were all
mechanical and what they produced could be strictly predicted. But this was
unique. A deviation in the manufacturing process, a slight change in the
density of the material, whatever it was something extraordinarily fine had
been put together and it would take a hundred years of chance to duplicate it.
(Midway
she had changed her mind and instead had altered the machine to encourage the
basic sensitivity. She hadn't seen it recently. She hoped someone who didn't
understand hadn't undone her work.)
The
known order crumbled under the touch into something that was strange. But where
sight itself would not suffice, it was possible to touch reality, to soak it
into the skin, like understanding which cometh slowly to' the growing mind.
But what was understanding? Parts of it were always
left out and she could venture toward it only a little way.
She
twisted the head on the bench. The silence was unchanging. (What was silence?)
Other heads on the bench didn't move; they weren't supposed to. Once they had
been attached to clumsy machines and could move about with a stiff degree of
freedom. They couldn't now, though they could twist the light perceptors in whichever direction suited them.
But they didn't know where to look.
She
herself couldn't see the thing that was approaching. It was because her eyes
were imperfect. Lenses were pliable and nerve endings were huge things, too
gross to catch the instant infinitesimal signals. Or perhaps it was
permeability-—force bounced on distant impenetrability and bounded back to and
through her senses.
She'd have to align the heads to help them
help her, string them together for what reinforcement they offered each other.
And still they wouldn't see because what they depended on for seeing was too
slow. By itself the hookup wouldn't correct their sight.
But
nearby was a fast mind though a lazy one. It liked routine once the meaning of
it was made clear. And it worked with instantaneity. Blind itself it could
fingertip touch the incredible impulses and interpret what it felt for those
who had eyes. It would join with her, reluctantly but surely if she made it interesting,
a game at which it could always win. And winning wouldn't be difficult for it,
not against these nine circuit bound mindá, even if it was true that they did augment one another. Singly there were
stupid and even added they were not much better. Their virtue was that they
were electronic.
(Alone)
Were there intangible machines? Sometimes she thought there might be. People
twisted their mouth and (not because they were smiling) to indicate that they
too understood. She could touch the air coming out but the impulses had no
meaning. It was not like vibrations machines set up, harmonics that told of
the unseen structure. There was nothing mechanical that could be concealed from
harmonics—there were no hard and fast secrets. But what came out of mouths was
senseless. It told nothing, or if it did have meaning her hands and her skin
were unable to relay the interpretation further. (People were soft machines
and they did not ring true. It was difficult to understand.)
Her
hands were usually quite capable. (Now) she wove wires so fine that only
occasional light was caught and brilliantly reflected. Each strand led
somewhere. She removed panels from the robots' heads and grouped them closer.
They were beginning to shake off their incomplete individuality. They were no
longer separate mechanisms, each of which could only grope for a small fragment
of reality. They were merging, becoming larger and stronger. There was more to
be done to them but she couldn't do it.
As
light as her touch was it was too inaccurate for what must follow. There were
objects smaller than her eye could see, movements finer than her muscles could
control. She summoned a repair machine whose microsenses
were adequate to begin with. She would like to have the one she repaired some
time ago (actually it was quite smart) but it had disappeared and she didn't
know where to find it. However this one would do.
It
was set merely to repair what was already built, but what she wanted was not
yet made. She changed the instructions; they were not to her liking anyway.
She
delved into the machine and set the problem. The statement of it was complex
and she wasn't sure how much data the robot aide would need. When she finished
it stood there thrumming. It didn't move.
She
waited but nothing happened. The robot, whose senses were far finer than her own, remained frozen and baffled. Impatiently she
restated the problem, rephased it so that it could
reach every part of the circuit almost instantly. Where it was complex she
simplified, reducing it at last to an order the robot could act on. It began to
work, slowly at first.
It
copied exactly a circuit she had made previously. After she approved it started
another, like the first but much smaller, attaching it in series. Satisfied it
was obeying instructions, she left it. It would continue to make those
circuits, each one progressively smaller, the final
one delicate enough to contact the gravity computer.
Meanwhile-
there was her own work. It wouldn't suffice that the geepees be linked with the gravity computer. They would
then see what she had discovered long ago—but it was people who had to be
shown. Their eyes were even less sensitive than hers.
Fortunately
this was the easiest part. She went to the screen and began to alter it. It
could be made to scan what the gravity computer passed on to the geepee heads. A row of dominos, each of
which would topple if the first were struck, and the screen was the last of Üie series.
"Hello,"
said a voice. "So this is where you always are. What a dreary place to
work."
She
didn't hear the voice. She felt the footsteps and the air brushing against her
skin. She turned around, letting her hands continue, deft and sure. She didn't
need to see what she was doing. The smile was involuntary.
He leaned against the wall, watching her. It
was embarrassing the way she gazed back. He wished she could say something
but then he'd always wished it. He'd had a thesis once, hadn't he?, that for mechanics deafness wasn't a handicap considering
how noisy machines were. A deaf person could withstand a concentration of
sound the average man would find intolerable. And there was no need for such a
person to talk since there was no one who could hear.
The
connections in her hands grew swiftly. She felt that she could work better
while he was near. Why was this?
"What
do you respond to?" he said gruffly. "Diagrams, blueprints?
If so I'll have to leam to draw the damnedest tilings." He laughed uncertainly. "Come on, help
me a little bit. I've got some ideas that might help you break out of your
shell if you'd try to respond."
He
fixed things too, warm soft mechanisms. She didn't know but she thought it was
a higher skill than hers. He was not as adept as she was, though he could leam to be. There was so much more he could do if he would
realize. His mouth was a handicap. He moved it often when he should be
thinking.
"Listen,
robot face, I left a career for you. Do you think they wouldn't take me back?
The Medicouncil wouldn't like it but I'd have been a
popular hero. Sometimes they want their heroes to fail. Besides from their
viewpoint it was the best possible solution. Now they don't have to think of
people like you out on that god-forsaken asteroid. You're off their conscience
and they don't have to have bad dreams about you."
She
smiled again and it was infuriating. What he said or did had no effect.
"At least show that you recognize me. Stop what you're doing. It can't be
important."
He
drew her to him roughly and the work fell from her hands. The connections had
been done minutes before and she'd continued to hold them because she didn't
want to move away from him. She was willing to let him look at her closely if
he wanted. It was surprising how much he wanted to.
Later
he held her away from him. "I take it back," he said softly.
"You're not a robot face. There's no point of resemblance to a machine.
And look, you've even discovered that you've got more than one
expression."
The robot aide that had been laboring on
whirred inaudibly and clacked its extensibles. It
rolled away from the work bench, brushing lightly against the doctor as it did
so.
Cameron
glanced down blankly, not actually seeing it. "What do I do now?" he
said with unexpected gloominess. "You're a child. You're as old as Jeriann, maybe as old as I am, but in this you're hardly
more than a child." What was consent and how would he know when he had it?
Well, no, that was not the problem—he knew, but would she? What could he explain to her? He put his arms around her and gazed thoughtfully
over her head at the odds and ends of machinery she had been stringing
together. The screen flickered and sprang into illumination.
He
glared at it for interrupting his thoughts. It seemed to him he had just
discovered something very significant and if he'd had a few more minutes he'd
have been able to say it in a way he'd never forget. But there was a shape on
the screen and he couldn't ignore it. The image wavered in and out of focus,
growing clearer as the machine learned to hold it steady.
It was a ship.
A ship. He
dropped his hands. "Don't give up on me. I'm not going to run out on
you." Was it his imagination that the ship was growing larger? His throat
was dry and tight. The last thing he wanted to see was a ship.
"I
don't know what we can do about this, Nona, but come on. We'll see."
She
leaned against the wall, showing no inclination to follow. She seemed to be
disturbed but he would guess it was not about the same thing he was. "Come
on," he said. "We've got to tell the others."
And
still she didn't move. "I can't stay here," he muttered and kissed
her. He started walking away fast so he'd be able to leave.
She
could tell that he was upset by the unexpected appearance of the ship on the
scanner. Perhaps he thought they were alone in space, that emptiness was
lonely. He ought to have known better. She had seen it long ago, and guessed
what it meant. It would have to be overcome.
What she couldn't understand was what
happened to her when he touched her. Others had tried to come close and either
she minded or was indifferent and they went away. But this was surely outside
of her experience. She thought it meant something to touch a machine and to
know therefrom what it was. But to come in contact
with him and to learn all at once what he was—yes and herself
too . . . The warm soft mechanism that she was behaved strangely—never the
same way twice.
And
now she was becoming confused—because she would always feel this when he was
near—and she didn't mind.
She
closed her eyes and could see him more clearly. (What was choice?)
Docchi walked on, carefully skirting one of the columns
that supported the dome. Once it had seemed huge and unshakable and now it was
remarkably slender. The dome itself was hardly adequate to keep the darkness
overhead from descending. This was the dull side of their rotation; they were
looking back at the way they'd come. The stars were gray and faint. "Where
did you see it?" he asked after a long silence.
"In
the place Jordan described. It's deep underground but I believe it's near one
of the piles. I felt the wall and it was warm."
"Somewhere below the gravity
computer," said Docchi. "Why there, I don't
know, but Nona may have had a reason. What I want to know is: how do you
account for the ship?"
"What?"
said Cameron. "Oh, I leave that to you and Jordan.
I can't explain it."
Docchi guessed why the doctor was less concerned
than he tried to be. Let him live with his exaltation for a while. It might not
last. "Part of it's easy, how the ship came to
be there."
"It isn't to me," said Cameron.
"We haven't been gone long, not much more than a month."
"Six weeks to be exact. Six weeks on our
calendar."
"I
see, relative time. I heard we were approaching the speed of light but I didn't
think we were close enough to make any difference." He glanced at his
watch as if it held secrets he couldn't fathom. "How long
have we actually been gone, Earth time?"
"I don't know. We haven't any figures on
our acceleration rate nor our present speed."
"What
are you planning to do? We can't just sit here and let them overtake us."
"I
don't know. We're not helpless." Docchi's plans
were vague. There was much that had to be determined before he could decide on
anything. "You're certain it's one of ours? It's not an alien ship?"
The
idea hadn't occurred to Cameron. He turned the image around in his mind before
he answered. "I'm not familiar with ship classifications, but it's ours
unless these aliens use the English language. There was a name on it. I could
read part. It ended in -tory."
"The
Victory class," said Docchi. "The biggest
thing built. At one time it was intended for interstellar service, before the
gravity drive fizzled."
"That's
how they were able to do it," said Cameron. "I've been wondering how
they were able to send a ship after us so soon, even allowing for the fact that
we've been gone longer than it seems to us, maybe two or three months instead
of six weeks."
He
had nothing definite to go on but in Docchi's opinion
the time was closer to half a year. "Right. Since
the ships were already there rusting in the spaceport all they had to do was
clean them up and add an information unit to the drive. They may have started
work on it while we were in the solar system, when they were still looking for
Nona."
The
special irony was that our own discoveries were being used against them. Nona's first, the resurrected drive, and then his own not
negligible contribution. Docchi himself had
told them. His thoughtless remark that the drive would function without Nona
had been relayed back to Earth. Vogel the engineer had probably picked it up
and sent the information on. Someone would have chanced
on the idea anyway, but he had given them weeks. And a
week was of incalculable importance —planets could be won or lost.
Cameron
was silent as they walked on. "There's a ship but we don't know where.
Let's not worry until we find where it's going."
Docchi didn't answer. That the scanner Nona had
built was capable of detecting a ship between the stars indicated a tremendous
range—old style. But distances had shrunk lately. There was a ship behind them
and it wasn't far. Neither was it on a pleasure jaunt.
At
the hospital steps they conferred briefly and then separated, Cameron leaving
to find Jeriann. Docchi
went into his office and tried unsuccessfully to locate Jordan.
Ultimately
he gave it up. Jordan had his own ideas of what was important and lately had
been mysteriously concerned with some undertaking he refused to disclose. He
had even tried to conceal that there was something he was working on. Docchi switched his efforts and finally contacted Webber.
At a time like this they needed what support they could get. Webber was not a
substitute for Jordan but he'd do. The person he'd most have liked to have
along was Anti but she couldn't leave the prison, her tank. They missed her.
They always would as long as she was confined.
Docchi sat down while he waited for Webber. He
needed the rest. He had been hoping that the pursuit would not begin as soon as
it had. They would find some way to throw off the ship behind them—but it was
not the biggest threat.
"Do you suppose she hid here when the
guards were looking for her?" said Webber.
"Doesn't
seem likely," said Docchi, trying to keep up.
The other's composite body gave him strength he wasn't aware of. Docchi couldn't match the effortless stride, the endurance.
"Guards searched here too."
They
had, but how thoroughly? The asteroid had once been a planet, a world with an
atmosphere, oceans, lakes, streams. Water had seeped into the ground, creating
imperceptible weaknesses in the crust. And long ago when the catastrophe came
it had struck suddenly. The planet had been split with such violence that whole
chunks had been hurled apart, each one intact except that the shock had
enlarged on the work begun by water. Faults became underground caverns,
tortuous caverns in the rock that intersected the man-made tunnel.
No matter what their orders were, the guards
wouldn't have been anxious to explore too far. Under the stress of unusual
gravity fissures could close again on the unwary—it was possible they'd made
only a token search here.
"If
we come here often there ought to be an easier way than this," said Webber
as they went along.
Docchi had been thinking of it. He would be able to
tell when he saw it whether it would be possible to move the scanner. If so a
good place might be in gravity center. As nearly as he could tell it was almost
directly overhead.
Voices
sprang out of the tunnel as they neared the destination. "Don't know
what's keeping them," grumbled Jordan. "Maybe we ought not to
wait."
"He
was looking for you," said Jeriann, her voice
carrying in the stillness of the underground. "He said it was urgent for
you to be here."
"A
few minutes won't hurt," said Cameron. "Lucky we found you when we
did or you'd have missed it."
"What
do you mean, lucky?" growled Jordan. "I was on my way here when you
yelled."
"Have
you seen it in operation?" said Jeriann.
"Cameron said you found the place."
"If
I had I'd have told you. The scanner wasn't finished last time I was here. I
figured Nona would let us know when she was ready."
The
tunnel turned sharply and though they could hear Jordan's voice the words were
indistinct. It was a quirk of acoustics because, as they travelled on, utter
silence descended. They could hear nothing at all until the tunnel curved again
and they entered the cavern.
He
glanced around once before they were noticed. The nine geepee
heads Cameron had described were almost indiscernible under the mass of
circuitry that covered them. Nona had improved the scanner. He could identify
some of the components but the arrangement was totally unfamiliar.
He
thought he could trace the basic outline. It was a gravity device of some kind,
what kind he wasn't sure. If he had thought about it previously he would have
realized it practically had to be that.
"They're here," said Jeriann at his side, and he hadn't seen how she'd got
there. Seconds before she'd been arguing with Jordan and now
she was next to him.
Jordan
looked up and Nona clipped a few connections in place. She stayed close to the
doctor. "We all know what we came for so there's no need for
preliminaries," said Docchi. "Cameron, can
you tell Nona to start the scanner?"
"My
communication is rather primitive," said Cameron with
a slight smile. "However------------- " He had no time to
say more.
Nona
didn't move but the scanner responded.
A
shape glowed, a vague nebula, far away. It came closer and the nebula
dissolved—it was a ship. There was darkness all around and yet the ship wasn't
dark. The lights that streamed out of the ports couldn't account for this, there was nothing to reflect it on the hull. Radar was
one explanation, a gravity radar. The impulses left
the asteroid, traversed the space to the far away object and bounced back—in
no-time.
"It's a military
ship," said Jordan. "The biggest."
The ship rocked a little or perhaps the
scanner resolved the image better. The name began to swing into sight.
"Tory," repeated Webber when he was able to read it. "Victory. And victory always ends with tory."
"Star
Victory," said Jeriann as the ship rotated and
the full name grew visible. "They're premature. They haven't won
yet."
"But
how far away?" growled Jordan. "We ought to know the power of the
screen."
The
scanner wasn't calibrated and so they didn't know the distance. Later Nona
might add that refinement but if she didn't there was practically no way of
telling her what they wanted. Now there was merely a three quarter view, the
nose of the ship and enough to make out that the rockets weren't flaring. Gravity
drive of course. But they knew that.
"We've seen it," said Webber
flatly. "Now what?"
"We're
not going to let them take us," said Jeriann.
"Docchi will think of something."
Her
confidence wasn't warranted. Actually he'd done little to bring them this far. Intellectual force perhaps. He had turned discontent into
something positive—and joint action had so far overcome the obstacles. But it
was Nona who had given them the power to make the action worthwhile. And she
was limited too—there would come an end to the seemingly endless flow of
invention. There were circumstances against which no ingenuity could prevail.
At
the present they needed more to go on. They knew there was a ship behind them.
The relationship had to be defined. Space was vast and they might be able to
elude the pursuer. They had to find out where the ship was.
They
looked at Nona. She was standing close to Cameron, very close. She seemed to
know what was expected of her, a mass rapport. She touched the doctor wonderingly as he smiled down at
her and then she went to the scanner, working on it, changing the connections
with negligent skill.
The
ship wavered as shel worked. It
disappeared for seconds and when it came back it was rapidly approaching the
viewing surface of the scanner. Closer—they touched the hull—and then they were
inside, gazing out of a screen.
Jordan
frowned. "They've duplicated the drive—have they duplicated her
scanner?"
"I
don't think so," said Docchi. "They have telescreens of short range. But there's no reason why two
completely different systems can't be spliced together."
They
were looking at an empty room and no one came in. Impatiently Nona touched the
connections and the scene dissolved, shifted and blurred and when it cleared
they were elsewhere, another screen, a different room. A broadshouldered
man hunched over a desk, muttering and scratching his scalp. He signed his name
several times; one of the sheets he crumpled and discarded, first tearing out
his signature. The rest of the documents he dispatched in a slot.
When he turned around they saw it was General
Judd.
He
reached hastily for the switch but withdrew his hand before it got there.
"Well, the orphans have come back, hand in hand." He smirked with
calm deliberation. "Or should I say arm in arm, Cameron?"
Docchi noticed it if no one else did. The general
hadn't called Cameron a doctor. As far as the Medicouncil
was concerned Cameron probably no longer was. It was the final proof, if Docchi had needed it; of which side Cameron was on.
"We have a whole new alignment," continued the general.
"Cameron
with Nona, and our rebellious engineer with Jeriann."
Docchi's face began to glitter but he caught the
light as it surged through his veins, willing it to stop before it showed in
his skin. "We haven't come back, General. We didn't think it would hurt to
talk, though, if you don't mind."
"I
never mind a little chat, Docchi. Always willing to
hear what the other fellow has to say—as long as he comes to the point."
The
general thought his position was strong enough that he could be as insulting as
he wanted. He was very nearly right. "First we'd like to know what you
want."
"Our
terms haven't changed a bit. Turn around and go back." Judd smiled
broadly, an official wolfish expression. "We don't insist you return to
the same orbit. In fact it might be better if you moved the asteroid closer to
earth."
Where the Medicouncil could keep a perpetual
watch. And where they would swing through the heavens forever in sight of
earth but never a part of it. "Naturally we don't accept,"
said Docchi. "However we don't reject
negotiations completely. There are some of us who might go back for one reason
or another—homesickness mostly. If you're willing we can make arrangements to
transfer them to your ship."
"Ah,
trouble," said the general gravely, trying to conceal his delight.
"And I think I know where the trouble is. We came fully prepared for every
emergency that we—or you—might meet. The Medicouncil
is very thorough."
The
picture of Maureen crouched in a darkened room, whimpering through clenched
teeth that she didn't want ever to see anyone. The tautness as one set of muscles
extended her hand toward the door and another set tore it away. And there were
other images, vague now, but in time they could become threatening.
The Medicouncil had foreseen
this; there were biologicals on the ship to cure
Maureen. Docchi's face twitched and he hoped the
general didn't notice. "I haven't checked to see how many are willing to
go with you. I will, if it's satisfactory."
"Don't
bother," said the general. "In case you weren't listening, I didn't
say that we're a cozy little group of altruists, just anxious as hell to take
over your responsibilities. The bio-logicals are
here. You'll get them when we land a crew to make sure you do go back. My
orders are very plain. We want all of you—or none."
"You
know what we'll say," said Docchi. "None of us, of course." The letdown was less than
he expected. He'd half known the conditions; it was consistent with all the
attitudes toward accidentals—once human but now not quite. It was a typical way
to ease their conscience—load the ship with every medical supply—and then
refuse those in need unless they all came back. "We're getting along quite
nicely without your help," he continued, and if it was less true than he
liked, it was more so than the general realized. "One thing, Judd, don't
try to land without
our consent."
"So
you still think we're stupid," said the general affably, at ease in the
situation. He
didn't expect us to surrender, thought Docchi. Then why had he asked? "We won't attempt to land until you
cooperate. You will. Sooner or later you will."
"I hardly think so. We decided that a
long time ago."
The
general shrugged. "Suit yourself. Remember we're not vindictive,
we're not trying to punish you. We do insist that you're sick and helpless.
You'll have to come back and be placed under competent medical care." He
glanced amusedly at Cameron.
"You don't .act as if we're
helpless," said Jeriann.
"Dangerously
sick," said the general. "Have you ever heard of hysteria, in which
the patient must be protected against himself—and he may hurt others?" He
was fingering a chart on the desk, had been all the while he was talking. He
examined it briefly and then looked up. "What goes on here? How can you
talk across this distance?"
"It
took you a long time to realize it, General. We're not right next to you." Again it was Docchi's
bad habit to talk too much but there was a reason for it and this time he
wasn't telling the general anything he wouldn't figure out for himself.
The
general's jaw hardened and he pawed futilely at the switch. "How do we do
it?" said Docchi. "It's our secret."
But the general didn't reply and he wouldn't reveal the information Docchi wanted. Nona finally broke the connection at her
end.
Webber breathed noisily as the image faded.
He stamped the mechanical foot, echoes rolling through the cavern. "Will
somebody tell me why the general's so polite? Why won't he land unless we ask
him to?"
"It's
not consideration," said Docchi. "The
asteroid's much larger than his ship, and nearly as fast. Did you ever try to
land on a stationary port?"
Webber looked abashed. "I keep
forgetting we're moving."
"Sure.
Aside from the fact we could smash his ship and it wouldn't inconvenience us
unless it hit the dome, not a very large part of the total surface, what else
can he do? Come close and try to send out men in space suits? We veer off and
leave them stranded until he picks them up. If he wants to we'll play tag half
way across the galaxy with him."
"So
he can't land," said Webber, gaining assurance. "Why didn't I think
of the reasons?"
"Because
one man can't figure out everything," said Jeriann.
"If there was just Nona we'd still be back in the solar system. Or Docchi by himself, or Jordan, or Anti.
Together we get the answers."
So
far—but it might not always hold true. Docchi was worried
by the general's lack of concern. He hadn't expected to contact the accidentals
but when they'd got in touch with him he wasn't startled. He knew what to do
because he had been told. He wasn't a fast thinker who could improvise,
his specialty was carrying out a plan.
But
if Judd was not at first disconcerted he'd made up for it when he became aware
they weren't using conventional communication. Docchi
would have given a lot to see the chart the general had. He'd tried to provoke
the officer but the ruse hadn't been effective. The general knew the distance
between the ship and the asteroid, but he hadn't revealed it.
Webber
walked noisily to the scanner, peering into the circuits. "The general's
communication experts will be working overtime for a while," he remarked.
"For the rest of the voyage. They'll know the scanner's a gravity device
but that won't help them." It was another count against them.
Communication at practically unlimited range was not a prize easily given up.
But what they really wanted was Nona.
Indirectly she'd given them back the gravity drive, and now this. And they
would think, rightly, that there was more where these inventions came from.
He
wished Anti were here to advise them. Docchi looked
around to ask Jordan about her but he was already gone. Cameron was standing
quietly in a corner with Nona, talking to her in a low voice while she smiled
and smiled. Webber was still looking into the scanner.
Only
Jeriann was waiting for him. Now that the general had
mentioned it, Docchi wondered if she really was
waiting for him—and for how long.
12
ANTI
looked up at the dome. It was all she could see with comfort. Stars changed
less than she would have believed. The patterns were substantially the same as
on Earth. Brightness varied with rotation, that was
the main difference. Now those overhead were brilliant and that meant she was
facing the direction they were travelling. She wondered which was Alpha and
which Proxima Centauri. She never had been able to
recognize them.
She
extended one arm, splashing acid. Lately there were times she had to keep
moving if she didn't want to freeze. It wasn't pleasant but she could endure it
for the sake of walking some day. There were degrees of helplessness and no one
else, even here, was completely immobilized, confined completely to a
specialized environment. She had forgotten much of the past and couldn't see
far into the future. Perhaps it wasn't worth looking into.
"Quiet, you'll scare the fish."
She
paddled around until she could see Jordan. "If you find fish who can live in this, throw them in. I'll welcome any kind
of company."
"Maybe Cameron can mutate fish to stand
the cold," suggested Jordan. "Or if that fails he can always
transfer the fungus to them."
"I don't wish it on anything,
even a fish."
"It wouldn't hurt.
Besides, it might make them immortal."
"Thanks.
I like fish, but not as playmates. They're better on a
plate."
"Barbaric," said Jordan. "I
prefer scientific food, synthetics. Wholly removed from the
taint of the living creature. Something that didn't
die in quick agony so that you could smack your lips. Germ free, compounded of balanced elements."
"Came
from nature myself," said Anti. "Uncivilized though it is, I prefer
nutrition from the same source."
"You're
confusing yourself," commented Jordan. "Synthetics contain everything
necessary for life. When was the last time Jeriann
ate?"
"Longer
than she cares to remember. Besides you're quibbling. She gets concentrates,
which is not the same as synthetics."
"A
minor point," conceded Jordan, coming closer. "However I didn't
intend to talk about food."
"I
don't care what it is as long as you talk. I need conversation too."
"There's Nona," began Jordan.
"Exceptions, exceptions. What do I care except that I get tired of staring
up at nothing? Sometimes I wish they'd planted the tank at the entrance to the
hospital. People'd have to stop and talk."
"For a while I was thinking of
that."
"No
you don't," said Anti. "There are useful things that have to be
done."
"I
abandoned the idea when I considered what your viewpoint would be. But we did
move the tank once."
"Never again. Anyway geepees are scarce and who else could
do it?"
"I
could," said Jordan. He added quickly: "It's a joke." He swung
along the tank until he was as close as he could get without toppling in.
"Instead of something you'd forget once I left, I brought a gift."
"What is it? I can't see from this
angle."
"It's a belt."
"You doll. It's beautiful."
"No it's not—merely wonderful."
"I
know. Save it for me, till later. It will go swoosh if acid touches it."
"It
positively will not react. I took care of that. There are some metals that are
just about inert. It wasn't easy to cover it but I did."
"You made it for me. You shouldn't
have."
Jordan
puzzled himself with it. He hadn't much to do with it. At the most he'd made a
protective covering for it. Nona was solely responsible for the way it
functioned. And there was no doubt whom she intended it for; that was why he
hadn't hesitated taking it. And yet, why hadn't she turned it over to Anti? It
was working perfectly the first time he saw it.
The
logical answer was that it wasn't in operating condition, that she couldn't
make it work and had laid it aside for further inspiration. But this led to
nonsensical conclusions involving the repair robot. He refused to accept the
conclusions. "Let's say I didn't make it entirely. I added to what was existing." He swung the belt out to her.
"Are you sure it will fit? I'm quite
big."
"Originally it wouldn't. I had to make
it longer."
Anti
examined the belt at length. "Hammered link effect.
Primitive but striking."
Jordan
blushed. "I thought it was a pretty
smooth job. I had to do it by hand."
"It
is," exclaimed Anti. "You have a strong
unconscious sense of design." With trepidation she lowered it in the acid
and when nothing happened she fastened it. "There," she said in
triumph. "The first piece of jewelry in years. I
feel like a new
woman."
"You are, Anti.
Believe me, you are."
She
laughed giddily. "It's silly, but I do believe it. It's amazing what
jewelry will do for a woman."
"It's
not exactly jewelry." Jordan tried to think of how to explain it. Anti was
unscientific, or better—prescientific. "Think of
it as a complicated machine that's remotely connected to your mind."
"My mind? Am I supposed to be telepathic now? Is that
what it is? Can I talk with anyone, no matter at what distance they are?"
"No,
you're not telepathic except well maybe in a certain way."
Jordan
was silent, trying to sort the explanation. It never occurred to her that
machines operated at different levels, many of them simultaneously, electrical
or electromagnetic, others more subtle. Jordan gave up. "Think of what
you'd most like to do."
"It's
no use, Jordan. I won't torment myself. I know how long it's going to
take."
He
should have kept it and demonstrated. That would have convinced her. He would
never forget the first time he had worn it—and nearly frightened himself off
the ceiling. He cast about for other ways but nothing else was necessary. Anti
was thinking of what she'd forbidden herself to contemplate.
"There,"
said Jordan, his voice rough with pride. "I knew you'd get the hang of
it."
"Why
didn't you say so?" said Anti. "The gravity
computer. My mind and that mind."
For
a prescientific person she'd grasped the essentials
quickly. "Jordan, maybe you should keep it," she called. "You
can use it as well as I can."
"I
don't need it," he said. "Nobody's heard me complaining. And you
can't, or couldn't move." He gazed at her in alarm. "Come on
down," he shouted. "You can't catch the stars by yourself."
"You
think I can't?" said Anti. "I'll come closer to it than anyone who
ever lived."
Nevertheless
she obeyed his instructions, sinking slowly until her feet touched the ground.
The grass crackled and smouldered, though it was
green, bursting into flame where she walked as the acid dripped down. And it
was walking, though her legs carried only a fraction of her real weight. The
rest of the weight was destroyed for her convenience by the gravity computer as
it responded continually and repeatedly to her unspoken commands.
"The doctor will be surprised,"
muttered Jordan.
"Not as much as I am," said Anti.
"I can fly if I want, but do you know, I'd rather walk."
Docchi teetered on the chair. Not much; if he fell
he had no way of stopping himself, and there was the devil's
own time getting up. "I'm speechless," he said.
"So was Cameron,"
said Anti.
"I
imagine. He didn't expect his prognosis to be disproved so soon." Docchi righted the chair. "This is the thing Jordan's
been working on."
"He
said he didn't have much to do with it. He would." Anti moved warily. The
acid soaked robe had stopped dripping but there was enough left to react with
subdued violence if she came into contact with the wrong substance. "The
best is I'm already stronger—using my muscles more. I don't have an exact way
of knowing since there aren't gadgets and dials in my mind but it seems to me I
can support a lot more of my weight. Maybe I can walk unaided at quarter
gravity."
Docchi let the calls, of which there were several,
go unattended. It was the first big personal victory for any accidental and it
was heartening amidst the general uncertainties. "Fine,
fine. But how long can you continue? Won't you revert?"
"Cameron
says I won't. He made several tests which indicate the virulence of the
fungus. He says the body conquers."
And
for her it had. The biological mechanism had reached the point of strength
wherein it could contain the attenuated invasion with little outside help.
After some indefinite period the menace would be reduced, finally vanquished,
utterly and forever. The body conquered.
"Cameron
says it will be enough to sleep in the tank. I don't mind, though I won't get
much sleep. I feel the cold now, though not as much as anyone else would.
"For
the rest I'll increase the weight on my legs as much as I can. It's almost
automatic; no buttons to push except mentally. If I get tired I think myself
lighter."
The
mechanism couldn't be improved on. It was a portable null gravity field that
fit neatly around her and touched nothing else. And if Anti had reported
Jordan's views correctly, it was impossible to build another like it because
they didn't have the parts. It was an excellent device but not of great importance
except to Anti. Jordan could use one too and so could a number of others though
they wouldn't get it. It replaced legs and was more efficient in all respects
save appearance.
There was nothing, however, that was a
substitute for hands.
"Now
that you're up and moving, what do you want to do?" he said. "You
must be anxious to get busy."
"It's
a funny thing but I'm not," she said. "It sounds queer but I want to
look around. I haven't seen anything except what I could glimpse from the
tank."
Docchi rocked back; he'd always thought of her as
knowing more about the asteroid than anyone else. In a personal sense she did,
having been there longer than anyone he could name. It was said she may even
have been responsible for the building of the asteroid, so they'd have some
place to put her. It might be true. "Go ahead. Jordan will show you
around. You don't have to be in a hurry to take a job."
Anti
rose a few inches to show that she could. "First I want to visit the
laboratory Nona has. I want to see the ship that's after us. I know they
haven't given up just because they can't land."
He
felt so too though he hadn't figured out what they could do. "Let me know
if anything occurs to you."
When
she left, walking by preference, the responsibilities came back, Maureen and
other deficients with various degrees of disability,
the ship with undetermined resources behind them, stars and planets' ahead of
them, unknown or vaguely guessed at, mysterious. They'd reach their goal but
all of the accidentals might not survive.
Anti
alone was better off but there were others who were not. It was depressing at
times, so much freedom and so little to show for it. Docchi
went back to work but the image of the ship kept rising up out of the countless
important and unimportant decisions he had to make. What did they plan to do?
Late
the following day Anti returned. She marched in determinedly and sat down. It
was no longer remarkable that a few
chairs would fit her. She'd never be mistaken for someone else, but her bulk
had diminished considerably and her weight was whatever she wanted. That the
chair didn't collapse in a soggy
mass or burst into flame was an indication that Jordan had found a way to
neutralize the acid that clung to her without reducing the medical
effectiveness. "Nice place we have," she remarked. "Didn't
realize it was so pretty." "There are others who
disagree."
"They
don't really see it. The only thing I don't like is the ship."
"Neither do I. What do you think?"
"Well--------- " And
hesitated. "What did it look like to you?"
He
described it as he remembered, answering the questions with which she kept
interrupting. After he finished she was silent, nodding to herself as if he
wasn't there. "You know what I think," she said. "You saw it
three quarters, from the front. When I looked it was flatter. They're
gaining."
Docchi glanced out the window. "And, they
can't land here unless we let them—and we won't. What else can they do?"
"It's a military ship.
They've got the force to stop us."
"Not
without shattering the dome, or blowing the place
apart. And they won't. You don't cure a sick person by killing him, and for
their own peace of mind they've convinced themselves that we're sick."
"So
we're safe there," commented And dubiously.
"They figured at first they'd sneak up and land before we knew it. The
scanner squashed that. But they had other plans from the very beginning, what
they'd do if we discovered them in time." She nodded and nodded.
"Well, if it was me and I couldn't stop somebody, I'd try to get where
they're going before they did. It ties right in, doesn't it? They don't want us
to contact aliens. All they have to do is get there first."
Of course. It
was very plain, but anxiety had prevented his seeing it. Fearfulness was often
next door to stupidity. Whoever got there first controlled the situation even
more than And realized. He began to suspect the depth
of preparadon that was against them, the intense fury
and careful planning they had to overcome. Mankind was capable of more hatred
for its own kind than it ever expended against outsiders. Methodically Docchi began kicking open switches.
"You're
right, And," he said. "But I think there are
ways to see that they don't get there first." He was lying blithely,
perhaps as much because he didn't want to face what he foresaw. "If those
don't work, and there's a chance they won't, we have an unexpected
ally." "Who?"
"Not who, what. Distance." It was a most preposterous untruth. "If we don't get there in time we'll
let them have both of the Centauris. We'll go on to
the next star."
"You
can. always think of some way out," said Anti as
tiny lights began to flash on the panel. The flickering confusion there matched
his emotions.
"Jordan?"
he said urgently when the latter appeared on the screen. And after that there
was Webber and anyone else who knew something about electronics or could be
taught with a minimum
of instruction. They were willing to drive themselves to exhaustion but there
was no substitute for technical superiority.
"Now
don't worry," said Anti after he'd finished summoning everyone who could
help. "I have a feeling they can't stop us no matter what
they do."
"That
so?" he said. "Which toe tells you that, or is it an ache in your
bones? Think it will rain tomorrow?"
"Don't
laugh," said Anti, rising and leaving with him as he hurried out. "I
have confidence in what we're able to do together."
It was a good
thing someone did.
"Maureen's getting worse," said Jeriann. "I need more power." There was a tiny
bead of sweat on her temple, the first Docchi had
seen since ordinarily she didn't perspire.
"How much worse? I'd like to see her."
Jeriann made a final adjustment on the machine but
didn't straighten up immediately as if it disturbed her to contemplate what
went on in her own mind. She snapped the synthesizer on and turned around,
brushing the hair away from her eyes. "Do you think your diagnosis is
better than Cameron's?"
"I wasn't doubting
his ability."
"You'll
have to take our word for it. I can see her because I'm a woman and she hardly
reacts to me. Cameron can visit her because she's been conditioned to accept
him. Even so he has to take precautions. The hypnotics control only the surface
of her mind."
"What
precautions?"
"Sprays that plasticize his skin. By now her senses are far keener than ours.
The doctor has a cosmetic technician recreate his face, something impersonal
with which she had no association."
"I'll
take your word for it. I don't want to see her under those conditions. But you
didn't answer my question: how much worse?"
The
smock was clearly a laboratory garment to protect the wearer from chemical
irritation and the chemicals from human contamination. It was only incidental
there was a certain light in which it was almost transparent. Jeriann became aware she was standing in such a light and
swished the smock angrily around her and moved out of the illumination. "I
can tell you this: neither Cameron nor I will be responsible for keeping her
alive longer than three weeks, unless I get that power."
"Is this what Cameron
said?"
"It's
my own idea. I know more about this machine than he does. But you can ask him.
He'll back me up."
Docchi didn't doubt her but there was more to think
of than the fate of one individual. "You're just guessing, aren't you?
There's a chance, if you experiment wildly enough, you'll find the right
compounds."
"Please,"
said Jeriann. "It will
only be for a few weeks. Less than that if it works the way I
think it will."
"What about the other deficients? They need biologicals
too."
"They can wait and Maureen can't."
Reluctantly
he gave consent. "Then you can have all the power you need, for the next
few days anyway. After that we'll see."
"You're a dear." Jeriann walked through the lab, inspecting it critically
from every angle. "Of course I'll need help. Part of the trouble is that
we can't get enough power to the machine, we're not
using it to the full capacity. With larger power connections we'll be able to
turn out stuff we haven't touched on before."
He shook his head.
"That wasn't in the bargain. You can have all the power the existing lines
will take. But we can't spare men to install new lines. The technicians we have
are busy elsewhere."
"It's such a little thing," she
coaxed. "The machine's not a sledge hammer that smashes molecules apart
and then crushes them into a new chemical alignment. It's a keen instrument, an
ultramicrosize knife that slits delicately here and
there and then slides the separated atoms together to form a different
molecule."
"I'm not arguing about power," he
said adamantly. "I said you can have it and you can. Trained men you
can't. I'll see if I can spare them after what they're working on is
finished."
She,
stopped as if she'd stumbled into a taut wire she hadn't noticed. She looked at
him thoughtfully and strolled back to the synthesizer, under the light that
shone down and provocatively through the smock. She wore other clothing but
that too seemed almost to vanish. "For me, won't you? Just
a few men for a few days. It means a lot to Maureen."
"I
can't let you have technicians now," he said obstinately.
She
glanced at him curiously, sauntering closer as if to get a better look. "I
forgot. Cameron has Nona, hasn't he? They're going to get married as soon as he
can figure out a simple ceremony. And now you hate women, don't you? That's
why you won't give Maureen the same chance you'd give a man."
He
rocked back under the cold hatred. He had no idea she was capable of such
venom. "You're reading into my emotions something that was never there.
I'm glad Nona found someone she can respond to. But why are you so concerned
with Maureen? You never liked, her."
"What
rationalization," she said bitterly. "It makes no difference what I
thought about her. She's going to die if I don't help her, and I will. I'd
expect the same from anyone else."
"Jeriann," he said but she was gone, tearing the smock
off and thrusting in on a hook, leaving him alone beside a machine that alternately
hummed and purred in oily accents. He stared at it with complete lack of
interest as the cycle changed. The synthesizer grunted with satisfied pride and
three drops of a colorless fluid were discharged into a
retort.
If there was no other way they could save
Maureen by contacting the expedition behind them. They had the supplies Jeri-ann was trying vainly to duplicate. But that was surrender
and the only alternative was to go ahead as planned.
Docchi left the laboratory, taking the long way
around to avoid the doctor's office. Cameron wouldn't put the same pressure on
him that Jeriann had—no one could. Why did she
have to think he was responsible?
13
THE
dimensions of the place were fear, panic and
loneliness. It was no-time or all-time, the endless instant of survival—or
less. It was light or it wasn't, the illumination of the closed mind, the
intellect turned in on itself, perception curled backward
while it reached for the outside world. It was a universe which neither existed
nor would ever quite vanish.
And
there wasn't a sound. To the distorted senses, wavering and uncertain, sounds
could be masculine. "Yes?" said Maureen poutingly.
"Where are you now?" But she couldn't hear what she said. So she
stopped speaking.
It was forbidden.
The
bloodstream left her heart and had no path but to return deviously. It
travelled darkly with many branches, pounding, flushed with oxygen from the
lung machines. The .mind was turned inward. The body was turned inward. Life
had no place to go. It was out of balance.
Her
feet touched the floor and she got out of bed. The flesh was heavy. The tube in
her chest whistled with exertion. There was oxygen, too much of it, but there
was no substitute for the regulative substances her body didn't have. She was falling apart, pulled apart by the wild dissimilar
tendencies of all her cells.
She kept on walking until she lunged against
a wall. Her nose splayed to one side but her veins weren't ready to bleed.
There was nothing to tell them to let out the red drops. She fell down and got
up, walking on, banging against the wall.
She could never find anyone she knew. After a while she realized the person she missed most was herself.
Why
was it light without being light and dark with no darkness? Her eyes had
forgotten they were supposed to see. She sat down in the middle of the floor
and began plucking at the hospital gown, pulling it apart thread by thread. Her
mind said she didn't feel what she touched but she didn't believe everything.
She practiced playing tricks on her thoughts. There were so many tricks to play
and such few thoughts.
She
sat there, pretending to listen to something that nobody said. She waved her
fingers languidly and closed her eyes with deep regret, lips curved for the
kiss that wasn't given.
Cameron
came in and hurried out after one glimpse, calling for Jeriann.
The deterioration was proceeding more rapidly than he expected. There were not
three weeks left. It might be less than three days.
Webber nodded and went on working, aware that
Anti was watching the coordination of his dissimilar arms and legs. It didn't
disturb the rhythm of his movements. Anti moved to the other side to get a
better view of what he was doing and as she did so remembered what she'd come
for.
"So that's why I
couldn't get a book. What's wrong?"
"Nothing. We're tearing it down to move it."
"Why move it? This is where the books
are."
He
bent over the mechanism, disconnecting it. "I don't know. You'll have to
ask Docchi."
He
knew but was too engrossed to stop. Jordan could tell her but he wasn't here.
She wandered through the library but found no one who could or would give her
information. What made it worse was, with the librarian tom apart, there wasn't
a book available.
She
was curiously perturbed. She knew where she could find Docchi,
at gravity center where he had taken over the quarters formerly occupied by
Vogel. More and more the asteroid was beginning to resemble a ship and if there
was a definite control area it was located in gravity center.
The
first thing she saw when she entered the low structure —most of the gravity
installation was underground—was the scanner. It had changed; the last trace of
the makeshift origin had disappeared. It was metal encased and dials and
switches replaced connections formerly made by hand. These alterations were
Nona's but bringing it here was Docchi's idea. Anti
frowned contemplatively; it wasn't far in straight distances from where Nona
had originally constructed it, but the labor involved in carrying it through
miles of tunnels and then overland to where it was now standing—that was
considerable effort. It didn't square with what Jeriann
had told her.
She
found Docchi a few stories below the entrance level,
somewhere near the actual gravity computers. He looked up and then wriggled his
head out of the harness. "Have you come to help, Anti?"
"Nope. I've got a complaint."
Hi6 smile wasn't appreciative. "The
headquarters for that are in the other division."
She
ignored the reference to Jeriann. "I'd help if I
could but I'm ignorant. And you're keeping me from learning."
"The library?"
"Of course. I can't get a single book."
He
looked at the design he'd been working on and then reluctantly stepped out of
the machine which enabled him to put his ideas on paper.
"Don't stop drawing because of me,"
said Anti.
"It
was nearly done. Jordan can carry on from there." He sat down while Anti
remained standing, balancing an imaginary basket of fruit on her head. The
years in the tank had ruined her posture.
"I'm sorry we had to take the librarian
but you can still get books. I've figured out a formula."
"First I have to be a mathematician and
then I've got to crawl back in the stacks? There must be places no one can get
to, especially tapes and music."
"That's
the way it is. We'll have to go over the whole setup, relocate the stacks and
train human librarians."
"Seems
like a waste when what we had was working perfectly."
"We had to do it if we want to get to
Centauri before they do." He jerked his head to indicate out there.
"But what good is it? The librarian is just a--------------- "
She closed
her mouth.
"Just a memory system? That's what we need to duplicate the drive
they have. Of course the librarian remembers the wrong thing but we're changing
that."
"Can't we do it in
some other way?"
"Not in time with the facilities we
have. Maybe Nona could but the rest of us are just humans." "Well,
what's wrong with her?"
"Nothing. If you can get her interested in building a control unit I'll step
aside."
"Why build it? She is the control."
"Now
she is, but there are a number of reasons why a mechanical control is better.
For one thing we don't know how '"much of her attention it requires. The
drive may not function at all when she isn't consciously thinking about
it."
"But the gravity never
stops."
"True, but does it apply to
acceleration? We can't measure that."
"You're working on a lot of
suppositions—it may do this—it may not do that."
"We
don't have to guess at one thing, Anti. The expedition is gaining on us. And they are using a mechanical control."
Anti
looked over at the drawing Docchi had made. A bunch of squiggles. "You know more about it than I
do. If it's your opinion that this is what we should have, then we ought to. To
me it seems that another kind of control won't make much difference."
"Review
what we have. A nuclear pile that supplies all the power, a
set of gravity coils, and three computers. One computer figures the
gravity for the asteroid. Another calculates the propulsive force. The third,
we think, actuates the scanner. Nona may rotate the duties among the computers
and the unit we're building will do the same.
"But
this is what we can do that Nona doesn't: we'll cut everything to a minimum
except the drive. Gravity, light, heat, all the
personal conveniences will be cut to the least we can stand."
Anti rose a few inches and thought herself back
to the floor.
"This is what you'll do if it works the
way you imagine."
"It
will, Anti." Docchi's face was set. "Nona's
too considerate. As long as she has it she won't impose the sacrifices we're
glad to make ourselves. We're taking it out of her hands."
If
they needed somebody to make hard decisions, Docchi
was the man. It was a crusade with him and he was willing to drive everyone the
same as himself. Anti looked at his face and decided against the question she'd
come to ask. "Sounds grim, but you're right. We're willing if there's a chance we'll get there first. What can I do to help?"
"Reorganize
the library. Get assistants to reach in the places too small for you. Collect
the medical texts first.. Cameron may need them."
"A
thankless job," muttered Anti. "I started out to read a book."
Docchi smiled. "I thought you had enough of
sedentary life."
"I
have, but not enough of books. Picture and music tapes were easy to get in the
tank but they didn't make acid proof books. Limited demand, I suppose."
"Here's
the formula I've worked out. Books are selected according to subject and
author, filed according to size and date received." He went over the
procedure until she had it straight.
"I
guess I can do it," she said dubiously. "But why not start at one end
and go through to the other side of the stacks?"
"You've got to segregate the medical
references first."
Belated compensation because he had refused Jeriann? Perhaps, but he was not that simple. If
anything it was just recognition of what came first in importance. "A
tedious job," she grumbled as she started to leave.
"It
is. But, except for what we are as persons and what we create in the future,
it's the total of our human heritage. It's the last we'll get."
"Sometimes I believe----------- " said Anti. "Oh, never mind what a
huge old
woman thinks." She went out the door and when she came back seconds later Docchi was again drawing.
"Yes, Anti?"
"You can start cutting down on me. I
won't mind."
"When it's necessary I'll take you up on it. I don't think it will be. It doesn't take much power to run the
computers and they're always functioning anyway. And when we drop to quarter
gravity, which is the minimum we'll go, you won't actually need your gadget.
You see, you're not holding us back."
"Just the same if it will help I'll stay
in the tank."
His
face glittered and his eyes strayed back to the work. "If it's necessary
I'll ask you," he repeated.
Anti
left again, secure in the knowledge that he would do as he said. In his own way
Docchi was as ruthless as Judd. But the purpose was
different and therefore the comparison not accurate. Strength was not easy to
define.
The librarian resembled an angular metallic
squid spread out to dry on the floor. Docchi picked
his way through the wiry tentacles, scrutinizing the work of the crew. He
squatted near Webber, watching him splice and adjust the components, briefly
giving advice and then moving on to the next man. The librarian was dormant but
to Docchi's practiced eye it was nearly ready to be
recalled the semi-life of a memory machine.
Jordan
came swinging in. Docchi heard him and turned. He
knew who it was by the sound but seemed disappointed to find his judgment
confirmed. "The star chart drum is finished," said Jordan, pausing at
the tangle of wires. "Most of the observed data on the neighboring stars
is included. Of course all the locations are figured from earth."
"It's
all right. The computers won't mind making the conversions." With his
foot Docchi nudged a tool toward him that Webber was
reaching for. "What about the crossover relays?"
"Done
too, waiting to be tied in. Guaranteed to switch from one
computer to the other before even they realize what's happening."
"Good.
The next thing is the impulse recognition hunter. Last night I thought of a way
to make the selection tighter. Here, I'll show you." Docchi
went to a diagram strewn desk and waited while Jordan pawed through the sheets
for him. "There it is," he said when Jordan uncovered it.
Jordan studied it in silence. "Can't
make it," he said at last.
"Why not? It's not difficult."
"Yeah. But we can't manage the delivery from earth.
Don't have all the parts here." Jordan scratched his chest. "Tell you
what. Think I can rob nonessential stuff and put together something like
this." He took a pencil and began to sketch rapidly.
"It'll
do," said Docchi, finally approving it after a
number of changes.
Jordan
scratched in the alterations. "Why so tight?" he complained, folding
the sheet and tucking it away. "The computers don't have to be controlled
so tight. They never have disobeyed."
"I
know, and I'm not going to give them a chance. Every watt we allot must be used
on the drive and for no other purpose."
Privately
Jordan doubted it was necessary. When he thought of the great nuclear pile that
warmed the heart of the asteroid and drove them on he didn't see how a mere
ship, no matter how efficient, could surpass them. True, the ship was
travelling faster now but that was because they weren't exerting their full
energies. And when they did—Jordan shrugged and creased the paper again,
swinging away.
At
the door he swerved to miss Jeriann.
"Hi," he said, hurrying a little faster. It was none of his concern
what went on but he didn't have to be around when it blew up.
Jeriann returned the greeting and stood at the
entrance. "May I come in?"
"Certainly. There's no sign it's restricted to electronic technicians."
Webber
winked at her and bent his head over his work. Docchi
was expressionless. "I want to talk to you," she said.
"About Maureen? I've heard. Go ahead."
She'd
hoped he'd suggest a more private place but it was evident he didn't want to be
alone with her. She didn't altogether blame him. "What I asked for the
other day wasn't very realistic. It was mostly my fault. I had at least a month
to think of getting a larger power supply to the machine but I thought I could
get along without it. It was my own short-sightedness and I had no reason to
expect you to drop what you're doing."
"You
don't have to apologize. We're all trying to do our best —and various needs do
conflict. Actually I might have found some way to run the extra power line if I
hadn't been sure it was an act of pure desperation, that you had no idea of
what you were going to do with it when you got it."
What
made it worse was that he was right. The impulse had been irrational, the
feeling that there must be something that would help. He should have said he
was at fault too, that he should have built the command unit months ago. It
made no difference he hadn't known there was a ship behind them. He should have
said it.
"It's
over," she said. "We've done what we could. I thought you'd like to
see her while there's time."
"I
can't leave for another ten hours. None of us can. We've got to get it wrapped
up if it's going to be of any use at all," said Docchi,
looking at what remained to be done. "Wait. You said I can see her. Sounds to me like she's better." He scanned her face
hopefully.
She
shook her head. "It doesn't mean that. We've stopped using hypnotics because
they're no longer effective. Heavy sedatives, extremely heavy, are the only
things that keep her from jumping up and running out to die."
His
face was sallow. This was one of the times his slender shoulderless
body seemed frailer than it was. "Ill come as soon as I can get away. We're near the finish line
on this." He turned and walked past Webber to the far end of the room,
bending over a technician's work to examine it.
She
was trying to tell him and all he had to do was half listen. Nobody blamed
either of them. Maureen wouldn't, if she were capable of any kind of judgment.
From his position among the tangled tentacles of the mechanical squid,
seemingly strangled by the motionless machinery, Webber winked soberly at her. Jeriann bit her lip and hurried out. Her eyes bumed but that was all. Her body was protected against unnecessary
fluid loss.
It
wasn't possible to drive the technicians. They weren't very skilled and the
work was delicate. From the beginning they had known the importance of what they
were doing and they were already at their top speed and above that no increase
in productivity could be achieved. When he said ten hours Docchi
optimistically thought eighteen.
And yet they were done in nine. Not because
it would help Maureen—they knew it wouldn't. But because—well, why? Nobody
asked for explanations. They made no mistakes; nothing had to be torn down and
built again. And the less skilled men, those who puttered from one instruction
to the next, stalling between orders, now seemed to anticipate what they would
be told and to complete the work before it was given to them. They learned fast
and what they didn't know how to do was done right anyway.
The
wires ceased to resemble tentacles and were neatly arranged in the cabinet of
the command unit, formerly the librarian, which was then moved against the
wall. Calling in Jordan and discussing it with him, Docchi
left the remainder of the work in his capable hands.
He
was tired all over, inside and out. He didn't want to see anyone die, not
someone he had been partly responsible for sentencing, whatever the
circumstances. He walked along in the semi-twilight, wishing there was a cool
breeze. He hadn't ordered one and so it was missing. Before long there wouldn't
be any power to spare for circulation of the air.
And met him at the hospital steps, going up with him. "I've been waiting. I didn't want to go
in alone."
He
talked to her briefly and they went on in silence. The asteroid was being
diminished, perhaps already had been. They all had first
hand knowledge of what death was—at one time or another they'd brushed
very near to it—but they were not accustomed to losing the encounter. One of
their own kind, who should live for hundreds of years,
would not.
Jeriann heard them and came outside of the hushed
room. "I don't know what to say," she whispered. "Oh yes I do. I
wish I had your face, Docchi. You would see it
shining."
Whatever
she thought, her face was shining, though not in the same way. He
looked into her eyes but they were not easy to read. "You did it," he
whispered.
"I
don't know why I'm talking so low," she said, raising her voice. "It
doesn't hurt now. No, I didn't have anything to do with it. Come in and see
her."
Maureen
was sleeping. Her breathing was light but regular as the lung machines
responded normally. Her skin was waxen but it was not unhealthy. The wrinkles
of strain had fallen away and her face was relaxed in the beauty of survival.
"Go
ahead and talk," said Cameron from the corner as he bent over an analyzer.
"I shot her full of dope. I guess I didn't have to—she'll sleep now no
matter what you do."
"Thanks, doctor," said Docchi. "We're lucky to have you."
"Not
half as lucky as I am to be here. Damnedest thing I ever saw. My colleagues
wouldn't believe it." Carefully he closed the analyzer and rolled it away.
"I forget I no longer have colleagues."
"The more remarkable. Your efforts alone."
"I
guess you don't understand. I had nothing to do with it," said Cameron.
"I was an interested and awed spectator but nothing more. The person who
saved Maureen was Maureen herself."
"Now
how could she?" said Anti. "She lacked male hormones and the bodily
processes were out of control, upset, running away with themselves." She raised a few inches from the floor to get a better glimpse
of the patient. The best refutation of Anti's argument was Maureen herself.
"It
couldn't happen to anyone but an accidental," began Jeri-ann, but Cameron cut her off.
His
voice was cool and dry, that of a lecturer. It was the only chance he'd get to
share his discovery. "You know why you're biocompensators:
the severe injury, and later pulling through with the help of medical science,
developing the extraordinary resistance I spoke of. You had to have it or you
didn't live. And the resistance remained after the injury was gone.
"In
Maureen's case every function began to be disturbed after the supply of
hormones was cut off. It got worse as we were unable to manufacture what she
needed. She developed a raging fever and was in a constant state of
hallucination. In an earlier era she would have been a mass of cancerous
tissue. Fortunately we are now able to control cancer quite simply.
"At
any rate she was rapidly reaching the state where there was no coordination at
all. Death should have been the result —but the body stepped in."
"Yes, but how?" said And.
"I don't know but I'm going to find
out," said Cameron. "Last time I tested all the normal hormones were
present. Somehow, out of tissues that weren't adapted to it, her body built up
new organs and glands that supply her with the substances she needs to
live."
Cell
by cell the body had refused to die. Organs and nerves and tissues had fought
the enveloping chaos. The body as a whole and in parts tried to survive but it
was not adapted to conditions. So it adapted.
Nerves
forged new paths in places they had never gone before because there was
nothing at the end which they could attach to. But by the time they arrived at
their destination certain specialized cells had changed their specialty. All
cells in the adult body derived from an original one and they remembered
though it was long ago. In the endless cellular generations since conception,
in the continual microscopic death and rebirth that constitutes the life
process, the cells had changed much—but in extremity the change was not
irreversible.
Here
a nerve began to fatten its stringy length; it was the beginning of what was
later to become a long missing gland. Elsewhere a muscle seemed to encyst, adhering to another stray cell, changing both of
them, working toward the definite goal.
From
the brink the body turned and began the slow march toward health. What was
missing it learned to replace and what could not be replaced it found
substitutes for. Cell by cell, with organs and tissues and nerves, the body had
fought its own great battle—and won.
"Spontaneous
reconstruction," commented the doctor, touching the forehead of the
patient he had not been able to help, merely observe. "It begins where our
artificial regenerative processes leave off. I think—oh never mind. There's a
lot of development to be done and I don't want to promise anybody something I
can't deliver." He eyed Docchi's armless body
speculatively.
Webber came in, noisily clanking his
mechanical arm and leg. "Heard the good news," he said cheerfully. "Finished my work so I came over." He glanced
admiringly at Maureen. "Say, I didn't remember she looked like that."
She was a pleasant sight and not merely because she'd fought off death. Her hps were full and color was returning to her face and the
shape under the sheets was provocatively curved.
"Tomorrow
or the next day she can leave the hospital for a few hours," said Cameron. "The new
functions are growing stronger by the minute. Now she needs to get out after
the long confinement."
"I'll volunteer to
take her for a walk," said Webber.
"You
will not," said Jeriann. "For the next few
weeks she sees only women. Physiologically she's sound again but mentally she's
still the complete female. You'll visit her when she's normal but not
before."
"Guess I'll have to wait," said
Webber, but he looked pleased.
She
lingered outside while Webber left, seeking an opportunity to talk to Docchi. "I wanted to see you," she said as soon
as they were alone.
"Any
time. You
know where I'll be."
"I know, and always working too."
"It's got to be done," he said
doggedly.
"Sure.
I know. I'll come over when I can." But she wouldn't, not until he gave
her some encouragement. He had not forgiven the scene in the lab. Cameron
called then and she went inside to her patient.
Docchi went back to gravity center, thoughts
crowding through his mind. Little victories, though the life or death of a
woman was not insignificant, were achieved without much effort. But that which
meant something to everyone on the asteroid was more difficult. Where, in
relation to their own position, was the ship that was striving to reach the
Centauri group before they did?
"I'M COLD," said Jeriann.
"Put on more clothes," said Docchi grimly.
"That's
not a nice thing to say to a girl with a figure as pretty as hers," said
Anti.
"She can go to hydroponics,"
suggested Jordan. "It's warmer there and we've had to allow lights."
"But
it's a lot smaller than it was and too many have crowded in. I don't want to be
crushed," said Jeriann. She wouldn't have left
even if it hadn't been true.
"Have
to cut down," said Anti. "Meanwhile, what do we eat? Synthetics." She snorted.
"Synthetics
are pure," said Jordan. His enthusiasm was less than it had been. A steady
diet had begun to alter his opinion.
"Pure
what?" said Anti, but received no reply. She looked over the circle
huddled around the scanner. Nona was curled near Cameron, sleeping peacefully. Docchi leaned forward with uncomfortable intensity. Jeriann was beside him but he didn't seem to notice her.
"How long does this go on?" said Anti. "I'm getting tired of
freezing in the dark." Actually she didn't mind it; cold that would kill
others still bothered her hardly at all.
"Until
we know," said Docchi. "All the way to
Centauri if it takes that long."
"How can we
know?"
"We'll
find out as soon as we measure relative speeds," answered Docchi. "The scanner is similar to radar but it uses
gravity, which makes things rather difficult. We can't send out an impulse and
see how long it takes to get back because it travels instantaneously as far as
we're concerned."
"Then
there isn't any way? They seem to know how fast we're going."
"Better
astronomical equipment," said Docchi.
"We're a bigger object and they were able to measure our light shift,
until we stopped illuminating the whole dome."
"And now they can't
tell because they can seldom see us?"
"The
contrary, if they're on their toes. They should guess that we're putting most
of the power into the drive."
"Then how can we find
out?" said Anti.
"Triangulation,"
said Docchi. "When we first saw them it was from
the front. In past weeks they've crept up until they're nearly broadside. Now I
hope they'll drop back. It may take weeks to "tell, especially if our
speeds are almost evenly matched."
"And if we don't
gain?"
"With our power?" interrupted
Jordan, ceasing to tune the scanner. "But, all right, we don't gain. We'll
get there first because we're still a little ahead of them.
"If
there are no aliens there's no question of interstellar law. They'll have to
hunt us down over an entire planet and maybe blast us off. I don't think
sentiment will let them actually harm us. If there are aliens, what are they
going to do? We've told our story first."
The asteroid seemed to leap ahead as all but
the most necessary functions were curtailed and additional power was channeled
into the drive. There was no sense of motion, merely of tension as the
unmistakable vibration increased. In the darkness through the darkness they
hurtled. Sleeping or waking Docchi remained near the
scanner, as if his presence would somehow cause the ship to recede. It didn't.
Across
the silence the race went on intently. Weeks passed and Anti walked with
increased assurance as her weight diminished and her strength grew greater.
Maureen recovered and was released from the hospital. She disappeared
frequently, mostly with Webber, and no one questioned where they went.
Jeriann came when she could get away from her
hospital work. She came at night because it was usually night
now though occasionally lights were turned on for short periods and warmth was
allowed to filter through the dome. They couldn't risk killing the plants on
which they depended for part of their oxygen supply.
"Good
thing you're here," said Docchi once when she entered.
"I want you to make some adjustments." She followed him to the next
room where the former librarian was now the command unit presiding over their
destiny.
"There,"
he said gloomily as she changed a number of settings slightly. "That's as
good as I can do."
"How good is it?"
"Faster than we've gone before. I don't know the exact speed." "Faster than
with Nona?"
"I
think so. Of course I don't know what she could have gotten out of it if she'd
tried—but she always seemed to hold something back."
She would rather not have asked but the
answer was on his face. "But it's not good enough?"
He
sat down near the command unit. "They found out what we were doing and
increased their own speed. It's slightly greater than ours." *
"Well,
why do we do it?" she said. "It takes more and more power to add
another mile per second as we approach the speed of light. But that holds true
for them too."
He
tried to frown away the problem she posed. "Sure, but it doesn't matter to
them as long as they can match anything we do."
"But
they'd just as soon not. They're inconvenienced the same as we are when they
have to divert too much power. They're better organized and it's not so bad,
but still they have to do without their ordinary comforts. I don't see any
point in tormenting ourselves. Let's turn on the lights and warm up the place.
They'll do the same when they see it."
"Maybe
they will," he said grudgingly. He was not going to accept her advice.
She tried again. "Will
the scanner reach Earth?"
He
shook his head. "Not quite. The range is limited. I can't give you figures
but I estimate we're well over halfway to the Centauris."
He got up and paced in front of the command unit. "I know what you're
thinking—the appeal to the people of Earth. We tried it once. You know where it
got us."
He
had turned and didn't notice her. "I wasn't thinking of that at all. I was
wondering how close we are. We might get in touch with the aliens."
He whirled around. "Say that again. Did
you really say that?"
"Of course there may
not be any aliens," murmured Jeriann.
"Doesn't matter, or I don't think it does. I'll have to figure
it out, but I'm sure it will figure." His face flashed once. "Get
Jordan, will you? I'll be at the scanner." *
Gravity
center was virtually a shaft that extended underground toward the center of
the asteroid. At the bottom, shielded and reshielded,
sealed off and impregnable, was the nuclear pile. Nearly half way down a
horizontal shaft branched off, leading to the gravity coils which were anchored
to solid rock.
Much higher, near the surface, were the
gravity computers. Physical access to them was equally difficult. There were
connections so that electrical impulses could reach them, otherwise the
command unit could not have directed them, have taken over the control. But in
every other respect they were isolated and remote.
It
narrowed Jeriann's search that there were places she
didn't have to look. Nevertheless she passed him twice, going up and down,
before she saw him curled up inconspicuously beside a machine whose function
she didn't know.
"Now
what does he want?" grumbled Jordan, rubbing his eyes. "He won't rest
and he won't let anyone else get a few minutes sleep."
"He's
hardest on you," she said. "You're his hands. He wants you to operate
the scanner."
"Well,
hi6 hands are getting mighty tired," growled Jordan. But his sleepiness
disappeared and he followed swiftly after her.
Docchi was standing at the scanner, his face
furrowed as if thought alone would move dials. He inclined his head toward the
image. "Take the ship off," he said impatiently. "I've hypnotized
myself with it. We don't need to keep staring at it."
The ship vanished. "Now
what?"
"They'll
beat us to the stars. Let them. We don't have to be first. A planet of our own
will do." Doubt and hope struggled for Docchi's
face and Jeriann couldn't say which won. "Explore
the Centauri system," he said.
"Both of them?"
"The nearest one
first.
After that we'll see."
A
bright star slid to the center of the scanner. It flickered and then grew brighter, blazing out as they visually approached it. They
were within a few million miles as the solar prominences lashed out blindingly.
Jeriann could feel the heat. For the first time in
weeks she was warm. "Cut the focus," called Docchi.
"You'll bum out the scanner."
The
sun softened and dimmed but remained where it was as the strength of the field
was reduced. Jordan awaited instructions.
"Now that I'm sure we can reach it,
we'll get the asteroid back to normal. Later we'll resume exploration,"
said Docchi. He started toward the command unit to
make alterations and then saw that, though Jordan was following him, Jeriann wasn't. "Can't you stay?" he asked.
She indicated the empty belt. "I used my
last absorption capsule."
She
had no right to be happy merely because he was less brusque than usual. On her
way home a facsimile of sunshine began blazing down from the dome. The grass
was crisp and sere but it would revive.
The
race didn't end because the ship and asteroid were no longer constantly accelerating. Whatever the general thought of it and
however he modified his own plans, as far as the accidentals were concerned
the emphasis had merely shifted. Exploration. It
didn't matter who got to the system first—it was who found the inhabited or
inhabitable planets.
The
ship had slightly more speed even when, by mutual consent, both cut the
strength of the drive. Slowly it pulled level and then began to creep ahead.
But the scanner nullified the advantage. The astronomical equipment of the
ship, superior though it was, was not adequate to observe the planets in
detail from this distance. Before the ship could locate planets and catalogue
the characteristics it would ultimately have to slow down and waste days or
weeks searching the specks of light
to decide which were worth closer investigation.
With
the mass sensitive scanner there was no such problem. Six planets for Alpha and
seven for Proxima with, for a while, the possibility
that one or two more might be on the far side of the respective suns. Within
weeks, relative to the asteroid, much longer for stationary objects, that
possibility was eliminated. Six and seven planets there were and no more.
In
one respect the scanner wasn't perfect. Nona was shown where it failed to
perform satisfactorily and, after looking it over with mild curiosity, took it
completely apart, altering a number of circuits. When she reassembled it again
it had exactly the same limitations.
Jordan
switched it on and brought the planet in focus. He changed the dial setting and
the image blurred, scattering a coruscating rainbow of brilliant light. Once
again he patiently adjusted the dials and. the planet returned to normal.
"That's as close as we can get," he said. "I'd estimate about
fifty thousand miles out."
"Try the fourth
planet, the Satum type," suggested Docchi.
Minus
rings but with several satellites a large planet replaced the smaller one they
had been looking at. After vainly trying to get closer Jordan gave his opinion.
"A hundred and fifty thousand miles from the surface.
This thing's mass sensitive, that's all—proportional to the mass. It won't
resolve an image close to the surface of a planet. Notice that we couldn't get
nearer than a few million miles of the sun—but we could slide right into a
little thing like a ship."
Reluctantly
Docchi nodded. "We'll have to be satisfied with
it as it is. Nevertheless I think it can be made to approach the surface of any
mass, even the sun."
"Nona couldn't do it," said Jordan.
Docchi smiled. "I think she's more interested
in her husband at the moment. Besides, what did she have to work with? Odds and
ends of parts that really aren't suited for what they have to do. It would be
different if she had an unlimited supply of gravity generating parts, or could
get what she needs made to order."
"What you want is a whole new
science," said Jordan.
"Why not? We've got the beginning of it," said Docchi.
Meanwhile
the search went on. Each planet was scrutinized as closely as the scanner would
allow. The images were photographed, enlarged and studied, pored over by
everyone who could show some experience in topographical work. Two inhabitable
planets were discovered, one in each star system.
It
was somewhat disappointing that there was no trace of an alien civilization on
either world or on any of the planets.
Jeriann looked up from the photograph. "I can't
see anything. Clouds. Nothing but
clouds."
Jordan
shrugged. "Methane probably. It was the bet I could get. What do you want to see?"
"I
think we should get a good look at the surface before we rule out aliens."
"Still after the aliens." Docchi smiled
tolerantly. "You'll have to wait till the next system, or the next."
"I think she wants to find them because
it's one of the reasons normals didn't want us to
go."
"A
little," confessed Jeriann. "They refused
us because of what aliens might think when they saw us."
"Ever reflect it's
exactly what they might think?"
Jeriann was startled and before she could reply
Jordan produced another argument. "We're better off without them. Where
would we be if those two planets were settled, spilling over with strange
creatures that could outthink us without untwining their tails
?"
Jeriann flushed. "You're teasing me because I
don't know much about astronomy. You're not very good inside a medical
lab." She stared hard at the photograph. "I still think you're wrong
to conclude there aren't any aliens just because they don't show up on planets
we can live on."
Jordan
rested his huge hand on the disc of the planet she was studying. "Ever
hear of Jupiter, Saturn, or Uranus?"
"I'm not that
ignorant."
"I didn't mean you were," said
Jordan. "But man's actually
landed on two of those planets and though we haven't got to
Jupiter we have sent down a little remote controlled ship.
There's nothing
on all three of the big
planets, not even micro-
scopic life. The latest theory is that there's some
kind of life
over most of the universe but that intelligence will have to
show up under conditions similar to those that evolved us. Of
course we're willing to be convinced, but------------- "
He
crumpled the photograph. "Nevertheless I'll try to get a better picture of
the Alpha Centauri version of Satum."
"Stop
quarreling," said Anti. "I think it's nice that there are two
planets, neither of which has anyone to lay prior claim to it. Which one shall
we take?"
"I'll
take the Próxima
planet," said Jordan
as he went back to the scanner.
"Do we have to choose now?" asked Jeriann.
"We
should," said Docchi. "The advantage we
have is very small; we have to exploit it. Ideally we ought not to decelerate
until the last minute and at the end of that period we should find ourselves in
a perfect thousand mile orbit around the planet." He glanced at the model
of the system they'd constructed. "Myself, I'm for the second Alpha
planet."
Anti
snorted. "That thing? It's nothing but a hotter
edition of Mars."
"Mars isn't bad, Anti. People live on it. Besides, it isn't Mars. It's hotter, warmer than
Earth in fact. Dry, but there are two small oceans and several mountain chains
and on the shady side of the hills there seem to be trees. We can live
comfortably there."
"I thought of something else," said
Jeriann. "They'll head straight for the planet
that will support the biggest population. Let them have the prize—we don't need
it."
"I
had that in mind," said Docchi. "It will
give us more time to get safely established. Once we're on, there's nothing
much they can do."
The deceleration began soon and went off
smoothly. In less than a subjective year since they left earth they entered the
Alpha system. But they were not the first humans to arrive. The official
expedition in the Star Victory preceded them by several days. The difference
was that the accidentals knew exactly where they were going and actually
arrived at the planet while the other ship was still cautiously investigating
the outer orbits.
"It doesn't matter," said Anti as
they gathered by the scanner, discussing it. "In principle we're
responsible for what they've done. They can have the glory. What we came for
was a place to live in peace."
"And
we'll get it," said Docchi. In the last few
weeks his uneasiness, never very deep, had come to the surface. The knowledge
of how narrow a margin they had was frightening.
Outside
the planet filled the dome. It was actually quite small but it was close and
covered most of the sky. Now that they were near they could see that only
superficially did it resemble Mars. There were mountains and several large
streams and it wasn't as barren as at first they had thought.
"I wish I could land, or we could go
closer," said Anti.
There
was no answer for that. Anti's personal null gravity field would function only
so long as it was in contact with the gravity computer, which in effect it was
an extension of. She wasn't yet strong enough to stand on the surface of their
new home. As for the other, the asteroid was quite large and it wasn't
advisable to risk a nearer approach.
Webber
came in, grinning hugely and rattling his arm and leg more than necessary.
"The first load's on. When do we peel off?"
"Whenever you're
ready. The
rocket dome is on automatic. Take off and it'll open for you." "It's
safe to leave?"
"If
you're the rocket pilot you say you are. It's an ordinary landing. The scouts
the general left us are in fair condition."
"Don't
worry about me. I meant, will the expedition interfere?"
"Last
time we checked the ship was nosing around the outer planets."
"Good
stupid old Judd. It's nice that we can depend on him to proceed with the utmost
of military caution—and arrive at his goal too late."
It
was not quite fair to the general, who was shrewd enough when it came to things
he had been trained to deal with. From the military standpoint he had to check
every possibility before going on to the next. He was the official
representative of the entire solar system and he did not dare act as hastily as
the accidentals could. His responsibilities held him back. But there were other
times in which unimaginative obedience to higher authority would carry the day.
"Be
careful," warned Docchi. "Don't let anyone
go out until the air and soil and water have been tested and retested and
approved."
"The
doctor thinks we can handle any virus, bacteria, parasite, or anything else
you can name that shows up. It's not the first strange world man has landed
on."
"This
is not the solar system," said Docchi. "You
may have to restrain Cameron if he's overly anxious to show Nona what the new
world is like."
"For that reason you------------ " Webber stopped,
glancing away
from Docchi's face. "It's too bad you can't go. You ought
to have some first to your name."
"Don't
concern yourself. I'll get there one of these days. Somebody's got to be up
here at this end."
"And I'll make certain nothing goes
wrong down there." Webber shifted uncomfortably but the mood didn't last.
"I'll be back in a week for the next load. Once we get settled things will
speed up."
"We'll be
waiting," called Jordan as Webber left.
There
was tension before the rocket lifted and sluiced through the dome locks. It
didn't abate as the swatch of light flared across the darkness and faded
against the bright illumination of the planetary disc. It was only when they
were able to observe the successful landing on the selected ske
and the radio response came in. "All clear. A bit shaken
up on the way down but no damage except to my ego. I think I got all the
rusty rocketry out of my system. We're waiting while tests come in. We'll let
you know before we go out."
"Now
I can breathe," said Anti. "A place of our own.
Just let the general come and try to take us off."
"Why not? He has weapons, which we don't. There's nothing to stop him from
landing down there and capturing them. I won't feel safe until we have a real
settlement going and can defend it. And then I'm not sure."
"Now, Jeriann," admonished Anti.
"They'll
obey their own laws," said Docchi. "Planets
outside the solar system that aren't claimed by others belong to those who
first settle them. They passed that long ago as an incentive to interstellar
travel. The moment we landed we became independent. To molest us now would be
a clear violation of everything they believe in."
"I hope you're right," said Jeriann. "I hope you are."
Anti
was gazing out the window at the arch of the dome, through which she could see
the edge of the planet, ruddy, with a small sparkling green and gold ocean
turned toward them. She got to her feet. "I'm going outside and see the
world before it slips away. I was wrong. It's not like Mars. Much
prettier."
Docchi was busy for a moment as Anti and Jordan
left and when the work was finished and he turned around he saw that Jeriann had remained with him. Without realizing what she
was doing she was fingering the empty spaces on her belt. It wasn't conspicuous
but like him she wore her infirmity on the outside where everyone could see.
"I'm sorry you couldn't go first,"
she said, touching the one remaining capsule.
"First
or later isn't important. But why not be sorry you weren't first?"
"Well, there are things to be done and
oh, I don't know."
She
was disturbed for some reason he could not guess. The sight of their world
seemed to upset her as much as it did him, but with different effects.
"It's the same with me. But now the worst is over." Docchi sat motionless. "Jeriann."
"Yes?"
"Once
I said I'd come to see you when I could." "You promised, but you
never came."
"The
promise was to myself. I can come to see you now. Am I
still invited?"
"Why
do you ask a question like that?" said Jeriann.
"You know, don't you? You know what I'll say."
First
they registered and then they left the Hall of Records, walking slowly,
watching the planet roll over the dome, disappearing by degrees. It was out of
sight, the last patch vanishing as they reached her dwelling. And inside,
where time was waiting everywhere, the remainder of it on the floor, peering
down from the ceiling and ticking with soft persistence in the walls, they
quite forgot time for a while.
They
slept dreamlessly. It was nearly morning before he became restless and
awakened. It was not the rhythmical noises that were intended to keep her
informed of the schedule that bothered him.
He
lay there and tried to determine where the sound came from. He could feel her
body next to his, warm and wonderful. He couldn't get back to sleep and he
couldn't ignore what was happening.
He
moved and touched her. She was quivering. "Are you laughing or
crying?" he whispered.
"I
can't cry so I've got to be laughing," she answered. "It's funny. I
was lying here thinking about it. I suppose I can cook. I don't know. It's been
a long time."
"Is that all?" He chuckled.
"Don't give it another thought. I understand how you feel about it."
"Do you? I don't think so." She
squirmed closer and put her arms around him. "That's what's so funny.
There's no food here and nothing to cook it on. Not only that, there never will
be. You've got yourself a prize woman."
"I
think so too. I'm satisfied," he said. "Can't you feel my arms around
you?"
She would never be able to convince him that
she could.
NOW
that Cameron was gone there was much more to be done in the hospital. Jeriann rushed to get through but small errors plagued her,
nullifying a good part of her work. Finally she forced herself to be more
careful, checking the biologicals with extreme
caution.
"I
hear," said Maureen, sauntering in, "the nuptials were informal,
catch as catch can."
"No
ceremony," said Jeriann. "We stopped in and
registered and went on to my place."
"What's
the difference as long as you're sure of him," said Maureen.
"I'm not. I'm sure of
me."
Maureen
looked at her critically. "In your case it's good enough," she said
with a trace of envy as she leaned against the machine.
"Don't,"
said Jeriann sharply. "This thing is an art, not
a science. The heat of your hand will alter the product."
"Well,
all right," said Maureen crossly. "If I had something worthwhile to
do I wouldn't be so nervous."
"I
think it can be arranged," said Jeriann,
smiling. "How would you like to be a colonist?"
"On the next ship? Maybe."
"It
would be exciting. Also you'd be near Webber." Jeriann
made a delicate adjustment.
"I
haven't made up my mind about him," said Maureen airily. "He's virile
though."
"He clanks a lot, if that's what you
mean."
"At least he doesn't pretend he's
carrying the world on his
shoulders
without any------------ "
Maureen stopped. "I guess I
shouldn't say that in front of you."
"You
shouldn't," agreed Jeriann. "Nowhere I'll be apt to hear it. Now why don't you see Jordan about
getting on the next ship?"
After
that the work went smoothly and she soon found she'd completed the day's quota
and part of the next. She continued longer until she had tomorrow free. They
had the whole day off to do what they liked, if she could persuade him to rest.
She was humming when she went out and it was clear evening and there was a
beautiful silver fleck in the sky.
Only
it was not beautiful because it was a ship—and it was not their ship.
And
neither was it the Star Victory. She'd watched it so often on the scanner that
every line of it was etched in her mind.
She
hurried to gravity center, every step an effort. Why couldn't they have been
discovered later? She would have preferred an alien ship, anything to this.
Where had it come from?
Jordan
was waiting at the entrance. "I knew you'd be here. You saw the
scout?"
It
was simple if she had thought about it. The Star Victory was large and carried
auxiliary landing craft. "When did it come?"
"Less than an hour
ago. Go
on in. I'll wait for Anti."
Docchi was leaning against the command unit. The telescreen on the opposite wall was glowing but there was
nothing on it except harsh white glare. "I tried to get you at the hospital
as soon as they stopped talking. You'd just left."
"They didn't call until they got
close?"
A
smile had died on his face and the corpse of it was still there. "They
nailed us dead. We should have had someone checking on the scanner. It works
turned away from the planet. I guess it wouldn't have done any good
though—there was just too much space to cover. First thing we knew they were on
the telescreen. Jordan went outside, and there they
were."
She
was thinking of the people on the planet. The asteroid couldn't abandon them.
She hoped the scout didn't know how vulnerable they were. "What did they
say?"
"The
general sent an urgent message. He asked us not to land on this or any other
planet."
"He asked us?" The general was accustomed to commanding.
His
face was illuminated with the weak radiance of his veins. "I didn't tell
them we had landed and I don't think they observed
it." He stopped to recall what she said and the effort was painful.
"Oh yes, the general asked us. Below the cloud banks he discovered an
alien civilization on the Satum type planet and is
negotiating with them. Naturally they'd regard it as a hostile act on the part
of mankind if we occupied a planet in their system without first asking."
Jeriann touched the absorption capsules without
feeling them. "Aliens!"
"You
were right, though you had no right to be. Not that it would have made any
difference what we thought. As long as the general was cruising around the
planet we wouldn't have dared investigate."
It didn't pay to generalize on what they
learned from one planet, in one system. When man had journeyed throughout the
galaxy there would still be surprises waiting for him when he came to the other
side. "Let the expedition worry about hostile acts," said Jeriann. "If the aliens break off
negotiations, so much the better for us."
"You
forget we didn't come solely for ourselves. We hoped to make ourselves useful
to mankind. What kind of disservice is that, to embroil humanity in a war with
the first aliens we meet?" His face was flaring and white and the smile
gone.
"Don't,"
whispered Jeriann. "I'm afraid of lightning—yours
most of all. I expect to hear thunder and be struck dead."
"I'm
sorry," he said. "We have a right to think of ourselves but not
exclusively of ourselves."
"I
mean, do they care? If they live on that planet they can't want this. They
couldn't survive under such different conditions. Astronomical observations
must be difficult with so many clouds and without space travel
are we sure the aliens even know about this world?"
He
blinked wearily. "We took a chance. We had to. They have space travel. The
general wouldn't be so anxious not to
offend them if they were inferior to our own
civilization." "But we didn't see their ships."
"Again
we weren't looking in the right place. There's nothing in this system they
travel to. But there is a comparable planet in Proxima,
and in recent months they've been on opposite sides of the respective suns.
They wait for more favorable positions."
It
was not luck that had favored the general. Theory said there should be
intelligent life in the Centauri system and it further indicated that it would
be found on an earth type planet. It was half correct, and the wrong half had
fallen against the accidentals. Stubbornly insisting on following the plan laid
down by his superiors, the general had won. "What are we going to
do?" said Jeriann. "There are hostages down
there."
"We'll get them
back," said Docchi. "Nobody can stop
us."
"Can we? Their ships
are faster than ours."
"They
can't use their speed close to a planet. And the expedition won't be
aggressive in someone else's backyard. We can't land without breaking up the
asteroid but we'll go near enough so they won't be able to intercept our
ship."
It
was a daring maneuver. The bulk of the asteroid could be used to cut off any
attempt to overtake their returning ship. "There's Roche's limit,"
said Jeriann.
"Doesn't apply. We're not a simple planetoidal mass. We'll
clamp the heaviest gravity we're capable of and, barring something unforeseen,
we can hold the crust together at a distance of ten to twenty miles of the
surface."
She
understood; they'd take the risk if necessary but it ought to be avoided,
because it was a risk. Nobody knew what solid tides would be set in the crust
of the asteroid as the result of an external gravity field.
"And
then what?" she said. "We get them back and then what?" Her
hands were heavy. The silver mote overhead, shining in the light of Alpha, was
implacable.
"What
else is there?" said Docchi with an attempt at
cheerfulness. "We'll get them back, every person, and then we'll go on. To the next star and the next, and if we have to, the one after
that. Somewhere we'll find a place."
Jeriann touched him wonderingly. "I love you
for saying that. I love you anyway, but particularly for saying that."
He
seemed to shrink, flaming where she touched him, fiery fingertips on his face.
"You know?" he said dully.
"Yes.
For quite a while now. Anti suspects
too. I think we all do. This was our last chance, wasn't it?"
He
couldn't look at her. "We shouldn't have stopped. The next star surely
would have been the place."
"Place,"
said Jeriann. "It wasn't your fault. Why do you
suppose we were so eager to agree with you? We knew the longer we went on the
more we were at a disadvantage."
It
was so drearily obvious that nearly everyone had some inkling of the truth. The
Star Victory was not the only ship of its class; some were rusting in the spaceyards and some were in use as interplanetary
freighters. And if the Star Victory could be converted
easily, why not the others?
A new drive to replace the obsolete one? Order it and with a little switching around
in the manufacturing plants, diverting it from other uses, it was delivered
tomorrow and completely installed the day after that. The command unit the
accidentals had labored so long to alter? Every dinky little office had as good
and in many cases all that was required was changing the information spools.
And thousands of crews were available, already trained, used to working
together. It wouldn't be hard to recruit them and add a few officers at the top
and a staff of linguists and scientists.
Nona
had given them the one thing they needed and now mankind was exploding into
space. There was no end in sight. The whole neighboring sphere of space that
enveloped the solar system was due for immediate exploration.
And
the accidentals hadn't been forgotten. They were not the objective, wealth was:
planets to be claimed and occupied or mined, civilizations to be contacted with
whom products and techniques and entire new sciences
could be exchanged.
If
they were lucky enough to get away from the Centauri system at the next star
they'd find other ships waiting, doing business with the natives, if there were
any; if not, establishing firm little colonies on everything that was capable
of supporting human life. They were surrounded, overwhelmed by numbers. It was
no wonder the general hadn't been perturbed at the failure of his plan to land
unnoticed on the asteroid. He knew what had been slow in occurring to them. For
them there was no next star.
Docchi gazed in sick defeat at Jeriann.
There was no need to talk. There was nothing to say.
The
asteroid was rolling toward twilight as And came in.
"What are we doing about those insolent pirates? They have no jurisdiction
here. We ought to aim the asteroid at them. We can smash them." She saw
their faces and the words stopped. "I was hoping—but I guess we can't hide
it among ourselves," she said.
"It's
no use," said Docchi heavily. "We'll have
to go down and take them off the planet."
"How
will they know? We can't get a beam down with a whole planet in the way," said And.
"Let's wait till morning so we can tell them to be ready."
"I don't know," said Docchi indecisively.
"None
of us know anything," said And fiercely. "Go
home and get some sleep. We'll think of something by morning."
After
they were gone And went outside. Looking up she could
see the scout, still visible, glistening in the light of Alpha. It was much
brighter than the stars that had been watching them.
Cameron tried to be detached and objecdve. "Do they know we're here?"
"I
don't think so. They'd have been upset if they had any idea."
"Seems
likely," agreed the doctor. "We left as they were approaching. But
we took off from the face nearest the planet and they came in from the opposite
side. The asteroid acted as a screen."
"Probably,"
agreed Docchi with indifference. "How soon can
you be ready?"
"Do we have to come up
immediately?"
Docchi shrugged. "I can shove the scout out of
the way. I don't know what will happen if and when the Star Victory gets
here."
"It's too big to maneuver close to the
surface of the planet."
"Perhaps. But it carries other scouts it can
launch."
Cameron
grimaced. "Two or three fast little ships would be difficult to brush
away. But do we have to let them get close?"
"How can we stop them?
Better come up while you can."
Cameron
was fighting it, not recognizing the odds. "The scanner will work, won't
it?" questioned the doctor.
"Turned
away from the planet, yes."
"That's
what I meant. Keep it trained on the alien world. If the Star Victory comes out
of the clouds and heads this way you'll know it in plenty of time to scoop us
up."
It
could be done but why jeopardize themselves further? He wanted to refuse but Jeriann was pressing close to him, whispering. "Do
you have any reason for wanting to stay?" he asked reluctantly.
"You
see right through me, don't you?" said Cameron. "No, there's no real
reason except this, Nona's interested in this world and wants to stay."
It
was as valid as anything else he could have said. That they had come so far, if
only to fail at the final step, was due almost entirely to her efforts. She
deserved some reward, though it was only the satisfaction of mild curiosity.
"Wait," he said suspiciously. "Are you sure you know what she wants? We're sometimes able to tell her what we want, but never the
other way around."
"But I know------------ " The doctor stopped and looked at him
wildly,
his face flooded with sudden exaltation which gradually faded. "I do
know," he said at last. "For a moment I thought it was telepathy. But
I guess not. I'm not a computer." He glanced out of the viewport at a
world they couldn't see.
"Thank
you for bringing it to my attention, Docchi," he
said when he faced them again. "It's just interest. For the first time she
has someone she wants to understand—me—and a world outside she longs to visit.
The combination is strong enough to stimulate her mind—and she's bright enough
to leam anything she decides she has to."
Cameron rubbed his hand across his face and
he was tired too. "Let us stay here as long as you can without endangering
yourselves. I want to work with her under these surroundings.
I
think now, looking back at the way she's behaved these last few days, I can
make a start at teaching her to read."
"It
must be a lovely place if she likes it so well," said Jeriann.
"Maybe you can turn the screen of your ship so we can see what it's like
outside."
"No,"
said Docchi hoarsely. "Don't waste time taking
apart the ship. Get busy with her, teach her what you can. Take her outside if
it's safe, but don't go far. We may call suddenly." He lowered his voice
as he went on talking and at the end was no louder than usual.
"I
understand," said Cameron. "Don't worry about us. Something may come
out of it."
"It's
worse for them," said Jeriann when the screen
darkened. "They've seen it and then they'll have to come back. It won't
be anything we'll have to shove deep in our memories."
He
didn't know. He didn't know at all. "I need your help," he said,
going into the scanner room. Under his direction Jeriann
made adjustments and brought the alien world in view. Cloud swathed and
mysterious, a strange civilization hidden under the impenetrable atmosphere, it
rolled on through space.
"We'll
take turns," he said. "The minute anything bright comes up we'll get
busy."
"I hate them,"
said Jeriann.
"Who?"
"The aliens. If it weren't for them we'd have a clear claim on the planet."
"But
they didn't do anything," he said. "They're merely protecting their
own interests. We'd do the same." Nevertheless he hated the aliens too.
Jeriann was shaking him. She had to shout before he
started and woke up. "They've left," she said. "We've got to
hurry."
He
was tired and didn't want to move. It was very unimportant. "Are you sure
it was the Star Victory you saw? It may have been a satellite."
"It was the ship—at least it was using
rockets."
He
got out of bed and let her help him dress. Usually he refused her aid. "Rockets? But the Star Victory doesn't have any."
Of course it did; it was part of the obsolete equipment that hadn't been
removed because there wasn't time. Besides, it was an excellent reverse source
of propulsion.
"I don't care. That's what I saw,"
said Jeriann.
"Where are Jordan and And?"
"I've called them. They'll be
there."
He
finished dressing and they hurried to the scanner. There was no mistake; it was
the ship, but there was no bright tail behind. They were using the gravity
drive. He watched it grimly.
"But
they were," said Jeriann. "There's nothing
wrong with my eyesight. They were using rockets."
He
withheld comment. Rockets weren't nearly as efficient as the gravity drive,
particularly near a large planet. Yet Jeriann said
she saw it. He hoped she hadn't.
And and Jordan came in almost simultaneously and joined the
vigil. Minutes passed in silence and then the brief orange flower blossomed
again.
"See," said Jeriann.
"Now
why are they doing that?" growled Jordan. "They were doing fine
without it."
"Maybe they need more speed,"
suggested Anti.
Jordan grunted. "Wouldn't
add ten per cent."
"But if they needed ten per cent, if
they were in trouble----------------- "
"They are in trouble," said Jeriann. "It's a signal."
This
was a version he could accept—if there weren't better explanations. Swiftly Docchi made mental approximations. "At the rate
they're going they'll be here in half a day. They can't reach us with their telescreen until they're nearly here. Shall we go inside
and see what's wrong with them?"
They
looked at each other, and looked, until Anti answered. "What's
a few minutes?" she said. "We've plenty of time to pick up our
people. We can be gone before they get close."
Could
they? That was what he didn't know. Taking an asteroid near the surface of a
planet had never been tried and there were no rules. He'd have to feel it out
as he went along, ready to turn away at the first
indication of overload. Docchi looked at Jeriann, who nodded imperceptibly.
"I think we're in agreement," said
Jordan, touching the dials.
General Judd was waiting for them.
"There you are," he said enigmatically. "I hoped you'd
understand."
"I'm afraid we don't. You'll have to
explain."
"Still
the old flamethrower, I see," said the general brusquely. "Mainly I
wanted to make sure you didn't run when you saw us coming. My psychologists
assured me you'd be a sucker for anything that looked like distress. I've got
new respect for them." He chuckled.
"Now
that we've been suckered, as you so kindly put it, please tell us what you
want."
"I'm coming to------------ " The general's face reddened and his
eyes
bulged and he started coughing. The air wheezed stran-glingly
in and out of his lungs until finally he was able to control the spasm. He
grabbed a tissue and wiped his face with it. "Designs are no good,"
he said. "Ship, spacesuits, everything. Meant to
hold pressure from the inside and down there it's in the other direction—and
it's really pressure. Gets into everything. Not very
much but it fries your lungs. Remember that."
"We will. Get to the
point, General."
The
general looked at Docchi thoughtfully and seemed satisfied
with what he saw. "Don't be impatient. What I have to say is complicated
and you'll have to get the background. Are you interested?"
"I am," said Anti.
"Good,"
said the general, not waiting for the others to signify. "Well, we
landed. We went in on the gravity drive and possibly it was a mistake but I
don't see what else we could have done—rockets wouldn't have held us. Anyway
they had their instruments out and we think they could tell what we were
using."
"What were they like, the aliens?"
asked Jeriann.
The
general seemed to regard that as unimportant information. He glanced
appreciatively at Jeriann but ignored her question. "Funny thing. They didn't ask us about our drive and,
of course, we didn't tell them. As nearly as we can tell they have something
like it—about in the stage of development ours was a few years ago. Theirs will
take them to Proxima because it's relatively close
but it's no good beyond that." The general thought about what he'd just
said. "Well, their drive wouldn't work at real interstellar
distances—which is why they haven't visited us—but unfortunately we must have
given them a clue. They know ours works and in no time
they'll have it figured out."
"Sort of suspicious,
aren't you?" said Anti.
"Lord,
yes," said the general. "Do you know what land surface their planet
has, what a population it will support? Two planets against three, but theirs
are so much bigger. It balances off a little that we have a better drive and
our reproduction rate can be higher than theirs."
"I
take it you didn't tell them about Jupiter and Saturn?" said Jordan.
"No
point bringing that
up," said the general,
apprehensive at the mere thought. "Oh they have things we want. Two very
attractive planets, and they're wizards at high
pressure chemistry and organics—you'd expect them to be—but the exchange was
hardly worth it." The general sat motionless, recalling the scenes on that
strange planet. "They could be
very dangerous. It was imperative that we establish some sort of friendly contact.
Naturally we told them about you."
"Naturally,"
said Docchi dryly. "You were four, light years
from home and you weren't dealing with uncivilized natives."
"Nothing derogatory,
you understand," said the general hast-
fly.
"I'm
sure," said Docchi. "General, some time ago
I asked what you wanted. Much as we appreciate your friendly conversation—and
the friendliness is quite unexpected—unless you can tell us what you're after
in the next few minutes we'll have to conclude that your sole objective is to hold
us here while you get closer."
"Don't
do anything rash," said the general, as concerned as Docchi
had ever seen him. "You see it was a stalemate. We were a little afraid of them and they didn't trust us and both sides were
noncommittal. We didn't show each other a thing.
But there had to be a solution."
"General, I warned you."
"Can't
you see?" half-shouted the general, rising up. "I thought you were
smart. We're going home and we may as well unload our surplus supplies. You'll
need them. It will be about nine years before anyone gets back." He shoved
the chair aside and concentrated steadily on Jeriann,
the one normal human among them.
"This
is what we decided," he said. "You get the planet for the next
fifteen or twenty years, longer if they approve. Meanwhile all trade between
us passes through you." He jammed his hands in his pockets. "There.
Do you accept?"
"Do we accept?" said And. "He
asks us."
"I
see you do," said the general with gloomy satisfaction. "It was their
suggestion. They want to study you at length to see what makes humans behave.
Naturally you'll be keeping your eyes
open." He swallowed and conquered the incipient cough. "Now if you'll
turn off this beastly little gadget and let me have some privacy I'll talk to
you when we get there."
Jordan
reached for the scanner but was not quite soon enough. The general thought he
was alone when he wasn't. "Those damned butterflies. Trillions
of them." His face twisted.
16
THEY
went walking in the night. Stars were out but they didn't notice. They had
found a star to belong to and weren't looking for others. "Which
one?" said Jeriann, turning her head.
"I
can't point. Anyway I don't know," said Docchi.
"I can get it for you on the scanner."
Jeriann laughed. "Never mind.
I don't need to see their planet. They'll come soon enough."
"Almost too soon. I keep wondering what they're actually like."
"Me
too," said Jeriann. "I don't even know how
big they are. Sure, I saw them on the screen for a short time, but it's not
like meeting them. Large butterflies is what I first
thought, but the resemblance fades as you continue looking. And, what is their
size? There was nothing familiar to judge them against."
"Wingspread
is a better measure," said Docchi. "The general
said eight feet but I think he was overly impressed by the flat expanse of
their bodies." In a -while he added thoughtfully: "But it was not
their height I was thinking of."
"I
know," said Jeriann. She frowned. "Why did
they choose us? They could have had the general's expedition. Instead they
asked for us. Why?"
They
went on in silence, past the acid tank. They looked in. It was empty. Now they
had better use for the chemicals. "How is this for a reason?" said Jeriann as they strolled away.
"Still on the
aliens?"
"Why not? We've got to learn how they think."
Docchi smiled and through the darkness she could
see the faint luminosity of his lips and where his eyes crinkled. "We do,
but in the absence of anything positive all I can apply is self-interest. And I
don't see how they benefit by having us."
"I
do," said Jeriann. "It's because we're
normal." She hurried on before Docchi could
protest. "Don't try to talk me down until I explain. When they contacted
us yesterday and said they'd be here in about three weeks, on an official
visit, did you notice which one was prettiest?"
"I figured that much out myself,"
said Docchi. "At least in the beginning we look
very much alike to them, as they do to us. Appearance doesn't count."
"True, but that was not my point. I
haven't reached it. When you looked at the—uh—butterfly that spoke to you in
that high squeaky voice you were wondering how he learned our language so well
in such a short time. You were thinking: are they all as smart? Can I trust
him?"
"We've got to trust them," said Docchi grimly. "We're a long way from support. And
they did ask us to stay."
"But trust all of them, every individual
butterfly, under any circumstance? Or just some?"
"We're dealing with a government,"
said Docchi. "We aren't concerned with
individuals. There must be deviations in what they're like. Some won't be
trustworthy." He paused. "But of course a government is a reflection
of what its citizens are." He paused again, came to a dead stop. "And
so, for the aliens, we are average humans."
"That's what I
meant," said Jeriann. "A cross section of what they'd find on earth. But of course
they can't go to earth and see for themselves—not yet. And so they had to make
the best choice of what was at hand."
They
started walking again and Docchi leaned against her.
"I think you're right. The general's expedition, all specialists and
experts, including the military, who are specialists of another kind, was not
a representative group. The butterflies could study them forever but they
wouldn't get a true picture.
"But
they had to know exactly what humans are like, what their potentialities are,
and how they live together. And so they took us."
"It
seems strange," said Jeriann, sliding her arm
around him. "Until now I've never thought of us as normal. But even if the
aliens had refused both of us and asked for another group of colonists they
wouldn't have done as well. Colonists for a special planet are specially
selected—hardiest, strongest, most aggressive or discontented—there would
always be something to throw them off.
"But
accidents cut across everything, age, intelligence, sex, occupation. Name it
and it's here. We're the only representative group
that ever left earth or ever will."
"It's
odd," agreed Docchi. "But it doesn't match
what happens when we meet our first aliens. It's nothing like anyone imagined.
Here we stand, face to face across the stars. There is no competition for
inhabitable planets since our definitions are mutually exclusive. But we are
afraid; neither side wants war. And so we go ahead cautiously, looking for
signs in the other that will reassure us."
"I don't know," said Jeriann. "We're being tested. Will we measure
up?"
"We won't fail. In spite of what we may
seem to some of our own people, we're average men and women—and man hasn't
stopped climbing upward since that day somebody built the first fire."
Jeriann squeezed him and they slowed. In their
wandering they had come to gravity center. They looked at each other and
decided to go in. Jeriann opened the door and there
was a light down the hall. They went to it and looked in.
Jordan was in front of the scanner, scowling
at it in fierce
concentration. "I hope those idiots got it down straight," he muttered back
at them.
"Don't be so concerned. You took it
apart for them, didn't you?"
"Yeah,
but it doesn't mean I made them understand." He wiped his forehead.
"However, even if they don't know what it's all about, somebody ought to
be able to build another. It'll work if they use a little sense."
Docchi smiled. "Don't discount what gravity
experts know. After they get through thinking over the ideas in those circuits
they'll doll up the scanner and before you know it they'll have a machine that
can reach us from earth."
"That'll
be the day," said Jordan. "Let's hope they don't. It's bad enough
they know we're here—but if they have to look at us too . . ." He shook
his head.
"You're
wrong," said Anti, coming in and sitting down. "Won't
be that way at all." She bent and began rubbing her legs. "My poor feet. I've been walking around for the longest
time—full weight too."
"Why
won't it?" said Jordan. "Remember what happened the last time we got
in touch with them."
"Not
the same people," said Anti. "There were always some, like the
doctor, who didn't think we had to be beautiful to talk to us or be near. We'll
get more of that kind. They don't have to
call unless they want to."
"And
last time we weren't anybody, less than a thousand and not an important person
in the lot. Now we're representatives to the Centauri system."
"Profit,"
said Jordan. "You think they won't be able to afford to show their
feelings. I wish I could agree. But even with the gravity drive they can't
carry much between here and earth. In the next fifty years the trade that goes
out of here won't make one person rich."
"I
disagree. Ideas don't weigh much and there'll be lots of those flying back and
forth. And was there ever anything more valuable?" Anti smiled. "But
there's more. We won't be the same. Only yesterday Cameron
said he saw Nona looking worriedly at a book. It won't be long before she gets
the idea and wham—new books."
"She was never the one who had trouble.
Anyway, she'll never speak."
"She
doesn't have to as long as she can write—and get some idea of what we're
saying."
"Then
she's all right and that will make the doctor happy." Jordan was dubious. "But what of us—Docchi, Jeriann, me— the rest?"
Anti
leaned back and slid off her sandals, wriggling her toes in voluptuously and
looking at them with wondering pleasure. "Me? I don't plan to dance again,
but in a year or so I'll get around. The doctor expects Docchi
to have arms in the next three or four years if the principle he discovered
with Maureen works out.
"And
even you, Jordan, may be kicking again, though it will take longer. Say four or
five years for you."
"I'll
kick," scoffed Jordan, but his disbelief wasn't as strong as it had been.
"Sure
you will," said Anti. "It may not be as quick as we expect. Of
course if we learn anything from interchange of science with the aliens the
time may be shortened. Cameron says they're bound to help us advance, just as
we'll aid them. He's cautious though, and doesn't want to figure that in until
it actually occurs."
"I'll
believe it when," said Docchi. "But you
didn't mention Jeriann. Or do you consider her
already normal?"
Anti
frowned at her toes and slipped her feet into the sandals. "No, I don't.
She seems to be in nearly perfect health. But don't believe everything you
see."
"Darling,"
said Jeriann. "When did I have my last capsule?
I don't have any with me."
"An hour or so
ago."
"Are you sure? My time sense keeps
warning me."
"If you think we should let's go and get
one."
"She
knows," said Anti. "I heard the doctor telling her that her case
looked easy but wasn't. She'll be the last."
"Wait,"
called Docchi who scarcely heard what Anti was saying.
He hurried out into the hall after Jeriann. He was
gone a few minutes, and when he came back there was a handprint flaming and
furious on his face.
He looked at Anti dully. "I didn't say
anything. I told her to wait and I'd go with her."
"She
can't help it," said Anti. "I thought it was time you knew."
"What is there to know?" he said
bitterly. "She's upset because she can't eat. Compared to some of us it's
merely an inconvenience. I resent her childishness."
"It
was always there for you to see but you never looked close enough," sighed
Anti. "How many times has she had to control herself."
"But
I never said anything----------- "
"I
know what you said," answered Anti. "When she had her accident it was a very hot day. She was a young girl and was busy
playing and didn't realize how badly she wanted it until she started for the
fountain. She was struck down before she reached it. Now—what was it you told
her?"
"A drink," he said, staring at Anti
in dismay. "I told her----------------- "
"Twenty
years of thirst. But you knew there was nothing that is even moist in her
house. The shower spouts fine dry particles. And she had no pictures that show
lakes or rivers. Go find her."
Water. It
was life because it came before life. There were creatures that could exist
quite comfortably without light. There were some that died in the half strength
of the sun, to whom the visible spectrum and beyond was inimical. There were
others that didn't need oxygen, anerobic
microorganisms which perished in the free atmosphere because of the presence of
a substance commonly considered necessary for living things.
But
there was nothing that could exist without water. Life on earth originated
there and to it must always return. It was the cradle of the first cell, and
the mother too. There were minute cells that lived motionless and free floating
in water long before any living thing learned to swim through its droplet
universe. Before there were fins or hands and feet, eyes to respond to light,
and an orifice to eat and shape fine noises with—there was water. And any
living creature that had a mouth from time to time might refresh its lips with
the common and precious fluid.
Except
Jeriann.
The psychotechnicians knew they could condition her and so it
had been done. She could not drink, would not. She would resist if it were
forced upon her, struggle until her bones broke. But even the psychotechnicians who had created the mental block hadn't
completely trusted it. And so a place had been built for her in which she would
not be reminded of water, the one thing she never got enough of.
Because the habit of life was strong and water meant survival. This was not something she imagined. It was
buried in the memory of the cells, deeper than any mind, going back to the
beginning. Twenty years of never enough.
Docchi stumbled out. It was neither light nor dawn
when he found her. The side of the asteroid was turned away from the sun but
though the planet was rising brightly and filled much of the sky there were
still deep shadows within the dome. "I've been waiting for you," she
said quietly as he came near. Her face reflected the planet shine.
"Jeriann,"
he said.
"Look at it," she said.
"I see."
"But
you're looking at me." She turned his head toward the planet. "There.
If you look closely you can see sunlight sparkling on the ocean. Isn't it
beautiful?"
"Someday
you'll lie on the beach and let the waves wash over you."
"Someday," she said.
ANNOUNCING A Complete Restyling Of
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ADDRESS: CENTAURI
by
F. L.
Wallace
'c ■
science-Fiction at its Best"
Imagine,
if you can, that Christopher Columbus never existed — that in his place was a
fantastic crew of circus freaks. They would be our heroes of history as
discoverers of the New World. We all would honor the Fat Woman,
erect statues to the Human Firefly, perhaps name a continent after the Half
Man-Half Machine. Ridiculous? Preposterous?
Well, maybe not. . .
Mankind
is faced with such a possibility in this unusual science fiction novel. In a
future age of interplanetary travel new worlds and alien races are awaiting
discovery and a decision must be made. Who will be the first interstellar
explorers — and make the first alien contact? On a tiny asteroid between Mars
and Jupiter a handful of people seek the honor. They are "the
Accidentals." They are pathetic, crippled and deformed humans, half or
quarter men and women, fractional organisms masquerading as people. To many
they are just "circus freaks", but to themselves they are still
members of the human race. Their plan is sound. The galaxy has long since been
conquered and now the distant stars await the probing
of Earthmen. Yet the stars ere very very far away and the exploratory trips will be very very long. Ordinary men would find the voyages nearly
unbearable. The Accidentals, though, are not ordinary men. The medical skills
which have kept them alive have given them incredible endurance. They are
unbelievably tough, nearly immortal. They are the ones who could be the
star-flung explorers.
From
that begins one of the strangest flights to the Stars that mankind may ever
see.