Keating opened his eyes slowly, dimly aware of the familiar throbbing
headache and a dull racking pain around the chest. Hazy-looking behind
a galaxy of dancing spots was the instrument panel. He shook his head
sideways--hard. The spots dissolved and the big panel board jumped into
focus. The ship was two hundred miles above the Montauk Spaceport. He
flicked a glance over his shoulder, half expecting to see the familiar
blue uniforms of his fellow crewmates. Instead he saw three men and a
girl--a girl with long shapely legs and taffy-blonde hair.
So it was true then. It hadn't been a dream after all.
After the passengers began to stir, he turned. "Have a nice sleep?" he
asked.
Diane shot him a pale smile.
Stewart Ferguson pretended to applaud. "Splendid Captain," he said
contemptuously. "A momentous speech for a momentous occasion. Come, say
something more for the history books!"
There was an awkward silence. Then Spero guffawed. Carl bit off the
angry reply that jumped to his lips. "All right, I will," he said. "How
about someone brewing a pot of coffee?"
Diane got up and disappeared into the galley. Minutes later, she
returned with a tray of containers. She stopped momentarily when Spero,
leaning against one of the ports at the end of the companionway, said
something to her, then abruptly, she quickened her pace. When she
handed Carl the coffee her face was a deep scarlet.
Carl Keating stared vacantly out of the blister window watching the
fleecy-white rim of the earth roll up toward them. The trip, less than
one hour old, was already a hotbed of smoldering emotions. Worst of
all, was the fact that things were almost sure to get worse before
they got better. Under the best of conditions, space does strange
things to individuals cramped together in the confines of a ship.
Army records are crammed full of case histories where men, failing to
adjust themselves to existing conditions, have reacted in ways which
are probably best left in the files. But military men are schooled and
conditioned for space, and while complete and mutual understanding
seldom exists, there is usually, even as there was between Spero and
himself, an unwritten live-and-let-live policy among crew members.
But they weren't in the army anymore, and no one seemed more aware
of it than Paul Spero. Never a model officer, Spero in his new-found
freedom, had become almost unbearably obnoxious. Nor could he expect
any cooperation from Stewart Ferguson. He could handle him, he hoped.
All of which brought him to the big question. What about Diane?
It was probably a paradox that while the more unsavory military case
histories were due to men being without women, the proximity of a
long-legged taffy-blonde in this case was a factor more conducive to
mutiny than harmony.
And curiously enough, it was Diane Hamlin herself, who came up with
at least part of the answer. She was smart--whether or not she'd
been around was a question to ponder over while staring into the
star-studded blackness beyond the blister ports. But one thing was
certain: the girl had an almost uncanny knowledge of the working's of
men's minds, an insight of psychology which she applied diplomatically
if not ruthlessly to all aboard.
With just the right amount of good-natured tolerance she either ignored
or subtly evaded the bluntly-pointed remarks of Stewart Ferguson and
deftly sidestepped the impulsive hands of Paul Spero. On several
occasions when a crisis seemed imminent, she disappeared--always
good-naturedly and on a new logical pretense--into the small cubbyhole
to which she'd been assigned. So tactfully was all this accomplished
that they'd already passed the halfway mark before Carl realized that
he hadn't spoken to her alone since during the preparations.
* * * * *
He was mildly surprised therefore, when while spelling Spero at the
controls during the sleep period, he became suddenly aware of someone
standing at his elbow. She was wearing a robins-egg-blue dressing robe,
loose-fitting except around the curve of her breasts. She sat down in
the co-pilot's seat next to him.
"Mind if I keep you company awhile? I can't seem to get to sleep."
"A pleasure," Carl said with genuine enthusiasm.... He stopped
awkwardly, wondering what to say.... Impulsively, he ran his open hand
across the width of the blister glass. "Want a hunk of space, baby. Say
where to cut and I'll slice it for you."
She smiled a little. "You sound a little like Ferguson when you talk
that way."
Carl pretended to check the dials.
"Carl?"
On his forearm he could feel Diane's fingers. He turned.
"What makes a man like that?"
He moved his shoulders. "I don't know, unless it's because he's always
been able to buy anything he's ever wanted. As far as I know, there's
only been one thing he hasn't been able to buy, and he's working on
that."
"You mean immortality?"
Carl ignored the question. "Why ask me about Ferguson's mind anyhow?"
he asked suddenly. "You're the psychologist of this expedition." He
watched her nibble on her lower lip for a moment, then went on: "You
don't have to admit it. I just want you to know you've been doing a
good job. I don't know how long you can keep it up or what happens
after we get to Venus, but up till now you've been doing all right.
There's only one thing wrong with the setup as far as I can see, and
that's that this arm's-length policy apparently applies to me as well
as it does to everyone else. I know it's necessary to the plan, and I
know it's a selfish argument, but it bothers me!"
She turned and faced him. For a moment it occurred to him she was
angry, but when she spoke, her voice was soft, and deep, and lingering.
"I'm sorry, Carl, but you can see why it has to be this way.... I
mean--"
Carl leaned over suddenly and kissed her full on the lips. She didn't
pull away. Neither did she respond the way he'd have liked her to.
After a brief interval he felt the pressure of her hand against his
shoulder.
"Please Carl, not now."
"When?"
She turned away. On the starboard port he could see the reflection of
her finely-moulded face. She looked wistful, almost on the verge of
tears.
"I don't know, Carl," she said wearily. "Maybe after we're settled on
Venus. Maybe after the migration starts."
Keating hacked up a laugh. "Just what makes you so sure there's going
to be a migration, or for that matter any little men who never grow old
as long as they have their daily diet of ammonia and chlorine?"
He watched her turn, felt her eyes bore into him. "You don't believe
it, do you?"
"I'm not sure," Carl said carefully, "I want to believe it, only I've
listened to so many bug yarns in my time it's probably warped my sense
of values. The whole thing just sounds too fantastic."
"But the pictures?"
"The pictures were real enough," Carl admitted. "I'd vouch for that.
It's just that if you'd ever caught a whiff of that stuff like I have,
you'd know that no one could breathe it and stay alive for sixty
seconds, much less forever."
"What do you think we'll find?"
Carl shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe the story's true. Sometimes I find
myself wondering what it would be like to be immortal--I mean after all
the willful-wishing's over with, and you get down to thinking about it
in terms of 'what's-in-it-for-me.' Most of us think of immortality as
being something we could have on our own terms. But suppose everyone
were immortal, the way they'll be--or could be--after this so-called
migration starts. How much will people have really changed. They'll
have just as many problems--bigger ones in fact, 'cause they'll be
living on what to me is just about the God-awfulest hunk of crud in the
galaxy. And the only thing they're getting in the way of compensation
is the knowledge that these same troubles are going to go on forever."
She was staring at him now--attentively with her lips slightly parted.
"You feel this way, and you still agreed to come," she said evenly.
"Why?"
Carl forced a smile. "Like I said, maybe I can have it on my own terms.
It's a gamble, but if it pays off it'll be worth it."
Diane got up. "I'd best be getting back," she said.
He watched her till she disappeared around the corner of the
companionway. Then he fixed his gaze on the marble-sized disc to the
right of Polaris.
"Immortality, and thou," he murmured.
* * * * *
Carl Keating nosed the ship into a standard satellite maneuver,
circling the planet twice before he cleaved into the unbroken
ocean of ammonia clouds that shrouded the planet. Then they were
falling--falling through a smoky whiteness that boiled against the
portholes, settling in spots, and condensing into tiny rivulets that
ran the length of the amber glass. The ship shuddered sharply three
times as its powerful thrust engines reached out, challenging the
herculean fingers of gravity; fighting them--fighting them to a draw.
Then the misty ports cleared, and the ship settled with a gentle bump
in the center of a broad meadow.
Not till after the controls had been checked, and the atomic reactor
switch set to recharge, did he look at the passengers. They were
standing in the companionway, their faces pressed against the ports. He
crossed the control room and peered over the bony shoulder of Norman
Hamlin.
Dismal-looking, even through the amber glass, the miserable panorama
rolled away from them. A quarter-mile away, the meadow ended at the rim
of a small ridge, beyond which a hill dipped down--down across the roof
of a purple-brown saroo forest that merged with an abyss of swirling
green fog that swallowed up the horizon. In the foreground, a few
packing cases lay scattered about in front of a large white hemisphere
topped by a radio antenna and American flag. It was all there, exactly
the way it had been left by the military almost six months ago.
"That's a permanent building," Carl said to no one in particular. "Just
before we evacuated, Colonel Brophy stocked it up with all our excess
supplies, just on the chance someone might be crazy enough to come back
here. We even left the separator running when we left. So take a good
look at it, 'cause inside that bubble is the only breath of air on the
whole planet."
"Very nice of the military," Ferguson commented dryly.
"Let's hope we won't have to use it long," Dr. Hamlin said.
Carl looked out the port. Rain, that doused the planet almost twenty
hours a day, had started to fall, settling in small puddles at the base
of the ship and drenching the broad-leafed saroo trees.
"I wouldn't bet on it," he said.
As if in a trance, Diane continued to stare at the melancholy
landscape. "It's more that awful color than anything else," she said
finally. "It makes everything seem so angry looking. How about the rest
of the planet? Is it all like this?"
"No," Carl said, "it's not all like this. That's the trouble. This
is one of the more livable spots. That's why it was chosen by the
military. Roughly ten percent of the planet lies above water, but out
of that, only five percent of the terrain is in the visual belt."
"I'll play the straight man," Ferguson said. "Tell us, Captain, what is
the visual belt?"
"The visual belt represents the altitude from approximately three to
four thousand feet above sea level," Carl told him. "Below that you
have the green ground haze you see over the tops of those trees, and
above it is the ten-mile-thick layer of clouds that never lift. Both
are so thick, that except around the fringe areas, you can't even count
your own fingers."
"Nice place to take your girl for a walk," Ferguson said, looking at
Diane pointedly.
"Is anyone interested in what I think?" Spero said suddenly.
"Think away," Carl said. "Who's there to stop you?"
"That's exactly what I'd like to talk about," Spero said grimly. "It
seems to me that for a fellow who left his rank back at the separation
center, you've certainly been assuming a lot of authority around here."
Carl felt a warm flush rising to his cheekbones. "We've been in space,"
he said. "The pilot of a ship is responsible for the actions of
everyone aboard."
Spero jerked a thumb at the blister port. "I've got news for you,
Keating," he said. "We're not IN space anymore, so you may consider
yourself relieved of your authority. For five weeks now we've watched
you swagger around the ship like the hero of a grade-B space-opera, and
frankly I think we're all a little sick of it!"
"Aren't you dramatizing this a little heavy," Diane said suddenly.
"Shut up!" Spero said harshly.
Stewart Ferguson sat down, folding his hands in his lap. "My, my," he
said. "A real live mutiny, just like one reads about. Tell me, when
does Jack Jupiter come crashing through the lock-door?"
"I wasn't aware that anyone in particular was in command," Diane
persisted, "but if you think we need someone, I'd suggest we take a
vote."
Spero grinned. "No, honey. We all know who your money's riding on.
That's why you can forget all those dreams about you and Keating
settling down in a saroo covered cottage for the next three or four
thousand years. You see, I've got different plans."
From the slash pocket of his tunic Spero suddenly whipped out a
snub-nosed needle gun, waving it carelessly across the width of the
cabin. He flicked a glance at Ferguson.
"Surprise," he said. "Jack Jupiter just crashed the lock-door. I'm Jack
Jupiter!"
"You'll never get away with this," Carl said.
The smile on Spero's face broadened. "Oh, come Keating. How corny
can you get? I have gotten away with it. Since I'm the only one who
can lead you to immortality, what's more natural than for me to take
command? My first official act will be to detail you, Ferguson, and
Dr. Hamlin to go outside and activate the blister. You'll find space
jumpers in the airlock. Diane and I will stay here and figure out a
plan of action."
Carl took a step forward. "I'm afraid we can't go along with your
plan," he said quietly.
Spero leveled the lethal end of the weapon against his chest. "You're
acting stupidly, Keating. You know you can't stop me, just as you know
I'll kill you if you try. You above all people should know that."
There was a stagnant silence, during which Carl held his ground.
Violently he was aware of the beating of his own heart. The tapping
got louder as he watched Spero's finger tighten on the trigger. Then
suddenly he realized it wasn't his heart. SOMEONE WAS TAPPING ON THE
THICK GLASS INSIDE THE CONTROL ROOM.
Spero heard it, too. For a confused moment, his trigger-finger relaxed
as he tried to flick a quick glance toward the source of the sound.
Then the world exploded in his face.