Time For The Stars

IV HALF A LOAF

Our parents made the predictable uproar. A conference in the Bartlett family always sounded like a zoo at feeding time but this one set a new high. In addition to Pat and myself, Faith, Hope, and Charity, and our parents, there was Faith's fairly new husband, Frank Dubois, and Hope's brand- new fiancé, Lothar Sembrich. The last two did not count and both of them seemed to me to be examples of what lengths a girl will go to in order to get married, but they used up space and occasionally contributed remarks to confuse the issue. But Mother's brother, Uncle Steve, was there, too, having popped up on Earthside furlough.

It was Uncle Steve's presence that decided Pat to bring it out in the open instead of waiting to tackle Dad and Mum one at a time. Both of them considered Uncle Steve a disturbing influence but they were proud of him; one of his rare visits was always a holiday.

Mr. Howard had given us a sample contract to take home and look over. After dinner Pat said, "By the way, Dad, the Foundation offered us a new contract today, a long-term one." He took it out of his pocket but did not offer it to Dad.

"I trust you told them that you were about to start school again?"

"Sure, we told them that, but they insisted that we take the contract home to show our parents. Okay, we knew what your answer would be." Pat started to put the contract into his pocket.

I said to Pat privately, ("What's the silly idea? You've made him say 'no' and now he can't back down.")

"Not yet he hasn't," Pat answered on our private circuit.

"Don't joggle my elbow."

Dad was already reaching out a hand. "Let me see it, You should never make up your mind without knowing the facts."

Pat was not quick about passing it over. "Well, there is a scholarship clause," he admitted, "but Tom and I wouldn't be able to go to school together the way we always have."

"That's not necessarily bad. You two are too dependent on each other. Some day you will have to face the cold, cruel world alone... and going to different schools might be a good place to start."

Pat stuck out the contract, folded to the second page, "It's paragraph ten."

Dad read paragraph ten first, just as Pat meant him to do, and his eyebrows went up. Paragraph ten agreed that the party of the first part, the LRF, would keep the party of the second part in any school of his choice, all expenses, for the duration of the contract, or a shorter time at his option, and agreed to do the same for the party of the third part after the completion of the active period of the contract, plus tutoring during the active period—all of which was a long-winded way of saying that the Foundation would put the one who stayed home through school now and the one who went starside through school when he got back... all this in addition to our salaries; see paragraph seven.

So Dad turned to paragraph seven and his eyebrows went higher and his pipe went out. He looked at Pat. "Do I understand that they intend to appoint you two 'communications technicians tenth grade' with no experience?"

Uncle Steve sat up and almost knocked his chair over.

"Bruce, did you say 'tenth grade'?"

"So it says."

"Regular LRF pay scales?"

"Yes. I don't know how much that is, but I believe they ordinarily hire skilled ratings beginning at third grade."

Uncle Steve whistled. "I'd hate to tell you how much money it is, Bruce—but the chief electron pusher on Pluto is tenth pay grade... and it took him twenty years and a doctor's degree to get there." Uncle Steve looked at us.

"Give out, shipmates. Where did they bury the body? Is it a bribe?" Pat did not answer. Uncle Steve turned to Dad and said, "Never mind the fine print, Bruce; just have the kids sign it. Each one of them will make more than you and me together. Never argue with Santa Claus."

But Dad was already reading the fine print, from sub- paragraph one-A to the penalty clauses. It was written in lawyer language but what it did was to sign us up as crew members for one voyage of an LRF ship, except that one of us was required to perform his duties Earthside. There was lots more to nail it down so that the one who stayed Earth- side could not wiggle out, but that was all it amounted to.

The contact did not say where the ship would go or how long the voyage would last.

Dad finally put the contract down and Charity grabbed it. Dad took it from her and passed it over to Mother. Then he said, "Boys, this contract looks so favorable that I suspect there must be a catch. Tomorrow morning I'm going to get hold of Judge Holland and ask him to go over it with me. But if I read it correctly, you are being offered all these benefits-and an extravagant salary-provided one of you makes one voyage in the Lewis and Clark."

Uncle Steve said suddenly, "The Lewis and Clark, Bruce?"

"The Lewis and Clark, or such sister ship as may be designated. Why? You know the ship, Steve?"

Uncle Steve got poker-faced and answered, "I've never been in her. New ship, I understand. Well equipped."

"I'm glad to hear it." Dad looked at Mum. "Well, Molly?"

Mother did not answer. She was reading the contract and steadily getting whiter. Uncle Steve caught my eye and shook his head very slightly. I said to Pat, ("Uncle Steve has spotted the catch in it.")

"He won't hinder. "

Mother looked up at last and spoke to Dad in a high voice. "I suppose you are going to consent?" She sounded sick. She put down the contract and Charity grabbed it again just as Hope grabbed it from the other side. It ended with our brother-in-law Frank Dubois holding it while everybody else read over his shoulders.

"Now, my dear," Dad said mildly, "remember that boys do grow up. I would like to keep the family together forever—but it can't be that way and you know it."

"Bruce, you promised that they would not go out into space."

Her brother shot her a glance—his chest was covered with ribbons he had won in space. But Dad went on just as mildly. "Not quite, dear. I promised you that I would not consent to minority enlistment in the peace forces; I want them to finish school and I did not want you upset. But this is another matter... and, if we refuse, it won't be long before they can enlist whether we like it or not."

Mother turned to Uncle Steve and said bitterly, "Stephen, you put this idea in their heads."

He looked annoyed then answered as gently as Dad.

"Take it easy, Sis. I've been away; you can't pin this on me. Anyhow, you don't put ideas in boys' heads; they grow them naturally."

Frank Dubois cleared his throat and said loudly, "Since this seems to be a family conference, no doubt you would like my opinion."

I said, to Pat only, ('Nobody asked your opinion, you lard head!")

Pat answered, "Let him talk. He's our secret weapon, maybe."

"If you want the considered judgment of an experienced businessman, this so-called contract is either a practical joke or a proposition so preposterous as to be treated with contempt. I understand that the twins are supposed to have some freak talent—although I've seen no evidence of it—but the idea of paying them more than a man receives in his mature years, well, it's just not the right way to raise boys. If they were sons of mine, I would forbid it. Of course, they're not—"

"No, they're not," Dad agreed.

Frank looked sharply at him. "Was that sarcasm, Father Bartlett? I'm merely trying to help. But as I told you the other day, if the twins will go to some good business school and work hard, I'd find a place for them in the bakery. If they make good, there is no reason why they should not do as well as I have done." Frank was his father's junior partner in an automated bakery; he always managed to let people know how much money he made. "But as for this notion of going out into space, I've always said that if a man expects to make anything of himself, he should stay home and work. Excuse me, Steve."

Uncle Steve said woodenly, "I'd be glad to excuse you."

"Eh?"

"Forget it, forget it. You stay out of space and I'll promise not to bake any bread. By the way, there's flour on your lapel."

Frank glanced down hastily. Faith brushed at his jacket and said, "Why, that's just powder."

"Of course it is," Frank agreed, brushing at it himself. "I'll have you know, Steve, that I'm usually much too busy to go down on the processing floor. I'm hardly ever out of the office."

"So I suspected."

Frank decided that he and Faith were late for another appointment and got up to go, when Dad stopped them.

"Frank? What was that about my boys being freaks?"

"What? I never said anything of the sort."

"I'm glad to hear it."

They left in a sticky silence, except that Pat was humming silently and loudly the March of the Gladiators. "We've got it won, kid!"

It seemed so to me, too-but Pat had to press our luck. He picked up the contract. "Then it's okay, Dad?"

"Mmm... I want to consult Judge Holland—and I'm not speaking for your mother." That did not worry us; Mum wouldn't hold out if Dad agreed, especially not with Uncle Steve around. "But you could say that the matter has not been disapproved." He frowned. "By the way, there is no time limit mentioned in there."

Uncle Steve fielded that one for us; "That's customary on a commercial ship, Bruce... which is what this is, legally. You sign on for the voyage, home planet to home planet."

"Uh, no doubt. But didn't they give you some idea, boys?"

I heard Pat moan, "There goes the ball game. What'll we tell him, Tom" Dad waited and Uncle Steve eyed us.

Finally Uncle Steve said, "Better speak up, boys. Perhaps I should have mentioned that I'm trying to get a billet on one of those ships myself—special discharge and such. So I know."

Pat muttered something. Dad said sharply, "Speak up, son."

"They told us the voyage would probably last... about a century."

Mum fainted and Uncle Steve caught her and everybody rushed around with cold compresses getting in each other's way and we were all upset. Once she pulled out of it Uncle Steve said to Dad, "Bruce? I'm going to take the boys out and buy them a tall, strong sarsaparilla and get them out from under foot. You won't want to talk tonight anyhow."

Dad agreed absently that it was a good. idea. I guess Dad loved all of us; nevertheless, when the chips were down, nobody counted but Mother.

Uncle Steve took us to a place where be could get something more to his taste than sarsaparilla, then vetoed it when Pat tried to order beer. "Don't try to show off, youngster. You are not going to put me in the position of serving liquor to my sister's kids."

"Beer can't hurt you."

"So? I'm still looking for the bloke who told me it was a soft drink. I'm going to beat him to a pulp with a stein. Pipe down." So we picked soft drinks and he drank some horrible mixture he called a Martian shandy and we talked about Project Lebensraum. He knew more about it than we did even though no press release had been made until that day—I suppose the fact that he had been assigned to the Chief of Staff's office had something to do with it, but he did not say.

Presently Pat looked worried and said, "See here, Uncle Steve, is there any chance that they will let us? Or should Tom and I just forget it?"

"Eh? Of course they are going to let you do it."

"Huh? It didn't look like it tonight. If I know Dad, he would skin us for rugs rather than make Mum unhappy."

"No doubt. And a good idea. But believe me, boys, this is in the bag... provided you use the right arguments."

"Which is?"

"Mmm... boys, being a staff rating, I've served with a lot of high brass. When you are right and a general is wrong, there is only one way to get him to change his mind. You shut up and don't argue. You let the facts speak for themselves and give him time to figure out a logical reason for reversing himself."

Pat looked unconvinced; Uncle Steve went on, "Believe me. Your pop is a reasonable man and, while your mother is not, she would rather be hurt herself than make anybody she loves unhappy. That contract is all in your favor and they can't refuse—provided you give them time to adjust to the idea. But if you tease and bulldoze and argue the way you usually do, you'll get them united against you."

"Huh? But I never tease, I merely use logical—"

"Stow it, you make me tired. Pat, you were one of the most unlovable brats that ever squawled to get his own way... and, Tom, you weren't any better. You haven't mellowed with age; you've simply sharpened your techniques. Now you are being offered something free that I would give my right arm to have. I ought to stand aside and let you flub it. But I won't. Keep your flapping mouths shut, play this easy, and it's yours. Try your usual loathsome tactics and you lose."

We would not take that sort of talk from most people. Anybody else and Pat would have given me the signal and he'd 've hit him high while I hit him low. But you don't argue that way with a man who wears the Ceres ribbon; you listen. Pat didn't even mutter to me about it.

So we talked about Project Lebensraum itself, Twelve ships were to go out, radiating from Sol approximately in axes of a dodecahedron—but only approximately, as each ship's mission would be, not to search a volume of space, but to visit as many Sol-type stars as possible in the shortest time. Uncle Steve explained how they worked out a "mini-max" search curve for each ship but I did not understand it; it involved a type of calculus we had not studied.. Not that it mattered; each ship was to spend as much time exploring and as little time making the jumps as possible.

But Pat could not keep from coming back to the idea of how to sell the deal to our parents. "Uncle Steve? Granting that you are right about playing it easy, here's an argument that maybe they should hear? Maybe you could use it on them?"

"Um?"

"Well, if half a loaf is better than none, maybe they haven't realized that this way one of us stays home." I caught a phrase of what Pat had started to say, which was not "one of us stays home," but "Tom stays home." I started to object, then let it ride. He hadn't said it. Pat went on, "They know we want to space. If they don't let us do this, we'll do it any way we can. If we joined your corps, we might come home on leave-but not often. If we emigrate, we might as well be dead; very few emigrants make enough to afford a trip back to Earth, not while their parents are still alive, at least. So if they keep us home now, as soon as we are of age they probably will never see us again. But if they agree, not only does one stay home, but they are always in touch with the other one—that's the whole purpose in using us telepath pairs." Pat looked anxiously at Uncle Steve.

"Shouldn't we point that out? Or will you slip them the • idea?"

Uncle Steve did not answer right away, although I could not see anything wrong with the logic. Two from two leaves zero, but one from two still leaves one.

Finally he answered slowly, "Pat, can't you get it through your thick head to leave well enough alone?"

"I don't see what's wrong with my logic."

"Since when was an emotional argument won by logic? You should read about the time King Solomon proposed to divvy up the baby." He took a pull at his glass and wiped his mouth. "What I am about to tell you is strictly confidential. Did you know that the Planetary League considered commissioning these ships as warships?"

"Huh? Why? Mr. Howard didn't say—"

"Keep your voice down. Project Lebensraum is of supreme interest to the Department of Peace. When it comes down to it, the root cause of war is always population pressure no matter what other factors enter in."

"But we've abolished war."

"So we have. So chaps like me get paid to stomp out brush fires before they burn the whole forest. Boys, if I tell you the rest of this, you've got to keep it to yourselves now and forever."

I don't like secrets. I'd rather owe money. You can't pay back a secret. But we promised.

"Okay. I saw the estimates the Department of Peace made on this project at the request of LRF. When the Avant-Garde was sent out, they gave her one chance in nine of returning. We've got better equipment now; they figure one chance in six for each planetary system visited. Each ship visits an average of six stars on the schedule laid out—so each ship has one chance in thirty-six of coming back. For twelve ships that means one chance in three of maybe one ship coming back. That's where you freaks come in."

"Don't call us 'freaks'!" We answered together.

" 'Freaks,' " he repeated. "And everybody is mighty glad you freaks are around, because without you the thing is impossible. Ships and crews are expendable—ships are just money and they can always find people like me with more curiosity than sense to man the ships. But while the ships are expendable, the knowledge they will gather is not expendable. Nobody at the top expects these ships to come back—but we've got to locate those earth-type planets; the human race needs them. That is what you boys are for: to report back. Then it won't matter that the ships won't come back."

"I'm not scared," I said firmly.

Pat glanced at me and looked away. I hadn't telepathed but I had told him plainly that the matter was not settled as to which one of us would go. Uncle Steve looked at me soberly and said, "I didn't expect you to be, at your age. Nor am I; I've been living on borrowed time since I was nineteen. By now I'm so convinced of my own luck that if one ship comes back, I'm sure it will be mine. But do you see why it would be silly to argue with your mother that half a set of twins is better than none? Emotionally your argument is all wrong. Go read the Parable of the Lost Sheep. You point out to your mother that one of you will be safe at home and it will simply fix her mind on the fact that the other one isn't safe and isn't home. If your Pop tries to reassure her, he is likely to stumble onto these facts—for they aren't secret, not the facts on which the statisticians based their predictions; it is just that the publicity about this project will emphasize the positive and play down the negative."

"Uncle Steve," objected Pat, "I don't see how they can be sure that most of the ships will be lost."

"They can't be sure. But these are actually optimistic assumptions based on what experience the race has had with investigating strange places. It's like this, Pat: you can be right over and over again, but when it comes to exploring strange places, the first time you guess wrong is the last guess you make. You're dead. Ever looked at the figures about it in just this one tiny solar system? Exploration is like Russian roulette; you can win and win, but if you keep on, it will kill you, certain. So don't get your parents stirred up on this phase of the matter. 1 don't mind—a man is entitled to die the way he wants to; that's one thing they haven't taxed. But there is no use in drawing attention to the fact that one of you two isn't coming back."