"That's right, sir. If you don't believe me take a peek through the
viewpanes."
I moved to the fore-wall, slid back the metal slide that covered
the quartzite viewpane. Space lay before us--but _what_ space!
Not the dark, velvety pall, brightly agleam with an infinitude of
starry jewels, that all spacemen know. This was a blotched, striped
crazy-quilt of color! Crimson, ochre, emerald--all the hues of the
rainbow, of the Aurora. It was beautiful in a mad, fantastic way;
there was a faery, magic loveliness to that swift-streaming space that
fascinated and at the same time chilled me with dread.
Hanson's eyes bulged, and his voice was fearful.
"We--we've done it again, Biggs! Busted clean out of our universe into
something else!"
"No, sir. This is our universe. But we are seeing it as no man has
ever seen it before. Our speed is so great that we are seeing the
'landmarks' of space with a distorted viewpoint. Our relationship--or
I should say relativity--is no longer to Earth, or any of its sister
planets, but to the Greater Constant, the fundamental motion of the
universe itself.
"Thus, at one and the same time, we see the planets as they _are_ and
as they _were_; they are no longer mere points in space, they are
streaks of color." And he grinned. "The stars, too. Pretty, aren't
they?"
Cap Hanson made weak motions at the viewpane.
"Close it, Sparks! It's giving me the meemies! So if you're right,
Biggs--then what? How do we know when we get to Uranus, or near it? If
it's just a streak of color?"
"You must reconcile yourself to an entirely new system of astrogation.
Up to this time, pilots have just jetted along until they found
their goal, then set course for a landing. But with the V-I unit in
operation, we 'fly blind' and set our course by strict, mathematical
figuring. I have given Mr. Todd a plot-chart. Four days hence when I
cut out the V-I unit and return to normal operation on the hypos, we
will find Uranus immediately beneath us. And now, if you'll excuse me--"
"Wait a minute!" said the skipper. "Suppose we was to meet up with
something in space? Like a rogue asteroid?"
Biggs shrugged.
"That hazard is neither heightened nor decreased," he said. "Our
monitor-beams will still shunt off the smaller ones. As for the
larger--well, you know as well as I that we have never yet found a
method of overcoming that danger. It is one of the chances we take when
we don space blues. As far as I'm concerned, I'd just as soon not see
it coming as to watch it grow larger and larger in the _perilens_--"
Well, he was right there. So since Hanson was fresh out of questions,
Biggs hoisted hips back to his quarters. My guess is that he went back
to billy-dooing with Diane's picture. What's yours?
* * * * *
I could build this up if I wanted to, and offer you a blow-by-blow
account of what happened in the next quartet of days. But why bother?
The truth is--nothing did. The V-I unit continued to chug along like
a dream; our old crate went flashing through space like a quantum
with a hot date; tempus squirmed; and me--I was in seventh heaven. I
don't mean fifth or sixth, either. This was the easiest shuttle I had
ever made. We were traveling so fast, and the V-I unit surrounded the
_Saturn_ with such a force-field, that my radio was utterly useless.
So I got a vacation with pay. I ate and slept with what you might call
'monotonous regularity', and I spent all of my waking hours curled up
with a good (i.e. torrid) book.
And at the end of four days, Mr. Biggs disconnected his V-I unit, as
called for on his plot-chart, and just like he said, there was Uranus
gleaming beneath us! So we landed and spent a night swapping yarns and
drinks with the S.S.P. officers garrisoned at New Oslo, then we took
on a hold-full of gallium, and tootle-oo to the refrigerated seventh
planet.
And (this gets tiresome, doesn't it?) we accelerated for a day and a
half, then Biggs plotted a course, pushed a button, and once again we
were free-wheeling through colorful and star-spangled space.
Life was swell, and life was wonderful, and if there was any fly in my
celestial ointment it was the fact that after the first week Lieutenant
Romeo "Lovesick" Biggs got tired of staring at his fiancée's image and
insisted on strolling up to my turret to tell me (1) what a wonderful
girl she was, (2) how much he missed her, and (3) how he was simply
going to _die_ if he didn't see her again soon.
Which boring details I had (1) known for years, once having had a
heart-throb for Diane myself, (2) figured from his conversation, and
(3) high hopes that he would. Quietly!
So somehow it was the afternoon, ship's time, of the fourth day of the
return shuttle and Biggs was in my turret, not to mention my hair,
and I was hearing for the thousandth time about he wasn't worthy of a
gal like Diane, when all of a sudden bells jangled all over the ship,
lights flashed the DANGER! signal, and my turret-audio broke into
frantic voice, and the voice was that of the pilot on duty, our Third
Mate, Bud Wilson.
"Sparks, is Biggs there! Yes? Get him here _quick_! And find the Old
Man! Hurry! For God's sake--"
We were out of there like a flash--make that _two_ flashes--and
pounding through the corridors, up the ramp to the bridge. We met Cap
Hanson on the way. The three of us burst into the control-room to find
Wilson tearing his hair, and Dick Todd, sweating, white-faced, poring
over diagrams on the chart-board.
Somebody yelled, "What's the matter?" and I can't tell you who, because
it was probably all of us. And Dick's eyes were haggard pockets in his
face.
"_Jupiter!_" he said.
"What about it?" yelled the skipper. "Talk, man!"
Todd shoved the chart at Biggs, pointed with a finger that wobbled.
"It's on our trajectory! Right before us _now_! We can see it--Look!"
And he threw back the shield, and my heart gave an awful lurch. For no
longer was the scene before us one of changing, iridescent beauty--the
entire pane was covered by a gigantic, menacing platter. A monstrous
missile of death. The planet Jupiter--dead on our course!
Lancelot Biggs' face, which had been keen and alert a moment before,
was suddenly a dull, blank mask of horror. Strangled words fought their
way from his throat.
"I--I didn't realize! I forgot all about Jupiter when I plotted the
return course! I--"
"Forgot!" roared the skipper. "Great comets--forgot!" Then his wrath
died in anxiety. "Do something. Turn off that blasted unit of yours so
we can loft over her--"
But Todd shook his head.
"That's no use, Skipper. I thought of that. We're too close. We're
caught in her gravitational attraction anyway. Even if we were to turn
off Biggs' device, there still wouldn't be time to get the rockets hot."
"Lanse--" began the skipper. Then, "Where did he go?"
* * * * *
Because Biggs had turned, suddenly, and raced from the room! Fled,
still clutching the space-chart. Fled, and not a word of advice, regret
or hope. And with him went our last dwindling hope of salvation.
Dick Todd's voice was thin.
"Maybe he has an idea, sir?"
Hanson grasped at the thought as a drowning man.
"That's it, Todd. He'll pull us out of this. He's never failed us in
the past--"
But even this wishful expression was doomed to swift contradiction.
For at that moment the bridge audio flashed, and the voice of a sailor
clacked from somewhere below.
"Captain Hanson, sir? There--there's trouble down here! Lieutenant
Biggs has violated regulations, sir! He knocked down two men and forced
his way into the auxiliary lifeboat! He--he's locked the door, sir.
What shall we do?"
In the moment of silence that followed, I saw something I hope I shall
never be forced to look upon again. I saw a proud man wilt before my
eyes; I saw a strong man age ten years in as many seconds.
The man was Captain Hanson. The strength sloughed from his shoulders;
pain burned deep furrows in his eyes; I could barely hear the whisper
that crept from his lips.
"A coward!" he husked. "The man my daughter loves--a coward!"
And there was nothing I could say to refute the accusation. Lancelot
Biggs' action had branded him more damningly than any mere words. A
crisis had come--and it had found him wanting. He had deserted his
comrades, his ship, and had fled to a lifeboat. Perhaps even now he was
getting ready to cast off.
In a swift burst of comprehension, I thought I could understand the
reason for this last, unreasonable defection. Lancelot Biggs had met
difficulties before and without flinching.
But that was an old, a different, Biggs. Love had come into his life
now. Love, and a woman, and all the dreams that happy men dare wish
upon.
And these things, staunch and noble in themselves, had weakened the
moral fibre of Biggs. Weakened it to the point where, in the face of
danger, nothing was important except that he live to return to the arms
of his loved one.
These things I could understand. But I could not forgive them. Because
love or no love, fear or no fear, a spaceman has a tradition to live up
to. And Lancelot Biggs had tossed into the discard the very tradition
now upheld by Dick Todd as he said, quietly, "Shall I advise the men,
sir?"
And by Captain Hanson who said, "Yes, Todd. And--and order Garrity to
cut off Mr. Biggs' intensifier. We may die, but we can die trying to
escape. And a slower speed will give us more time--"
"Yes, sir," said Todd, and moved toward the audio. But he had barely
reached out his hand toward it when sharp speech rasped from its black
throat in remembered tones.
"Stop, Todd! Don't give that order, Skipper!"
It was the voice of Lancelot Biggs!
* * * * *
Captain Hanson had subdued his rage once. But now his face crimsoned,
his great hands clenched, and fury was a ponderable vigor in his voice.
"_You!_ Where are you, sir!"
"In the life-skiff," replied Biggs imperturbably.
Almost insolently, I thought. As if he knew he were speaking from the
only place of possible security in a doomed ship. "Todd, do as I say
and do it fast! There's no time to lose! Tell Chief Garrity to turn the
verniers of my V-I unit _all the way_ to the red line on the extreme
right! Understand?"
Once again Hanson's roar interrupted.
"Come back here, you coward, and die with your fellow-officers like
the man you once pretended to be! What do you mean by skulking in a
hideaway, giving orders aboard _my_ ship?"
"Shut up!" bellowed Biggs. And it was not just his audacity in speaking
thus to a space commander that shocked me, it was the razor-edged
intensity of his voice. "Todd--give that order immediately! For God's
sake, act! We've no time to lose!"
Todd's eyes sought mine. He knew, as well as I did, that the skipper
was too furious to give an intelligent command.
"That--that's the limiting velocity, Sparks!" Todd choked. "Biggs must
be insane. We'll be translated again into the negative universe. And no
way to get back--_ever_!"