Captain Anderson's lips twitched in passing amusement, and then his
expression sobered. "I'll take the challenge, Paresi. We have a cause
and an effect. Something is keeping us in the ship. Corollary: We--or
perhaps the ship--we're not welcome."
"_Men of Earth,_" quoted Ives, in an excellent imitation of the
accentless English they had heard on the radio, "_welcome to our
planet._"
"They're kidding," said Johnny heartily, rising to his feet. He dropped
the control wheel with a clang and shoved it carelessly aside with his
foot. "Who ever says exactly what they mean anyhow? I see that
conclusion the head-shrinker's afraid you'll get to, Skipper. If we
can't leave the ship, the only other thing we can do is to leave the
planet. That it?"
Paresi nodded and watched the Captain closely. Anderson turned abruptly
away from them all and stood, feet apart, head down, hands behind his
back, and stared out of the forward viewports. In the tense silence they
could hear his knuckles crack. At length he said quietly, "That isn't
what we came here for, Johnny."
Johnny shrugged. "Okay. Chew it up all you like, fellers. The only other
choice is to sit here like bugs in a bottle until we die of old age.
When you get tired of thinking that over, just let me know. I'll fly you
out."
"We can always depend on Johnny," said Paresi with no detectible
emphasis at all.
"Not on me," said Johnny, and swatted the bulkhead. "On the ship.
Nothing on any planet can stop this baby once I pour on the coal. She's
just got too much muscles."
"Well, Captain?" asked Hoskins softly.
Anderson looked at the basking valley, at the too-blue sky and the
near-familiar, mellow-weathered crags. They waited.
"Take her up," said the Captain. "Put her in orbit at two hundred kilos.
I'm not giving up this easily."
Ives swatted Johnny's broad shoulder. "That's a take-off _and_ a
landing, if I know the Old Man. Go to it, Jets."
Johnny's wide white grin flashed and he strode to the control chair.
"Gentlemen, be seated."
"I'll take mine lying down," said Ives, and spread his bulk out on the
acceleration couch. The others went to their take-off posts.
"On automatics," said the Captain, "Fire away!"
"Fire away!" said Johnny cheerfully. He reached forward and pressed the
central control.
Nothing happened.
Johnny put his hand toward the control again. It moved as if there were
a repellor field around the button. The hand moved more and more slowly
the closer it got, until it hovered just over the control and began to
tremble.
"On manual," barked the Captain. "Fire!"
"Manual, sir," said Johnny reflexively. His trembling hand darted up to
an overhead switch, pulled it. He grasped the control bars and dropped
the heels of his hands heavily on the firing studs. From somewhere came
a muted roar, a whispering; a subjective suggestion of the thunder of
reaction motors.
A frown crossed Paresi's face. The rocket noise was gone as the mind
reached for it, like an occluded thought. The motors were silent; there
wasn't a tremor of vibration. Yet somewhere a ghost engine was warming
up, preparing a ghost ship for an intangible take-off into nothingness.
He snapped off the catch of his safety belt and crossed swiftly and
silently to the console. Johnny sat raptly. A slow smile of satisfaction
began to spread over his face. His gaze flicked to dials and gauges; he
nodded very slightly, and brought both hands down like an organist
playing a mighty chord. He watched the gauges. The needles were still,
lying on their zero pins, and where lights should have flickered and
flashed there was nothing. Paresi glanced at Anderson and met a worried
look. Hoskins had his head cocked to one side, listening, puzzled. Ives
rose from the couch and came forward to stand beside Paresi.
Johnny was manipulating the keys firmly. His fingers began to play a
rapid, skillful, silent concerto. His face had a look of intense
concentration and of complete self-confidence.
"Well," said Ives heavily. "That's a bust, too."
Paresi spun to him. "_Shh!_" It was done with such intensity that Ives
recoiled. With a warning look at him, Paresi walked to the Captain,
whispered in his ear.
"My God," said Anderson. "All right, Doctor." He came forward to the
pilot's chair. Johnny was still concentratedly, uselessly at work.
Anderson glanced inquiringly at Paresi, who nodded.
"That does it," said the Captain, loudly. "Nice work, Johnny. We're
smack in orbit. The automatics couldn't have done it better. For once it
feels good to be out in space again. Cut your jets now. You can check
for correction later."
"Aye, sir," said Johnny. He made two delicate adjustments, threw a
master switch and swung around. "Whew! That's work!"
Facing the four silent men, Johnny thumbed out a cigarette, put it in
his mouth, touched his lighter to it, drew a long slow puff.
"Man, that goes good...."
The cigarette was not lighted. Hoskins turned away, an expression of
sick pity on his face. Ives reached abruptly for his own lighter, and
the doctor checked him with a gesture.
"Every time I see a hot pilot work I'm amazed," Paresi said
conversationally. "Such concentration ... you must be tuckered, Johnny."
Johnny puffed at his unlit cigarette. "Tuckered," he said. "Yeah." There
were two odd undertones to his voice suddenly. They were fatigue, and
eagerness. Paresi said, "You're off-watch, John. Go stretch out."
"Real tired," mumbled Johnny. He lumbered to his feet and went aft,
where he rolled to the couch and was almost instantly asleep.
The others congregated far forward around the controls, and for a long
moment stared silently at the sleeping pilot.
"I don't get it," murmured Ives.
"He really thought he flew us out, didn't he?" asked Hoskins.
Paresi nodded. "Had to. There isn't any place in his cosmos for machines
that don't work. Contrary evidence can get just so strong. Then, for
him, it ceased to exist. A faulty cigarette lighter irritated him, a
failing airlock control made him angry and sullen and then hysterical.
When the drive controls wouldn't respond, he reached his breaking point.
Everyone has such a breaking point, and arrives at it just that way if
he's pushed far enough."
"Everyone?"
Paresi looked from face to face, and nodded somberly. Anderson asked,
"What knocked him out? He's trained to take far more strain than that."
"Oh, he isn't suffering from any physical or conscious mental fatigue.
The one thing he wanted to do was to get away from a terrifying
situation. He convinced himself that he flew out of it. The next best
thing he could do to keep anything else from attacking him was to sleep.
He very much appreciated my suggestion that he was worn out and needed
to stretch out."
"I'd very much appreciate some such," said Ives. "Do it to me, Nick."
"Reach your breaking point first," said the doctor flatly, and went to
place a pillow between Johnny's head and a guard-rail.
Hoskins turned away to stare at the peaceful landscape outside. The
Captain watched him for a moment, then: "Hoskins!"
"Aye."
"I've seen that expression before. What are you thinking about?"