the word would have been emphatic in him, even without the recurrent
spasms of hot-cold weakness, which, though fading, still legally denied
him the relief of going back to old familiar things. Besides, Earth
seemed insecure. So he could only try to make home possible in space.
Remembering his first trip, long ago, from the Moon to Mars, he knew how
gentle the Big Vacuum could sometimes seem, with just a skin of stellene
between it and himself. Home was a plain longing, too, in the hard,
level eyes around him.
Love. Well, wasn't that part of the first item he had tagged?
Wanderlust. The adventurous distance drive--part of any wild-blooded
vagabond male. Here in his idea, this other side of a human paradox
seemed possible to answer, too. You could go anywhere. Home went with
you. Your friends could go along, if they wished.
Freedom. In the billions of cubic miles could any system ever be big
enough to pen you in, tell you what to think or do, as long as you hurt
no one? Well--he thought not, but perhaps that remained to be seen.
Safety. Deployment was supposed to be the significant factor, there. And
how could you make it any better than it was going to be now? Even if
there were new dangers?
The future. There was no staying with the past. The Earth was becoming
too small for its expanding population. It was a stifling, dangerous
little world that, if the pressures were not relieved, might puff into
fire and fragments at any moment during any year. And the era of
prospecting and exploration in the Asteroid Belt seemed destined soon to
come to an end, in any event.
Frank Nelsen's drives were very strong, after so much had passed around
him for so long a time. Thus, maybe he became too idealistic and--at
moments--almost fanatically believing, without enough of the saving
grain of doubt and humor. The hoppers with him were much like
himself--singly directed by what they had lacked for years.
The assembly operation was quickly accomplished, as soon as they were
what they considered a safe distance from the Belt. On a greater scale,
it was almost nothing more than the first task that Nelsen had ever
performed in space--the jockying of a bubb from its blastoff drum,
inflating it, rigging it, spinning it for centrifugal gravity, and
fitting in its internal appointments.
Nelsen looked at the fifty-odd stellene rings that they had broken out
of their containers--the others, still packed, were held in reserve.
Those that had been freed glistened translucently in the sunlight.
Nelsen had always thought that bubbs were beautiful. And these were
still bubbs, but they were bigger, safer, more complicated.
A bantam-sized hopper named Hank Janns spoke from beside Nelsen as they
floated near each other. "Pop--sizzle--and it's yours, Chief. A prefab,
a house, a dwelling. A kitchen, a terrace, a place for a garden, a place
for kids, even... With a few personal touches, you've got it made.
Better than the house trailer my dad used to hook onto the jalopy when I
was ten... My Alice likes it, too, Chief--that's the _real_ signal! Tell
your pals Kuzak that this is the Idea of the Century."
Frank Nelsen kind of thought so, too, just then. The first thing he did
was to beam the Survey Station on Mars, like he was doing twice a
week--to communicate more often would have courted the still dangerous
chance of being pinpointed. For similar reasons he couldn't explain too
clearly what his project was, but he hoped that he had gotten a picture
of what it was like across to his girl.
"Come see for yourself, Nance," he said enthusiastically. "I'll arrange
for a caravan from Post One to stop by on Phobos and pick you up.
Also--there's my old question... So, what'll it be, Nance? Maybe we can
feel a little surer of ourselves, now. We can work the rest out. Come
and look, hang around--see how everything shakes down, if you'd rather."
He waited for the light-minutes to pass, before he could hear her voice.
"Hello, Frank..." There was the same eager quaver. "Still pretty jammed,
Frank... But we know about it here--from Art... Some of the Pallastown
convalescents will be migrating your way... I'll wrangle free and come
along... Maybe in about a month..."
He didn't know quite whether to take her at her word--or whether she was
somehow hedging. In the Big Vacuum, the human mind seemed hard put,
quite, to know itself. Distances and separations were too great.
Emotions were too intense or too stunned. This much he had learned to
understand. Perhaps he had lost Nance. But maybe, still--in some bleak,
fatalistic way--it would be just as well in the end, for them both.
"Sure, Nance," he said gently. "I'll call again--the regular time..."
Right after that he was talking, over a much greater span, to Art Kuzak.
"First phase about completed, Art... Finger to thumb--in spite of the
troubles elsewhere. So let it roll...!"
Art Kuzak's reply had an undercurrent of jubilance, as if whatever he
knew now was better than he had expected. "Second phase is en route. Joe
will be along... Don't be surprised..."
Joe Kuzak's approach, a few hundred hours later, made a luminous cluster
in the sky, like a miniature galaxy. It resolved itself into vast bales,
and all of the stellene rings--storage and factory--of Post Three. Also
there were over a hundred men and thirty-three wives. Many of them were
Pallastown refugees.
Nelsen helped Joe through the airlock of the ring that he had hoped
would be his and Nance's. "Bubbtown, huh, Frank?" Joe chuckled. "The
idea is spreading faster than we had believed, and we aren't the only
ones that have got it. The timing is just right. People are scared, fed
up. Out Here--and on Earth, too... Most of the guys that are single in
this crowd have girls who will be on the way soon. Some of the tougher
space-fitness tests are being junked. We're even screening a small batch
of runaways from Ceres--to be included in the next load. An experiment.
But it should work out. They're just like anybody... Art is all of
sudden sort of liberal--the way he gets when things seem to break
right."
Everything went fine for quite a while. Art Kuzak was out playing his
hunches, giving easy terms to those who couldn't pay at once.
"Might as well gamble," he growled from the distance. "Space and
terrestrial forces are still poised. If we lose at all, we lose the
whole works, anyway. So let's bring them from all around the Belt, from
Earth, Venus and from wherever they'll come. Give them a place to work,
or let them start their own deal. It all helps... You know what I hear?
The Tovies are letting men do things by themselves. To hold their own in
room as big as this, they have to. Their bosses are over a barrel. Just
organized discipline ain't gonna work. A guy has to want things his own
way..."
In a more general view, doubts were sneaking up on Frank Nelsen, though
as far as KRNH was concerned, he had started the ball rolling. "We'll
keep our fingers crossed," he said.
It was only a couple of Earth-days later that another member of the old
Bunch showed up. "I had to bubb all the way from Mercury to Post One to
get your location from Art, Frankie," he complained. "Cripes--why didn't
anybody ever try to beam Gimp and me, anymore? Solar radiation ain't
_that_ hard to get past... So I had to come sneak a look for myself, to
see what the Big Deal on the grapevine is."
"We left the back door unlatched for you, Two-and-Two," Nelsen laughed.
"And you crept in quietly. Swell to see you."
Sitting showered and in fresh clothes on Frank Nelsen's sundeck, any
changes in Two-and-Two Baines were less evident than one might have
supposed. His eyes had a much surer, farther look. Otherwise he was
still the same large hulk with much the same lugubrious humor.
"Mercury's okay, Frankie," he said. "About four thousand people are
living in the Twilight Zone, already. I could show you pictures, but I
guess you know. Whole farms and little towns under stellene. Made me
some dough doing lots of the building. Could have been more, but who
cares? Oh, Gimp'll be along out here sometime, soon. He was putting up
another solar powerhouse. But he's beginning to say, what the hell, the
future ain't there, or on any planet... So this is how it's gonna be,
huh? With some additions, sure. Factories, super markets, cornfields,
pig farms, parks, playgrounds, beauty parlors, all encased in stellene,
and orbiting in clusters around the sun, eh...? 'Hey, Pop!' some small
fry will say to his old man. 'Gimme ten bucks, please, for an ice cream
cone down at the soda bubb?' And his mom'll say to his dad, 'George,
Dear--is the ionocar nice and shiny? I have to go play bridge with the
girls over in Nelsenville...' No, I'm not ribbing you, Frankie. It'll be
kind of nice to hear that type of talk, again--if they only include a
place for a man to be a little bit himself."
Two-and-Two (George) Baines sighed rapturously and continued. "Figure it
out to the end, Frankie. No planets left--all the materials in them used
up to build these bubbtowns. There'll be just big shining, magnificent
rings made up of countless little floating stellene houses all around
the sun. A zillion people, maybe more. Gardens, flowers, everything
beautiful. Everybody free to move anywhere. Uh-uh--I'm not making fun,
Frankie. I'm joining in with all the relief and happiness of my heart.
Only, it'll be kind of sad to see the old planets go--to be replaced by
a wonderful super-suburbia. Or maybe we should say, superbia."
Nelsen burst out laughing, at last. "You sly slob...! Anyhow, _that_
extreme is millenniums off--if it has a chance of happening, at all.
Even so, our descendants, if any, will be going to the stars by then.
There won't be any frustration of their thirst for danger... Just as
there isn't any, now, for us. Except that we can keep our weapons handy,
and hope... Me--I'm a bit bored with adventure, just at present."
"So am I," Two-and-Two affirmed fervently. "Now, have you got me a job,
Frankie?"
"There'll be something," Nelsen answered him. "Meanwhile, to keep from
feeling regimented by civilization, you could take your rocket launcher
and join the perimeter watchers that range out a thousand miles..."
Nance Codiss arrived a week later, with a group of recent Pallastown
convalescents. Bad signs came with her, but that fact got lost as she
hugged Nelsen quickly there in the dwelling he had set up with the
thought it would be their home. At once she went on a feminine exploring
expedition of the prefab's interior, and its new, gleaming appointments.
Kitchen, living room, sundeck. Nelsen's garden was already well along.
"Like the place?" he asked.
"Love it, Frank," she answered quietly.
"It could have been more individual," he commented. "But we were in a
hurry. So they are all identical. That can be fixed, some, soon. You're
thinking about improvements?"
Her eyes twinkled past the shadow in her expression. "Always some," she
laughed. Then her face went solemn. "Let them ride, for now, Frank. It's
all wonderful and unbelievable. Hug me again--I love you. Only--all this
is even more fantastically new to me than it is to you. Realize that,
please, Frank. I'm a month late in getting here and I'm still groping my
way. A little more time--for us both... Because you might be fumbling,
some, too."
Her tone was gentle. He saw that her eyes, meeting his, were honest and
clear. He felt the careful strength behind them, after a moment of hurt.
There was no rushing, one-way enthusiasm that might easily burn out and
blow up in a short time.
He held her close. "Sure, Nance," he said.
"You probably know that our group from Mars was followed, Frank. I hope
I'm not a jinx."
"Of course you're not. Somebody would have followed--sometime. We're
watching and listening. Just keep your Archer handy..."
The faint, shifting blips in the radar screens was an old story,
reminding him that certain things were no better than before, and that
some were worse. Somewhere there were other bubbtowns. There were
policing space forces, too. But for millions of miles around, this
cluster of eight hundred prefabs and the numerous larger bubbs that
served them, were all alone.
Nelsen looked out from his sundeck, and saw dangerous contrasts. The
worst, perhaps, was a spherical bubble of stellene. Inside it was a
great globe of water surrounded by air--a colossal dewdrop. Within it, a
man and two small boys--no doubt father and sons from Pallastown, were
swimming, horsing around, having a swell time--only a few feet from
nothing. Nelsen spoke softly into his radio-phone. "Leland--close down
the pool..."
It wasn't long before the perimeter watch, returning from a patrol that
had taken them some distance out, brought in a makeshift dwelling bubb
made from odds and ends of stellene. They had also picked up its
occupant, a lean comic character with an accent and a strange way of
talking.
"Funny that you'd turn up, here--Igor, is it?" Nelsen said dryly.
Igor sniffed, as if with sorrow. He had been roughed up, some. "Very
funny--also simple. You making a house, so I am making a house for this
identical purpose. People from Ceres are already being here; in
consequence, I am also arriving. Nobody are saying what are proper doing
and thinking--so I am informed. I am believing--okay, Igor. When being
not true, I am going away again."
The tone was bland. The pale eyes looked naive and artless, except,
perhaps, for a hard, shrewd glint, deep down.
Joe Kuzak was present. "We searched him, Frank," he said. "His bubb,
too. He's clean--as far as we can tell. Not even a weapon. I also asked
him some questions. I savvy a little of his real lingo."
"I'll ask them over," Nelsen answered. "Igor--a friend named Tiflin
wouldn't be being around some place, would he?"
The large space comedian didn't even hesitate. "I am thinking not very
far--not knowing precisely. Somebody more is being here, likewise. Belt
Parnay. You are knowing this one? Plenty Jollies--new fellas--not having
much supplies--only many new rocket launchers they are receiving from
someplace. You are understanding this? Bad luck, here, it is meaning."
Nelsen eyed the man warily, with mixed doubt and liking. "I don't think
you can be going away again, right now, Igor," he said. "We don't have a
jail, but a guard will be as good..."
The watch didn't give the alarm for several hours. Three hisses in the
phones, made vocally. Then one, then two more. North, second quadrant,
that meant. Direction of first attack. Ionic drives functioned. The
cluster of bubbs began to scatter further. Nelsen knew that if Igor had
told the truth, the outlook was very poor. Too much deployment would
thin the defenses too much. And against new, homing rockets--if Parnay
really had them--it would be almost useless. A relatively small number
of men, riding free in armor, could smash the much larger targets from
almost any distance.
Nelsen didn't stay in his prefab. Floating in his Archer, he could be
his own, less easily identifiable, less easily hit command post, while
he fired his own homing missiles at the far-off radar specks of the
attackers. He ordered everyone not specifically needed inside the bubbs
for some defense purpose to jump clear.
In the first half-minute, he saw at least fifty compartmented prefabs
partly crumple, as explosives tore into them. A dozen, torn open, were
deflated entirely. The swimming pool globe was punctured, and a cloud of
frosty vapor made rainbows in the sunshine, as the water boiled away.
Far out, Nelsen saw the rockets he and his own men had launched,
sparkling soundlessly, no doubt scoring, some, too.
The attackers didn't even try to get close yet. Far greater damage would
have to be inflicted, before panic and disorganization might give them
sufficient advantage. But such damage would take only minutes. Too much
would reduce the loot. So now there was a halt in the firing, and
another component of fear was applied. It was a growling, taunting
voice.
"Nelsen! And all of you silly bladder-brains...! This is Belt Parnay...!
Ever hear of him? Come back from hell, eh? Not with just rocks, this
time! The latest, surest equipment! Want to give up, now, Nelsen--you
and your nice, civilized people? Cripes, what will you cranks try next?
Villages built in nothing and on nothing! Thanks, though. Brother, what
a blowout this is gonna provide!"
Parnay's tone had shifted, becoming mincingly mocking, then hard and
joyful at the end.
Maybe he shouldn't have suggested so plainly what would happen--unless
something was done, soon. Maybe he shouldn't have sounded just a little
bit unsure of himself under all his bluff. Because Nelsen had made
preparations that matched a general human trend. Now, he saw a condition
that fitted in, making an opportunity... So he began to taunt Parnay
back.
"We've got a lot of the latest type rockets to throw, too, Parnay. You'd
have quite a time, trying to take us. But there's more... Just look
behind you, Parnay. And all around. Not too far. Who's silly? Who's the
jerk? Some new guys are in your crowd, I hear? Then they won't have much
against them--they aren't real outlaws. Do you think they want to keep
following you around, stinking in their armor--when what we've got is
what they're bound to want, right now, too? They can hear what I'm
saying, Parnay. Every one of them must have a weapon in his hands. Why,
you stupid clown, you're in a trap! We will give them what they need
most, without them having to risk getting killed. In space, there'll
have to be a lot of things forgotten, but not for you or for the rough
old-timers with you... Come on, you guys out there. There's a folded
bubb right here waiting for each of you. Take it anywhere you want--away
from here, of course... Parnay--big, important Belt Parnay--are you
still alive...?"
Nelsen had his own sneering tone of mockery. He used it to best
advantage--but with fear in his heart. Plenty of his act was only
counter-bluff. But now, as he paused, he heard Two-and-Two Baines'
mournful voice continue the barrage of persuasion.
"Flowers, Parnay? We ain't got many, yet. But you won't care...
Fellas--do you want to keep being pushed around by this loud mouth who
likes to run and lets you sweat for him, because he's mostly alone and
needs company? Believe me, I know what it's like out there, too. At a
certain point, all you really want is something a little like home. And
the Chief ain't kidding. It was all planned. Try us and see. Send a
couple of guys in. They'll come out with the proof..."
Other voices were shouting. "Wake up, you suckers...! You'll never take
us, you stupid slobs...! Come on and try it, if that's what you want to
be..."
What happened, could never have happened so quickly if Parnay's
doubtless considerably disgruntled following hadn't been disturbed
further by intrigue beforehand. Nelsen heard Parnay roar commands and
curses that might have awed many a man. But then there was a cluster of
minute sparks in the distance, as rockets, not launched by the
defenders, homed and exploded.
There was a pause. Then many voices were audible, shouting at the same
time, with scarcely any words clear... Several minutes passed like that.
Then there was almost silence.
"So--has it happened?" Nelsen growled into his phone.
"It has," came the mocking answer. "Be cavalier, Nelsen. Salute the new
top outlaw... Don't faint-- I knew I'd make it... And don't try anything
you might regret... I'm coming in with a couple of my Jolly Lads. You'd
better not welsh on your promises. Because the others are armed and
waiting..."
The guys with Tiflin looked more tired than tough. Out from under their
fierce, truculent bravado showed the fiercer hunger for common things
and comforts. Nelsen knew. The record was in his own memory.
"You'll get your bubbs right away," he told them. "Then send the others
in, a pair at a time. After that, go and get lost. Make your own
place--town--whatever you want to call it... Leland, Crobert,
Sharpe--fit these guys out, will you...?"
All this happened under the sardonic gaze of Glen Tiflin, and before the
puzzled eyes of Joe Kuzak and Two-and-Two Baines. A dozen others were
hovering near.
Nelsen lowered his voice and called, "Nance?"
She answered at once. "I'm all right, Frank. A few people to patch. Some
beyond that. I'm in the hospital with Doc Forbes..."
"You guys can find something useful to do," Nelsen snapped at the
gathering crowd.
"Well, Frankie," Tiflin taunted. "Aren't you going to invite me into
your fancy new quarters? Joe and Two-and-Two also look as though they
could stand a drink."
On the sundeck, Tiflin spoke again. "I suppose you've got it figured,
Nelsen?"
Nelsen answered him in clipped fashion. "Thanks. But let's not dawdle
too much. I've got a lot of wreckage to put back together... Maybe I've
still got it figured wrong, Tiflin. But lately I began to think the
other way. You were always around when trouble was cooking--like part of
it, _or like a good cop_. The first might still be right."
Tiflin sneered genially. "Some cops can't carry badges. And they don't
always stop trouble, but they try... Anyhow, what side do you think I
was on, after Fessler kicked me around for months...? Let Igor go. He's
got law and order in his soul. I kind of like having him around... But
keep your mouths buttoned, will you? I'm talking to you, Mr. Baines, and
you, Mr. Kuzak, as well as to you, Nelsen. And I'm take my bubb along,
the same as the other ninety or so guys who are left from Parnay's
crowd. I've got to look good with them... Cheers, you slobs. See you
around..."
Afterwards, Joe growled, "Hell--what do you know! Him...! Special
Police. Undercover. U.N., U.S., or what?"
"Shut up," Nelsen growled.
Though he had sensed it coming and had met it calmly, the Tiflin switch
was something that Frank Nelsen had trouble getting over. It confused
him. It made him want to laugh.
Another thing that began to bother him even more was the realization
that the violence, represented by Fessler, Fanshaw, Parnay, and
thousands of others like them back through history, was bound to crop up
again. It was part of the complicated paradox of human nature. And it
was hard to visualize a time when there wouldn't be followers--frustrated
slobs who wanted to get out and kick over the universe. Nelsen had felt
such urges cropping up within himself. So this wasn't the end of
trouble--especially not out here in raw space, that was still far too
big for man-made order.
So it wasn't just the two, opposed space navies patrolling, more quietly
now, between Ceres and Pallas. That condition could pass. The way people
always chose--or were born to--different sides was another matter. Or
was it just the natural competition of life in whatever form? More
disturbing, perhaps, was the mere fact of trying to live here, so close
to natural forces that could kill in an instant.
For example, Nelsen often saw two children and a dog racing around
inside one of the rotating bubbs--having fun as if just in a back yard.
If the stellene were ripped, the happy picture would change to horror...
How long would it take to get adjusted to--and accept--such a chance?
Thoughts like that began to disturb Nelsen. Out here, in all this
enormous freedom, the shift from peaceful routine to tragedy could be
quicker than ever before.
But is wasn't thinking about such grim matters that actually threw Frank
Nelsen--that got him truly mixed up. In Parnay's attack, ten men and two
women had been killed. There were also twenty-seven injured. Such facts
he could accept--they didn't disturb him too much, either. Yet there was
a curious sort of straw that broke the camel's back, one might have
said.
The incident took place quite a while after the assault. Out on an
inspection tour in his Archer, he happened to glance through the
transparent wall of the sundeck of a prefab he was passing...
In a moment he was inside, grinning happily. Miss Rosalie Parks was
lecturing him: "... You needn't be surprised that I am here, Franklin.
'O, tempora O, mores!' Cicero once said. 'O, the times! O, the customs!'
But we needn't be so pessimistic. I am in perfect health--and ten years
below retirement age. Young people, I suspect, will still be taught
Latin if they choose... Or there will be something else... Of course I
had heard of your project... It was quite easy for you not to notice my
arrival. But I came with the latest group, straight from Earth..."