_He knew the captain would be a monster.
He knew the crew would be rough. He knew
all about space travel--except the truth!_
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, March 1960.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
I
"Excuse me, please," Ben Starbuck said, tapping the junior officer on
the epaulet.
"Get away from me, scum," the lieutenant said conversationally, his
eyes on the clipboard in his hands.
Starbuck rocked back on his heels and set his spacebag down on
the loading platform. He angled his head up at the spire of the
inter-atmosphere ship, the _Gorgon_. This was only a sample of what he
could expect once he canted into that hull. It would be rough. But he
had made up his mind to take it.
All tight little groups, like the crew of a spaceship, always resented
the intrusion of a newcomer. The initiations sometimes made it a test
to see whether a man would live over them, and the probation period,
the time of discipline and deference to old members of the group could
be a memorably nasty experience. He didn't have direct knowledge of
such customs in the rather shadowy, enigmatic Space Service, but it was
basic sociology.
Starbuck knew he would have an even rougher time of it since he wasn't
a spaceman--not even a cadet, properly. He was only a fledgling
ethnologist on his field trip to gather material for his Master's
thesis. The university and the government had arranged for his berth on
the _Gorgon_.
An exploration ship, he thought acidly. That meant he might come back
in a few months, or ten years, or never. All because he had the bad
luck to be born in a cultural cycle that demanded hard standards of
education from professional men. Thirty years before or after, he could
have cribbed all the information he needed out of a book.
* * * * *
He stood with his hands clasped behind him, waiting for the lieutenant
or somebody to deign to notice him. Somebody would _have_ to pay some
attention to him sooner or later.
Or would they?
Wouldn't it be just like the old timers to let him stand around and
let the ship take off without him, all because he hadn't followed
the proper procedure--a procedure he couldn't know? All he had been
instructed to do was "report to the _Gorgon_." How do you report to a
spaceship? Say, "Hello, spaceship?" Speak to the captain? The first
mate? And where did he find them?
Starbuck felt a moment of panic. He could see himself standing on the
platform while the _Gorgon_ blasted off, carrying with it his Swabber's
rating, his Master's degree and his future.
The lieutenant's back, in uniform black, loomed up before him. He would
have to try approaching him again. It might mean solitary confinement
for a month or two where no member of the crew would speak to him. It
might even mean a flogging. Nobody knew much about what went on on
board an exploration ship, despite all the stories. But Starbuck knew
he would have to risk it.