Jordan juggled the toaster. "I can use this to weld with. Let's put him
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 Anti. "A doctor's word is as good
as his oath--Hippocratic or hypocritic."
"Don't be cynical, Anti. Doctors have an economic sense as well as the
next person," said Docchi. He turned to Cameron. "You see, after Anti
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, Anti 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."
"All of them? Even the emergency pack?"
"That too. He knew where everything was. Nothing can be repaired."
"So who cares?" rumbled Anti. "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 spacesuits 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
fool-hardy 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 on 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.