"I have. The pilot had to check the crew panel before he could take
off. If he did, and saw that I was missing, why didn't he wait? If he
didn't see that I wasn't inside the ship, then the panel was defective
too. It's hard to believe."
Franklan filled a small tank with fluid and motioned toward it.
Alsint dipped his hands in. It stung, but he could see that it had a
pronounced healing effect.
Franklan was watching him narrowly. "Service on a tag ship is
voluntary. It has to be, considering all the solitude we have to take.
Any man can withdraw any time he wants. A lot of them do, especially in
the first three years. However, bear this in mind. You've practically
accused someone on the ship of trying to leave you behind. I know you
do think that. And if you can produce evidence, I'll believe you. But
there is one person on whom suspicion will fall first."
That was what Alsint wanted to hear. He'd gone over it in his mind and
couldn't find anyone to suspect. Any clue was welcome.
"Who?" he asked.
"You," said Franklan. "If _I_ wanted to leave the tag ship service, I'd
see to it that I made as graceful an exit as possible. Forced out by an
accident, of course. I'd want to tell people that."
* * * * *
He might have expected that kind of attitude. Franklan was proud of the
work he was associated with. Nothing wrong with that; everyone had that
right. In fact, if he didn't, he had no business doing it.
However, it made things difficult for Alsint. He was on a tag ship
for other reasons. He had evolved several strains of plant cells that
should be especially suited for use on tag ships.
For some reason the plants on tag ships were always dying. Ships
returned to inhabited planets for refueling with the machines intact
but with the plants dead. The plant cells had to be replaced. It was
not that the actual material was expensive. It wasn't. But the process
of getting the strange cells to work together as a new unit was
time-consuming and enormously costly. That was where the trouble came.
The plant couldn't be fitted together like an engine.
Alsint had evolved cells that were far more viable, but the only way to
test that was in actual use. He had received permission from the Bureau
of Exploration to install his plant in a ship and try it for two years.
If at the end of that time the plant was still alive, he had something
really worthwhile. The only stipulation was that no one on the ship
should know that it was a test, since they might, out of consideration
for him, modify the service the ship normally went through. It had to
be a true rough, tough test.
And he was getting it, in more ways than he had expected. Unless he
could stay with his plant for the next year and a half, all his work
would go for nothing.
He drew his hands out of the fluid. "Do you think I'm trying to run
out?" he asked quietly. He had proof that he wasn't, but he couldn't
use it.
Franklan shrugged. "Honestly, I don't. But I'm not blinding myself
to what the others will think." He squinted professionally at the
burns and dried the hands with a gentle blast of air. He picked up a
large tube and squeezed a substance on them which was absorbed almost
instantly. "There. You'll be all right in a few days."
"Thanks," Alsint said laconically and stood up.
As he went out the door, Franklan called after him. "If I see the
captain, I'll tell him I don't think you tried to jump ship. I doubt
that he'll ask. As I said, service on this ship is voluntary."
Personally, Alsint didn't care what Franklan told the captain. However,
he was at a definite disadvantage. Next time they came to a planet, if
he were to disappear, nobody would be overly inquisitive.
* * * * *
The tagging operation was far from complete--seven planets in the
system and each had to be thoroughly investigated. Long-range
investigation, of course. A tag ship rarely landed, and then only
when the planet under consideration seemed extremely desirable for
colonization, enough to warrant closer observation.
It didn't matter whether it had a breathable atmosphere or not, whether
it was ice-bound or blazing hot. These were minor difficulties and
engineering ingenuity could overcome them. There were other criteria,
and it was for these that they were checked.
Alsint went out into the ship. There was a lot of activity, but much
of it was invisible, electronic in nature, affecting only instruments.
The ship had slipped into an orbit, the plane of which intersected the
axis of planetary revolution at the most effective angle. The ship went
around twice while the planet revolved three times. In that period the
mineral resources were plotted and the approximate quantities of each
were determined.
Larienne looked up as he came near. "This is a real find," she said
cheerfully.
"I suppose you've located the heavy stuff," he said, knowing that it
was a superfluous statement.
"What else would we look for?" She bent over the small torpedo shape
she was working on. "Not just one, either. This is the second planet in
the system with enough heavy elements to be worth settling."
"What's the gravity?" He didn't always share the enthusiasm others had
for their discoveries.
"The first was 1.6. This is about 2.3. A little high for personal
comfort, but with the mineral resources there, the settlers can manage."
"What about atmosphere?"
"The first hasn't much, frozen mostly. This one has chlorine in it."
She grinned at him. "Your old theme, huh?"
It was an old theme, though he didn't argue it. He was entitled to
personal reactions. "Maybe. Would you like to live on either of them?"
"Don't have to," she said, making an adjustment on the torpedo. "Never
get out on a planet more than twice a year. In fact, I've almost
forgotten what a year means."
That was the point, possibly, though there was no use to discuss it.
"Anything else of interest?"
"We're coming to a smaller planet. Land, oceans, warm enough, and with
an atmosphere we can probably breathe as is. Don't know the composition
of the solid matter yet, but from our mass reading, it's a good bet
that there won't be enough heavy stuff to justify settlement." She made
a final delicate adjustment on the torpedo and began wheeling it to a
launching tube. "This one's in a rich system, though, and will probably
be used as an administration planet--vacation spot too. It won't go to
waste, if that is what's worrying you."
In a way, it was. It was too bad that so many planets that were
otherwise ideal for human habitation had to be passed over because
they lacked the one essential. There was no help for it, of course. To
settle planets, spaceships were necessary--and heavy elements to drive
those ships. Nothing else mattered in the least.
* * * * *
Larienne snapped the torpedo in place and pressed a stud. The dark
shape disappeared. Out in space, it fell into an orbit which
eventually would land it safely on the planet.
"There," she said with quiet satisfaction. "It's tagged, and it will
stay tagged until somebody digs it up."
It might be a month, or a hundred years, before Colonization got around
to it. Meanwhile the torpedo was there, broadcasting at intervals the
information that the tag ship had discovered. Somewhere in a remote
planning center, a new red dot appeared in a three-dimensional model of
space, to be accounted for in a revised program of expansion.
Larienne brushed the hair out of her eyes. There was a smudge on her
face. "I'm busy," she said. "But I can get out of this if you need me."
As long as she was more interested in what she was doing, he'd rather
not have her. He shook his head. "I'll manage," he said, and headed
toward the plant.
The instant he entered, something seemed wrong. He couldn't say what it
was without investigation. It was a big complex machine as well as a
plant, and even reading all the dials was not enough; visual inspection
was necessary too. He started at one end and worked toward the other.
The gauges indicated nothing out of the ordinary, but the plant was in
bad condition.
It was something like a tree, the trunk and leaves of which were sound
enough, no discernible injuries, but nevertheless dying. At the roots,
of course. This plant had no roots, merely a series of tanks and trays,
each connected to others in a bewilderingly complex fashion. In that
series, though, was something which corresponded to roots.
He was near the end of the first row before he spotted part of the
trouble. A flow-control valve was far out of adjustment. His hands were
bandaged and clumsy, but he tried to reset it. It was jammed tight and
he couldn't move it.
He could call Larienne, but she was busy. So was the rest of the crew.
With sufficient leverage he could turn the valve. He looked around for
something he could use. A small metal bar leaning against the wall
nearby seemed adequate.
He picked it up--and the bar burned into the bandages. He knew what it
was; he didn't have to think. He could hear the sparks as well as feel
it. Fortunately his shoes were not good conductors and not much of the
charge got through.
With an effort he relaxed his convulsive grip, and still the bar stayed
in his hand. It had fused to the bandage and he couldn't shake it off.
The bar was glowing red; only the relatively nonconductive properties
of the bandage--heat as well as electricity--had prevented his instant
electrocution. And the bar was sinking deeper into the bandage. If it
ever touched his flesh, the charge would be dissipated--through his
body.
He had to ground it. The metal tanks which held the plant would do
that, but also crisp the plant beyond salvage. He had to make a fast
choice.
* * * * *
Holding the bar at arm's length, he ran through the aisle, and, at the
far end, thrust it against the side of the ship.
The resulting flash staggered him, but he stayed on his feet. Though
the metal began cooling rapidly, it remained fused to the bandage. He
laid one end on the floor and stepped on it, tearing it loose.
It was a plain metal bar, made into a superconductor, with an unholy
charge stored in it. This couldn't be an accident. It took work to
turn ordinary metal into a superconductor at room temperature. Also it
couldn't be placed just anywhere. If the charge were to remain in it, a
special surface had to be prepared.
The trap had been set up for him, and he had walked into it. The
bandage had saved him, nothing else. That was the one thing the
unknown person hadn't taken into account.
Who? Larienne? She had access to the plant. But so did anyone else,
just by walking in.
Not Larienne. She had her ugly moments and might try to kill him in a
fit of anger, but she wouldn't plan it coldly, nor go through with the
scheme if she planned it. It didn't take special knowledge to sabotage
the plant. Any control could be moved drastically and the plant would
suffer. The only technical knowledge required was that of making the
bar into a superconductor, and that knowledge she didn't have. True,
she could ask someone to do it for her. But she wouldn't.
Alsint sat down. The actual physical damage from the electrical shock
wasn't great. The certainty that someone had tried to kill him was.
Why? Violent personal hatred for himself he could rule out. He'd
been careful in his contacts with the crew. Only a psychotic could
manufacture a reason to hate him, and psychotics didn't last long on a
tag ship.
It had to be connected to the plant. Someone on the ship was trying to
take it away from him, or one of his competitors had hired one of the
crew to see that he didn't survive. The last was unlikely.
He had no proof that his plant was better, merely a belief that it
was. It seemed illogical that anyone would want to eliminate him on the
strength of an untested belief.
But except for Larienne, no one had enough knowledge to nurse the plant
along for the required two years. Unless he remained alive, no one
would benefit.
He shook his head. It was difficult to add up and arrive at a sensible
answer. One thing he knew, though--hereafter, he'd have to be on his
guard at all times.
He could go to the captain with his story. He considered and rejected
that in the same instant. He'd have to tell the captain everything,
which would invalidate the test. He'd have to handle this by himself.
He got up and continued his inspection of the plant, making minor
adjustments to compensate for the damage. Except for that one valve,
nothing seemed far out of line.
That done, he limped to the dispensary. His hand was aching where he
had torn the bar loose and ripped the flesh.
"Back again?" said Franklan. "Any new information on the enemy?"
By itself, that was a suspicious statement. How could he know about
the latest incident? The easiest answer was that he didn't. He was
referring to the time Alsint had nearly missed the ship.
"Not a thing," Alsint muttered. Unless he wanted to reinforce
Franklan's original opinion, he'd better keep this to himself.
Franklan looked at his hand. "Whatever you've done, I don't recommend
it. It's not the way to get well fast--or at all."
"Grabbed something hot," Alsint said. Might as well say that. The bar
was now just a bar and no examination would reveal that it had been a
superconductor. Same with the insulation it had rested on. He couldn't
prove anything.
* * * * *
Franklan rattled the instruments. "Nothing serious. This'll heal on
schedule, but it's going to hurt while I fix it." He administered a
local anesthetic below the elbow.
It made Alsint dizzy. He sat down and closed his eyes while Franklan
worked. He relaxed more than he intended and then deliberately opened
his eyes because he was drowsy and didn't want to fall asleep.
Over Franklan's shoulder, behind the window that swung out from the
dispensary to the corridor, was a little red bird. It was much like
the one that had fluttered around as he had tried to get on the ship.
Perhaps it had come in with him and hidden in some quiet place until
now. It was possible.