"What won't?"
"Colonization. Not at these unholy distances, even if we do find an
earth-type planet or two. People won't leave everything behind them
like this. I--I feel cut off. Something's gone, everything, everybody
we knew back there. It's terrible to consider!"
* * * * *
I sat down beside him, stared out into the India-ink and faced a few
over-due realities myself. Our chances of finding a habitable planet
were remote. Finding intelligent life on it was even more unlikely.
That such life would resemble men, was so improbable that the odds in
favor were virtually nonexistent.
So--what had I really to look forward to? A quick survey of the
star-system in the company of these nincompoop ideo-savants, then a
return to a civilization of complete strangers--a culture in which we
would all be anachronisms, almost a century behind the times.
A parade of faces began peering at me out of the darkness. There was
Bess with the golden hair, and Carol and petite Annette--and Cliff, my
red-headed old room-mate who knew how to charcoal-broil a steak--and
our bachelor apartment with the battered old teevee set and my
collection of books and pipes, and there was my out-board jet up on
lovely Lake Vermillion where a man could still catch a fat pike.
What would it be like when we got back? More people, less food, tighter
rationing, crowding beyond conception.
Hell!
When the rest of the crew learned of our sharply-revised estimated time
of arrival they came down with the same emotional cramps afflicting
Larson and Hulbert. It was sickening, a bunch of so-called mature
technicians and scientists moping around like a barracks full of
drafted rookies, matching miniature billfold photos of cuties that
were now approaching crone-hood. The whole venture had become a tragic
affair overnight, and for the next few days all thoughts turned
backward.
So nobody was remotely prepared for what happened. They were even
unprepared to think straight--with their heads instead of their hearts.
And Larson was worst of all!
On the last day Larson eased off our 1800-mile-per-second velocity, and
as the stars started showing again, shifting from faint violet down
into the more cheerful spectrum, spirits aboard began lifting a little.
* * * * *
I was in the control-room with Larson and Mac when we got our first
inkling. Mac was fooling with the electronic search gear, sweeping for
planets, when he gave a yip and pointed a jabbing finger at the scope.
"Audio," he stammered. "Look at that!" He lengthened the sweep and the
jumble of vertical lines spread out like a picket fence made of rubber.
"A carrier wave with audio modulation," he said with disbelief all over
his face.
Larson remained calm. "I hear you, lad. Don't shout." He studied the
signal and frowned deeply. "It's faint, but you can get a fix."
As they played with the instruments I looked forward through the
green shield that protected us from Alpha C's heavy radiation. Our
destination star was now a brilliant blob dominating our piece of
heaven. It was a difficult thing to grasp that we had travelled almost
26 trillion miles--in five days, ship's time.