E C Tubb, page 4
“Some old tapes from Earth. Animals and farming scenes. “
“Young animals?”
“Don’t you get enough young animals working in maternity?” He smiled with parental pride at her neat figure in the form-fitting pink halter and shorts. She made a face and leaned forward to switch on the screen.
“Babies aren’t animals. “
“What else are they?” He didn’t look at the screen as it flared to life with the transmitted images from central control. “A baby is as much an animal as... “ He glanced at the screen, “as that young goat there, or is it a lamb?”
“No idea. “ She smiled at him. “Anyway, babies are far more interesting than a lot of silly old animals we’ll probably never even see. “
“We will one day, Susan. When the Ship reaches Journey’s End, we’ll have to know all about animals and everything else. “
“Perhaps, but until then I’ll worry about babies. “ She looked at the images for a moment then, her youthful exuberance overcoming her patience, interrupted her father’s viewing again. “Fred’s not here yet?”
“Can you see him?” George stared around the stark simplicity of the tiny room. Susan flushed.
“Sorry, that was a stupid remark. “ She hesitated. “Have you seen anything of Jay lately?”
“No. “ Something in George’s voice made her look at him. George didn’t return her look; he sat, staring at the pictured scene, his mouth set with unusual firmness.
“What’s the matter, Dad? Don’t you like Jay?”
“Jay’s okay, but don’t get too involved with him, Susan. “
“Why not?” She leaned forward and switched off the viewer. “That’s better, now you can answer me. What’s wrong with Jay?”
“Nothing. “ He reached for the switch and she caught his hand. “What you are trying to do, girl?” he said with mock severity. “If I don’t fill my educational quota I’ll be downgraded and lose the privilege of having a single room. Would you like to visit me in a common recreational chamber?”
“They won’t downgrade you, and you must have seen those tapes so often that you know them by heart. “ She moved so that she sat in front of the screen. “Now, answer me. What is wrong with Jay?”
“Nothing. “
“Yes there is or you wouldn’t look like that. “ She became serious. “I want an answer, dad.”
“Jay’s fifteenth generation, “ he said reluctantly. “You’re sixteenth and almost of marriageable status. You know that you can’t marry Jay. “
“Why not?”
“Because he’s too old for one thing and Genetics would never allow it for another. Now are you satisfied?”
“No. Jay’s a young man and I can’t see anything to stop us getting married. “
“Then you’re either a fool or you’re just plain stubborn- and I know that you’re not a fool.” George smiled at his daughter. “Just supposing that you were allowed to marry Jay. He’s about twenty-one or twenty-two and you’re only seventeen. By the time you’re ready for marriage he’ll be a year older. That means that he’s only got two or three years of marriageable status while you’ll have seven. That’s not even long enough for you to have your two children and certainly not long enough for you to be together in family quarters. “ He touched her hair letting his hand caress her short curls. “After you’re twenty-five you can do as you like but until then you’ll have to let Genetics decide. After all, you want children, don’t you?”
She didn’t blush-there was no such thing as false modesty in the Ship-but he read his answer in her eyes. Every female on board wanted children, as many as possible, and as soon as they had reached optimum child-bearing age. Susan was no different from any other woman of her age group, and her decision to work in maternity showed that she was normally healthy and had a strong survival instinct. Though she didn’t know it, the betting was high in her favor among her overseers that she would be allowed to have more than the usual two children.
She looked up as the door opened and Fred, her brother, came towards them. Fred was twenty and still proud of his white-banded shorts. He looked at Susan and smiled with the superior knowledge of a two-year married man.
“Hi, youngster. Dried your ears yet?”
He ducked as she swung at him, a little clumsy at having come down from the low-gravity levels and not having had time to become accustomed to the Earth normal on the twentieth level. George watched them for awhile; then, reaching out, he slapped Susan’s rear and pulled her away.
“Give him a rest, Susan. He’s an old married man now and not what he used to be. “
They all laughed.
“Had a hard one this shift, “ said Fred, sitting next to his sister on the narrow bench. “Water condensed in a conduit and caused a short. Some of the fans went out and the air wasn’t circulating. “ He chuckled. “You should have heard those gardeners! To hear them talk you’d think that they ran the Ship. “ Like his father Fred was in electronics. “They do in a way, you know, “ said George quietly. “If it wasn’t for the gardens we’d have no fresh air. Any idea what caused the short?”
“I told you, water condensed in a conduit. “
“Yes, but how? Those conduits are supposed to be waterproof, and anyway, even if water did permeate, it shouldn’t have caused a blow-out. “
“That’s true, “ said Fred thoughtfully. “It shouldn’t, should it?”
“Was the insulation bad? Damaged in anyway? Frayed or worn?” George frowned at his son’s hesitation. “Come on, son. It isn’t enough just to repair the fault; you’ve got to find out what caused it in the first place and make sure that it doesn’t happen again.
“I know - that, “ snapped Fred testily. “You don’t have to teach me primary electronics. It’s just that I’ve never thought of the Ship being at fault at all. “
“It’s at fault all right, “ said George grimly, “I’ve found that out in my own work often enough. Cracked insulation and corroded metal. Warped conduits and crystallized unions. Intermittent shorts and erratic current flow. Naturally, “ he said bitterly, “the atomic engineers won’t admit that their piles are at fault. No, it’s always our equipment-and yet I know for a fact that their generators are falling in efficiency. Why even Psy-“ He broke off, biting his lips.
“What’s that, dad?” Fred leaned forward, curiosity large on his expressive features. “You said something about Psycho?”
“No I didn’t. “
“You started to. What was it?”
“Nothing. Forget it. “
“But I want to know, dad, “ insisted Fred. “Maybe I’ll be able to service the admin equipment one day and anything you can tell me now will help my promotion later on. What was it you were saying about Psycho?”
“I told you to forget it, “ snapped George sharply. “Remember your manners and decent behavior. Unwanted curiosity is as bad as a violation of declared privacy. “ He glared at his son for a moment, then he relaxed as Susan touched his hand. “What is it?”
“Why should you be having all this trouble with the electronic equipment?” she asked with a woman’s instinctive knowledge of when to change the subject. “Was it always as bad as this?”
“I can’t see how it could have been, “ said George. “Even the educational tapes are showing signs of wear; some of them are quite blurred, and others that I remember don’t seem to be shown at all now. “
“And are there more shorts and things?”
“Yes, but we can expect that. The Ship is old; you’re the sixteenth generation to be born in it, and that is a long time. Things wear, Susan, and grow old just like people do. Insulation dries out and cracks, moisture condenses in those cracks and corrodes the metal. Deposits build and the alloys transmute a little. Capacities vary, resistances alter a trifle, cables can’t carry such a big load as they used to. “ George shrugged. “It all adds up to a great big headache for the electricians. “
“Does age do all that?” Susan looked scared. “If that’s happening now, then what about later? We’re still a long way from Journey’s End, aren’t we?”
“I suppose so, “ said George, “but it isn’t only age that’s the trouble. “ He rested his hand against the wall. “Here, put your hand close to mine. Feel it?”
“Feel what?” Susan frowned as she tried to concentrate. “It just feels like a normal wall to me. “
“Forget the metal. Imagine that you’re listening with your finger tips instead of your ears. Now do you feel it?”
“No, I... “ Susan laughed. “Now I see what you mean. The vibration. But it’s been there all the time-it’s always been there. “
“Yes, “ said George quietly. “Every atom of the Ship is vibrating and has done for a long time now. Those vibrations are part of the trouble. Metal tends to crystallize when vibrated for too long and the harmonics can play waste with the insulation. “ He shrugged. “Nothing we can do about it, of course, but I thought that Fred might like to know. “ He stretched, his well-kept muscles rippling beneath his satin skin. “Well, children, anything else an old man could tell you?”
“You’re not old, “ protested Susan. “You’re only fourteenth generation after all. “ She began to count on her fingers. “Let me see now. I’m seventeen and sixteenth so you must be... “
“Anything between fifty-seven and thirty-seven. “ George shrugged. “I’m thirty-nine if you must know, and there aren’t many men my age still working. “ He grinned at his son. “I attribute my old age to a firm resolve never to duel. A resolution I suggest you strictly follow, both of you. Personally, I’ve never seen the sense in two, apparently normal people, battering or cutting each other to death for the sake of an imagined insult. “
“Suppose someone calls you a waster, “ suggested Fred. “Surely you wouldn’t stand an insult like that without doing something about it?”
“Look, son, “ said George seriously. “Never mind what they call you. If a man is low enough to accuse you of waste, call in the psych-police and ask him to prove it. No one has to stand that kind of language but there are other ways of settling it without risking your neck. “ He looked at his daughter. “That goes for you too, Susan. You’re not in any danger now, either of you, but later you may be. I’ve seen quite innocent people fall victims to some puffed-up bully with a knack of getting under the skin, and women can be the worst offenders when they think a pretty, newly-available woman is cutting in on their boy-friends. Stay well away from it, and let the fools fight. There’s no conservation in getting yourself killed for a public show. “
“You talk like an old man giving his children some final advice, “ laughed Susan. “We’ll depend on you to keep us out of trouble. “
“Don’t do that, “ said George seriously. “Never rely on anyone but yourselves. “
“Not even the psych-police?” Fred looked knowingly at Susan. “The officer can be very helpful at times.
“Why?” George stared at his daughter’s flushed face. “Has Merrill been bothering you again?”
“No, dad. Fred’s only joking. “ She glared at her brother and signaled him to keep quiet. “He’s dropped by maternity a time or two, and we may have eaten together, but there’s nothing in it. Merrill isn’t marriageable, no P. P. officer is -you know that. “
“Maybe not, but I don’t trust that man and I’d rather you didn’t see him. “ George shook his head as if dismissing an unpleasant subject. “Looks as if Jay won’t be coming this time. “ He looked at Susan again. “Maybe it’s just as well. “
“Jay isn’t bad, “ defended Fred. “I like him even though I wouldn’t like his job. Must be rotten for him to have to keep crawling through the ventilation shafts. “ He smiled down at his own blue shorts. “I’m glad I’m not in ventilation. Give me electronics every time!”
“If you didn’t like it you wouldn’t be doing it, “ reminded George. He leaned forward and switched on the viewer. “Let’s see what’s on. “
The screen blurred then steadied into a schematic of dismantled wiring and tiny transistors. Together with the diagram, a smoothly modulated voice coupled with lines of running text explained what each piece was, how it operated, its purpose and the methods of construction and repair. George leaned forward with professional interest but Fred grunted with disgust.
“Waste! Who wants homework? Let’s find some entertainment. “
He reached forward for the change switch.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE DREAM was always the same. He was dead and they had taken him to the converter. The grim men in olive had collected him in their plastic bag and delivered him at the place where the last indignities would be carried out with cold, scientific detachment. They would render him down. They would extract the last droplet of moisture from his blood and body, grind his bones to fertilizer, process his flesh and tissue, his skin, his internal organs. Medical students would cut and probe as they learned their trade, and when they had finished, his outraged body would be used down to the last scraping of protoplasm.
On the Ship there could be no waste and they would return him to the dust and chemicals from which he had sprung. They would reclaim everything he had used other than the energy he had needed and expended to stay alive. All of him. Every last, tiny fragment that had walked and talked, hoped and planned, loved and dreamed. All except the still unknown, wholly intangible mesh of electricity which made him peculiarly different from all others. The ego, the essential “I was, “ the one thing the surgeons and the butchers could never hope to save.
And with its loss he would be as though he had never existed,
Gregson muttered as he turned and when he awoke his face and torso were damp with sweat. He lay for awhile, staring into the soft darkness of his room, sensing rather than actually feeling the susurration of trapped sound that was the life noise of the Ship. He liked the darkness. There was too little of it and, only when he had closed himself in, could he switch off the lights and sit and think and plan and dream. There were no polished bulkheads in the dark, no mirrors, no wondering expressions and doubtful eyes. No men to stare and women to question. No passing of time or hate or envy or fear.
As usual at such times, he sought escape from the present into the past, letting his memory scuttle down the years back to the time when he was very young and life was something which would go on forever. His childhood was spent in a family unit with parents who remained together because of the code and not through love. He had left them, as all children left their parents, when he was twelve. Long before that his father had gone, and his mother was impatient for her release so that she could enter into a new, though essentially barren union with the man of her choice.
Youth. He smiled as he thought of it, a humorless quirking of the lips, unseen even by himself in the soft, trembling darkness which was the only night he had ever known. Schooling, always schooling and exercise and training. The psychological tests, the aptitude examinations and always the educational tapes at every leisure moment of every shift. The slow climb from manual worker status to administration; from administration to the coveted psych-police; from an officer to chief of P. P.: from a nonentity, to one of the select hierarchy; from a unit to a controller; from being helpless to being in a position to...
He stirred, fighting the thought, and switched on the lights, blinking for a moment as his eyes adapted to the glare. He rose, slipping from the pneumatic pallet with virile litheness, and stood for a moment, stretching and flexing his muscles, watching the reflected image of his naked figure in the clean surface of the metal wall. Then he shrugged and stepped towards his private shower.
The mist spray was hot, the lather quick to spring from his moistened body, and the following ten-second, ice-cold needle shower stung his flesh to full awareness. Still naked, he stepped before the warm-air blast and, as the droning current dried his body, stared hard at his reflection in the mirror. Vaguely he regretted that it was impossible to grow a beard and frowned as he examined his thick, short black hair. He turned as the attention call from the phone sounded above the soft whine of the dryer.
Still naked he walked into the other room and picked up the handset.
“Yes?”
“Gregson?”
“Who else would it be? What do you want?”
“Quentin speaking. “ There was a cold disapproval in the Captain’s voice. “I tried to get you at P. P. Headquarters. “
“I was off-shift and getting some sleep. “ Gregson didn’t alter his tone. “I trust that this violation of privacy is important?”
“A psych-police officer is never private, you should know that. “ Gregson bared his teeth as the Captain’s voice echoed against his ear. “Come up to the Bridge at once. “
“Can’t it wait? I’ve a lot of routine stuff to get through and I’m supposed to be meeting Conway at Psycho. “
“Conway is here with me, “ snapped the Captain. “I’ll expect you immediately. “ The phone went dead with a decisive click and Gregson swore as he replaced the receiver.
The Captain was the oldest man aboard the Ship. Almost legendary, seen only by the hierarchy, a vague and, because of that, all the more impressive figure to the people, he lived in splendid isolation in his private apartment high towards No-Weight. Gregson knew him, and Conway, and Henderley the chief medical officer, but as far as Gregson knew, that was all.
The chief of psych-police stepped forward as the outer door opened, crossed the spacious room with long, easy strides, and took his place at the table without doing more than nod to the others present.
“Well, gentlemen, what’s so important that you couldn’t tell me over the phone?”
“I don’t always trust the communication system of the Ship, “ snapped the Captain. “It isn’t beyond the realms of possibility that some electronic engineer may have tapped the wires. “
“You think that?” Gregson leaned back and smiled towards the other two. Quentin leaned forward, his harsh, thin features stern and contemptuous beneath his mass of greying hair.
“Young animals?”
“Don’t you get enough young animals working in maternity?” He smiled with parental pride at her neat figure in the form-fitting pink halter and shorts. She made a face and leaned forward to switch on the screen.
“Babies aren’t animals. “
“What else are they?” He didn’t look at the screen as it flared to life with the transmitted images from central control. “A baby is as much an animal as... “ He glanced at the screen, “as that young goat there, or is it a lamb?”
“No idea. “ She smiled at him. “Anyway, babies are far more interesting than a lot of silly old animals we’ll probably never even see. “
“We will one day, Susan. When the Ship reaches Journey’s End, we’ll have to know all about animals and everything else. “
“Perhaps, but until then I’ll worry about babies. “ She looked at the images for a moment then, her youthful exuberance overcoming her patience, interrupted her father’s viewing again. “Fred’s not here yet?”
“Can you see him?” George stared around the stark simplicity of the tiny room. Susan flushed.
“Sorry, that was a stupid remark. “ She hesitated. “Have you seen anything of Jay lately?”
“No. “ Something in George’s voice made her look at him. George didn’t return her look; he sat, staring at the pictured scene, his mouth set with unusual firmness.
“What’s the matter, Dad? Don’t you like Jay?”
“Jay’s okay, but don’t get too involved with him, Susan. “
“Why not?” She leaned forward and switched off the viewer. “That’s better, now you can answer me. What’s wrong with Jay?”
“Nothing. “ He reached for the switch and she caught his hand. “What you are trying to do, girl?” he said with mock severity. “If I don’t fill my educational quota I’ll be downgraded and lose the privilege of having a single room. Would you like to visit me in a common recreational chamber?”
“They won’t downgrade you, and you must have seen those tapes so often that you know them by heart. “ She moved so that she sat in front of the screen. “Now, answer me. What is wrong with Jay?”
“Nothing. “
“Yes there is or you wouldn’t look like that. “ She became serious. “I want an answer, dad.”
“Jay’s fifteenth generation, “ he said reluctantly. “You’re sixteenth and almost of marriageable status. You know that you can’t marry Jay. “
“Why not?”
“Because he’s too old for one thing and Genetics would never allow it for another. Now are you satisfied?”
“No. Jay’s a young man and I can’t see anything to stop us getting married. “
“Then you’re either a fool or you’re just plain stubborn- and I know that you’re not a fool.” George smiled at his daughter. “Just supposing that you were allowed to marry Jay. He’s about twenty-one or twenty-two and you’re only seventeen. By the time you’re ready for marriage he’ll be a year older. That means that he’s only got two or three years of marriageable status while you’ll have seven. That’s not even long enough for you to have your two children and certainly not long enough for you to be together in family quarters. “ He touched her hair letting his hand caress her short curls. “After you’re twenty-five you can do as you like but until then you’ll have to let Genetics decide. After all, you want children, don’t you?”
She didn’t blush-there was no such thing as false modesty in the Ship-but he read his answer in her eyes. Every female on board wanted children, as many as possible, and as soon as they had reached optimum child-bearing age. Susan was no different from any other woman of her age group, and her decision to work in maternity showed that she was normally healthy and had a strong survival instinct. Though she didn’t know it, the betting was high in her favor among her overseers that she would be allowed to have more than the usual two children.
She looked up as the door opened and Fred, her brother, came towards them. Fred was twenty and still proud of his white-banded shorts. He looked at Susan and smiled with the superior knowledge of a two-year married man.
“Hi, youngster. Dried your ears yet?”
He ducked as she swung at him, a little clumsy at having come down from the low-gravity levels and not having had time to become accustomed to the Earth normal on the twentieth level. George watched them for awhile; then, reaching out, he slapped Susan’s rear and pulled her away.
“Give him a rest, Susan. He’s an old married man now and not what he used to be. “
They all laughed.
“Had a hard one this shift, “ said Fred, sitting next to his sister on the narrow bench. “Water condensed in a conduit and caused a short. Some of the fans went out and the air wasn’t circulating. “ He chuckled. “You should have heard those gardeners! To hear them talk you’d think that they ran the Ship. “ Like his father Fred was in electronics. “They do in a way, you know, “ said George quietly. “If it wasn’t for the gardens we’d have no fresh air. Any idea what caused the short?”
“I told you, water condensed in a conduit. “
“Yes, but how? Those conduits are supposed to be waterproof, and anyway, even if water did permeate, it shouldn’t have caused a blow-out. “
“That’s true, “ said Fred thoughtfully. “It shouldn’t, should it?”
“Was the insulation bad? Damaged in anyway? Frayed or worn?” George frowned at his son’s hesitation. “Come on, son. It isn’t enough just to repair the fault; you’ve got to find out what caused it in the first place and make sure that it doesn’t happen again.
“I know - that, “ snapped Fred testily. “You don’t have to teach me primary electronics. It’s just that I’ve never thought of the Ship being at fault at all. “
“It’s at fault all right, “ said George grimly, “I’ve found that out in my own work often enough. Cracked insulation and corroded metal. Warped conduits and crystallized unions. Intermittent shorts and erratic current flow. Naturally, “ he said bitterly, “the atomic engineers won’t admit that their piles are at fault. No, it’s always our equipment-and yet I know for a fact that their generators are falling in efficiency. Why even Psy-“ He broke off, biting his lips.
“What’s that, dad?” Fred leaned forward, curiosity large on his expressive features. “You said something about Psycho?”
“No I didn’t. “
“You started to. What was it?”
“Nothing. Forget it. “
“But I want to know, dad, “ insisted Fred. “Maybe I’ll be able to service the admin equipment one day and anything you can tell me now will help my promotion later on. What was it you were saying about Psycho?”
“I told you to forget it, “ snapped George sharply. “Remember your manners and decent behavior. Unwanted curiosity is as bad as a violation of declared privacy. “ He glared at his son for a moment, then he relaxed as Susan touched his hand. “What is it?”
“Why should you be having all this trouble with the electronic equipment?” she asked with a woman’s instinctive knowledge of when to change the subject. “Was it always as bad as this?”
“I can’t see how it could have been, “ said George. “Even the educational tapes are showing signs of wear; some of them are quite blurred, and others that I remember don’t seem to be shown at all now. “
“And are there more shorts and things?”
“Yes, but we can expect that. The Ship is old; you’re the sixteenth generation to be born in it, and that is a long time. Things wear, Susan, and grow old just like people do. Insulation dries out and cracks, moisture condenses in those cracks and corrodes the metal. Deposits build and the alloys transmute a little. Capacities vary, resistances alter a trifle, cables can’t carry such a big load as they used to. “ George shrugged. “It all adds up to a great big headache for the electricians. “
“Does age do all that?” Susan looked scared. “If that’s happening now, then what about later? We’re still a long way from Journey’s End, aren’t we?”
“I suppose so, “ said George, “but it isn’t only age that’s the trouble. “ He rested his hand against the wall. “Here, put your hand close to mine. Feel it?”
“Feel what?” Susan frowned as she tried to concentrate. “It just feels like a normal wall to me. “
“Forget the metal. Imagine that you’re listening with your finger tips instead of your ears. Now do you feel it?”
“No, I... “ Susan laughed. “Now I see what you mean. The vibration. But it’s been there all the time-it’s always been there. “
“Yes, “ said George quietly. “Every atom of the Ship is vibrating and has done for a long time now. Those vibrations are part of the trouble. Metal tends to crystallize when vibrated for too long and the harmonics can play waste with the insulation. “ He shrugged. “Nothing we can do about it, of course, but I thought that Fred might like to know. “ He stretched, his well-kept muscles rippling beneath his satin skin. “Well, children, anything else an old man could tell you?”
“You’re not old, “ protested Susan. “You’re only fourteenth generation after all. “ She began to count on her fingers. “Let me see now. I’m seventeen and sixteenth so you must be... “
“Anything between fifty-seven and thirty-seven. “ George shrugged. “I’m thirty-nine if you must know, and there aren’t many men my age still working. “ He grinned at his son. “I attribute my old age to a firm resolve never to duel. A resolution I suggest you strictly follow, both of you. Personally, I’ve never seen the sense in two, apparently normal people, battering or cutting each other to death for the sake of an imagined insult. “
“Suppose someone calls you a waster, “ suggested Fred. “Surely you wouldn’t stand an insult like that without doing something about it?”
“Look, son, “ said George seriously. “Never mind what they call you. If a man is low enough to accuse you of waste, call in the psych-police and ask him to prove it. No one has to stand that kind of language but there are other ways of settling it without risking your neck. “ He looked at his daughter. “That goes for you too, Susan. You’re not in any danger now, either of you, but later you may be. I’ve seen quite innocent people fall victims to some puffed-up bully with a knack of getting under the skin, and women can be the worst offenders when they think a pretty, newly-available woman is cutting in on their boy-friends. Stay well away from it, and let the fools fight. There’s no conservation in getting yourself killed for a public show. “
“You talk like an old man giving his children some final advice, “ laughed Susan. “We’ll depend on you to keep us out of trouble. “
“Don’t do that, “ said George seriously. “Never rely on anyone but yourselves. “
“Not even the psych-police?” Fred looked knowingly at Susan. “The officer can be very helpful at times.
“Why?” George stared at his daughter’s flushed face. “Has Merrill been bothering you again?”
“No, dad. Fred’s only joking. “ She glared at her brother and signaled him to keep quiet. “He’s dropped by maternity a time or two, and we may have eaten together, but there’s nothing in it. Merrill isn’t marriageable, no P. P. officer is -you know that. “
“Maybe not, but I don’t trust that man and I’d rather you didn’t see him. “ George shook his head as if dismissing an unpleasant subject. “Looks as if Jay won’t be coming this time. “ He looked at Susan again. “Maybe it’s just as well. “
“Jay isn’t bad, “ defended Fred. “I like him even though I wouldn’t like his job. Must be rotten for him to have to keep crawling through the ventilation shafts. “ He smiled down at his own blue shorts. “I’m glad I’m not in ventilation. Give me electronics every time!”
“If you didn’t like it you wouldn’t be doing it, “ reminded George. He leaned forward and switched on the viewer. “Let’s see what’s on. “
The screen blurred then steadied into a schematic of dismantled wiring and tiny transistors. Together with the diagram, a smoothly modulated voice coupled with lines of running text explained what each piece was, how it operated, its purpose and the methods of construction and repair. George leaned forward with professional interest but Fred grunted with disgust.
“Waste! Who wants homework? Let’s find some entertainment. “
He reached forward for the change switch.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE DREAM was always the same. He was dead and they had taken him to the converter. The grim men in olive had collected him in their plastic bag and delivered him at the place where the last indignities would be carried out with cold, scientific detachment. They would render him down. They would extract the last droplet of moisture from his blood and body, grind his bones to fertilizer, process his flesh and tissue, his skin, his internal organs. Medical students would cut and probe as they learned their trade, and when they had finished, his outraged body would be used down to the last scraping of protoplasm.
On the Ship there could be no waste and they would return him to the dust and chemicals from which he had sprung. They would reclaim everything he had used other than the energy he had needed and expended to stay alive. All of him. Every last, tiny fragment that had walked and talked, hoped and planned, loved and dreamed. All except the still unknown, wholly intangible mesh of electricity which made him peculiarly different from all others. The ego, the essential “I was, “ the one thing the surgeons and the butchers could never hope to save.
And with its loss he would be as though he had never existed,
Gregson muttered as he turned and when he awoke his face and torso were damp with sweat. He lay for awhile, staring into the soft darkness of his room, sensing rather than actually feeling the susurration of trapped sound that was the life noise of the Ship. He liked the darkness. There was too little of it and, only when he had closed himself in, could he switch off the lights and sit and think and plan and dream. There were no polished bulkheads in the dark, no mirrors, no wondering expressions and doubtful eyes. No men to stare and women to question. No passing of time or hate or envy or fear.
As usual at such times, he sought escape from the present into the past, letting his memory scuttle down the years back to the time when he was very young and life was something which would go on forever. His childhood was spent in a family unit with parents who remained together because of the code and not through love. He had left them, as all children left their parents, when he was twelve. Long before that his father had gone, and his mother was impatient for her release so that she could enter into a new, though essentially barren union with the man of her choice.
Youth. He smiled as he thought of it, a humorless quirking of the lips, unseen even by himself in the soft, trembling darkness which was the only night he had ever known. Schooling, always schooling and exercise and training. The psychological tests, the aptitude examinations and always the educational tapes at every leisure moment of every shift. The slow climb from manual worker status to administration; from administration to the coveted psych-police; from an officer to chief of P. P.: from a nonentity, to one of the select hierarchy; from a unit to a controller; from being helpless to being in a position to...
He stirred, fighting the thought, and switched on the lights, blinking for a moment as his eyes adapted to the glare. He rose, slipping from the pneumatic pallet with virile litheness, and stood for a moment, stretching and flexing his muscles, watching the reflected image of his naked figure in the clean surface of the metal wall. Then he shrugged and stepped towards his private shower.
The mist spray was hot, the lather quick to spring from his moistened body, and the following ten-second, ice-cold needle shower stung his flesh to full awareness. Still naked, he stepped before the warm-air blast and, as the droning current dried his body, stared hard at his reflection in the mirror. Vaguely he regretted that it was impossible to grow a beard and frowned as he examined his thick, short black hair. He turned as the attention call from the phone sounded above the soft whine of the dryer.
Still naked he walked into the other room and picked up the handset.
“Yes?”
“Gregson?”
“Who else would it be? What do you want?”
“Quentin speaking. “ There was a cold disapproval in the Captain’s voice. “I tried to get you at P. P. Headquarters. “
“I was off-shift and getting some sleep. “ Gregson didn’t alter his tone. “I trust that this violation of privacy is important?”
“A psych-police officer is never private, you should know that. “ Gregson bared his teeth as the Captain’s voice echoed against his ear. “Come up to the Bridge at once. “
“Can’t it wait? I’ve a lot of routine stuff to get through and I’m supposed to be meeting Conway at Psycho. “
“Conway is here with me, “ snapped the Captain. “I’ll expect you immediately. “ The phone went dead with a decisive click and Gregson swore as he replaced the receiver.
The Captain was the oldest man aboard the Ship. Almost legendary, seen only by the hierarchy, a vague and, because of that, all the more impressive figure to the people, he lived in splendid isolation in his private apartment high towards No-Weight. Gregson knew him, and Conway, and Henderley the chief medical officer, but as far as Gregson knew, that was all.
The chief of psych-police stepped forward as the outer door opened, crossed the spacious room with long, easy strides, and took his place at the table without doing more than nod to the others present.
“Well, gentlemen, what’s so important that you couldn’t tell me over the phone?”
“I don’t always trust the communication system of the Ship, “ snapped the Captain. “It isn’t beyond the realms of possibility that some electronic engineer may have tapped the wires. “
“You think that?” Gregson leaned back and smiled towards the other two. Quentin leaned forward, his harsh, thin features stern and contemptuous beneath his mass of greying hair.
