The heavy, transparalite portholes of the _Star Queen_ were ruthlessly
pitted and chipped. Little pools of broken, shiny plastic lay on the
grass beneath them. It was as if each port had been struck a hundred
times with an axe.
Captain Torkel and Lieutenant Washington and Fox closed in on Garcia
while Kelly stood smiling into the planet's sun.
"Did you do it, Garcia?" asked the captain. "Did you kill Van Gundy?"
Garcia still squatted on his haunches, dazed and staring. "I don't
know."
"Did you try to smash the ports? Did Van Gundy try to stop you? Is that
why you killed him?"
Garcia shook his head, bewildered.
"Why did you get the pistol?"
"I don't know."
"Did you and Van Gundy fight?"
No answer.
"Don't you remember anything?"
"I remember--" The engineer stopped, trembling.
"Yes, what do you remember?"
"I--I remember we decided not to go to the village, me and Van Gundy.
We started back to the rocket. Then--then I remember you saying for me
to give you the gun."
Fox said, "He's crazy, almost like Kelly. Whatever happened has made
him almost crazy."
"Try to remember, Garcia. We got to know what happened."
"I can't remember."
"Retrograde amnesia," said Lieutenant Washington.
Captain Torkel finally voiced the thought that had taunted him ever
since the discovery of Van Gundy. "Garcia, were the Sirians here? Did
_they_ kill Van Gundy?"
Garcia began to cry....
* * * * *
They buried Van Gundy in the rich moist soil beneath the sea-blue sky
and the blood-red sun. They made a cross from the gnarled limbs of
forest trees and draped it with blue and yellow meadow flowers. In its
center they hung his harmonica and his jetman's medallion with its
silver-starred reproduction of the Big Dipper.
Captain Torkel spoke into the silence, and over the cool meadow flowed
the words, "... Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of
death...."
They put away the shovel. They gave Garcia a sedative and tucked him
into his bunk. They sat Kelly down in the grass and handed him a red
flower to play with.
Then Captain Torkel and Lieutenant Washington and Fox stood gazing into
each other's eyes.
"Say what you're thinking, Captain," said Lieutenant Washington.
Captain Torkel sighed. "All right. It adds up. The Sirians can read
our minds. They know we want to bring our race here. They'll do most
anything to stop us. They attacked the rocket, tried to break the
ports. Garcia and Van Gundy tried to stop them. Van Gundy got killed,
and Garcia scared them away with the pistol."
Lieutenant Washington squinted dubiously at the captain. "I can't
believe that. Why would they be so nice to us in the village?"
"To keep us there as long as possible. To keep us away from the rocket."
"They could have killed us in the village."
"Maybe they really don't want to kill us--unless they have to. Maybe
they'd rather persuade us not to return to Earth."
Fox grumbled, "You say maybe they don't like to kill. Then why would
they kill Van Gundy?"
"Van Gundy was killed with his own knife. That looks like self-defense."
Lieutenant Washington cleared his throat. "There's just one thing
wrong with your ideas. You say the Sirians are trying to bribe us into
staying here, trying to win us over by kindness. Now you say they
tried to smash the ports. If the Sirians are hostile in any way, they
wouldn't combine those two conflicting methods."
Captain Torkel was silent for a moment. "The Sirians are an alien race.
Leadership seems to be an unknown concept to them, even though Taaleeb
unconsciously assumed a kind of leadership this afternoon. The point is
that the race isn't used to carrying out unified plans of procedure.
Taaleeb might have used _his_ method in the village, and another group
might have hit upon the plan of destroying the rocket."
* * * * *
Lieutenant Washington shook his head. "You're wrong, Captain. The
Sirians are good, innocent, child-like. Here's what happened: Garcia
liked to break things. He went wild and started to break the ports. Van
Gundy tried to stop him and got himself killed. The shock gave Garcia
amnesia."
Fox tugged at his beard. "I bet you're right, Lieutenant, I bet that's
it." Eagerness rose in his tone. "How about tonight? Are we still going
to see our companions?"
Captain Torkel spat. "You'd go to the village with Van Gundy's
grave-dirt still on your hands?"
"We've been in a grave for six years. Is there any difference?"
Captain Torkel ignored the question. "We _can't_ forget the people of
Earth!" he said suddenly. "We've got to start home now. Can't you see
what the Sirians are trying to do? They'll get us to stay here tonight,
then--"
Lieutenant Washington snapped, "I told you I made up my mind, Captain.
You want to give us six--no, twelve more years of darkness and
loneliness and frustration. We won't take it. We'd be as mad as Kelly."
"Right!" Fox slapped his fist into his open palm. "We've got no other
choice. We _got_ to stay here!"
Captain Torkel's mouth became a hard, gray line. He stepped back,
spread his legs apart, withdrew his flame-pistol. "Get in the rocket!"
he burst. "That's an order!"
Lieutenant Washington laughed contemptuously.
The captain repeated, "Get in the rocket! I'm your captain. So help me,
I'll--"
"You'll do nothing," spat the rock-faced lieutenant. "Can you
astrogate a rocket, Captain? Can you find your way back to Earth
alone? Can you keep those engines going without Garcia or dodge those
meteors without Fox? Go ahead and kill us. You might as well kill
yourself, too. How about it, Fox?"
"Right," said Fox.
"And you, Kelly?"
"All," murmured Kelly.
"This is mutiny!" screamed Captain Torkel. "You can't--"
"We already have. Now get the hell away from here, Captain."
Despair fell upon Captain Torkel. His head sagged. The flame-pistol
slipped from his fingers....