Stories Complete, page 4
“I don’t believe you’ve met my daughter,” Dr. Hamlin said. “Diane, this is Mr. Keating.”
Diane crossed the room. The pressure of her fingers was quick, and warm and suggestive. “Hello, Mr. Keating,” she said.
Carl was aware of mumbling something polite. Across the room, Stewart Ferguson had derricked himself out of the chair. Spero remained seated, caressing the girl with his sultry brown eyes.
Diane flicked an imaginary wisp of hair back from behind her ear. “Have you decided to join us, Mr. Keating?” she said.
“Us?”
She searched his face. “Why, yes. Didn’t Dad tell you there’d be five of us. After all, who’d want a slice of immortality more than a woman.”
“Immortality for a goddess,” Ferguson said blandly.
The soft, red mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. Then the brief look of annoyance was gone. “You will come, won’t you?” she said.
Keating avoided her eyes. Again he found his gaze wandering to the wall mirror; looking at his own face, coarse and ruddy looking against Diane’s soft white shoulder.
“Count me in,” he said quietly.
III
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, lie 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 docs 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 winch arc 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-wishings 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 roiled away from them. A quarter-mile away, the mead ow 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 die 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.
IV
CARL left Spero lying on the floor where he dropped him. Stopping only to scoop the gun off the floor, he ran to the control room. The tattoo on the glass stopped when he entered. A face peered in at him—a face curiously without emotion. It was a hairy-face, except around the eyes and mouth, where three patches of yellow skin peeked through, giving the appearance of three yellow bull’s eyes.
Carl stared at the creature, fascinated. In his entire stay on Venus, never had he observed a chowl at such close range. For perhaps five seconds the chowl stared back at him, then quickly bounded off the ship and disappeared toward the forest.
He turned. Diane, standing at the entrance to the control room was regarding him curiously. “They look almost human, don’t they?” she said.
“They are human,” Carl told her. “Humanoid anyhow according to the people who are supposed to know about these things. We don’t know too much about them really. They’re so timid, it’s a novelty to get within half-a-mile of them.”
This one wasn’t.
Carl scratched his head. “I know. It’s the first time I’ve ever got that close to one. I guess he didn’t know what a spaceship was. You notice he didn’t wait very long after he saw us through the window.”
“What are you going to do about Spero? Diane asked suddenly.
Carl walked over to the gun cabinet where he poked around a moment, then returned with the key. “I don’t know,” he admitted. He placed both hands on the girl’s shoulders. “Just how much does this immortality really mean to you?”
Diane appeared to think about it a moment. “I’m not sure. I’m not sure at all. Sometimes I find myself wondering if I’m not more interested in finding out how it’s accomplished than I am in applying it to myself. Do you feel that way, too?”
Carl looked out the window.
I’ve always felt that way,” he said.
SPERO, aided by Dr. Hamlin, was just beginning to stir when they returned. He shook his head dazedly for a moment, then sat up massaging his jaw.
Keating regarded him with a questioning stare. “What do you think we should do with you?” he asked bluntly.
Spero patted his pockets and came up with a cigarette. After it had been lighted, he blew the smoke in Carl’s direction. “If you were smart, you’d kill me,” he said “Only you’re not smart. You know you won’t, and I know you won’t. So suppose we all relax and stop trying to build up suspense.”
