I expected trouble when I left the bridge. The tension that had been
building for many weeks was ready for release in violence. The ship was
silent as I moved along the passageway. Oddly silent, I thought;
something was brewing.
I stopped before the door of my cabin, listening; then I put my ear to
the wall. I caught the faintest of sounds from within; a muffled click,
voices. Someone was inside, someone attempting to be very quiet. I was
not overly surprised. Sooner or later the trouble had had to come into
the open. I looked up the passage, dim in the green glow of the
nightlights. There was no one in sight.
I listened. There were three voices, too faint to identify. The clever
thing for me to do now would be to walk back up to the bridge, and order
the Provost Marshall to clear my cabin, but I had an intuitive feeling
that that was not the way to handle the situation. It would make things
much simpler all around if I could push through this with as little
commotion as possible.
There was no point in waiting. I took out my key and placed it
soundlessly in the slot. As the door slid back I stepped briskly into
the room. Kramer, the Medical Officer, and Joyce, Assistant
Communications Officer, stood awkwardly, surprised. Fine, the Supply
Officer, was sprawled on my bunk. He sat up quickly.
They were a choice selection. Two of them were wearing sidearms. I
wondered if they were ready to use them, or if they knew just how far
they were prepared to go. My task would be to keep them from finding
out.
I avoided looking surprised. "Good evening, gentlemen," I said
cheerfully. I stepped to the liquor cabinet, opened it, poured Scotch
into a glass. "Join me in a drink?" I said.
None of them answered. I sat down. I had to move just a little faster
than they did, and by holding the initiative, keep them off balance.
They had counted on hearing my approach, having a few moments to get
set, and using my surprise against me. I had reversed their play and
taken the advantage. How long I could keep it depended on how well I
played my few cards. I plunged ahead, as I saw Kramer take a breath and
wrinkle his brow, about to make his pitch.
"The men need a change, a break in the monotony," I said. "I've been
considering a number of possibilities." I fixed my eyes on Fine as I
talked. He sat stiffly on the edge of my bunk. Already he was regretting
his boldness in presuming to rumple the Captain's bed.
"It might be a good bit of drill to set up a few live missile runs on
random targets," I said. "There's also the possibility of setting up a
small arms range and qualifying all hands." I switched my eyes to
Kramer. Fine was sorry he'd come, and Joyce wouldn't take the
initiative; Kramer was my problem. "I see you have your Mark 9, Major,"
I said, holding out my hand. "May I see it?" I smiled pleasantly.
I hoped I had hit him quickly and smoothly enough, before he had had
time to adjust to the situation. Even for a hard operator like Kramer,
it took mental preparation to openly defy his Commander, particularly in
casual conversation. But possession of the weapon was more than
casual....
I looked at him, smiling, my hand held out. He wasn't ready; he pulled
the pistol from its case, handed it to me.
I flipped the chamber open, glanced at the charge indicator, checked the
action. "Nice weapon," I said. I laid it on the open bar at my right.
Joyce opened his mouth to speak. I cut in in the same firm snappy tone I
use on the bridge. "Let me see yours, Lieutenant."
He flushed, looked at Kramer, then passed the pistol over without a
word. I took it, turned it over thoughtfully, and then rose, holding it
negligently by the grip.
"Now, if you gentlemen don't mind, I have a few things to attend to." I
was not smiling. I looked at Kramer with expressionless eyes. "I think
we'd better keep our little chat confidential for the present. I think I
can promise you action in the near future, though."
They filed out, looking as foolish as three preachers caught in a raid
on a brothel. I stood without moving until the door closed. Then I let
my breath out. I sat down and finished off the Scotch in one drag.
"You were lucky, boy," I said aloud. "Three gutless wonders."
* * * * *
I looked at the Mark 9's on the table. A blast from one of those would
have burned all four of us in that enclosed room. I dumped them into a
drawer and loaded my Browning 2mm. The trouble wasn't over yet, I knew.
After this farce, Kramer would have to make another move to regain his
prestige. I unlocked the door, and left it slightly ajar. Then I threw
the main switch and stretched out on my bunk. I put the Browning needler
on the little shelf near my right hand.
Perhaps I had made a mistake, I reflected, in eliminating formal
discipline as far as possible in the shipboard routine. It had seemed
the best course for a long cruise under the present conditions. But now
I had a morale situation that could explode in mutiny at the first
blunder on my part.
I knew that Kramer was the focal point of the trouble. He was my senior
staff officer, and carried a great deal of weight in the Officer's Mess.
As a medic, he knew most of the crew better than I. I thought I knew
Kramer's driving motive, too. He had always been a great success with
the women. When he had volunteered for the mission he had doubtless
pictured himself as quite a romantic hero, off on a noble but hopeless
quest. Now, after four years in deep space, he was beginning to realize
that he was getting no younger, and that at best he would have spent a
decade of his prime in monastic seclusion. He wanted to go back now, and
salvage what he could.
It was incredible to me that this movement could have gathered
followers, but I had to face the fact; my crew almost to a man had given
up the search before it was well begun. I had heard the first rumors
only a few weeks before, but the idea had spread through the crew like
wildfire. Now, I couldn't afford drastic action, or risk forcing a
blowup by arresting ringleaders. I had to baby the situation along with
an easy hand and hope for good news from the Survey Section. A likely
find now would save us.
There was still every reason to hope for success in our search. To date
all had gone according to plan. We had followed the route of Omega as
far as it had been charted, and then gone on, studying the stars ahead
for evidence of planets. We had made our first finds early in the fourth
year of the voyage. It had been a long tedious time since then of study
and observation, eliminating one world after another as too massive, too
cold, too close to a blazing primary, too small to hold an atmosphere.
In all we had discovered twelve planets, of four suns. Only one had
looked good enough for close observation. We had moved in to televideo
range before realizing it was an all-sea world.
Now we had five new main-sequence suns ahead within six months' range. I
hoped for a confirmation on a planet at any time. To turn back now to a
world that had pinned its last hopes on our success was unthinkable, yet
this was Kramer's plan, and that of his followers. They would not
prevail while I lived. Still it was not my plan to be a party to our
failure through martyrdom. I intended to stay alive and carry through to
success. I dozed lightly and waited.
* * * * *
I awoke when they tried the door. It had swung open a few inches at the
touch of the one who had tried it, not expecting it to be unlatched. It
stood ajar now, the pale light from the hall shining on the floor. No
one entered. Kramer was still fumbling, unsure of himself. At every
surprise with which I presented him, he was paralyzed, expecting a trap.
Several minutes passed in tense silence; then the door swung wider.
"I'll be forced to kill the first man who enters this room," I said in a
steady voice. I hadn't picked up the gun.
I heard urgent whispers in the hall. Then a hand reached in behind the
shelter of the door and flipped the light switch. Nothing happened,
since I had opened the main switch. It was only a small discomfiture,
but it had the effect of interfering with their plan of action, such as
it was. These men were being pushed along by Kramer, without a clearly
thought out plan. They hardly knew how to go about defying lawful
authority.
I called out, "I suggest you call this nonsense off now, and go back to
your quarters, men. I don't know who is involved in this, yet. You can
get away clean if you leave quietly, now, before you've made a serious
mistake."
I hoped it would work. This little adventure, abortive though it was,
might serve to let off steam. The men would have something to talk about
for a few precious days. I picked up the needler and waited. If the
bluff failed, I would have to kill someone.
Distantly I heard a metallic clatter. Moments later a tremor rattled the
objects on the shelf, followed a few seconds later by a heavy
shuddering. Papers slid from my desk, fluttered across the floor. The
whiskey bottle toppled, rolled to the far wall. I felt dizzy, as my bunk
seemed to tilt under me. I reached for the intercom key and flipped it.
"Taylor," I said, "this is the Captain. What's the report?"
There was a momentary delay before the answer came. "Captain, we've
taken a meteor strike aft, apparently a metallic body. It must have hit
us a tremendous wallop because it's set up a rotation. I've called out
Damage Control."
"Good work, Taylor," I said. I keyed for Stores; the object must have
hit about there. "This is the Captain," I said. "Any damage there?"
I got a hum of background noise, then a too-close transmission. "Uh,
Cap'n, we got a hole in the aft bulkhead here. I slapped a seat pad over
it. Man, that coulda killed somebody."
* * * * *
I flipped off the intercom and started aft at a run. My visitors had
evaporated. In the passage men stood, milled, called questions. I keyed
my mike as I ran. "Taylor, order all hands to emergency stations."
It was difficult running, since the floors had assumed an apparent tilt.
Loose gear was rolling and sliding along underfoot, propelled forward by
centrifugal force. Aft of Stores, I heard the whistle of escaping air
and high pressure gasses from ruptured lines. Vapor clouds fogged the
air. I called for floodlights for the whole sector.
Clay appeared out of the fog with his damage control crew. "Sir," he
said, "it's punctured inner and outer shells in two places, and
fragments have riddled the whole sector. There are at least three men
dead, and two hurt."
"Taylor," I called, "let's have another damage control crew back here on
the triple. Get the medics back here, too." Clay and his men put on
masks and moved off. I borrowed one from a man standing by and followed.
The large exit puncture was in the forward cargo lock. The room was
sealed off, limiting the air loss.
"Clay," I said, "pass this up for the moment and get that entry puncture
sealed. I'll put the extra crew in suits to handle this."
* * * * *
I moved back into clear air and called for reports from all sections.
The worst of the damage was in the auxiliary power control room, where
communication and power lines were slashed and the panel cut up. The
danger of serious damage to essential equipment had been very close, but
we had been lucky. This was the first instance I had heard of
encountering an object at hyper light speed.
It was astonishing how this threat to our safety cleared the air. The
men went about their duties more cheerfully than they had for months,
and Kramer was conspicuous by his subdued air. The emergency had
reestablished at least for the time the normal discipline; the men still
relied on the Captain in trouble.
Damage control crews worked steadily for the next seventy-two hours,
replacing wiring, welding, and testing. Power Section jockeyed
endlessly, correcting air motions. Meanwhile, I checked almost hourly
with Survey Section, hoping for good news to consolidate the improved
morale situation.
It was on Sunday morning, just after dawn relief that Lt. Taylor came up
to the bridge looking sick.
"Sir," he said, "we took more damage than we knew with that meteor
strike." He stopped and swallowed hard.
"What have you got, Lieutenant?" I said.
"We missed a piece. It must have gone off on a tangent through stores
into the cooler. Clipped the coolant line, and let warm air in. All the
fresh frozen stuff is contaminated and rotten." He gagged. "I got a
whiff of it, sir. Excuse me." He rushed away.
This was calamity.
We didn't carry much in the way of fresh natural food; but what we had
was vital. It was a bulky, delicate cargo to handle, but the chemists
hadn't yet come up with synthetics to fill all the dietary needs of man.
We could get by fine for a long time on vitamin tablets and
concentrates; but there were nutritional elements that you couldn't get
that way. Hydroponics didn't help; we had to have a few ounces of fresh
meat and vegetables grown in sunlight every week, or start to die within
months.
* * * * *
I knew that Kramer wouldn't let this chance pass. As Medical Officer he
would be well within his rights in calling to my attention the fact that
our health would soon begin to suffer. I felt sure he would do so as
loudly and publicly as possible at the first opportunity.
My best move was to beat him to the punch by making a general
announcement, giving the facts in the best possible light. That might
take some of the sting out of anything Kramer said later.
I gave it to them, short and to the point. "Men, we've just suffered a
serious loss. All the fresh frozen stores are gone. That doesn't mean
we'll be going on short rations; there are plenty of concentrates and
vitamins aboard. But it does mean we're going to be suffering from
deficiencies in our diet.
"We didn't come out here on a pleasure cruise; we're on a mission that
leaves no room for failure. This is just one more fact for us to face.
Now let's get on with the job."
I walked into the wardroom, drew a cup of near-coffee, and sat down. The
screen showed a beach with booming surf. The sound track picked up the
crash and hiss of the breakers. Considering the red plague that now
covered the scene, I thought it was a poor choice. I dialed for a high
view of rolling farmland.
Mannion sat at a table across the room with Kirschenbaum. They were
hunched over their cups, not talking. I wondered where they stood.
Mannion, Communications Officer, was neurotic, but an old Armed Force
man. Discipline meant a lot to him. Kirschenbaum, Power Chief, was a
joker, with cold eyes, and smarter than he seemed. The question was
whether he was smart enough to idealize the stupidity of retreat now.
Kramer walked in, not wasting any time. He saw me and came over. He
stopped a few feet from the table, and said loudly, "Captain, I'd like
to know your plans, now that the possibility of continuing is out."
I sipped my near-coffee and looked at the rolling farmland. I didn't
answer him. If I could get him mad, I could take him at his game.
Kramer turned red. He didn't like being ignored. The two at the other
table were watching.
"Captain," Kramer said loudly. "As Medical Officer I have to know what
measures you're taking to protect the health of the men."
This was a little better. He was on the defensive now; explaining why he
had a right to question his Commander. I wanted him a little hotter
though.
I looked up at him. "Kramer," I said in a clear, not too loud voice,
"you're on watch. I don't want to find you hanging around the wardroom
making light chit-chat until you're properly relieved from duty." I went
back to my near-coffee and the farmland. A river was in view now, and
beyond it distant mountains.
Kramer was furious. "Joyce has relieved me, Captain," he said,
controlling his voice with an effort. "I felt I'd better take this
matter up with you as soon as possible, since it affects the health of
every man aboard." He was trying to keep cool, in command of himself.
"I haven't authorized any changes in the duty roster, Major," I said
mildly. "Report to your post." I was riding the habit of discipline now,
as far as it would carry me. I hoped that disobedience to a direct
order, solidly based on regulations, was a little too big a jump for
Kramer at the moment. Tomorrow it might be different. But it was
essential that I break up the scene he was staging.
He wilted. "I'll see you at 1700 in the chart room, Kramer," I said as
he turned away. Mannion and Kirschenbaum looked at each other, then
finished their near-coffee hurriedly and left. I hoped their version of
the incident would help deflate Kramer's standing among the malcontents.
I left the wardroom and took the lift up to the bridge and checked with
Clay and his survey team.
"I think I've spotted a slight perturbation in Delta 3, Captain," Clay
said. "I'm not sure, we're still pretty far out."
"All right, Clay," I said. "Stay with it."
Clay was one of my more dependable men, dedicated to his work.
Unfortunately, he was no man of action. He would have little influence
in a show-down.
* * * * *
I was at the Schmidt when I heard the lift open. I turned; Kramer, Fine,
Taylor, and a half a dozen enlisted crew chiefs crowded out, bunched
together. They were all wearing needlers. At least they'd learned that
much, I thought.
Kramer moved forward. "We feel that the question of the men's welfare
has to be dealt with right away, Captain," he said smoothly.