[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction
August 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the
U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
[Illustration]
[Sidenote: _The right question kept getting the wrong answer--but old
Ethan and Amantha got the right answer by asking the wrong question!_]
"Space life expectancy has been increased to twenty-five months and six
days," said Marlowe, the training director. "That's a gain of a full
month."
_Millions of miles from Earth, Ethan also looked discontentedly proud.
"A mighty healthy-looking boy," he declared._
Demarest bent a paperweight ship until it snapped. "It's something.
You're gaining on the heredity block. What's the chief factor?"
"Anti-radiation clothing. We just can't make them effective enough."
_Across space, on distant Mars, Amantha reached for the picture. "How
can you tell he ain't sickly? You can't see without glasses."_
_Ethan reared up. "Jimmy's boy, ain't he? Our kids were always healthy,
'specially the youngest. Stands to reason their kids will be better."_
_"Now you're thinking with your forgettery. They were all sick, one time
or another. It was me who took care of them, though. You always could
find ways of getting out of it." Amantha touched the chair switch._
The planets whirled around the Sun. Earth crept ahead of Mars, Venus
gained on Earth. The flow of ships slackened or spurted forth anew,
according to what destination could be reached at the moment:
"A month helps," said Demarest. "But where does it end? You can't
enclose a man completely, and even if you do, there still is the air he
breathes and food he eats. Radiation in space contaminates everything
the body needs. And part of the radioactivity finds its way to the
reproductive system."
* * * * *
Marlowe didn't need to glance at the charts; the curve _was_ beginning
to flatten. Mathematically, it was determinable when it wouldn't rise at
all. According to analysis, Man someday might be able to endure the
radiation encountered in space as long as three years, if exposure times
were spaced at intervals.
But that was in the future.
"There's a lot you could do," he told Demarest. "Shield the atomics."
"Working on it," commented Demarest. "But every ounce we add cuts down
on the payload. The best way is to get the ship from one place to
another faster. It's time in space that hurts. Less exposure time, more
trips before the crew has to retire. It adds up to the same thing."
_On Mars, Amantha fondled the picture. "Pretty. But it ain't real." She
laid it aside._
_Ethan squinted at it. "I could make you think it was. Get it enlarged,
solidified. Have them make it soft, big as a baby. You could hold it in
your lap."_
_"Outgrew playthings years ago." Amantha adjusted the chair switch, but
the rocking motion was no comfort._
_Ethan turned the picture over, face down. "Nope. Hate to back you up,
'Mantha, but it ain't the same. There's nothing like a baby, wettin' and
squallin' and smilin', stubborn when it oughtn't to be and sweet and
gentle when you don't expect it. Robo-dolls don't fool anybody who's
ever held the real thing."_
In the interval, Earth had drawn ahead. The gap between the two planets
was widening.
"That's another fallacy," objected the training director. "The body can
stand just so much acceleration. We're near the limit. What good are
faster ships?"
"That's your problem," said Demarest. "Get me tougher crewmen. Young,
afraid of nothing, able to take it."
It always ended here--younger, tougher, the finest the race
produced--and still not good enough. And after years of training, they
had twenty-five months to function as spacemen. It was a precious thing,
flight time, and each trip was as short as science could make it.
Conjunction was the magic moment for those who went between the planets.
It was the heredity block that kept Man squeezed, confined to Earth,
Mars and Venus, preventing him from ranging farther. The heredity block
was a racial quantity, the germ plasm, but not just that. Crew and
passengers were protected as much as possible from radiation encountered
in space and that which originated in the ship's drive. The protection
wasn't good enough. Prolonged exposure had the usual effects,
sterilization or the production of deformed mutations.
Man was the product of evolution on a planet. He didn't step out into
space without payment.
* * * * *
The radiation that damaged genes and chromosomes and tinier divisions
also struck nerve cells. Any atom might be hit, blazing, into fission
and decaying into other elements. The process was complicated. The
results were not: the nerve was directly stimulated, producing aural and
visual hallucinations.
Normally, the hallucination was blanked out. But as the level of body
radioactivity increased, so did the strength of the vision. It dominated
consciousness. The outside world ceased to have meaning.
The hallucination took only one form, a beautiful woman outside the
ship, unclad and beckoning.
It was the image of vanished fertility that appeared once the person was
incapable of reproducing _as a human_.
Why this was so hadn't been determined. Psychologists had investigated
and learned only that it invariably occurred after too great exposure.
There was another thing they learned. No, that had come first. This was
the reason they had investigated.
In the Solar System, the greatest single source of radiation, including
the hard rays, was the Sun. It was natural that the siren image should
seem stronger in that direction, that it should fade or retreat toward
its origin. No one had ever returned from compulsive pursuit of the
illusionary woman, though in early days radio contact had been made with
ships racing toward the Sun.
The heredity block was self-enforcing.
Deviously, the race protected itself, or something higher watched over
it to assure _human_ continuity. Marlowe wasn't sure which, but it was
there.
"I think you're on the wrong track," he said. "Shield the ship
completely and it won't matter how long the trip takes. The crew can
work in safety."
Demarest grunted. "Some day we'll have an inertia-free drive and it
won't matter how much mass we use. It does now. Our designs are a
compromise. Both of us have to work with what's possible, not what we
dream of. I'll build my ship; you find the right crew to man it."
Marlowe went back to his graphs. Machines could be changed, but the
human body clung stubbornly to the old patterns. He couldn't select his
crews any younger--but was there perhaps a racial type more resistant to
radiation? Where? No place that he knew of. Maybe the biologists could
produce one, he thought hopefully, and knew he was fooling himself.
Human beings weren't fruit flies; by the time enough generations rolled
around for the resistant strain to breed true--and leave a surplus to
man the ships--he would be long dead and the problem solved.
The best of humanity would be dead, too, wiped out by sterilization.
Or the Solar System would be peopled by mutant monstrosities.
* * * * *
Far away, and not concerned with the problem, Ethan shrugged resignedly.
"Guess we'll have to get used to the idea--we just won't see him till he
grows up--if we'll still be around."
"You've got years and years ahead of you, and not worth a thing the
whole time!" Amantha snapped.
"Damnation," said Ethan wistfully, "I'd like to dandle him."
"Won't be the same when he grows up and comes here," Amantha conceded.
"There I go agreein' with you! What's got into me?"
"Maybe we can get on the next slow ship. They run them once in a while
for people with weak hearts." He considered. "Don't know whether Retired
Citizens' Home will let us go, though."
"Retired Citizens!" She blew her nose scornfully. "They think we don't
know it's just a home for the aged!" She threw away the tissue. "Think
they'll let us?"
"It won't be them so much that'll stop us. Our hearts ain't too good and
we haven't got much space time to use. We shouldn't have gone to Venus."
"We had to see Edith and Ed and their kids and we had to come back to
Mars so we could be near John and Pearl and Ray. Let's not regret what
we've done." She picked at the chair arm. "We've been here a long time,
ain't we?"
Ethan nodded.
"Maybe they've forgotten we've only got a month left," she said eagerly.
"You sure it's a month?"
"Figure it out. It took longer when we went."
"Then it's no use. A slow ship is all we'd be allowed to take--and we
wouldn't be allowed because it'd be more than a month."
"They won't remember every last minute we spent in space."
"They will, too," he stated. "They've got records."
"Maybe they lost them."
"Look, we've got kids and grandchildren here. They come around and see
us. Do we have to go to Earth, 'specially when it'd be against the law?"
"That's just it," she argued. "We've seen all our other kids' kids.
Ain't we going to see the youngest? How do we know his wife can take
care of a baby? I can't sleep nights, thinking of it."
"Try catnaps during the day, like I do."
Amantha touched the button and the automatic chair stopped abruptly.
"Are you going to try to get tickets or aren't you?"
"I'll think about it. Go ahead and rock."
"I won't," she said obstinately, "not even if it was the kind of chair
you can rock yourself. I thought I married a man who'd make me happy."
"I've always done my best. Go ahead and rock."
"But will you try to get the tickets?"
Ethan nodded resignedly and felt better when the chair began to swing
back and forth. There was no living with a woman when she didn't have
peace of mind.
* * * * *
Amantha lay in bed, listening. Sometimes her hearing was very good, the
way it used to be. Other times, it wasn't worth a thing. The way it came
and went reminded her of when she was young and used to wonder why old
folks couldn't hear. Now she could often lie next to Ethan and not even
notice whether he was snoring. Tonight her hearing was good.
Footsteps came from the hall, creaky noises of someone trying not to
make a sound. She'd lain awake many nights, hearing him come home. She
knew who it was and for once she didn't mind. The Home for Retired
Citizens had rules.
Careful, she thought. There's the bad spot where the floor's thin and
bends when you step on it. Then when your foot comes off it, it goes
ploinnnnng. They don't build right any more. Skimping and trying to
save.
But there wasn't a sound. Ethan avoided it. When she thought of it, she
realized he had a suspicious amount of skill--the skill of practice.
Ethan was fumbling at the door and she forgot her irritation. She
slipped out of bed and swung the door open. He stumbled in against her.
"'Mantha, they laughed--"
"Did you have anything to eat?" she broke in.
"Cup of that Mars coffee. But--"
"Don't talk till you get something hot inside. Empty belly, empty head."
"Can't eat stuff that comes out of the wall. I'll wait till breakfast."
She flicked the light on low and punched the selector. She took the
glow-plate from under the bed and set it on the table. As the food
arrived, she heated it and began adding spices. "There--it ain't real
food, but you can pretend."
Ethan pretended and, when the food was gone, wiped his lips and looked
at her.
She nodded. "Now you can tell me--but keep your voice low. Don't wake
anyone up."
Ethan stretched and creaked. "Went down to the Interplanet office and
they wouldn't talk to me. Said there wasn't any ship leaving for the
next ten months and they didn't sell tickets in advance. I kept
pestering them and they got mad. They looked up our records and said we
couldn't go anytime, except on a fast ship, and, considering our age, it
was doubtful they'd let us. Didn't give up, though, and finally they
said we might get a release from the man who'd take us. Maybe they
wanted to get rid of me. Anyway, they sent me down to talk with one of
the pilots."
* * * * *
Amantha approved. Go straight to the man responsible. Persistence could
get you there.
"He talked real nice for a while," Ethan continued. "He explained he
didn't own the ship and didn't have the say-so who he took. I knew you
wanted to go real bad. I offered him the money we'd saved."
"_All_ of it, Ethan?"
"Don't get mad. Figured it was worth it to you."
"Don't believe in paying extra," she mused, "but did you tell him we
could borrow some if it wasn't enough?"
"Didn't get a chance. He started laughing, saying didn't I understand he
got paid not just for each trip, but for all the years after that, when
he was finished and had used up his time and couldn't work at the only
thing he knew? Saying that he wouldn't risk that kind of security for
any money and I was an idiot for believing he might." Ethan trembled.
"Never mind. He's an old fool."
"He's younger than Jimmy."
"Some people get wisdom when they're young."
Ethan sat morosely in the chair. "If Jimmy hadn't made that last trip,
he'd be here and he'd have married a girl here and his kids would be
here. We wouldn't have to worry about them."
"I guess so, but he was lucky anyway. They found out he wasn't as strong
as he was supposed to be and wouldn't let him come back." She began
clearing the dishes. "How'd they know he couldn't come back?"
"They got tests. They give them each trip."
She should have thought of it. They had tests. Because of tests, Jimmy
was safe but distant. She sat down.
"Tired." Ethan yawned. "Let's go to bed."
"You go. I'm thinking."
Amantha went on thinking while he undressed and lay down. Sometimes it
was difficult--things weren't as clear as they used to be. Tonight,
though, she had no trouble managing her mind. A woman who had kids had
to know her way around things. Presently, she said, "Tomorrow I'm going
to bake."
Ethan stirred. "Won't do no good. Didn't say so, but there was a girl
talking to the pilot when I got there. She was crying and begging him to
take her to Earth next trip. Said she'd do anything if he would."
"Shame on her!" exclaimed Amantha. "But did it work?"
"She was young and pretty and still he wouldn't pay attention to her,"
said Ethan. "What chance would you have?"
"I'm going to bake tomorrow. In the morning, we're supposed to go for a
walk. We'll take a big basket. Do you remember the old canal nobody goes
near any more?"
There was no answer. Ethan was asleep. Now that she'd decided what to
do, she lay down beside him.
* * * * *
The sentry huddled in his post. It was insulated and supplied with
oxygen, very much like a spacesuit. Though big for a spacesuit, it was a
small place to spend hours in without relief. But there were
compensations: never anything to do--except as now. He went to the mike.
"Get back," he shouted.
They paid no attention.
Swearing, he shouted again, turning up the volume. Even in the thin air,
he had enough sound to blast them off their feet. But they kept on
going. He poked the snout of his weapon through the porthole and then
withdrew it. Who'd given him those orders anyway? He didn't have to obey
them. He clamped on his oxygen helmet and slipped into electric mitts
and hurried outside.
[Illustration]
"Where do you think you're going?" he demanded, standing in front of
them.
"Hello," said Amantha. "Didn't see anyone around."
Damn senior citizens--they never used hearing aids. "You've got to turn
around and go back," he said.
"Why?"
He was shivering and didn't see how they could stand it. Thin clothing
and obsolete oxygen equipment. Oddly, they could take more than you'd
think, though. Used to it, he supposed. "Come on in," he commanded
gruffly. He wasn't going to freeze. They followed him into the post.
"Didn't you see the signs to keep out?"
"But the ships aren't using the field. What harm are we doing?"
"Orders," he said. There were still a few pilots checking over their
ships, making sure everything was in working condition before they were
locked up. In a week, all flight personnel would be gone to the
settlements, there to await the next round of voyages when Earth came
near. They had it soft, while he, the guard, had to stay in cold
discomfort.
"We're going to visit a friend of my son," said Amantha. "They were
pilots together. Do you object?"
He didn't, but there were some who would. The order made sense with
respect to little boys who would otherwise swarm over the field, falling
off ships or getting stuck in rocket tubes.
"What have you got?" he asked, eying Amantha's parcel dubiously.
"I baked something." She opened a corner of the package and the smell
drifted out. "Made it with Martian fruit. Not much of it around these
days."
He sniffed and became hungry. That was queer--he'd eaten before coming
on duty.
"Okay," he said. "You can go. Don't get caught or it's my neck." He
stood closer to the old man and woman, and the package, too, and pointed
out the window. "Act like you're leaving in case anyone's checking up.
When you get near the line of ships, duck behind them and walk along
until you find the right one. No one will see you except me."
Amantha pinched the package together. "I'd give you some, but I can't
cut it before the pilot sees it."
"I guess you can't," said the sentry wistfully. "Maybe he won't eat all
of it."
"May he won't. I'll bring you back what's left--if there _is_ any left."
Long after they were gone, the sentry stood there, trying to analyze the
indefinable odor. He was still standing there when the checkup squad
marched in and arrested him for gross dereliction of duty.
* * * * *
"Go away," said the pilot, disappearing from the viewport. Ethan pounded
on the hull with a rock. The pilot came back, twisting his face. "Stop
it. I'll angle the rocket tubes around and squirt you with them."
Ethan raised the rock.
"Okay," said the pilot. "I'll talk to you, though I know what you want."
Sullenly, he made the hatch swing open. He looked down at them. "All
right, let's hear it."
"Got a present for you," said Ethan.
"Not allowed to take bribes unless it's money."
"Young man, where are your manners?" snapped Amantha.
"Haven't got any. It's the first thing they train out of you." The pilot
started to jerk his head back, saw the rock and decided not to close the
hatch. He glanced at the narrow ladder to the ground. "I'll take your
present. Bring it up."
He stopped smirking as Amantha hitched up her skirts and, holding the
package in one hand, swung up the ladder. Agile as goats and probably as
sensible, he thought. He took hold of her as she neared the top.
"Grandma, you're too old to climb around. You'll break every brittle
bone in your body if you fall."
"Ain't so brittle," said Amantha, making way for Ethan who had followed
her. "My, it's cold!" She began shivering. "Invite us in to get warm."
"You can't go in. I'm busy. Hey, wait!" The pilot hurried after her into
the control compartment.
Amantha was looking around when he arrived. "Cozy but kind of bare," she
said. "Why don't you hang up pictures?"
"Most fabulous pictures you'll ever see are right there."
Amantha followed his glance. "Nothing but Mars. I can see that every
day." She puzzled over it. "Oh, you're teasing an old woman. I didn't
mean what you see out of the port, stars and planets and such. I'd want
a picture of an Indian settin' on a horse."
"I'll bet!" muttered the pilot. "Get warm in a hurry. I've got work to
do."
"You just go ahead," she said. "We'll set here and toast our toes. We
don't aim to interfere."
"I'll stay," said the pilot hastily. "Let's have the present." He'd made
a tactical error--he should have ignored the noise that went shimmering
through the hull when the old man had pounded with a rock. No, it was
nice to think he could have, but impossible. Patience was one of the
things the aged did have and the young didn't.
Amantha set the package down. The pilot scrambled ahead of her and got
the navigator's instruments off the desk and into the drawer.
She opened and displayed the contents.
"I baked it for you," she said. "It's a cake."
* * * * *