Time For The Stars

XV "CARRY OUT HER MISSION"

I don't know what I expected after the attack by the behemoths. We just wandered around in a daze. Some of us tried to look out from the monkey island deck until that spouter appeared again and almost knocked one of us off, then Captain Urqhardt ordered all hands to stay inside and the hatch was closed.

I certainly did not expect a message that was brought around after supper (if supper had been served; some made themselves sandwiches) telling me to report at once for heads-of-departments conference. "That's you, isn't it, Tom?" Chet Travers asked me. "They tell me Unc Alfred is on the sick list. His door is closed."

"I suppose it's me." Unc had taken it hard and was in bed with a soporific in him, by order of the one remaining medical man, Dr. Pandit.

"Then you had better shag up there."

First I went to Captain Urqhardt's room and found it dark, then I got smart and went to the Captain's cabin. The door was open and some were already around the table with Captain Urqhardt at the head. "Special communications department, sir," I announced myself.

"Sit down, Bartlett."

Harry came in behind me and Urqhardt got up and shut the door and sat down. I looked around, thinking it was a mighty funny heads-of-departments meeting. Harry Gates was the only boss there who had been such when we left Earth. Mr. Eastman was there instead of Commander Frick. Mama O'Toole was long dead but now Cas was gone too; ecology was represented by Mr. Krishnamurti who had merely been in charge of air-conditioning and hydroponics when we had left. Mr. O'Toole was there in place of Dr. Babcock, Mr. Regato instead of Mr. Roch. Sergeant Andreeli, who was also a machinist in engineering, was there in place of Uncle Steve and he was the only member of the ship's guard left alive—because he had been sent back to the ship with a broken arm two days earlier. Dr. Pandit sat where Dr. Devereaux should have been.

And myself of course but I was just fill-in; Unc was still aboard. Worst of all, there was Captain Urqhardt sitting where the Captain should have been.

Captain Urqhardt started in. "There is no need to detail our situation; you all know it. We will dispense with the usual departmental reports, too. In my opinion our survey of this planet is as complete as we can make it with present personnel and equipment... save that an additional report must be made of the hazard encountered today in order that the first colonial party will be prepared to defend itself. Is there disagreement? Dr. Gates, do you wish to make further investigations here?"

Harry looked surprised and answered, "No, Captain. Not under the circumstances."

"Comment?" There was none. "Very well," Urqhardt continued. "I propose to shape course for Alpha Phoenicis. We will hold memorial services at nine tomorrow morning and boost at noon. Comment? Mr. O'Toole."

"Eh? Do you mean can we have the figures ready? I suppose so, if Janet and I get right on it."

"Do so, as soon as we adjourn. Mr. Regato?"

Regato was looking astounded. "I didn't expect this, Captain.

"It is short notice, but can your department be ready? I believe you have boost mass aboard."

"It isn't that,. Captain. Surely, the torch will be ready. But I thought we would make one long jump for Earth."

"What led you to assume that?"

"Why, uh..." The new Chief Engineer stuttered and almost slipped out of P-L lingo into Spanish. "The shape we are in, sir. The engineering department will have to go on watch-and-watch, heel and toe. I can't speak for other departments, but they can't be in much better shape."

"No, you can't and I am not asking you to. With respect to your own department, is it mechanically ready?"

Regato swallowed. "Yes, sir. But people break down as well as machinery."

"Wouldn't you have to stand watch-and-watch to shape course for Sol?" Urqhardt did not wait for the obvious answer, but went on, "I should not have to say this. We are not here for our own convenience; we are here on an assigned mission... as you all know. Earlier today, just before Captain Swanson left, he said to me, "Take charge of my ship, sir. Carry out her mission." I answered, 'Aye, aye, sir.' Let me remind you of that mission: we were sent out to conduct the survey we have been making, with orders to continue the search as long as we were in communication with Earth—when we fell out of communication, we were free to return to Earth, if possible. Gentlemen, we are still in touch with Earth; our next assigned survey point is Alpha Phoenicis. Could anything be clearer?"

My thoughts were boiling up so that I hardly heard him. I was thinking: who does this guy think he is? Columbus? Or the Flying Dutchman? There were only a little over thirty of us left alive-in a ship that had started with two hundred. The boats were gone, the heli's were—I almost missed his next remark.

"Bartlett?"

"Sir?"

"What about your department?"

It dawned on me that we were the key department—us freaks. When we fell out of touch, he had to turn back. I was tempted to say that we had all gone deaf, but I knew I couldn't get away with it. So I stalled.

"As you pointed out, sir, we are in touch with Earth."

"Very well." His eyes turned toward Dr. Pandit.

"Just a moment, Captain," I insisted. "There's more to it."

"Eh? State it."

"Well, this next jump is about thirty years, isn't it? Greenwich I mean."

"Of that order. Somewhat less."

" 'Of that order.' There are three special communicators left, myself, Unc—I mean Mr. McNeil—and Mei-Ling Travers. I think you ought to count Unc out."

"Why?"

"Because he has his original telepartner and she is now as old as he is. Do you think Unc will live another thirty years?"

"But it won't be thirty years for him—oh, sorry! I see your point. She would be well past a hundred if she lived at all. Possibly senile."

"Probably, sir. Or more likely dead."

"Very well, we won t count McNeil. That leaves two of you. Plenty for essential communication.

"I doubt it, sir. Mei-Ling is a poor bet. She has only a secondary linkage and her partner is over thirty, with no children. Based on other telepairs, I would say that it is most unlikely that they will stay in rapport through another peak ... not a thirty-year one."

"That still leaves yourself."

I thought suddenly that if I had the guts to jump over the side, they could all go home. But it was just a thought; when I die, it won't be suicide. "My own case isn't much better, sir. My telepartner is about—" I had to stop and count up, then the answer did not seem right. "—is about nineteen, sir. No kids. No chance of kids before we peak... and I couldn't link in with a brand-new baby anyhow. She'll be fiftyish when we come out. So far as I know, there hasn't been a case in the whole fleet of bridging that long a period out of rapport."

He waited several moments before be answered. "Have you any reason to believe that it is impossible?"

"Well... no, sir. But it is extremely unlikely."

"Hmm... do you consider yourself an authority in theory of telepathy?"

"Huh? No, sir. I am just a telepath, that's all."

"I think he is probably right," put in Dr. Pandit, "are you an authority, Doctor?"

"Me, sir? As you know, my specialty is exotic pathology. But—"

"In that case, we will consult authorities Earthside. Perhaps they can suggest some way to improve our chances. Very probably, under the circumstances, the Foundation will again authorize use of drugs to reduce the possibility that our special communicators might fall out of touch during peak. Or something."

I thought of telling him that Vicky wasn't going to risk dangerous habit-forming drags. Then I thought better of it. Pat bad-and Vicky might.

"That :is all, gentlemen. We will boost at noon tomorrow. Uh, one more thing... One of you implied that morale is not too high in the ship. That is correct and I am perhaps more aware of it than you are. But morale will shake down to normal and we will best be able to forget the losses we have suffered if we all get quickly back to work. I want only to add that you all, as senior officers of this ship, have most to do with morale by setting an example. I am sure that you will." He stood up.

I don't know how news travels in a ship but by the time I got down to the mess room everybody knew that we were boosting tomorrow... and not for home. It was buzz-buzz and yammer all over. I ducked out because I didn't want to discuss it; my thoughts were mixed. I thought the Captain was insisting on one more jump from which he couldn't possibly report his results, if any—and with a nice fat chance that none of us would ever get home. On the other hand I admired the firm way he faced us up to our obligations and brushed aside panic. He had guts.

So did the Flying Dutchman have guts—but at last report he was still trying to round the Cape and not succeeding.

The Captain-Captain Swenson, I corrected-would not have been that bullheaded.

Or would he? According to Urqhardt, the last thing the Captain had said had been to remind Urqhardt that it was up to him to carry out the mission. All of us had been very carefully chosen (except us freaks) and probably the skipper and the relief skipper of each ship were picked primarily for bulldog stubbornness, the very quality that had kept Columbus going on and on when he was running out of water and his crew was muttering mutiny. I remembered Uncle Steve had once suggested as much.

I decided to go talk to Uncle Steve... then I remembered I couldn't and I really felt bad. When my parents had died, two peaks back, I had felt bad because I didn't feel as bad as I knew I should have felt. When it happened—or rather, by the time I knew about it-they were long dead, people I had not seen in a long time and just faces in a photograph. But Uncle Steve I had seen every day—I had seen today.

And I had been in the habit of kicking my troubles around with him whenever they were too much for me.

I felt his loss then, the delayed shock you get when you are hit hard. The hurt doesn't come until you pull yourself together and realize you're hit.

It was just as well that somebody tapped on my door then, or I would have bawled.

It was Mei-Ling and her husband, Chet. I invited them in and they sat down on the bed. Chat got to the point.

"Tom, where do you stand on this?"

"On what?"

"This silly business of trying to go on with a skeleton crew."

"It doesn't matter where I stand," I said slowly. "I'm not running the ship."

"Ah, but you are!"

"Huh?"

"I don't mean quite that, but I do mean you can put a stop to the nonsense. Now, look, Tom, everybody knows what you told the Captain and—"

"Who's been talking?"

"Huh? Never mind. If it didn't leak from you, it probably did from everybody else present; it's common knowledge. What you told him made sense. What it comes down to is that Urqhardt is depending on you and you alone to keep him in touch with the home office. So you're the man with the stick. You can stop him."

"Huh? Now wait. I'm not the only one. Granted that he isn't counting on Unc—how about Mei-Ling?"

Chat shook his head. "Mei-Ling isn't going to 'think-talk' for him."

His wife said, "Now, Chet; I haven't said so."

He looked at her fondly. "Don't be super-stupid, my lovely darling. You know that there is no chance at all that you will be any use to him after peak. If our brave Captain Urqhardt hasn't got that through his head now, he will... even if I have to explain to him in words of one syllable."

"But I might stay linked."

"Oh, no, you won't... or I'll bash your pretty head in. Our kids are going to grow up on Earth."

She looked soberly at him and patted his hand. The Travers's were not expecting again, but everybody knew they were hoping; I began to see why Chet was adamant... and I became quite sure that Mei-Ling would not link again after peak—not after her husband had argued with her for a while. What Chet wanted was more important to her than what the Captain wanted, or any abstract duty to a Foundation back on Earth.

Chet went on, "Think it over, Tom, and you will see that you can't let your shipmates down. To go on is suicidal and everybody knows it but the Captain. It's up to you."

"Uh, I'll think it over."

"Do that. But don't take too long." They left.

I went to bed but didn't sleep. The deuce of it was that Chet was almost certainly right... including the certainty that Mei-Ling would never patch in with her telepair after another peak, for she was beginning to slip even now. I had been transmitting mathematical or technical matter which would have fallen to her ever since last peak, because her linking was becoming erratic. Chet wouldn't have to bash her admittedly-pretty head in; she was falling out of touch.

On the other hand...

When I had reached "On the other hand" about eighteen times, I got up and dressed and went looking for Harry Gates; it occurred to me that since he was a head of department and present at the meeting, it was proper to talk to him about it.

He wasn't in his room; Barbara suggested that I try the laboratory. He was there, alone, unpacking specimens that had been sent over the day before. He looked up. "Well, Tom, how is it going?"

"Not too good."

"I know. Say, I haven't had a proper chance to thank you. Shall I write it out, or will you have it right off my chest?"

"Uh, let's take it for granted." I had not understood him at first, for it is the simple truth that I had forgotten about pulling him out of the water; I hadn't had time to think about it.

"As you say. But I won't forget it. You know that, don't you?"

"Okay. Harry, I need advice."

"You do? Well, I've got it in all sizes. All of it free and all of it worth what it costs, I'm afraid."

"You were at the meeting tonight."

"So were you." He looked worried.

"Yes." I told him all that had been fretting me, then thought about it and told him all that Chet had said. "What am I to do, Harry? Chet is right; the chance of doing any good on another jump isn't worth it. Even if we find a planet worth reporting—a chance that is never good, based on what the fleet has done as a whoIe—even so, we almost certainly won't be able to report it except by going back, two centuries after we left. It's ridiculous and, as Chet says, suicidal, with what we've got left. On the other hand, the Captain is right; this is what we signed up for. The ship's sailing orders say for us to go on."

Harry carefully unpacked a package of specimens before he answered.

"Tommie, you should ask me an easy one. Ask me whether or not to get married and I'll tell you like a shot. Or anything else. But there is one thing no man can tell another man and that is whore his duty lies. That you must decide for yourself."

I thought about it. "Doggone it, Harry, how do you feel about it?"

"Me?" He stopped what he was doing. "Tom, I just don't know. For myself personally... well, I've been happier in this ship than I have ever been before in my life. I've got my wife and kids with me and I'm doing just the work I want to do. With others it may be different."

"How about your kids?"

"Aye, there's the rub. A family man—" He frowned. "I can't advise you, Tom. If I even hint that you should not do what you signed up to do, I'd be inciting to mutiny...a capital crime, for both of us. If I tell you that you must do what the Captain wants, I'd be on safe legal grounds—but it might mean the death of you and me and my kids and all the rest of us... because Chet has horse sense on his side even if the law is against him." He sighed. "Tom, I just missed checking out today—thanks to you—and my judgment isn't back in shape. I can't advise you; I'd be prejudiced."

I didn't answer. I was wishing that Uncle Steve had made it; he always had an answer for everything.

"All I can do," Harry went on, "is to make a weaselly suggestion."

"Huh? What is it?"

"You might go to the Captain privately and tell him just how worried you are. It might affect his decisions. At least he ought to know."

I said I would think about it and thanked him and left. I went to bed and eventually got to sleep. I was awakened in the middle of the night by the ship shaking. The ship always swayed a little when waterborne, but not this way, nor this much; not on Elysia.

It stopped and then it started again... and again it stopped... and started. I was wondering what... when it suddenly quivered in an entirely different way, one that I recognized; it was the way the torch felt when it was just barely critical. The engineers called it "clearing her throat" and was a regular part of overhaul and inspection. I decided that Mr. Regato must be working late, and I quieted down again. The bumping did not start up again.

At breakfast I found out what it was: the behemoths had tried something, nobody knew what, against the ship itself... whereupon the Captain had quite logically ordered Mr. Regato to use the torch against them. Now, although we still did not know much about them, we did know one thing: they were not immune to super-heated steam and intense radioactivity.

This brush with the sea devils braced my spine; I decided to see the Captain as Harry had suggested.

He let me in without keeping me waiting more than five minutes. Then he kept quiet and let me talk as long as I wanted to. I elaborated the whole picture, as I saw it, without attributing anything to Chet or Harry. I couldn't tell from his face whether I was reaching him or not, so I put it strongly: that Unc and Mei-Ling were both out of the picture and that the chance that I would be of any use after the next peak was so slight that he was risking his. ship and his crew on very long odds.

When I finished I still didn't know, nor did he make a direct answer. Instead he said, "Bartlett, for fifty-five minutes yesterday evening you had two other members of the crew in your room with your door closed."

"Huh? Yes, sir."

"Did you speak to them of this?"

I wanted to lie. "Uh... yes, sir."

"After that you looked up another member of the crew and remained with him until quite late... or quite early, I should say. Did you speak to him on the same subject?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well I am holding you for investigation on two counts: suspicion of inciting to mutiny and suspicion of intent to mutiny. You are under arrest. Go to your room and remain there. No visitors."

I gulped, Then something Uncle Steve had told me came to my aid-Uncle had been a jawbone space-lawyer and loved to talk about it. "Aye, aye, sir. But I insist that I be allowed to see counsel of my choice... and that I be given a public hearing."

The Captain nodded as if I had told him that it was raining. "Certainly. Your legal rights will be respected. But those matters will have to wait; we are now preparing to get underway. So place yourself under arrest and get to your quarters."

He turned away and left me to confine myself. He didn't even seem angry.

So here I sit, alone in my room. I had to tell Unc he couldn't come in and, later, Chet. I can't believe what has happened to me.