"I was concerned," said the old voice, "with keeping us alive."
"You weren't aware that some of your crew were emotionally involved
with each other?"
"No."
"Are there any more records you could show me?"
"Many more, Colonel, but I don't think it's necessary for you to see
them. It would take too long. And we want to get back out into space."
He paused. "We can brief you."
"About your going back into space.... I'm not sure we can allow it."
"Our answer's very simple. There's a button, under my thumb, on the
arm of this chair. A little pressure. Carbon monoxide. It would be
quick."
"Your idea?"
"Yes. A matter of preserving our integrity. We'd rather die than face
the horrors of life on Earth."
* * * * *
Halter turned to the semi-circle of faces. "And you've all agreed to
this--this suicide?"
The captain cut in. "Of course. I realized years ago that the only
place we could live was in space, in this ship."
"When did your crew realize this?"
"After a couple of years. I told them over and over again, day after
day. After all, I am captain. I dictate the policy."
"You've come back. You're in port. You're not in complete command."
"I'll always be in command."
"Perhaps," said Halter quietly. "However, we can come back to that.
Please brief me on the records."
Captain McClelland's face hardened as he turned to Dr. Anna Mueller.
She explained, "We regained consciousness twenty-four hours after
Captain McClelland used the shock gun on us. By then, our metabolisms
were high enough to keep us conscious and alive. We could lift
nutrition and water capsules to our mouths. We could press the button
to activate the exercise mechanisms in our bunks. The output of the
air machines was cut down until there was just enough to keep us alive
and thinking clearly.
"At intervals of several days, during our exercise and study periods,
Captain McClelland turned up the air. We slept. And we dreamed. The
dreams are recorded in full. When we could face them, they were played
back to us. Our thoughts were played back, too. I conducted group
therapy among us. We all grew to understand each other and ourselves,
intimately, and now, in relation to our environment, we're perfectly
adjusted."
"Did Captain McClelland join you in group therapy?"
"No."
"Why?"
"He was already perfectly adjusted."
* * * * *
She frowned faintly, glanced at the captain. "When we were conscious,
we studied from the library of microfilm. We read all the great
literature of Earth. We watched the great plays and pictures and the
paintings and listened to the music. Sometimes our thoughts were
hateful. There was self-pity and hysteria. There were times when one
or two of us would withdraw almost to the point of death. Then Captain
McClelland would knock us out with the shock gun.
"Slowly, over the years, our minds gradually merged into one mind. We
thought and created and lived as if we were one person. There grew to
be complete and perfect cooperation. And from this cooperation came
some great works. Each one of us will tell you. I'll speak first."
She paused. "Psychology has always been my prime interest. My rating
at school was genius. My aptitudes were precisely in line with the
field of work I chose. Through the years, I've developed a theory,
discovered a way to bring about cooperation between all men. This is
possible in spite of your wars and hatreds and destruction." Frown
creases wrinkled her parchment forehead. "I'd like to know if it would
work."
Daniel Carlyle's voice was slightly above a whisper. "All my life, I'd
wanted to write poetry. The meteor struck. I realized I wouldn't be
allowed to die quickly. I began to do what I'd always wanted to do.
The words poured into the thought recorder. Everything I felt and
thought is there and all I've been able to know and be from this one
mind of ours that's in us all. And it's some of the finest poetry
that's ever been written." He closed his eyes and sighed heavily.
"It'd be good to know if anyone found them inspiring."
"I've always lived for adventure," said Crowley, the rocketman, his
old voice steady and quiet. "I've been the one to quiet down last into
the life it was necessary for us to live out there. But my thoughts
ran on into distant universes and across endless stretches of space.
And so at last, to keep my sanity, I wrote stories of all the
adventures I should have had, and more. And in them is all the native
power of me, of all adventurers, and the eternal sweep of the Universe
where Man will always thrust out to new places." There was a faint
trembling in his body and a pained light in his eyes. "Seems I ought
to know if they'll ever be read."
* * * * *
In spite of Brady's frailness, the lieutenant was like a grizzled old
animal growling with his last breath. "I was the most capable pilot
that ever blasted off from Earth. But I was also an inventor and
designer. A lot of the ships Earth pilots are flying today are
basically my ideas. After the accident, I wanted to get drunk and make
love and then let myself out into space, with a suit, and be there
forever. But Captain McClelland's shock gun and the understanding
seeping into me from the thought recorders calmed me down eventually.
"So I turned to creation as I lay there in my bunk. I designed many
spaceships. And from those, I designed fewer and fewer, incorporating
the best from each. And now I have on microfilm a ship that can thrust
out to the ends of our galaxy. There aren't any flaws.... Oh, I tell
you, by God, I'd like to see her come to life!"
He leaned back, sweat rolling down his bony cheeks.
Miss Gordon, dietician and televisor, the motionless old lady with
cropped, white hair, and face bones across which the paper skin was
stretched, said, "There was only one thing I wanted when I knew I
couldn't have marriage and a family. There was a perfect food for the
human animal. I could find it. I began working on formulas. Over and
over again, I put the food elements together and took them apart and
put them together again. I threw away the work of years and started
over again until at last I had my perfect formula."
She clasped her hands. "Man's nutrition problem is solved. From the
oceans and the air and the Earth, from the cosmic rays and the lights
of the suns and from the particles of the microcosm, Man can take into
his body all the nutrition that can enable him to live forever." She
sat very still, smiling. "And it's got to be given a try."
Silence.
Colonel Halter watched the old figures sitting like figures in a wax
museum, waiting, waiting. He turned a dial. The picture that flashed
onto the screen in his office showed the pocked ship standing upright
now, like some tree that had grown in the middle of a desert where it
was never meant to grow.
The space tugs had streaked out beyond the atmosphere to finish other
assignments. There were no crowds, no official cars, no platforms, no
bands. Only darkness and silence.
Halter turned a dial. The control room of the old ship flashed back
onto the screen. The ancient crew sat as before. Halter saw his own
face on their television screen.
Something was missing, he thought. What? What hadn't been said?
And then suddenly it came to him.
The captain. He hadn't spoken of any contribution he had made during
those interminable years.
* * * * *
Halter thought back over Captain McClelland's record. No family. Wiped
out when he was a baby in the last war. Educated and raised by the
government. Never married. No entanglements with women. No close
friends. Ship's captain at twenty-one. No failures. No vacations. No
record of breakdown. Perfect physical condition. Strict
disciplinarian. More time in space than on Earth by seventy-five per
cent. No hobbies. No interest in the arts.... Apparently no flaw as a
spaceman.... The end product of the stiffest training regimen yet
devised by Man.
The ideal captain.
The records of the other five? All showing slight emotional
instabilities when checked against the optimum score of a spaceman.
Dr. Mueller--a divorcee. A woman men had sought after. Dedicated in
spare time to social psychology. Conflict in her decision as to
whether she should go into the private practice of psychotherapy or
specialize in space psychology. Interested in the study of neurosis
caused by culture.
Lieutenant Brady--family man. Forced himself into mold of good husband
and father. Brilliant designer. Ambition also to be space captain.
Conflict between these three. Several years of psychotherapy which
released his drive for adventure in space. _Alpha_ mission to be his
last. Lack of full leadership qualities prevented him from reaching
captaincy.
Rocketman Crowley--typical man of action. Superb physique. Decathlon
champion. Continual entanglements with women. Quick temper. Tendency
to fight if pushed or crossed. Proud. However, if under good command,
best rocketman in the service.
Astrogator Daniel Carlyle--highly sensitive. Psychosomatic symptoms
unless out in space. Then in perfect health. Fine mathematician.
Highly intuitive, yet logical. Saved four missions from disaster.
Holder of Congressional Medal of Honor. Hobby, poetry. Fiancee was
boyhood sweetheart.
Dietician and televisor Caroline Gordon--youngest of crew. Twenty
years. Too many aptitudes. Tendency toward immaturity. Many hobbies.
Idealistic. Emotions unfocused. IQ 165. Success in any field of
endeavor concentrated upon. At eighteen, specialized in dietetics and
electronics. Highest ratings in field. Stable when under strict
external discipline.
* * * * *
No, thought Halter. None of them fitted space like the completely
self-sufficient McClelland, the man who could stand alone against that
black, teeming, swirling endlessness of space.
He turned to the captain. The old face was placid, the eyes slightly
out of focus.
"Captain McClelland," Halter said sharply.
The pale eyes blinked and looked keenly on Halter's face.
"You want fuel to take you back out into space."
"That's right."
"And if you don't get it, you'll press a button on the arm of your
chair and you'll all die of carbon monoxide poisoning."
"Exactly."
"I'm curious about one point." Halter paused. "What did _you_ do,
Captain, while the others were working on their various projects?"
Captain McClelland scowled at Halter for a long moment. "Why do you
want to know that?"
"Your crew members became lost in some work they loved. They told me
about it with a certain amount of enthusiasm. You haven't told me what
you did. I'd like to know--for the records."
"I watched them, Colonel. I watched them and dreamed of the time when
I could take them and the ship back out into space under her own
power. I love space and I love this ship. I love knowing she's under
power and shooting out to the stars. There's nothing more for me."
"What else did you do besides watch them?"
"I activated the machinery that moved my bunk close to the controls. I
practiced taking the ship through maneuvers. I kept the controls in
perfect working order so I'd be ready to take off again someday."
"If we repaired the ship so you could take off, the first shock of
rocket thrust would kill you all."
"We're willing to take that chance."
Colonel Halter looked around the half circle of old faces. "And all
your long years of work would be for nothing. Each of you, except
Captain McClelland, has made a contribution to Earth and Man. You're
needed here, not in the emptiness of space."
He saw the eyes of the five watching him intently; saw a tiny flicker
of surprise and interest on their faces.
"You're destroying Earth," said the captain, his voice rising, "with
your wars and your quarrels. We've all of us found peace. We're going
to keep it."
* * * * *
Halter ignored the captain and looked at the five.
"There are many of _us_ on Earth, who are fighting a war without
blood, to save mankind. We've made progress. We've worked out
agreements among the warring nations to do their fighting on the
barren planets where there aren't any native inhabitants, so
noncombatants on Earth won't be killed and so the Earth won't be laid
waste. That was the fighting you saw while you were coming in.
"This is just _one_ example. And there're a lot of us contributing
ideas and effort. If all of us who're working for Earth were to leave
it and go out into space, the ones who have to fight wars would make
the Earth as barren as the Moon. This is our place in the Universe and
it's got to be saved."
"We've adjusted to the control room of this ship and to each other,"
said McClelland flatly. "Our work's done."
"Let's put it like this, Captain. Maybe _your_ work's done. Maybe
_you're_ not interested in what happens to Earth." Halter turned to
the others. "But what _you've_ done adds up to a search for answers
here on Earth. Poetry. Design of a flawless spaceship. A psychological
theory. A perfect diet. Novels about Man pushing out and out into
space. All this indicates a deep concern for the health of humanity
and its success."
"We're not concerned," retorted the captain, "with the health or
success of humanity."
Halter sharply examined the other faces. He saw a flicker of sadness
in one, anger in another, uncertainty, fear, joy.
He said, "For seventy-five years, you obey your captain. You listen to
what he says. And everything is a command. Yet in yourselves you feel
a drive to carry out your ideas, your creations, to their logical
ends. Which means, will they work when they're applied to Man? Will
people read the novels? Will they catch the meaning of the poetry?
Will the spaceships really work as they're supposed to? Will the
psychological theory really promote cooperation? Is there supreme
health in this marvelous diet?"
He gave them a moment to think and then continued. "But if you
continue to follow the commands of the captain, you'll be dead before
you're out of the Earth's atmosphere. You'll never know. Maybe Man
will prove that your great works are only dreams.... But I think
there's a great need in you to know, one way or the other."
* * * * *
There was a faint stirring among them, like that of ancient machines
being activated after years of lying dormant. They glanced at each
other. They fidgeted. Trouble twisted their faces.
"Colonel Halter," said the captain, "I'm warning you. My thumb is on
the button. I'll release the gas. Do we get the repairs and the fuel
to take off from Earth, or don't we?"
Colonel Halter leaned grimly toward the captain. "You've spent fifty
years with one idea--to stay out in space forever. You've made no
effort to create or do one single constructive act. I'll tell you
whether or not you get the fuel and the repairs--_after_ I hear what
someone in your crew has to say."
Silence hung tensely between the control room of the ship and Colonel
Halter's office on Earth. The captain was glaring now at Halter. A
tear showed in the corner of each of Dr. Anna Mueller's old eyes.
Lieutenant Brady was gripping the arms of his chair. Daniel Carlyle's
eyes were closed and his head shook slightly, as though from palsy.
There was a faint, enigmatic smile on Caroline Gordon's face. The
cords on Crowley's neck stood out through the tan and wrinkled
wrapping-paper skin.
_By God,_ thought Halter, _they're all sane except the captain. And
they've got to do it. They've got to come out on their own steam or
die in that control room._
"I'm waiting," he said. "Is your work going to die and you with it?"
"We'll leave all the records," said the captain, his thumb poised over
the button on the arm of his chair. "That's enough."
Halter ignored him. "Each of you can help. You've only done part of
the work." He stood and struck the desk with the flat of his hand.
"Damn it, say something, one of you!"
Still the silence and the flickering looks all around.
Halter heard a sob. He saw Dr. Anna Mueller's head drop forward and
her shoulders tremble. The others were staring at her, as if she had
suddenly materialized among them, like a ghost.
[Illustration]
Then her voice, through the trembling and the faint crying:
"I've--I've got to know."
The captain got creakily to his feet. "Dr. Mueller! Do you want me to
use the gun again?"
She raised her face to his. There was pain in it. "I've--got work to
do. There's so--little time."
"That's right. On this ship. You're part of the crew. There'll be
plenty of work once we get out in space again."
[Illustration]
"I've got to see if my theory's right."
"Colonel Halter," said the captain, "this is insubordination. Mutiny."
* * * * *
He raised the gun tremblingly, pointed the black muzzle at Dr.
Mueller, sighted along the barrel.
"Wait," said Halter. "You're right."
Captain McClelland hesitated.
"It's quite plain," went on Halter, "that Dr. Mueller is alone among
you. She wants to come out and go on with her work. The rest of you
want the closed-in uterine warmth and peace of this room you're
existing in. You can't face the possibility of failure. So I'm afraid
she'll have to be sacrificed. After all, you do need a full crew to
move the ship--even if you are all dead a few seconds after blastoff."
He paused, looking intently at Brady, Crowley, Carlyle, Gordon, where
they sat in the half circle, staring back at him. "So--"
Lieutenant Brady struggled up from his chair.
"I've got twenty-five years of life. I've some ships to design."
"That goes for me, too," said Crowley, the rocketman. "Will anybody
want to read my novels?"
Astrogator Carlyle leaned forward. "There are many more poems to be
written."
"Give me a soundproof laboratory," said Caroline Gordon. "I'll add
another fifty years to all your lives."
"I'm afraid it is mutiny, Captain," said Halter.
The captain started toward his chair, his hand reaching for the button
on its arm.
Lieutenant Brady stumbled forward, blocking his way.
Halter could only watch, thinking, _It's up to them. They've got to do
it now!_
He saw the captain draw his shock gun; saw light flare at its muzzle;
saw Lieutenant Brady crumple like a collapsing skeleton.
Crowley reached forward, grasping McClelland's shoulder. The gun swung
toward him. A stream of light squirted into his middle. Crowley fell
forward, pulling the captain down with him. The three other oldsters
were above the three black figures sprawled on the floor, like tangled
puppets. They hesitated a moment, then fell upon the ones below them,
black arms and legs twitching about now like the legs of dying
spiders, struggling weakly.
A flash of light exploded beneath these twisting black reeds and
streaks of it shot out all through the waving black cluster.
The next moment, they settled and were quiet.
* * * * *
There was a stillness in the ancient control room, like the stillness
in a sunken ship at the bottom of the sea. It lingered for a long
time, while Colonel Halter watched and waited.
Dr. Mueller's voice, seventy-five years tired, said, "He's--quiet now.
Please come and take us out."
Colonel Halter switched on his desk visiophone.
"They're coming out," he said quietly. "I'll be there to supervise."
On the visiophone, the general's image nodded. "Congratulations,
Colonel. How are they?"
"There'll be one case for psycho. Captain McClelland."
"I'll be damned!" exclaimed the general. "From his record, I thought
he'd never break!"
"Let's say he couldn't bend, sir." A pause. "And yet he did keep them
from destroying themselves."
"He'll be made well again.... What about the others?"
"I think they, too, are very great and human people."
"Well," said the general, "they're _your_ patients. I'll see you at
the ship in five minutes."
"I'll be there, sir." Colonel Halter flipped the switch. The
visiophone blanked out. He looked at the television screen.
The six black-clothed figures were quiet on the floor of their ship's
control room. They reminded him of sleeping children curled together
for warmth.
As he left his office and walked out into the humming city, he felt
drained, still shaking with tension, realizing even now how close he
had come to failure.
But there was the scarred and pitted needle-nosed old hull, bright
with moonlight, standing like a monument against the night sky.
Not a monument to the past, though.
It marked the birthplace of the future ... and he had been midwife. He
felt his shoulders straighten at the knowledge as he walked toward the
ancient ship.
--RICHARD STOCKHAM
* * * * *