"I'm sorry, sir. I was tired and I didn't realize."
"You been here for a long time. Waiting for someone?"
"Yes, sir. Something must have held him up."
"Seems to me that I noticed you walk in here about three hours ago.
That's a long time to wait."
"That's what I thought, sir. I can't understand what happened."
"Well, you can't hang around here. I'll tell you what I'll do, though.
I'll turn you over to the matron in our Lost and Found room, and she'll
look out for you. Follow me."
* * * * *
In a daze, Plato followed. But as his feet were set into motion, so was
his brain. By now, of course, the search for him must be well on. They
must have traced him to the station, and perhaps, despite his clever
trick with the ticket, they had found the flight he had taken. For all
he knew, they might be waiting for him in the Lost and Found room, ready
to seize him the moment he showed his face there.
He hadn't gone so far to be recaptured so easily. As they passed an exit
door, Plato darted out. He heard the waiter's surprised shout, but he
didn't wait to reply. In a second, he had lost himself in the crowd.
He knew now that if he was going to get aboard an interstellar vessel,
he would have to do so soon. What would Comets Carter have done in
Plato's place--if Comets had been in one of his brighter moods? And then
he had it. He saw a messenger coming down the street, gleaming in his
uniform, and, somewhat nervously, approached him.
"May I speak to you?" asked Plato, with school-taught politeness.
"What about, bud? I'm busy."
"Well, I've been wanting to get Captain Halverson's autograph. He's on
the _Space Symphony_--"
"So what?"
"Well, the thing is, they won't let me past the gate. So I thought that
if I wore a messenger's uniform--"
The other boy glared at him. "Are you off your Norbert? I wouldn't let
you wear this uniform for a zillion credits."
Plato swallowed nervously, and said in desperation, "I don't have a
zillion credits, but I've got eight, and I'll give them to you if you
let me wear it. Just half an hour, that's all it'll take. It's the last
chance I'll have to ask him. He's bound for Rigel, and he won't be back
for five years, and you see--"
His voice tapered to a thin, tearful squeak as the messenger looked at
him.
"You're offering me eight space-lousy credits?"
"It's all I have. We'll just change clothes for a few minutes, and
that'll be all. Please, I've got to see him. I know that if I do, he'll
give me his autograph."
"Okay," said the messenger unexpectedly. "But hurry back. I'll be at the
gate waiting for you."
* * * * *
As they exchanged clothes, Plato was almost feverish with excitement.
But he knew that if he expected to get past the guard, he would have to
control himself. The clothes didn't fit too well, even though the
messenger was small, and he must do nothing that would arouse the
guard's suspicion.
He said to the messenger, "Gee, thanks. You don't know how much this
means to me." And then, with a mental grip on himself so tense that it
hurt physically, he approached the guard, and said casually, "Earth
'gram for Captain Halverson."
The guard hardly looked at him. He was past the gate!
He had been tricky again. Once out of sight of the guard, he made not
for the _Space Symphony_, but for the _Long Ranger_, bound for
Aldebaran.
"Earth 'gram for Captain Brinjar," he muttered, doing his best to look
bored, as if delivering 'grams to ships was an old thing to him. And
then he was aboard!
It was not quite what he expected. The smooth walls were such as he
might have found in his own dormitory. The quarters, he saw, were
cramped, although for someone his size they were at least adequate. And
the passageways, although brilliantly lighted, were mere narrow tunnels.
From the main passageway, other tunnels branched off bewilderingly, and
Plato hesitated until he realized that his very confusion gave him an
excuse for poking his nose into all sorts of places. He followed one of
the tunnels until he came to a door: ENGINE ROOM--KEEP OUT.
He entered. A mechanic looked up.
"Earth 'gram for Captain Brinjar. They said he was around here."
"Not here," replied the mechanic. "Try the cargo hold."
Plato backed out and set off down the corridor again, noting the
direction arrows and signs. TO MAIN LOUNGE--no good. TO CAPTAIN'S
CABIN--worse. He didn't want to find the captain and lose his excuse for
being there.
And then he saw TO FOOD STORAGE and knew that he need look no further.
This was a place both to hide and to eat, until the ship took off, and
the crew found him, and had to accept him as one of themselves.
He opened the door to the food storage hold with an elaborate caution
that turned out to be unnecessary. There was no one inside. He settled
down between two packing cases and let out his breath. He had made it.
He had stowed away successfully, and in a few hours he would be out in
space, traveling between the stars, fighting, adventuring--
A yawn almost wiped the smile off his face.
* * * * *
He awoke to disaster. The captain and Plato's dorm master were standing
there, staring down at him, and the dorm master was saying, "All right,
Plato, you've had your adventure, and now I'm afraid you'll have to pay
for it. It's time to go home."
Plato couldn't move. It was impossible, after he had been so clever, so
ingenious, and had thrown them off the trail in so many ways, for them
to have found him!
"You shouldn't have bought a ticket to the wrong station," said the dorm
master, somewhat amusedly. "When the conductor turned it in, the only
one of its kind on his flight, it naturally attracted attention. We
hadn't even suspected you had taken a glider-train until the flight
people came to us."
Now he would never adventure on strange planets of unknown suns. He
would never course through space like Comets Carter. He would never have
the adventures which alone made life seem worth living.
Unable to control himself, he burst into tears. It was a completely
unmanly thing to do, but he couldn't help himself. The tears flowed down
over his cheeks, washing away all his shattered illusions. He would
never dream such dreams again. From now on, it would be useless. They
would be watching him carefully to make sure that he didn't leave the
planet.
He heard the captain say in astonishment, "I didn't know these young
ones could cry like that."
"Of course they cry," replied the dorm master. "They eat, sleep,
cry--almost like you and me, Captain. And worst of all, they even have
their dreams. That's why I sometimes wonder, Captain, if it isn't a
mistake to send them to school."
"They have to learn."
"Granted," agreed the dorm master somberly. "But not to dream of being
human when they're only androids."
--WILLIAM MORRISON
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from _Galaxy Science Fiction_ November 1952.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and
typographical errors have been corrected without note.