[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy December 1962.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright
on this publication was renewed.]
_To spread Mankind to the stars carries a high cost in lives--and
not all of them are human!_
I
Miracastle: The initial landing had been made on a flat plateau among
steep, foreboding mountains which seemed to float through briefly
cleared air. In the distance a sharp rock formation stood revealed like
an etching: a castle of iron-gray stone whose form had been carved by
alien winds and eroded by acid tears from acid clouds.
Far above was a halo where the sun should be. The sun was an orange star
only slightly larger than Sol and as near to Miracastle as Sol to Earth.
The orange rays splintered against the fog and gloom was perpetually
upon the dark face of existence.
This was the first two-stage planet man had ever attempted to colonize.
Miracastle was so far from Earth that the long ships were destroyed
twice to reach it.
* * * * *
The technicians came, commanded by General Max Shorter, sixty-three
years old. Men wearing the circle whose diameter was etched in ruby
steel enclosing a background of gleaming ebon--the emblem was a silver D
over a sunburst of hammered gold.
The surface of Miracastle roiled with unfamiliar storms and tornados and
hurricanes. Before these, the films of lichen evaporated into dust, and
the sparse and stunted vegetation with ochre foliage turned sear and was
powdered by the fury in the air.
Earth equipment, alien to the orange sun, hammered into the heart of
Miracastle. Night and day it converted the pulverized substance of the
planet in the white-hot core of its atomic furnaces.
Acid rivers snapped at the wind and changed to salt deposits and
super-heated steam. In the gaseous atmosphere, neutral crystals formed
and fell like powdered rain. Miracastle heated and cooled and shivered
with the virus of man-made chemical reactions, and the storms screamed
and tore at the age-old mountains.
Inside the eternal, self-renewing Richardson domes, the technicians
worked and waited and superintended the computers which controlled the
processes raging beyond them.
The long ship lifted steadily and majestically through the battering
storm and the driving rain of dust and crystals. Out beyond the dense
space that surrounds all stars, the long ship probed the ever-shifting
currents in the four-dimensional universe. The long ship found a
low-density flaw, where space could hardly be said to exist at all. The
long ship, described mathematically, was half as long as the
continuum--the length being inversely proportional and related only to
mass. Time was but a moth's wing between twin cliffs of eternity.
Inside Miracastle's orange sun, at its very core, an atom of hydrogen
was destroyed completely; and in the inconceivable distance, an atom of
hydrogen appeared. The pulsing, steady-state equation of the universe
maintained its knife-edge and inevitable thermo-dynamic balance.
Inside the long ship, a pilot-machine ordered the destruction of a
vastly greater collection of matter. The atoms of the ship and the
sailors--fixed in relationship, each to each--imploded into nothingness.
And the long ship and the men aboard it were born again at a low-density
area a million light years away--halfway to Earth. Born and were
destroyed again, in the blink of an eye.
Beyond the ship now lay Sol, pulsing in its own warmth and warming its
children embedded in the cold and distant texture of the universe. The
sailors were ghosts come home.
Miracastle was alone with her conquerors.
* * * * *
General Max Shorter, a few weeks later, began writing a diary.
"I have been Destroyed thirty-seven times during forty years' service
with the long ships," he wrote. He wrote with a pen, using a metal
straight edge as a line rule.
"I have served faithfully and I believe as well as any man the Corps,
the planet and mankind. It is perhaps appropriate at this time, as I
approach the end of my long service, to record a few observations which
have occurred to me during the course of it as well as to record the
day-to-day details of my present command."
The general wrote: "A man is given a job to do. And when all is said and
done, that is the most important thing in his life: to do his job."
It took perhaps ten seconds for the soft knock to penetrate his
concentration. He adjusted himself to the moment and closed the diary
softly. He deposited it in the upper right-hand drawer of the writing
desk and locked the drawer.
The knock came again.
He arranged his tie.
"Come in," General Shorter said.
The agitation of the man in the doorway was announced by the paleness of
his face.
"Come in, David," General Shorter said, rising politely from the writing
desk. "Be seated, please."
"General, we've had a ... a very unfortunate thing happen on the shift."
The general sank back into his chair. Light from the desk lamp framed
his expressionless and immobile face, half in light, half in shadow. He
fingered the straight-edge on the desk top.
"Sit down, David, and then tell me about it."
Shift-Captain Arnold moved uncertainly.
"Sit down, sit down," General Shorter repeated impatiently.
Captain Arnold seated himself on the edge of the chair.
"One of the men," he said, "just committed suicide. He was in charge of
the air changing monitor this shift. He went outside without a suit."
The general blinked as though to remove an irritation from his eye. His
hand lay still and hard upon the straight-edge. "What was his name?" he
asked in a voice that was vaguely puzzled.
"Schuster. Sergeant Schuster, sir."
"Yes, I remember him," the general said. "He came to us about a week
before the lift. I think he was from Colorado. He had very broad
shoulders. Short and broad. Neat appearing. Uniform always in good
order."
General Shorter ran his thumb and forefinger up the bridge of his nose
and then, with a very small sigh, placed his palm over his eyes.
"Draw up the report," he said. "Was there a final message?" The question
was uttered without hesitation and was followed by a moment of silence.
"No, sir."
General Shorter's breath was audible.
"Please feel free to smoke, David."
"Thank you, sir, I don't smoke."
"No, of course not. I'd forgotten." General Shorter half turned and
placed his hands on the desk. He stood under their pressure. "What would
you say to a brandy?"
"I should return to duty, sir."
"A few minutes more," the general said. "The brandy is good." He moved
into the shadow and sorted bottles at his tiny cupboard. "Here." He held
the glass to the light. Amber liquid flowed softly and the general
handed across the half-filled glass. "Sit back," he said. "I'll join
you."
Glass in hand, the general stood with his back to the light. He seemed
surrounded by cold fire, and the glass sparkled as he lifted it. He
sipped. "Try it, it's good."
"It's very good, sir."
* * * * *
For a moment neither spoke. Then the general said, "This isn't my first
command, you know. I've seen men die. I've had to take chances with them
occasionally. You could say, I suppose, that I ordered some men to their
deaths. But still, the men came aboard knowing the risks. In the final
sense, they, not I, made the decision. I never sent a--"
The sentence ended as the glass slipped and fell. "I'm sorry," he said,
looking down at the sparkling fragments at his feet. The dark
liquid--the light gave it a reddish cast--puddled and flowed and its
aroma filled the room. "No, no. Let it be, David. I'll get it later."
The general went to the cupboard and poured into a new glass. Again he
was light and shadow. The spilled liquid approached the shadow and was
devoured in it as though it had never been, but still the aroma stood on
the air.
The general said: "Imagine, if you can, David, that Earth were attacked,
and the attack destroyed many of the military installations. After you
struck back, David, what would you do next?"
"I don't know, sir. I'm not a strategist, I'm afraid."
"What about your cities? The millions of people trapped without
supplies--over-running the countryside, looting, plundering in search of
food. Carrying pestilence and disease and terror. What would you do,
David?"
"Well, I guess I'd try to organize some relief organization or
something."
"But David. Anything you diverted to care for these people would limit
your ability to fight back, wouldn't it? They would be cluttering up all
your transportation, frustrating effective retaliation. Your second move
would be to take the bombs which destroy people and not property and ...
use them on your own cities."
Captain Arnold drained his glass. "That would be...." He did not finish.
"Insane, David? No. Rational. Field Commanders must be realists. The job
comes first. In this case, the job of defeating the enemy.... But what
does that have to do with us? Nothing, eh? You're right. Sometimes I
like to talk, and I suppose that's one of my privileges. I'm not the
idealist I used to be, I guess. I remember when I was your age. I saw
things differently than I do now. What used to seem important no longer
does. Each stage of development has its unique biological imperatives: a
child, a youth, a mature man, look out on the world from a body held in
focus to different chemistries. But the job remains." General Shorter
held up his glass. "Cheers." He drained it.
Again there was silence.
"David, do you think I'm in much trouble?"
"I'm afraid so, General. The Committee is due to arrive tomorrow."
"I know," the general said. "This suicide isn't going to help us.
Tomorrow. Is it that soon? I thought ... yes, I guess it is tomorrow....
Well, we've been here long enough to lose our immunity, so we'll all
catch colds."