"Why are people so afraid of them? As far as I can see, they're just a
piece of nonsense thought up by a dreamy-eyed physics professor, and he
hypnotized people into believing in them. But as I was telling Captain
Evans last night, they've never been seen, never been measured, and
there's nothing at all to prove that they have any existence outside the
mind of a madman. And yet people are afraid of them!"
"And just what are the Thakura Ripples?" said Alan Chase, drawing up a
chair. "Waiter, I'll have a spacecap."
"Feeling a little better tonight, Alan?" asked his friend.
"Some, thanks. I just had a checkup from Dr. Willoughby, and he thinks
I'm more than holding my own. Now go on about the Ripples. Where are
they? What do they do?"
"Suit yourself," Jasperson muttered. "If you want to tell ghost stories,
go ahead."
"Thank you. The Thakura Ripples, my boy, are an unexplained phenomenon
of hyperspace. We do not know what they are--only that they are
dangerous."
"But I thought that space was entirely uniform?"
"Alas, no. Not even normal space can be called uniform. It has been
known for a long time that variations exist in the density of the
interstellar gases. Just why they occur, what pattern they follow, if
any, was for many years one of the major unsolved problems confronting
astronomers and physicists. Then they learned that these variations in
density of the interstellar gases were directly connected with the
development of the successive ice ages on the earth, and eventually a
study of the collisions and interactions of the various light forces
from the stars in the galaxy made the pattern clear. We know, now, that
the variations occur only in a certain band of space. They may occur at
any given place within that band, but their position is constantly
shifting and unpredictable."
"Now you see it, now you don't?" said Alan.
"Exactly. Now it was Thakura's theory that the Ripples are an analogous
band of mysterious forces existing in hyperspace. They may be tangible
barriers, they may be force barriers, we do not know. But a ship
entering this lane _may_ go through it without damage, and by pure
chance take a course which misses all these bumps in space. Or, by going
slowly and using his instruments to feel his way, a navigator can often
sense them ahead, and if he is skillful he may be able to dodge them.
But if, in some terrible moment, he smashes head-on against the Thakura
Ripples, the conversion Piles which power his ship are immediately
affected. They begin to heat, perhaps to heat irreversibly, and if they
get out of control, they may vaporize. In the last fifty years at least
five ships have vanished in this region, and it was Thakura's belief
that they were disintegrated on the Ripples."
"But there isn't any evidence!" Jasperson exploded.
"Isn't a demolished space ship evidence?"
"No! It's evidence that something went wrong, certainly, but it doesn't
tell us _what_ went wrong. I'm not an unreasonable man, professor, I'm a
hardheaded business man, and I like to deal with facts."
"I don't have an intimate knowledge of these matters, of course," said
Larrabee, "but it was my impression that in the past fifty years since
travel in hyperspace became common, several ships have been
unaccountably lost."
"Your first figure was right. Five ships have been lost--that much is
fact. Why they were lost is still a question. It's my considered
opinion that they were lost by human failure; the crewmen let the Piles
get hot, and the ships were helpless. In the early days they had to get
along with only one or two Piles, and if they went wrong the ship was
done for. But we've changed all that. That's why the _Star Lord_ has
twenty-four Piles. No matter what happens it's impossible that _all_ of
them should go bad at once. She can ditch the dangerous Piles and still
always have power enough left to make port. One thing is certain, this
ship will never be wrecked on the Ripples of a mad scientist's
imagination! A phenomenon like the Ripples, is impossible. If it
existed, we'd have had some proof of it many years ago."
"But surely you don't mean to imply that if we don't know a fact, it is
therefore impossible?"
"Not at all. But you know yourself, Professor Larrabee--you're an
educated man--that by this time our physicists understand the universe
completely, from A to Z. There are no unexplained phenomena. Thakura is
shut up in a madhouse now. In my opinion, he was already insane when he
published his theory."
Larrabee was nodding, thoughtfully. "I wonder what makes you so certain
of your theory?"
"What theory? I never deal in theories. I'm talking fact."
"Your theory that we have unveiled all the mystery of the universe; how
do you know? Every now and then, of course, man lives through a century
of such amazing progress that he concludes that nothing remains to be
learned. But how can he ever be certain?"
"But we are certain! Most physicists are in agreement now that there
hasn't been one single unexplained physical aberration in the past
century!"
"Most physicists except Thakura, you mean?"
"But Thakura is insane! We understand all the physical phenomena of the
universe."
"Except the Thakura Ripples?"
Jasperson slammed down his glass and stood up, his face red and puffy.
"Steward! More ice water! I'm getting tired of those words, professor.
Do you think for one minute I'd have risked my life to come on this trip
if I'd thought there was the slightest danger?"
Alan looked up languidly. "You mean you wouldn't mind sending a crew and
passengers into danger--as long as you could take care to be safe
yourself?"
"Surely you're not afraid, Mr. Jasperson?" said Larrabee.
"No. What is there to be afraid of?" He gulped down his drink. "Nothing
can wreck the _Star Lord_!"
* * * * *
When Dr. Alan Chase woke up next morning and glanced at his wrist watch,
he realized that the breakfast hour was nearly over. Professor Larrabee
had already left the cabin.
Alan was not hungry. It had been many months since he had really enjoyed
an appetite for food, but he got up and began to dress, so that he could
perform the duty of eating. But his clothes, he noticed, were beginning
to fit a little more snugly. He fastened his belt at a new and
previously unused notch, buttoned his jacket, and then performed the
ritual he carried out every morning and every evening.
Touching a facet in the ornamentation of his wrist watch, he walked
about, geigering the room. Radiation normal, somewhat less than earth's
normal, in fact. The twenty-four Piles were well shielded, and if this
continued, he should survive the journey in fair shape.
At the door of the dining room he paused, for the entrance was blocked
by Steward Davis and the young couple he had noticed the day they left
Y-port.
The tall young man with rumpled black hair was arguing, while the pretty
girl clung to his arm and watched his face admiringly, as though he were
the only man in the world.
"But Steward," said the young man, "Dorothy and I--that is, Mrs. Hall
and I--we felt sure we'd be able to have a table by ourselves. We don't
want to be unreasonable, it's only that this is our honeymoon, maybe the
only time we'll ever get to spend together, really, and we like to eat
alone, together, I mean. That's the reason we chose the _Star Lord_,
because the advertisements all talked about how big and roomy it was,
and how it didn't have to be so miserly with its space as they did in
earlier ships. They said you could have privacy, and not have to crowd
all together in one stuffy little cabin, the way they used to."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Hall," said the Steward crisply. "We are all proud of
the spaciousness of our ship, but not even the _Star Lord_ can provide
separate tables for everybody who--Oh, _good_ morning, Mr. Jasperson!
Glad to see you, sir." Turning his back on Tom, he smiled and bowed to
the new arrival "Everything all right, sir?"
"Good morning, Dr. Chase. No nightmares last night? 'Morning Davis. Tell
that waiter of mine to be more particular about giving me plenty of ice
water. I like plenty of water, and I like it cold."
"Sorry, sir. I'll speak to him at once." He bowed again as Jasperson
strode on.
"Then could we--" Tom began.
Davis whirled with an impatient frown. "What? Are you still here?
Surely I made it clear that there's nothing I can do, Mr. Hall?"
"But couldn't you at least move us to another table?"
"I regret that you are dissatisfied with our arrangements. All table
space was allocated before we took off from Y-port."
"But you've put us with such noisy people!" said Tom stubbornly. "They
keep talking about how much money they made in deutonium, and they refer
to us, right in front of us, as the babes in the woods. They may be
rich, but they haven't the manners of a six-year old. We _can't_ stay at
that table."
"Mr. Hall, I can't waste any more time with you. If all our passengers
were to demand special privileges--" He shrugged his shoulders.
* * * * *
Dorothy Hall whispered shyly, "Ask him, then, what about that man?" and
she nodded her head slightly to the right.
"Yes," said Tom. "You say there isn't enough room, but what about that
table over there? It's made to seat two, and there's just that one man
who eats alone."
Davis glanced over. "Oh, yes. But that's Mr. Jasperson! He likes to be
by himself."
"Who's Mr. Jasperson?"
"A very important man."
"And I'm not?"
Alan broke in. "Excuse me, Mr. Hall. I am Dr. Chase. Won't you join my
table? Three of the people assigned places there are Almazanians, a
diplomatic mission, I think, and they naturally prefer to have their own
cuisine in their own cabins, so we have room for three more."
"How about it, Steward," said Tom. "Any objections?"
Shrugging his shoulders, Davis strolled away.
Tom glared at the retreating back. "That guy has the face of a murderer.
He can't be decent to anybody with less than a million credits."
Dorothy laughed. "Never mind, Tom. Someday you'll be the most famous
lawyer in the Interstellar courts, and maybe you'll get a chance to
prosecute him for arson or treason."
Alan led them to the rear of the dining room, where his two table
companions were finishing the last sips of their coffee, and lighting
the first cigarette of the morning.
"Miss Taganova, may I present Tom and Dorothy Hall, who would like to
share our table."
Tanya lifted her beautiful auburn head and smiled a welcome. Professor
Larrabee stood up, his pink cheeks crinkling with pleasure as he shook
hands with Tom.
"Young people make the best companions," he said, "especially on long
journeys."
Alan sat down and reached for the vitamin dispenser. "These particular
young people want privacy. They're on their honeymoon, and would hardly
shed a tear if all the rest of the world suddenly ceased to exist."
"It's not quite like that, Dr. Chase," said Tom, his face reddening,
"but those people at our other table were just out of our class, one way
or another. The men talked all the time about their bank accounts, and
the women clawed at each other about which one had the biggest house,
and the biggest pearls and diamonds and emeralds, until we began to feel
smothered in a blanket of credits and diamonds."
"Credits and diamonds must be very nice things to have," said Tanya.
"I've never managed to collect many of either."
"I've nothing against them in themselves," said Tom, "but right now they
don't seem to matter very much. We had to wait five long years to be
married, five years for me to finish my law training, and for Dorothy to
wear out her family's opposition. They didn't want her to throw herself
away on a penniless lawyer."
"As if I were a child who didn't know her own mind," said Dorothy.
"Well, I wanted Tom, penniless or not; and anyway, in a few years he's
going to be the finest lawyer in the Interstellar Courts."
"I hope you'll always be as happy as you are now, children." The
professor's eyes were misty as he stood up. "Come, Miss Tanya. Take a
stroll with me, and bring back to an old man a brief illusion of youth."
"But you'll never be old!" she said affectionately. "You're still the
most fascinating man on the ship."
Like every other man in the room, Alan watched with envious eyes as
Tanya took the professor's arm and sauntered to the door, the heavy
taffeta skirts of her pearl-gray gown swishing and rustling as she
walked.
* * * * *
Within the sealed hulk of the _Star Lord_ the twenty-four Piles silently
did their work, out of sight, out of the thoughts of the passengers.
Driving the ship through the unknowable infinities of hyperspace, they
held her quiet, steady, seemingly without motion. They behaved as they
were intended to, their temperatures remained docilely within the normal
limits of safety, and the ship sped on.
The technicians and maintenance men, the navigators, the nucleonics men,
all kept aloof from the social eddies frothing at the center of the
ship. They lived in another world, a world of leashed power, in which
the trivial pursuits of the passengers were as irrelevant as the
twitterings of birds.
In the central tiers occupied by the passengers, each morning the walls
of the lounges and dining rooms resumed their daily routine of
simulating the panorama of earth's day. Lights glowed into a clear
sunrise, brightened into a sunny sky across which light clouds scudded.
Children played in the nurseries, grownups idled through the hours,
eating the delicious food, taking a dip in the priceless pool, attending
the stereodrams, and playing games. At the cocktail hour, the orchestra
played jaunty tunes, old-fashioned polkas, waltzes, mazurkas; at dinner,
it shifted to slower, muted melodies, suitable background for high
feminine voices, deep male laughter, and the heavy drone of talk.
In the walls, the sun set, twilight crept in, and the stars came out.
After the stars had been advancing for several hours, people finished
their dancing and card games, walked out of the theaters, had a final
drink at the Bar, paused at the bulletin board which detailed the ship's
daily progress, and went to bed.
Dr. Alan Chase followed his own routine. Each morning and each evening
he geigered his cabin and found the radiation still below the earth
normal. He was surprised to find that he was holding his own,
physically, instead of becoming progressively weaker, as he had
expected, and he began to feel hopeful that he might quickly regain his
health on the inert atmosphere of Almazin III. He was not strong enough,
however, to take part in the active games of the passengers, and had not
enough energy to try to make friends, except for the people at his
dining table--particularly Tanya.
Of all the lovely women on board, he thought Tanya Taganova the
loveliest. He knew he was not alone in this, for the arresting planes of
her face, the dramatic color of her rustling taffeta gowns, attracted
many followers. He would sit in the lounge at night and watch her
dancing, and then realize, suddenly, that she had disappeared, long
before the evening was over. She was an elusive creature, as
unpredictable as a butterfly.
Wandering listlessly about the ship, one afternoon he stepped through
the open door of the Library. In the almost empty room he saw the auburn
head of Tanya, bent over so as to hide her face and show him only her
glowing hair. She raised her head as he approached.
"Are you looking for a book, Dr. Chase?"
"No, I just wondered what was interesting you so much."
* * * * *
She shifted her seat, to let him see a large sheet of rough drawing
paper covered with a chalk sketch of a desolate gray marsh over which
green waves swirled from the sea, behind them loomed rose-colored
granite hills.
"I'm a scene designer, you know. But at home, somehow, I never have time
to myself. People will never believe I'm serious, and when I want to get
some real work done, I run away on a trip, by myself. Right now I'm
sketching out a set for a new stereodrama we're staging next autumn.
This particular one is for a melancholy suicide on Venus. I've several
more here." She pointed to a scattered heap of drawings.
The soft chime of the library telephone interrupted them. Tanya rose and
moved to the desk.
"Yes? Not now, youngster. I'm working. Yes, maybe tomorrow."
Alan had been examining her drawings. "Is this what you do during the
hours when you disappear?".
"Usually. Sometimes I drop into the playroom to chat with the children.
They're more interesting than their parents, for the most part, and
nobody ever seems to pay much attention to them."
"But do you have to work at night, too? When you disappear in the middle
of the evening, everybody misses you. The men all watch for you to come
back, their wives sigh with relief, and old man Jasperson toddles around
and searches the dance floor and bleats, 'Where's Miss Tanya? She was
here just a little while ago, and now I can't find her anywhere!'"
"I know. But one dance an evening with him is about all I can stand. I
don't really like the man."
"But why? He's a little stupid, but he seems a harmless sort of duck. In
a financial deal, of course, I can see that he'd be sharp and
ruthless--that's how men like him become millionaires--but he can't
knife anybody on shipboard."
Tanya slashed a heavy black line across her drawing, bearing down so
hard that she broke the chalk, and threw the pieces to the floor.
"He's a coward! Haven't you ever noticed the way he bullies the waiters?
How he patronizes Professor Larrabee, and ignores the young Halls? And
to hear him tell it, you'd think only his advice makes it possible for
Captain Evans to run the ship! I'm afraid of men like that. They're
cowardly and boastful, and in a crisis they are dangerous!"
"What an outburst over a fat little bald-headed man! Aren't you letting
your dramatic sense run away with you?"
Laughing, Tanya picked up her chalk and resumed sketching. "Probably,
but after all, I earn my living with my imagination."
"Then you aren't just a rich young woman dabbling in the theater?"
"No indeed. If you could see my bank account! No, I'm going to Almazin
III to make authentic sketches of the landscape. We may do a show set in
that locale, next year."
"I wish I could see some of the shows you stage."
"When we get home, I'll send you a pass."
He did not answer. Suddenly the melancholy Venusian scene she was
creating depressed him, as if it had been a reflection of his own barren
life.
"Or don't you like the theater, Dr. Chase?"
"It's not that," he said hastily. "Only--" He shrugged his shoulders.
"Something about this ship, I suppose. Home seems so very far away."
"Have you felt that too? I've had the feeling, sometimes, that earth
isn't there any more, and that this ship is the only reality."
* * * * *
By the end of the third week out, Burl Jasperson was afflicted by an
almost intolerable tension. He prowled the ship like a tiger, for he
could think of nothing more to do. For the moment there were no more
improvements to suggest to the Star Line, no more brilliant financial
deals to execute, and each empty minute seemed to swell into an endless
hour. He tried to relax by viewing the dramas on the stereoscreen, but
he was always too uneasy to sit through an entire performance, and would
leave in the middle to resume his pacing of the corridors.
At his private table in the dining room he stared at the empty chair
across from him, munching his food mechanically, seething with unrest.
He could see Tanya's gleaming head across the room, with Alan Chase's
beside her, and he tortured himself with imagining the light laughter,
the friendly talk which must be taking place there. Never, before this
trip, had he been made to feel so unnecessary, so much an outsider.
Wasn't he a lord of finance, a master of industry, the kind of a man to
be respected and admired? Of course, less successful men called him
ruthless, he realized, but he was not ruthless--only realistic. He was
an able man, and if he expected people in general to take orders from
him, it was only because he was more intelligent and more capable than
the people to whom he gave his orders. Nothing wrong with that.
But these miserable empty days were beginning to frighten him. He felt
lost. The ship ran by herself, without needing his help, and there was
no doubt at all that she would win the Blue Ribbon. Although he
questioned Captain Evans sharply, and checked every day on the minutest
data of the voyage, so far he had found nothing to criticize--except the
coldness of Josiah Evans' manner.
He ground his teeth through a stalk of celery in a vicious bite. After
all, wasn't he Chairman of the board of directors of the Star Line?
Wasn't it his right, even his duty, to make sure that everything was
going well?
The crowd of diners had grown thin, now, and he could see clearly the
little group at Tanya's table. They were laughing, and he could see the
delightful animation which always disappeared whenever he tried to talk
to her.
Steward Davis sidled up, a deferential smile on his long face.
"Is everything all right, Mr. Jasperson?"
"Um."
"Looks like we'll get the Blue Ribbon this trip, doesn't it, sir?"
"Um."
"If you should ever want any special dishes, sir, any little delicacies
not available to everyone, I should be glad to speak to the chef."
Jasperson pushed his plate away. "I'll remember, Davis." Throwing down
his napkin he stood up. His waiter came running.
"Dessert, sir?"
* * * * *
Without answering, he strode across the room, trying to compose his
mouth into a smile as he reached his goal.
"Miss Taganova, would you care to join me in the bar for a drink?"
They all looked up at him in astonishment.
"But I've just finished dinner," she said.
He waited, uncertainly. At last Professor Larrabee pointed to the
unoccupied chair.
"Perhaps you'd care to join us, instead?"
No one else spoke, and he sat down nervously. Conversation had stopped,
and at last he broke out with explosive force.
"I wish Captain Evans would speed up this ship. It feels as if we'd been
on the way forever. And still three weeks to go!"
"Do you find three weeks so long a time?" asked the professor.
"It seems like eternity. I wish something would happen. Why can't we
have a little excitement?"
"Couldn't you find any more banks to break today?" Alan drawled. "No
gambles on the stock exchange?"
The professor broke in soothingly. "Now, there's an idea! You're
obviously a gambling man, a man of action. Do you play poker? Why don't
you get up a little game among your friends? That ought to provide you
with excitement for one evening at least."
"Would you join the game?"
"No, no, my dear Mr. Jasperson! You and I do not move in the same
circles. I confess, I enjoy the delightful uncertainties of poker, but I
could never afford to play for your stakes."
"Then we'll make the stakes what you can afford. Each raise limited to
five credits?"
"In that case, I might consider it."
"You, Dr. Chase?"
"Too exciting for an invalid, I'm afraid."
"You, Mr. Hall?"
Tom squeezed Dorothy's hand under the table. "No, thank you, Mr.
Jasperson. My wife and I, we have other plans."
"If it's money, young fellow, I'll stake you, and you can have a year to
pay me back."
Tom grinned. "You're very generous. But what makes you so sure you'd be
the winner?"
"I always win. Will you join the game, Miss Taganova?"
He accepted her silent head-shake without protest.
"Then I'll try to round up two or three others. We don't want a big
crowd--too many people make me nervous. Perhaps Willoughby will play,
and I'll get Captain Evans. He doesn't like the game, but he'll sit in
if I insist. See you in my suite in half an hour."
* * * * *
The poker game had been in progress for more than an hour when Captain
Evans entered the parlor. Frowning, Jasperson looked up.
"You're late, Josiah. I told you we'd begin at nine."
"Sorry, Burl. I was delayed."
Jasperson paused in the act of raking in the pot, and looked up sharply.
"Anything wrong?"
"No, all serene."
"Anything you need my advice on?"
"No, just a routine conference with the navigator."
"Then pull up a chair and get in the game."
Nearly half the chips were piled in front of Jasperson, and across from
him a modest heap sat before the professor. At his right the baggy-eyed
only son of a deutonium millionaire fingered his dwindling pile
indifferently, and on his left Dr. Willoughby stared unbelievingly at
his few remaining chips, three blues and a couple of whites.
"I'll just watch," said the Captain. "You know I'm not much of a
gambler. Chess is my game."
"Oh, come on, Josiah. I insist that you play. Prove that you've got red
blood in your veins."