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diff --git a/68335-0.txt~ b/68335-0.txt~ new file mode 100644 index 0000000..01c7ba5 --- /dev/null +++ b/68335-0.txt~ @@ -0,0 +1,1543 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 68335 *** + + THE BIG NIGHT + _A Novelet of the Spaceways_ + + By Henry Kuttner + Writing under the pseudonym Hudson Hastings. + + _When the outmoded space-ship “La Cucaracha” + battles against the inroads of space transmission, + Logger Hilton must choose between a bright future + or a daring venture for a lost cause!_ + + [Transcriber’s Note: This etext was produced from + Thrilling Wonder Stories, June 1947. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that + the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] + + + + + CHAPTER I + _Last of the Hyper Ships_ + + +She came lumbering up out of the ecliptic plane of the planets like a +wallowing space-beast, her jet tubes scarred and stained, a molten +streak across her middle where Venus’s turgid atmosphere had scarred +her, and every ancient spot-weld in her fat body threatened to rip apart +the moment she hit stress again. + +The skipper was drunk in his cabin, his maudlin voice echoing through +the compartments as he bewailed the unsympathetic harshness of the +Interplanetary Trade Commission. + +There was a mongrel crew from a dozen worlds, half of them shanghaied. +Logger Hilton, the mate, was trying to make sense out of the tattered +charts, and _La Cucaracha_, her engines quaking at the suicidal thought, +was plunging ahead through space into the Big Night. + +In the control room a signal light flared. Hilton grabbed a mike. + +“Repair crew!” he yelled. “Get out on the skin and check jet A-six. +Move!” + +He turned back to his charts, chewing his lip and glancing at the pilot, +a tiny, inhuman Selenite, with his arachnoid multiple limbs and +fragile-seeming body. Ts’ss—that was his name, or approximated it—was +wearing the awkward audio-converter mask that could make his sub-sonic +voice audible to human ears, but, unlike Hilton, he wasn’t wearing +space-armor. No Lunarian ever needed protection against deep space. In +their million years on the Moon, they had got used to airlessness. Nor +did the ship’s atmosphere bother Ts’ss. He simply didn’t trouble to +breathe it. + +“Blast you, take it easy!” Hilton said. “Want to tear off our hide?” + +Through the mask the Selenite’s faceted eyes glittered at the mate. + +“No, sir. I’m going as slowly as I can on jet fuel. As soon as I know +the warp formulae, things’ll ease up a bit.” + +“Ride it! Ride it—without jets!” + +“We need the acceleration to switch over to warp, sir.” + +“Never mind,” Hilton said. “I’ve got it now. Somebody must have been +breeding fruit-flies all over these charts. Here’s the dope.” He +dictated a few equations that Ts’ss’ photographic memory assimilated at +once. + +A distant howling came from far off. + +“That’s the skipper, I suppose,” Hilton said. “I’ll be back in a minute. +Get into hyper as soon as you can, or we’re apt to fold up like an +accordion.” + +“Yes, sir. Ah—Mr. Hilton?” + +“Well?” + +“You might look at the fire extinguisher in the Cap’n’s room.” + +“What for?” Hilton asked. + +Several of the Selenite’s multiple limbs pantomimed the action of +drinking. Hilton grimaced, rose, and fought the acceleration down the +companionway. He shot a glance at the visio-screens and saw they were +past Jupiter already, which was a relief. Going through the giant +planet’s gravity-pull wouldn’t have helped _La Cucaracha’s_ aching +bones. But they were safely past now. Safely! He grinned wryly as he +opened the captain’s door and went in. + + * * * * * + +Captain Sam Danvers was standing on his bunk, making a speech to an +imaginary Interplanetary Trade Commission. He was a big man, or rather +he had been once, but now the flesh had shrunk and he was beginning to +stoop a little. The skin of his wrinkled face was nearly black with +space-tan. A stubble of gray hair stood up angrily. + +Somehow, though, he looked like Logger Hilton. Both were deep-space men. +Hilton was thirty years younger, but he, too, had the same dark tan and +the same look in his blue eyes. There’s an old saying that when you go +out into the Big Night, beyond Pluto’s orbit, that enormous emptiness +gets into you and looks out through your eyes. Hilton had that. So did +Captain Danvers. + +Otherwise—Hilton was huge and heavy where Danvers was a little frail +now, and the mate’s broad chest bulged his white tunic. He hadn’t had +time yet to change from dress uniform, though he knew that even this +cellulose fabric couldn’t take the dirt of a space-run without showing +it. Not on _La Cucaracha_, anyway. + +But this would be his last trip on the old tub. + +Captain Danvers interrupted his speech to ask Hilton what the devil he +wanted. The mate saluted. + +“Routine inspection, sir,” he observed, and took down a fire +extinguisher from the wall. Danvers sprang from the bunk, but Hilton +moved too fast. Before the captain reached him, Hilton had emptied the +tank down the nearest disposal vent. + +“Old juice,” he explained. “I’ll refill her.” + +“Listen, Mr. Hilton,” Danvers said, swaying slightly and stabbing a long +forefinger at the mate’s nose. “If you think I had whisky in there, +you’re crazy.” + +“Sure,” Hilton said. “I’m crazy as a loon, skipper. How about some +caffeine?” + +Danvers weaved to the disposal port and peered down it vaguely. + +“Caffeine. Huh? Look, if you haven’t got sense enough to take _La +Cucaracha_ into hyper, you ought to resign.” + +“Sure, sure. But in hyper it won’t take long to get to Fria. You’ll have +to handle the agent there.” + +“Christie? I—I guess so.” Danvers sank down on the bunk and held his +head. “I guess I just got mad, Logger. ITC—what do they know about it? +Why, we opened that trading post on Sirius Thirty.” + +“Look, skipper, when you came aboard you were so high you forgot to tell +me about it,” Hilton said. “You just said we’d changed our course and to +head for Fria. How come?” + +“Interplanetary Trade Commission,” Danvers growled. “They had their crew +checking over _La Cucaracha_.” + +“I know. Routine inspection.” + +“Well, those fat slobs have the brass-bound nerve to tell me my ship’s +unsafe! That the gravity-drag from Sirius is too strong—and that we +couldn’t go to Sirius Thirty!” + +“Could be they’re right,” Hilton said thoughtfully. “We had trouble +landing on Venus.” + +“She’s old.” Danvers voice was defensive. “But what of it? I’ve taken +_La Cucaracha_ around Betelgeuse and plenty closer to Sirius than Sirius +Thirty. The old lady’s got what it takes. They built atomic engines in +those days.” + +“They’re not building them now,” Hilton said, and the skipper turned +purple. + +“Transmission of matter!” he snarled. “What kind of a crazy set-up is +that? You get in a little machine on Earth, pull a switch, and there you +are on Venus or Bar Canopus or—or Purgatory, if you like! I shipped on +a hyper-ship when I was thirteen, Logger. I grew up on hyper-ships. +They’re solid. They’re dependable. They’ll take you where you want to +go. Hang it, it isn’t safe to space-travel without an atmosphere around +you, even if it’s only in a suit.” + +“That reminds me,” Hilton said. “Where’s yours?” + +“Ah, I was too hot. The refrigerating unit’s haywire.” + +The mate found the lightweight armor in a closet and deftly began to +repair the broken switch. + +“You don’t need to keep the helmet closed, but you’d better wear the +suit,” he said absently. “I’ve issued orders to the crew. All but Ts’ss, +and he doesn’t need any protection.” + +Danvers looked up. “How’s she running?” he asked quickly. + +“Well, she could use an overhaul,” Hilton said. “I want to get into +hyper-space fast This straight running is a strain. I’m afraid of +landing, too.” + +“Uh. Okay, there’ll be an overhaul when we get back—_if_ we make a +profit. You know how much we made this last trip. Tell you what—you +supervise the job and take a bigger cut for it.” + + * * * * * + +Hilton’s fingers slowed on the switch. He didn’t look around. + +“I’ll be looking for a new berth,” he said. “Sorry, skipper. But I won’t +be aboard after this voyage.” + +There was silence behind him. Hilton grimaced and began to work again on +the spacesuit He heard Danvers say: + +“You won’t find many hyper-ships needing mates these days.” + +“I know. But I’ve got engineering training. Maybe they would use me on +the matter-transmitters. Or as an outposter—a trader.” + +“Oh, for the love of Pete! Logger, what are you talking about? +A—_trader_? A filthy outposter? You’re a hyper-ship man!” + +“In twenty years there won’t be a hyper-ship running,” Hilton said. + +“You’re a liar. There’ll be one.” + +“She’ll fall apart in a coupla of months!” Hilton said angrily. “I’m not +going to argue. What are we after on Fria, the fungus?” + +After a pause Danvers answered. + +“What else is there on Fria? Sure, the fungus. It’s pushing the season a +little. We’re not due there for three weeks Earth-time, but Christie +always keeps a supply on hand. And that big hotel chain will pay us the +regular cut. Blamed if I know why people eat that garbage, but they pay +twenty bucks a plate for it.” + +“It could mean a profit, then,” Hilton said. “Provided we land on Fria +without falling apart.” He tossed the repaired suit on the bunk beside +Danvers. “There you are, skipper. I’d better get back to controls. We’ll +be hitting hyper pretty soon.” + +Danvers leaned over and touched a button that opened the deadlight. He +stared at the star-screen. + +“You won’t get this on a matter-transmitter,” he said slowly. “Look at +it, Logger.” + +Hilton leaned forward and looked across the Captain’s shoulder. The void +blazed. To one side a great arc of Jupiter’s titan bulk glared coldly +bright. Several of the moons were riding in the screen’s field, and an +asteroid or two caught Jupiter’s light in their tenuous atmospheres and +hung like shining veiled miniature worlds against that blazing backdrop. +And through and beyond the shining stars and moons and planets showed +the Big Night, the black emptiness that beats like an ocean on the rim +of the Solar System. + +“So it’s pretty,” Hilton said. “But it’s cold, too.” + +“Maybe. Maybe it is. But I like it. Well, get a job as a trader, you +jackass. I’ll stick to _La Cucaracha_. I know I can trust the old lady.” + +For answer the old lady jumped violently and gave a wallowing lurch. + + + + + CHAPTER II + _Bad News_ + + +Hilton instantly exploded out of the cabin. The ship was bucking hard. +Behind him the mate heard Danvers shouting something about incompetent +pilots, but he knew it probably wasn’t the Selenite’s fault. He was in +the control cabin while _La Cucaracha_ was still shuddering on the +downswing of the last jump. Ts’ss was a tornado of motion, his multiple +legs scrabbling frantically at a dozen instruments. + +“I’ll call the shot!” Hilton snapped, and Ts’ss instantly concentrated +on the incredibly complicated controls that were guiding the ship into +hyper. + +The mate was at the auxiliary board. He jerked down levers. + +“Hyper stations!” he shouted. “Close helmets! Grab the braces, you +sun-jumpers! Here we go!” + +A needle swung wildly across a gauge, hovering at the mark. Hilton +dropped into a seat, sliding his arms under the curved braces and +hooking his elbows around them. His ankles found similar supports +beneath him. The visor screens blurred and shimmered with crawling +colors, flicking back and forth, on and off, as _La Cucaracha_ fought +the see-saw between hyper and normal space. + +Hilton tried another mike. “Captain Danvers. Hyper stations. All right?” + +“Yeah, I’m in my suit,” Danvers’ voice said. “Can you take it? Need me? +What’s wrong with Ts’ss?” + +“The vocor at my board blew out, Cap’n,” Ts’ss said. “I couldn’t reach +the auxiliary.” + +“We must need an overhaul bad,” Danvers said, and cut off. + +Hilton grinned. “We need a rebuilding job,” he muttered, and let his +fingers hang over the control buttons, ready in case Ts’ss slipped. + +But the Selenite was like a precision machine; he never slipped. The old +_Cucaracha_ shook in every brace. The atomic engines channeled fantastic +amounts of energy into the dimensional gap. Then, suddenly, the see-saw +balanced for an instant, and in that split-second the ship slid across +its power-bridge and was no longer matter. It no longer existed, in the +three-dimensional plane. To an observer, it would have vanished. But to +an observer in hyper-space, it would have sprung into existence from +white nothingness. + +Except that there _were_ no hyper-spatial observers. In fact, there +wasn’t anything in hyper—it was, as some scientist had once observed, +just stuff, and nobody knew what the stuff was. It was possible to find +out some of hyper’s properties, but you couldn’t go much farther than +that. It was white, and it must have been energy, of a sort, for it +flowed like an inconceivably powerful tide, carrying ships with it at +speeds that would have destroyed the crew in normal space. Now, in the +grip of the hyper current, _La Cucaracha_ was racing toward the Big +Night at a velocity that would take it past Pluto’s orbit in a matter of +seconds. + +But you couldn’t see Pluto. You had to work blind here, with +instruments. And if you got on the wrong level, it was just too bad—for +you! + +Hastily Hilton checked the readings. This was Hyper C-758-R. That was +right. On different dimensional levels of hyper, the flow ran in various +directions. Coming back, they’d alter their atomic structure to ride +Hyper M-75-L, which rushed from Fria toward Earth and beyond it. + +“That’s that,” Hilton said, relaxing and reaching for a cigarette. “No +meteors, no stress-strain problems—just drift till we get close to +Fria. Then we drop out of hyper, and probably fall apart.” + +An annunciator clicked. Somebody said: + +“Mr. Hilton, there’s some trouble.” + +“There is. Okay, Wiggins. What now?” + +“One of the new men. He was out skinside making repairs.” + +“You had plenty of time to get back inside,” snapped Hilton, who didn’t +feel quite as sure of that as he sounded. “I called hyper stations.” + +“Yes, sir. But this fella’s new. Looks like he never rode a hyper-ship +before. Anyhow, his leg’s broken. He’s in sick bay.” + +Hilton thought for a moment. _La Cucaracha_ was understaffed anyway. Few +good men would willingly ship on such an antique. + +“I’ll come down,” he said, and nodded at Ts’ss. Then he went along the +companionway, glancing in at the skipper, who had gone to sleep. He used +the handholds to pull himself along, for there was no accelerative +gravity in hyper. In sick bay he found the surgeon, who doubled in brass +as cook, finishing a traction splint on a pale, sweating youngster who +was alternately swearing feebly and groaning. + +“What’s the matter with him?” Hilton asked. + +Bruno, the sawbones, gave a casual soft salute. “Simple fracture. I’m +giving him a walker-splint, so he’ll be able to get around. And he shot +his cookies, so he can’t be used to hyper.” + +“Looks like it,” Hilton said, studying the patient. The boy opened his +eyes, glared at Hilton. + +“I was shanghaied!” he yelped. “I’ll sue you for all you’re worth!” + + * * * * * + +The first officer was unperturbed. + +“I’m not the skipper, I’m mate,” Hilton said. “And I can tell you right +now that we’re not worth much. Ever hear about discipline?” + +“I was shanghaied!” + +“I know it. That’s the only way we can get a full crew to sign articles +on _La Cucaracha_. I mentioned discipline. We don’t bother much with it +here. Just the same, you’d better call me Mister when people are around. +Now shut up and relax. Give him a sedative, Bruno.” + +“No! I want to send a spacegram!” + +“We’re in hyper. You can’t. What’s your name?” + +“Saxon. Luther Saxon. I’m one of the consulting engineers on Transmat.” + +“The matter-transmission gang? What were you doing around the +space-docks?” + +Saxon gulped. “Well—uh—I go out with the technical crews to supervise +new installations. We’d just finished a Venusian transmission station. I +went out for a few drinks—that was all! A few drinks, and—” + +“You went to the wrong place,” Hilton said, amused. “Some crimp gave you +a Mickey. Your name’s on the articles, anyhow, so you’re stuck, unless +you jump ship. You can send a message from Fria, but it’d take a +thousand years to reach Venus or Earth. Better stick around, and you can +ride back with us.” + +“On this crate? It isn’t safe. She’s so old I’ve got the jitters every +time I take a deep breath.” + +“Well, stop breathing,” Hilton said curtly. _La Cucaracha_ was an old +tramp, of course, but he had shipped on her for a good many years. It +was all right for this Transmat man to talk; the Transmat crews never +ran any risks. + +“Ever been on a hyper-ship before?” he asked. + +“Naturally,” Saxon said. “As a passenger! We have to get to a planet +before we can install a transmission station, don’t we?” + +“Uh-huh.” Hilton studied the scowling face on the pillow. “You’re not a +passenger now, though.” + +“My leg’s broken.” + +“You got an engineering degree?” + +Saxon hesitated and finally nodded. + +“All right, you’ll be assistant pilot. You won’t have to walk much to do +that. The pilot’ll tell you what to do. You can earn your mess that +way.” + +Saxon sputtered protests. + +“One thing,” Hilton said. “Better not tell the skipper you’re a Transmat +man. He’d hang you over one of the jets. Send him for’rd when he’s fixed +up, Bruno.” + +“Yessir,” Bruno said, grinning faintly. An old deep-space man, he didn’t +like Transmat either. + +Hilton pulled himself back to the control room. He sat down and watched +the white visoscreens. Most of Ts’ss’ many arms were idle. This was +routine now. + +“You’re getting an assistant,” Hilton said after a while. “Train him +fast. That’ll give us all a break. If that fat-headed Callistan pilot +hadn’t jumped on Venus, we’d be set.” + +“This is a short voyage,” Ts’ss said. “It’s a fast hyper-flow on this +level.” + +“Yeah. This new guy. Don’t tell the skipper, but he’s a Transmat man.” + +Ts’ss laughed a little. + +“That will pass, too,” he said. “We’re an old race, Mr. Hilton. Earthmen +are babies compared to the Selenites. Hyper-ships are fading out, and +eventually Transmat will fade out too, when something else comes.” + +“We won’t fade,” Hilton said, rather surprised to find himself defending +the skipper’s philosophy. “_Your_ people haven’t—you Selenites.” + +“Some of us are left, that’s true,” Ts’ss said softly. “Not many. The +great days of the Selenite Empire passed very long ago. But there are +still a few Selenites left, like me.” + +“You keep going, don’t you? You can’t kill off a—a race.” + +“Not easily. Not at once. But you can, eventually. And you can kill a +tradition, too, though it may take a long time. But you know what the +end will be.” + +“Oh, shut up,” Hilton said. “You talk too much.” + +Ts’ss bent again above the controls. _La Cucaracha_ fled on through the +white hyper-flow, riding as smoothly as the day she had been launched. + + * * * * * + +But when they reached Fria, it would be rough space and high gravity. +Hilton grimaced. + +He thought: So what? This is just another voyage. The fate of the +universe doesn’t depend on it. Nothing depends on it, except, maybe, +whether we make enough profit to have the old lady overhauled. And that +won’t matter to me for it’s my last voyage into the Big Night. + +He watched the screens. He could not see it, but he knew that it hung +beyond the universal whiteness, in a plane invisible to his eyes. The +little sparks of worlds and suns glowed in its immensity, but never +brightened it. It was too vast, too implacable. And even the giant suns +would be quenched in its ocean, in the end. As everything else would be +quenched, as everything moved on the tides of time into that huge +darkness. + +That was progress. A wave was born and gathered itself and grew—and +broke. A newer wave was behind it. And the old one slipped back and was +lost forever. A few foam-flecks and bubbles remained, like Ts’ss, +remnant of the giant wave of the ancient Selenite Empire. + +The Empire was gone. It had fought and ruled a hundred worlds, in its +day. But, in the end, the Big Night had conquered and swallowed it. + +As it would swallow the last hyper-ship eventually. . . . + +They hit Fria six days later, Earth time. And hit was the word. One of +Ts’ss’ chitin-covered arms was snapped off by the impact, but he didn’t +seem to mind. He couldn’t feel pain, and he could grow another limb in a +few weeks. The crew, strapped to their landing braces, survived with +minor bruises. + +Luther Saxon, the Transmat man, was in the auxiliary pilot’s seat—he +had enough specialized engineering training so that he learned the ropes +fast—and he acquired a blue bump on his forehead, but that was all. _La +Cucaracha_ had come out of hyper with a jolt that strained her fat old +carcass to the limit, and the atmosphere and gravity of Fria was the +penultimate straw. Seams ripped, a jet went out, and new molten streaks +appeared on the white-hot hull. + +The crew had been expecting liberty. There was no time for that. Hilton +told off working gangs to relieve each other at six-hour intervals, and +he said, rather casually, that Twilight was out of bounds. He knew the +crew would ignore that order. There was no way to keep the men aboard, +while Twilight sold liquor and even more effective escape-mechanisms. +Still, there were few women on Fria, and Hilton hoped that enough +working stiffs would keep on the job to get _La Cucaracha_ repaired and +spaceworthy before the fungus cargo was loaded. + +He knew that Wiggins, the second mate, would do his best. For himself he +went with the skipper in search of Christie, the Fria trader. The way +led through Twilight, the roofed settlement that was shielded from the +hot, diamond-bright glare of the primary. It wasn’t big. But then Fria +was an outpost, with a floating population of a few hundred. They came +in and out with the ships and the harvest seasons. If necessary, Hilton +thought, some of the bums could be shanghaied. Still, it wasn’t too +likely that any of the crew would desert. None of them would be paid off +till they were back in the Solar System. + +They found Christie in his plasticoid cabin, a fat, bald, sweating man +puffing at a huge meerschaum pipe. He looked up, startled, and then +resignedly leaned back in his chair and waved them to seats. + +“Hello Chris,” Danvers said. “What’s new?” + +“Hello, Skipper. Hi, Logger. Have a good trip?” + +“The landing wasn’t so good,” Hilton said. + +“Yeah, I heard about it. Drinks?” + +“Afterward,” Danvers said, though his eyes gleamed. “Let’s clean up the +business first. Got a good shipment ready?” + +Christie smoothed one of his fat, glistening cheeks. “Well—you’re a +couple of weeks early.” + +“You keep a stock-pile.” + +The trader grunted. “Fact is—look, didn’t you get my message? No, I +guess there wasn’t time. I sent a spacemail on the _Blue Sky_ last week +for you, Skipper.” + +Hilton exchanged glances with Danvers. + +“You sound like bad news, Chris,” he said. “What is it?” + +Christie said uncomfortably, “I can’t help it. You can’t meet +competition like Transmat You can’t afford to pay their prices. You got +running expenses on _La Cucaracha_. Jet-fuel costs dough, and—well, +Transmat sets up a transmitting station, pays for it, and the job’s +done, except for the power outlay. With atomic, what does that amount +to?” + + * * * * * + +Danvers was growing red. + +“Is Transmat setting up a station here?” Hilton said hastily. + +“Yeah. I can’t stop ’em. It’ll be ready in a couple of months.” + +“But why? The fungus isn’t worth it. There isn’t enough market. You’re +pulling a bluff, Chris. What do you want? A bigger cut?” + +Christie regarded his meerschaum. “Nope. Remember the ore tests twelve +years ago? There’s valuable ores on Fria, Logger. Only it’s got to be +refined plenty. Otherwise it’s too bulky for shipment. And the equipment +would cost too much to freight by spaceship. It’s big stuff—I mean +big.” + +Hilton glanced at Danvers. The skipper was purple now, but his mouth was +clamped tightly. + +“But—hold on, Chris. How can Transmat get around that? By sending the +crude ores to Earth in their gadgets?” + +“The way I heard it,” Christie said, “is that they’re going to send the +refining machines here and set ’em up right on Fria. All they need for +that is one of their transmitters. The field can be expanded to take +almost anything, you know. Shucks you could move a planet that way if +you had the power! They’ll do the refining here and transmit the refined +ores back Earthside.” + +“So they want ores,” Danvers said softly. “They don’t want the fungus, +do they?” + +Christie nodded. “It looks like they do. I had an offer. A big one. I +can’t afford to turn it down, and you can’t afford to meet it, Skipper. +You know that as well as I do. Thirteen bucks a pound.” + +Danvers snorted. Hilton whistled. + +“No, we can’t meet that,” he said. “But how can they afford to pay it?” + +“Quantity. They channel everything through their transmitters. They set +one up on a world, and there’s a door right to Earth—or any planet they +name. One job won’t net them much of a profit, but a million jobs—and +they take everything! So what can I do, Logger?” + +Hilton shrugged. The captain stood up abruptly. + +Christie stared at his pipe. + +“Look, Skipper. Why not try the Orion Secondaries? I heard there was a +bumper crop of bluewood gum there.” + +“I heard that a month ago,” Danvers said. “So did everybody else. It’s +cleaned out by now. Besides, the old lady won’t stand a trip like that. +I’ve got to get an overhaul fast, and a good one, back in the System.” + +There was a silence. Christie was sweating harder than ever. “What about +that drink?” he suggested. “We can maybe figure a way.” + +“I can still pay for my own drinks,” Danvers lashed out. He swung around +and was gone. + +“Jehoshaphat, Logger!” Christie said. “What could I do?” + +“It’s not your fault, Chris,” Hilton said. “I’ll see you later, +unless—anyhow, I’d better get after the skipper. Looks like he’s +heading for Twilight.” + +He followed Danvers, but already he had lost hope. + + + + + CHAPTER III + _Danvers Lays the Course_ + + +Two days later the skipper was still drunk. + +In the half-dusk of Twilight Hilton went into a huge, cool barn where +immense fans kept the hot air in circulation, and found Danvers, as +usual, at a back table, a glass in his hand. He was talking to a +tiny-headed Canopian, one of that retrovolved race that is only a few +degrees above the moron level. The Canopian looked as though he was +covered with black plush, and his red eyes glowed startlingly through +the fur. He, too, had a glass. + +Hilton walked over to the two. “Skipper,” he said. + +“Blow,” Danvers said. “I’m talking to this guy.” + +Hilton looked hard at the Canopian and jerked his thumb. The red-eyed +shadow picked up his glass and moved away quickly. Hilton sat down. + +“We’re ready to jet off,” he said. + +Danvers blinked at him blearily. “You interrupted me, mister. I’m busy.” + +“Buy a case and finish your binge aboard,” Hilton said. “If we don’t jet +soon, the crew will jump.” + +“Let ’em.” + +“Okay. Then who’ll work _La Cucaracha_ back to Earth?” + +“If we go back to Earth, the old lady will land on the junk-pile,” +Danvers said furiously. “The ITC won’t authorize another voyage without +a rebuilding job.” + +“You can borrow dough.” + +“Ha!” + +Hilton let out his breath with a sharp, angry sound. “Are you sober +enough to understand me? Then listen. I’ve talked Saxon around.” + +“Who’s Saxon?” + +“He was shanghaied on Venus. Well—he’s a Transmat engineer.” Hilton +went on quickly before the skipper could speak. “That was a mistake. The +crimp’s mistake and ours. Transmat stands behind its men. Saxon looked +up the Transmat crew on Fria, and their superintendent paid me a visit. +We’re in for trouble. A damage suit. But there’s one way out. No +hyper-ship’s due to hit Fria for months and the matter-transmitter won’t +be finished within two months. And it seems Transmat has a shortage of +engineers. If we can get Saxon back to Venus or Earth fast, he’ll cover. +There’ll be no suit.” + +“Maybe he’ll cover. But what about Transmat?” + +“If Saxon won’t sign a complaint, what can they do?” Hilton shrugged. +“It’s our only out now.” + +Danvers’ brown-splotched fingers played with his glass. + +“A Transmat man,” he muttered. “Ah-h. So we go back Earthside. What +then? We’re stuck.” He looked under his drooping lids at Hilton. “I mean +_I’m_ stuck. I forgot you’re jumping after this voyage.” + +“I’m not jumping. I sign for one voyage at a time. What do you want me +to do, anyhow?” + +“Do what you like. Run out on the old lady. You’re no deep-space man.” +Danvers spat. + +“I know when I’m licked,” Hilton said. “The smart thing then is to fight +in your own weight, when you’re outclassed on points, not wait for the +knockout. You’ve had engineering training. You could get on with +Transmat, too.” + +For a second Hilton thought the skipper was going to throw the glass at +him. Then Danvers dropped back in his chair, trying to force a smile. + +“I shouldn’t blow my top over that,” he said, with effort. “It’s the +truth.” + +“Yeah. Well—are you coming?” + +“The old lady’s ready to jet off?” Danvers said. “I’ll come, then. Have +a drink with me first.” + +“We haven’t time.” + +With drunken dignity Danvers stood up. “Don’t get too big for your +boots, mister. The voyage isn’t over yet. I said have a drink! That’s an +order.” + +“Okay, okay!” Hilton said. “One drink. Then we go?” + +“Sure.” + +Hilton gulped the liquor without tasting it. Rather too late, he felt +the stinging ache on his tongue. But before he could spring to his feet, +the great dim room folded down upon him like a collapsing umbrella, and +he lost consciousness with the bitter realization that he had been +Mickeyed like the rawest greenhorn. But the skipper had poured that +drink. . . . + + * * * * * + +The dreams were confusing. He was fighting something, but he didn’t know +what. Sometimes it changed its shape, and sometimes it wasn’t there at +all, but it was always enormous and terribly powerful. + +He wasn’t always the same, either. Sometimes he was the wide-eyed kid +who had shipped on _Starhopper_, twenty-five years ago, to take his +first jump into the Big Night. Then he was a little older, in a bos’n’s +berth, his eye on a master’s ticket, studying, through the white, +unchangeable days and nights of hyper-space, the intricate logarithms a +skilled pilot must know. + +He seemed to walk on a treadmill toward a goal that slid away, never +quite within reach. But he didn’t know what that goal was. It shone like +success. Maybe it was success. But the treadmill had started moving +before he’d really got started. In the Big Night a disembodied voice was +crying thinly: + +“You’re in the wrong game, Logger. Thirty years ago you’d have a future +in hyper-ships. Not any more. There’s a new wave coming up. Get out, or +drown.” + +A red-eyed shadow leaned over him. Hilton fought out of his dream. +Awkwardly he jerked up his arm and knocked away the glass at his lips. +The Canopian let out a shrill, harsh cry. The liquid that had been in +the glass was coalescing in midair into a shining sphere. + +The glass floated—and the Canopian floated too. They were in hyper. A +few lightweight straps held Hilton to his bunk, but this was his own +cabin, he saw. Dizzy, drugged weakness swept into his brain. + +The Canopian struck a wall, pushed strongly, and the recoil shot him +toward Hilton. The mate ripped free from the restraining straps. He +reached out and gathered in a handful of furry black plush. The Canopian +clawed at his eyes. + +“Captain!” he screamed. “Captain Danvers!” + +Pain gouged Hilton’s cheek as his opponent’s talons drew blood. Hilton +roared with fury. He shot a blow at the Canopian’s jaw, but now they +were floating free, and the punch did no harm. In midair they grappled, +the Canopian incessantly screaming in that thin, insane shrilling. + +The door-handle clicked twice. There was a voice outside—Wiggins, the +second. A deep thudding came. Hilton, still weak, tried to keep the +Canopian away with jolting blows. Then the door crashed open, and +Wiggins pulled himself in. + +“Dzann!” he said. “Stop it!” He drew a jet-pistol and leveled it at the +Canopian. + +On the threshold was a little group. Hilton saw Saxon, the Transmat man, +gaping there, and other crew-members, hesitating, unsure. Then, +suddenly, Captain Danvers’ face appeared behind the others, twisted, +strained with tension. + +The Canopian had retreated to a corner and was making mewing, frightened +noises. + +“What happened, Mr. Hilton?” Wiggins said. “Did this tomcat jump you?” + +Hilton was so used to wearing deep-space armor that till now he had +scarcely realized its presence. His helmet was hooded back, like that of +Wiggins and the rest. He pulled a weight from his belt and threw it +aside; the reaction pushed him toward a wall where he gripped a brace. + +“Does he go in the brig?” Wiggins asked. + +“All right, men,” Danvers said quietly. “Let me through.” He propelled +himself into Hilton’s cabin. Glances of discomfort and vague distrust +were leveled at him. The skipper ignored them. + +“Dzann!” he said. “Why aren’t you wearing your armor? Put it on. The +rest of you—get to your stations. You too, Mr. Wiggins. I’ll handle +this.” + +Still Wiggins hesitated. He started to say something. + +“What are you waiting for?” Hilton said. “Tell Bruno to bring some +coffee. Now beat it.” He maneuvered himself into a sitting position on +his bunk. From the tail of his eye he saw Wiggins and the others go out. +Dzann, the Canopian, had picked up a suit from the corner and was +awkwardly getting into it. + +Danvers carefully closed the door, testing the broken lock. + +“Got to have that fixed,” he murmured. “It isn’t shipshape this way.” He +found a brace and stood opposite the mate, his eyes cool and watchful, +the strain still showing on his tired face. Hilton reached for a +cigarette. + +“Next time your tomcat jumps me, I’ll burn a hole through him,” he +promised. + +“I stationed him here to guard you, in case there was trouble,” Danvers +said. “To take care of you if we cracked up or ran into danger. I showed +him how to close your helmet and start the oxygen.” + +“Expect a half-witted Canopian to remember that?” Hilton said. “You also +told him to keep drugging me.” He reached toward the shining liquid +sphere floating near by and pushed a forefinger into it. He tasted the +stuff. “Sure. _Vakheesh._ That’s what you slipped in my drink on Fria. +Suppose you start talking, skipper. What’s this Canopian doing aboard?” + +“I signed him,” Danvers said. + +“For what? Supercargo?” + + * * * * * + +Danvers answered that emotionlessly, watching Hilton. + +“Cabin-boy.” + +“Yeah. What did you tell Wiggins? About me, I mean?” + +“I said you’d got doped up,” Danvers said, grinning. “You were doped, +too.” + +“I’m not now.” Hilton’s tone rang hard. “Suppose you tell me where we +are? I can find out. I can get the equations from Ts’ss and run +chart-lines. Are we on M-Seventy-Five-L?” + +“No, we’re not. We’re riding another level.” + +“Where to?” + +The Canopian shrilled, “I don’t know name. Has no name. Double sun it +has.” + +“You crazy!” Hilton glared at the skipper. “Are you heading us for a +double primary?” + +Danvers still grinned. “Yeah. Not only that, but we’re going to land on +a planet thirty thousand miles from the suns—roughly.” + +Hilton flicked on his deadlight and looked at white emptiness. + +“Closer than Mercury is to Sol. You can’t do it. How big are the +primaries?” + +Danvers told him. + +“All right. It’s suicide. You know that. _La Cucaracha_ won’t take it.” + +“The old lady will take anything the Big Night can hand out.” + +“Not this. Don’t kid yourself. She might have made it back to +Earth—with a Lunar landing—but you’re riding into a meat-grinder.” + +“I haven’t forgotten my astrogation,” Danvers said. “We’re coming out of +hyper with the planet between us and the primaries. The pull will land +us.” + +“In small pieces,” Hilton agreed. “Too bad you didn’t keep me doped. If +you keep your mouth shut, we’ll replot our course to Earth and nobody’ll +get hurt. If you want to start something, it’ll be mutiny, and I’ll take +my chances at Admiralty.” + +The captain made a noise that sounded like laughter. + +“All right,” he said, “Suit yourself. Go look at the equations. I’ll be +in my cabin when you want me. Come on, Dzann.” + +He pulled himself into the companionway, the Canopian gliding behind him +as silently as a shadow. + +Hilton met Bruno with coffee as he followed Danvers. The mate grunted, +seized the covered cup, and sucked in the liquid with the deftness of +long practise under anti-gravity conditions. Bruno watched him. + +“All right, sir?” the cook-surgeon said. + +“Yeah. Why not?” + +“Well—the men are wondering.” + +“What about?” + +“I dunno, sir. You’ve never—you’ve always commanded the launchings, +sir. And that Canopian—the men don’t like him. They think something’s +wrong.” + +“Oh, they do, do they?” Hilton said grimly. “I’ll come and hold their +hands when they turn in for night-watch. They talk too much.” + +He scowled at Bruno and went on toward the control room. Though he had +mentioned mutiny to the skipper, he was too old a hand to condone it, +except in extremity. And discipline had to be maintained, even though +Danvers had apparently gone crazy. + +Ts’ss and Saxon were at the panels. The Selenite slanted a glittering +stare at him, but the impassive mask under the audio-filter showed no +expression. Saxon, however, swung around and began talking excitedly. + +“What’s happened, Mr. Hilton? Something’s haywire. We should be ready +for an Earth-landing by now. But we’re not. I don’t know enough about +these equations to chart back, and Ts’ss won’t tell me a blamed thing.” + +“There’s nothing to tell,” Ts’ss said. Hilton reached past the Selenite +and picked up a folder of ciphered figures. He said absently to Saxon: + +“Pipe down. I want to concentrate on this.” + +He studied the equations. + +He read death in them. + + + + + CHAPTER IV + _Gamble With Death_ + + +Logger Hilton went into the skipper’s cabin, put his back against the +wall, and started cursing fluently and softly. When he had finished, +Danvers grinned at him. + +“Through?” he asked. + +Hilton switched his stare to the Canopian, who was crouched in a corner, +furtively loosening the locks of his spacesuit. + +“That applies to you, too, tomcat,” he said. + +“Dzann won’t mind that,” Danvers said. “He isn’t bright enough to resent +cussing. And I don’t care, as long as I get what we want. Still going to +mutiny and head for Earth?” + +“No, I’m not,” Hilton said. With angry patience he ticked off points on +his fingers. “You can’t switch from one hyper-plane to another without +dropping into ordinary space first, for the springboard. If we went back +into normal space, the impact might tear _La Cucaracha_ into tiny +pieces. We’d be in suits, floating free, a hundred million miles from +the nearest planet. Right now we’re in a fast hyper-flow heading for the +edge of the universe, apparently.” + +“There’s one planet within reach,” Danvers said. + +“Sure. The one that’s thirty thousand miles from a double primary. And +nothing else.” + +“Well? Suppose we do crack up? We can make repairs once we land on a +planet. We can get the materials we need. You can’t do that in deep +space. I know landing on this world will be a job. But it’s that or +nothing—now.” + +“What are you after?” + +Danvers began to explain: + +“This Canopian—Dzann—he made a voyage once, six years ago. A tramp +hyper-ship. The controls froze, and the tub was heading for outside. +They made an emergency landing just in time—picked out a planet that +had been detected and charted, but never visited. They repaired there, +and came back into the trade routes. But there was a guy aboard, an +Earthman who was chummy with Dzann. This guy was smart, and he’d been in +the drug racket, I think. Not many people know what raw, growing paraine +looks like, but this fellow knew. He didn’t tell anybody. He took +samples, intending to raise money, charter a ship, and pick up a cargo +later. But he was knifed in some dive on Callisto. He didn’t die right +away, though, and he liked Dzann. So he gave Dzann the information.” + +“That halfwit?” Hilton said. “How could he remember a course?” + +“That’s one thing the Canopians can remember. They may be morons, but +they’re fine mathematicians. It’s their one talent.” + +“It was a good way for him to bum a drink and get a free berth,” Hilton +said. + +“No. He showed me the samples. I can talk his lingo, a little, and +that’s why he was willing to let me in on his secret, back on Fria. +Okay. Now. We land on this planet—it hasn’t been named—and load a +cargo of _paraine_. We repair the old lady, if she needs it—” + +“She will!” + +“And then head back.” + +“To Earth?” + +“I think Silenus. It’s an easier landing.” + +“Now you’re worrying about landings,” Hilton said bitterly. “Well, +there’s nothing I can do about it, I suppose. I’m stepping out after +this voyage. What’s the current market quotation on _paraine_?” + +“Fifty a pound. At Medical Center, if that’s what you mean.” + +“Big money,” the mate said. “You can buy a new ship with the profits and +still have a pile left for happy days.” + +“You’ll get your cut.” + +“I’m still quitting.” + +“Not till this voyage is over,” Danvers said. “You’re mate on _La +Cucaracha_.” He chuckled. “A deep-space man has plenty of tricks up his +sleeve—and I’ve been at it longer than you.” + +“Sure,” Hilton said. “You’re smart. But you forgot Saxon. He’ll throw +that damage suit against you now, with Transmat behind him.” + +Danvers merely shrugged. “I’ll think of something. It’s your watch. We +have about two hundred hours before we come out of hyper. Take it, +mister.” + +He was laughing as Hilton went out. . . . + +In two hundred hours a good deal can happen. It was Hilton’s job to see +that it didn’t. Luckily, his reappearance had reassured the crew, for +when masters fight, the crew will hunt for trouble. But with Hilton +moving about La Cucaracha, apparently as casual and assured as ever, +even the second mate, Wiggins, felt better. Still, it was evident that +they weren’t heading for Earth. It was taking too long. + + * * * * * + +The only real trouble came from Saxon, and Hilton was able to handle +that. Not easily, however. It had almost come to a showdown, but Hilton +was used to commanding men, and finally managed to bluff the Transmat +engineer. Dissatisfied but somewhat cowed, Saxon grumblingly subsided. + +Hilton called him back. + +“I’ll do my best for you, Saxon. But we’re in the Big Night now. You’re +not in civilized space. Don’t forget that the skipper knows you’re a +Transmat man, and he hates your insides. On a hyper-ship, the Old Man’s +word is law. So—for your own sake—watch your step!” + +Saxon caught the implication. He paled slightly, and after that managed +to avoid the captain. + +Hilton kept busy checking and rechecking _La Cucaracha_. No outside +repairs could be done in hyper, for there was no gravity, and ordinary +physical laws were inoperative—magnetic shoes, for example, wouldn’t +work. Only in the ship itself was there safety. And that safety was +illusory for the racking jars of the spatial see-saw might disintegrate +_La Cucaracha_ in seconds. + +Hilton called on Saxon. Not only did he want technical aid, but he +wanted to keep the man busy. So the pair worked frantically over +jury-rigged systems that would provide the strongest possible auxiliary +bracing for the ship. Torsion, stress and strain were studied, the +design of the craft analyzed, and structural alloys X-ray tested. + +Some flaws were found—_La Cucaracha_ was a very old lady—but fewer +than Hilton expected. In the end, it became chiefly a matter of ripping +out partitions and bulkheads and using the material for extra bracing. + +But Hilton knew, and Saxon agreed with him, that it would not be enough +to cushion the ship’s inevitable crash. + +There was one possible answer. They sacrificed the after section of the +craft. It could be done, though they were racing against time. The +working crews mercilessly cut away beams from aft and carried them +forward and welded them into position, so that, eventually, the forward +half of the ship was tremendously strong and cut off, by tough air-tight +partitions, from a skeleton after-half. And that half Hilton flooded +with manufactured water, to aid in the cushioning effect. + +Danvers, of course, didn’t like it. But he had to give in. After all, +Hilton was keeping the ship on the skipper’s course, insanely reckless +as that was. If _La Cucaracha_ survived, it would be because of Hilton. +But Captain Danvers shut himself in his cabin and was sullenly silent. + +Toward the end, Hilton and Ts’ss were alone in the control room, while +Saxon, who had got interested in the work for its own sake, +superintended the last-minute jobs of spot-bracing. Hilton, trying to +find the right hyper-space level that would take them back to Earth +after they had loaded the _paraine_ cargo, misplaced a denial point and +began to curse in a low, furious undertone. + +He heard Ts’ss laugh softly and whirled on the Selenite. + +“What’s so funny?” he demanded. + +“It’s not really funny, sir,” Ts’ss said. “There have to be people like +Captain Danvers, in any big thing.” + +“What are you babbling about now?” he asked curiously. + +Ts’ss shrugged. “The reason I keep shipping on _La Cucaracha_ is because +I can be busy and efficient aboard, and planets aren’t for Selenites any +more. We’ve lost our own world. It died long ago. But I still remember +the old traditions of our Empire. If a tradition ever becomes great, +it’s because of the men who dedicate themselves to it. That’s why +anything ever became great. And it’s why hyper-ships came to mean +something, Mr. Hilton. There were men who lived and breathed +hyper-ships. Men who worshipped hyper-ships, as a man worships a god. +Gods fall, but a few men will still worship at the old altars. They +can’t change. If they were capable of changing, they wouldn’t have been +the type of men to make their gods great.” + +“Been burning _paraine_?” Hilton demanded unpleasantly. His head ached, +and he didn’t want to find excuses for the skipper. + +“It’s no drug-dream,” Ts’ss said. “What about the chivalric traditions? +We had our Chyra Emperor, who fought for—” + +“I’ve read about Chyra,” Hilton said. “He was a Selenite King Arthur.” + + * * * * * + +Slowly Ts’ss nodded his head, keeping his great eyes on Hilton. + +“Exactly. A tool who was useful in his time, because he served his cause +with a single devotion. But when that cause died, there was nothing for +Chyra—or Arthur—to do except die too. But until he did die, he +continued to serve his broken god, not believing that it had fallen. +Captain Danvers will never believe the hyper-ships are passing. He will +be a hyper-ship man until he dies. Such men make causes great—but when +they outlive their cause, they are tragic figures.” + +“Well, I’m not that crazy,” Hilton growled. “I’m going into some other +game. Transmat or something. You’re a technician. Why don’t you come +with me after this voyage?” + +“I like the Big Night,” Ts’ss said. “And I have no world of my own—no +living world. There is nothing to—to make me want success, Mr. Hilton. +On _La Cucaracha_ I can do as I want. But away from the ship, I find +that people don’t like Selenites. We are too few to command respect or +friendship any more. And I’m quite old, you know.” + +Startled, Hilton stared at the Selenite. There was no way to detect +signs of age on the arachnoid beings. But they always knew, infallibly, +how long they had to live, and could predict the exact moment of their +death. + +Well, _he_ wasn’t old. And he wasn’t a deep-space man as Danvers was. He +followed no lost causes. There was nothing to keep him with the +hyper-ships, after this voyage, if he survived. + +A signal rang. Hilton’s stomach jumped up and turned into ice, though he +had been anticipating this for hours. He reached for a mike. + +“Hyper stations! Close helmets! Saxon, report!” + +“All work completed, Mr. Hilton,” said Saxon’s voice, strained but +steady. + +“Come up here. May need you. General call: stand by! Grab the braces. +We’re coming in.” + +Then they hit the see-saw! + + + + + CHAPTER V + _Hilton’s Choice_ + + +No doubt about it, she was tough—that old lady. She’d knocked around a +thousand worlds and ridden hyper for more miles than a man could count. +Something had got into her from the Big Night, something stronger than +metal bracing and hard alloys. Call it soul, though there never was a +machine that had a soul. But since the first log-craft was launched on +steaming seas, men have known that a ship gets a soul—from somewhere. + +She hopped like a flea. She bucked like a mad horse. Struts and columns +snapped and buckled, and the echoing companionways were filled with an +erratic crackling and groaning as metal, strained beyond its strength, +gave way. Far too much energy rushed through the engines. But the +battered old lady took it and staggered on, lurching, grunting, holding +together somehow. + +The see-saw bridged the gap between two types of space, and _La +Cucaracha_ yawed wildly down it, an indignity for an old lady who, at +her age, should ride sedately through free void—but she was a +hyper-ship first and a lady second. She leaped into normal space. The +skipper had got his figures right. The double sun wasn’t visible, for it +was eclipsed by the single planet, but the pull of that monstrous twin +star clamped down like a giant’s titanic fist closing on _La Cucaracha_ +and yanking her forward irresistibly. + +There was no time to do anything except stab a few buttons. The powerful +rocket-jets blazed from _La Cucaracha’s_ hull. The impact stunned every +man aboard. No watcher saw, but the automatic recording charts mapped +what happened then. + +_La Cucaracha_ struck what was, in effect, a stone wall. Not even that +could stop her. But it slowed her enough for the minimum of safety, and +she flipped her stern down and crashed on the unnamed planet with all +her after jets firing gallantly, the flooded compartments cushioning the +shock, and a part of her never made of plastic or metal holding her +together against even that hammer-blow struck at her by a world. + +Air hissed out into a thinner atmosphere and dissipated. The hull was +half molten. Jet-tubes were fused at a dozen spots. The stern was hash. + +But she was still—a ship. + +The loading of cargo was routine. The men had seen too many alien +planets to pay much attention to this one. There was no breathable air, +so the crew worked in their suits—except for three who had been injured +in the crash, and were in sick-bay, in a replenished atmosphere within +the sealed compartments of the ship. But only a few compartments were so +sealed. _La Cucaracha_ was a sick old lady, and only first aid could be +administered here. + +Danvers himself superintended that. _La Cucaracha_ was his own, and he +kept half the crew busy opening the heat-sealed jets, doing jury-rig +repairs, and making the vessel comparatively spaceworthy. He let Saxon +act as straw-boss, using the engineer’s technical knowledge, though his +eyes chilled whenever he noticed the Transmat man. + +As for Hilton, he went out with the other half of the crew to gather the +_paraine_ crop. They used strong-vacuum harvesters, running long, +flexible carrier tubes back to _La Cucaracha’s_ hold, and it took two +weeks of hard, driving effort to load a full cargo. But by then the ship +was bulging with _paraine_, the repairs were completed, and Danvers had +charted the course to Silenus. + +Hilton sat in the control room with Ts’ss and Saxon. He opened a wall +compartment, glanced in, and closed it again. Then he nodded at Saxon. + +“The skipper won’t change his mind,” he said. “Silenus is our next port. +I’ve never been there.” + +“I have,” Ts’ss said. “I’ll tell you about it later.” + +Saxon drew an irritated breath. “You know what the gravity-pull is, +then, Ts’ss. I’ve never been there either, but I’ve looked it up in the +books. Giant planets, mostly, and you can’t come from hyper into normal +space after you’ve reached the radius. There’s no plane of the ecliptic +in that system. It’s crazy. You have to chart an erratic course toward +Silenus, fighting varying gravities from a dozen planets all the way, +and then you’ve still got the primary’s pull to consider. You know _La +Cucaracha_ won’t do it, Mr. Hilton.” + +“I know she won’t,” Hilton said. “We pushed our luck this far, but any +more would be suicide. She simply won’t hold together for another run. +We’re stranded here. But the skipper won’t believe that.” + +“He’s insane,” Saxon said. “I know the endurance limits of a +machine—that can be found mathematically—and this ship’s only a +machine. Or do you agree with Captain Danvers? Maybe you think she’s +alive!” + + * * * * * + +Saxon was forgetting discipline, but Hilton knew what strain they were +all under. + +“No, she’s a machine all right,” he merely said. “And we both know she’s +been pushed too far. If we go to Silenus, it’s—” He made a gesture of +finality. + +“Captain Danvers says—Silenus,” Ts’ss murmured. “We can’t mutiny, Mr. +Hilton.” + +“Here’s the best we can do,” Hilton said. “Get into hyper somehow, ride +the flow, and get out again somehow. But then we’re stuck. Any planet or +sun with a gravity pull would smash us. The trouble is, the only worlds +with facilities to overhaul _La Cucaracha_ are the big ones. And if we +don’t get an overhaul fast we’re through. Saxon, there’s one answer, +though. Land on an asteroid.” + +“But why?” + +“We could manage that. No gravity to fight, worth mentioning. We +certainly can’t radio for help, as the signals would take years to reach +anybody. Only hyper will take us fast enough. Now—has Transmat set up +any stations on asteroids?” + +Saxon opened his mouth and closed it again. + +“Yes. There’s one that would do, in the Rigel system. Far out from the +primary. But I don’t get it. Captain Danvers wouldn’t stand for that.” + +Hilton opened the wall compartment. Gray smoke seeped out. + +“This is _paraine_,” he said. “The fumes are being blown into the +skipper’s cabin through his ventilator. Captain Danvers will be +para-happy till we land on that Rigel asteroid, Saxon.” + +There was a little silence. Hilton suddenly slammed the panel shut. + +“Let’s do some charting,” he said. “The sooner we reach the Rigel port, +the sooner we can get back to Earth—via Transmat.” + +Curiously, it was Saxon who hesitated. + +“Mr. Hilton. Wait a minute, Transmat—I know I work for the outfit, but +they—they’re sharp. Business men. You have to pay plenty to use their +matter-transmitters.” + +“They can transmit a hyper-ship, can’t they? Or is it too big a job?” + +“No, they can expand the field enormously. I don’t mean that. I mean +they’ll want payment, and they’ll put on the squeeze. You’ll have to +give up at least half of the cargo.” + +“There’ll still be enough left to pay for an overhaul job.” + +“Except they’ll want to know where the _paraine_ came from. You’ll be +over a barrel. You’ll _have_ to tell them, eventually. And that’ll mean +a Transmat station will be set up right here, on this world.” + +“I suppose so,” Hilton said quietly. “But the old lady will be space +worthy again. When the skipper sees her after the overhaul, he’ll know +it was the only thing to do. So let’s get busy.” + +“Remind me to tell you about Silenus,” Ts’ss said. + + * * * * * + +The Lunar Refitting Station is enormous. A crater has been roofed with a +transparent dome, and under it the hyper-ships rest in their cradles. +They come in battered and broken, and leave clean and sleek and strong, +ready for the Big Night again. _La Cucaracha_ was down there, no longer +the groaning wreck that had settled on the Rigel asteroid, but a lovely +lady, shining and beautiful. + +Far above, Danvers and Hilton leaned on the railing and watched. + +“She’s ready to jet,” Hilton said idly. “And she looks good.” + +“No thanks to you, mister.” + +“Tush for that!” Hilton said. “If I hadn’t doped you, we’d be dead and +_La Cucaracha_ floating around in space in pieces. Now look at her.” + +“Yeah. Well, she does look good. But she won’t carry another _paraine_ +cargo. That strike was mine. If you hadn’t told Transmat the location, +we’d be set.” Danvers grimaced. “Now they’re setting up a Transmat +station there; a hyper-ship can’t compete with a matter-transmitter.” + +“There’s more than one world in the Galaxy.” + +“Sure. Sure.” But Danvers’ eyes brightened as he looked down. + +“Where are you heading, Skipper?” Hilton said. + +“What’s it to you? You’re taking that Transmat job, aren’t you?” + +“You bet. I’m meeting Saxon in five minutes. In fact, we’re going down +to sign the contracts. I’m through with deep space. But—where are you +heading?” + +“I don’t know,” Danvers said. “I thought I might run up around Arcturus +and see what’s stirring.” + + * * * * * + +Hilton did not move for a long time. Then he spoke without looking at +the captain. + +“You wouldn’t be thinking of a stopover at Canis after that, would you?” + +“No.” + +“You’re a liar.” + +“Go keep your appointment,” Danvers said. + +Hilton eyed the great hyper-ship below. “The old lady’s always been a +nice, clean craft. She’s never got out of line. She’s always charted a +straight course. It’d be too bad if she had to carry slaves from +Arcturus to the Canis market. It’s illegal, of course, but that isn’t +the point. It’s a rotten, crooked racket.” + +“I didn’t ask your advice, mister!” Danvers flared. “Nobody’s talking +about slave-running!” + +“I suppose you weren’t figuring on unloading the _paraine_ at Silenus? +You can get a good price for _paraine_ from Medical Center, but you can +get six times the price from the drug ring on Silenus. Yeah, Ts’ss told +me. He’s been on Silenus.” + +“Oh, shut up,” Danvers said. + +Hilton tilted back his head to stare through the dome at the vast +darkness above. “Even if you’re losing a fight, it’s better to fight +clean,” he said. “Know where it’d end?” + +Danvers looked up, too, and apparently saw something in the void that he +didn’t like. + +“How can you buck Transmat?” he demanded. “You’ve got to make a profit +somehow.” + +“There’s an easy, dirty way, and there’s a clean, hard way. The old lady +had a fine record.” + +“You’re not a deep-space man. You never were. Beat it! I’ve got to get a +crew together!” + +“Listen—” Hilton said. He paused. “Ah, the devil with you. I’m +through.” + +He turned and walked away through the long steel corridor. + +Ts’ss and Saxon were drinking highballs at the Quarter Moon. Through the +windows they could see the covered way that led to the Refitting +Station, and beyond it the crags of a crater-edge, with the star-shot +darkness hanging like a backdrop. Saxon looked at his watch. + +“He isn’t coming,” Ts’ss said. + +The Transmat man moved his shoulders impatiently. “No. You’re wrong. Of +course, I can understand your wanting to stay with _La Cucaracha_.” + +“Yes, I’m old. That’s one reason.” + +“But Hilton’s young, and he’s smart. He’s got a big future ahead of him. +That guff about sticking to an ideal—well, maybe Captain Danvers is +that sort of man, but Hilton isn’t. He isn’t in love with hyper-ships.” + +Ts’ss turned his goblet slowly in his curious fingers. “You are wrong +about one thing, Saxon. I’m not shipping on _La Cucaracha_.” + +Saxon stared. “But I thought—why not?” + +“I will die within a thousand Earth hours,” Ts’ss said softly. “When +that time comes, I shall go down into the Selenite caverns. Not many +know they exist, and only a few of us know the secret caves, the holy +places of our race. But I know. I shall go there to die, Saxon. Every +man has one thing that is strongest—and so it is with me. I must die on +my own world. As for Captain Danvers, he follows his cause, as our Chyra +Emperor did, and as your King Arthur did. Men like Danvers made +hyper-ships great. Now the cause is dead, but the type of men who made +it great once can’t change their allegiance. If they could, they would +never have spanned the Galaxy with their ships. So Danvers will stay +with _La Cucaracha_. And Hilton—” + +“He’s not a fanatic! He won’t stay. Why should he?” + +“In our legends Chyra Emperor was ruined, and his Empire broken,” Ts’ss +said. “But he fought on. There was one who fought on with him, though he +did not believe in Chyra’s cause. A Selenite named Jailyra. Wasn’t +there—in your legends—a Sir Lancelot? He didn’t believe in Arthur’s +cause either, but he was Arthur’s friend. So he stayed. Yes, Saxon, +there are the fanatics who fight for what they believe—but there are +also the others, who do not believe, and who fight in the name of a +lesser cause. Something called friendship.” + +Saxon laughed and pointed out the window. “You’re wrong, Ts’ss,” he said +triumphantly. “Hilton’s no fool. For here he comes.” + +Hilton’s tall form was visible moving quickly along the way. He passed +the window and vanished. Saxon turned to the door. + + * * * * * + +There was a pause. + +“Or, perhaps, it isn’t a lesser cause,” Ts’ss said. “For the Selenite +Empire passed, and Arthur’s court passed, and the hyper-ships are +passing. Always the Big Night takes them, in the end. But this has gone +on since the beginning—” + +“What?” + +This time Ts’ss pointed. + +Saxon leaned forward to look. Through the angle of the window he could +see Hilton, standing motionless on the ramp. Passersby streamed about +him unnoticed. He was jostled, and he did not know it. Hilton was +thinking. + +They saw the look of deep uncertainty on his face. They saw his face +suddenly clear. Hilton grinned wryly to himself. He had made up his +mind. He turned and went rapidly back the way he had come. + +Saxon stared after the broad, retreating back, going the way it had +come, toward the Refitting Station where Danvers and La Cucaracha +waited. Hilton—going back where he had come from, back to what he had +never really left. + +“The crazy fool!” Saxon said. “He can’t be doing this! Nobody turns down +jobs with Transmat!” + +Ts’ss gave him a wise, impassive glance. “You believe that,” he said. +“Transmat means much to you. Transmat needs men like you, to make it +great—to keep it growing. You’re a lucky man, Saxon. You’re riding with +the tide. A hundred years from now—two hundred—and you might be +standing in Hilton’s shoes. Then you’d understand.” + +Saxon blinked at him. “What do you mean?” + +“Transmat is growing now,” Ts’ss said gently. “It will be very +great—thanks to men like you. But for Transmat too, there will come an +end.” + +He shrugged, looking out beyond the crater’s rim with his inhuman, +faceted eyes, at the glittering points of light which, for a little +while, seemed to keep the Big Night at bay. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 68335 *** |