Joe-Jim’s demands for service were few. Although Hugh was never off duty, Joe-Jim did not mind his reading as long as he was within earshot and ready to jump when called. Playing checkers with one of the pair when the other did not care to play was the service which used up the most time, and even this was not a total loss, for, if the player were Joe, he could almost always be diverted into a discussion of the Ship, its history, its machinery as equipment, the sort of people who had built it and then manned it — and their history, back on Earth, Earth the incredible, that strange place where people had lived on the outside instead of the inside.
Hugh wondered why they did not fall off.
He took the matter up with Joe and at last gained some notion of gravitation. He never really understood it emotionally — it was too wildly improbable — but as an intellectual concept he was able to accept it and use it, much later, in his first vague glimmerings of the science of ballistics: and the art of astrogation and ship maneuvering. And it led in time to his wondering about weight in the Ship, a matter that had never bothered him before. The lower the level the greater the weight had been to his mind simply the order of nature, and nothing to wonder at. He was familiar with centrifugal force as it applied to slingshots. To apply it also to the whole Ship, to think of the Ship as spinning like a slingshot and thereby causing weight, was too much of a hurdle; he never really believed it.
Joe-Jim took him back once more to the Control Room and showed him what little Joe-Jim knew about the manipulation of the controls and the reading of the astrogation instruments.
The long-forgotten engineer-designers employed by the Jordan Foundation had been instructed to design a ship that would not — could not — wear out, even though the Trip were protracted beyond the expected sixty years. They builded better than they knew. In planning the main drive engines and the auxiliary machinery, largely automatic, which would make the Ship habitable, and in designing the controls necessary to handle all machinery not entirely automatic, the very idea of moving parts had been rejected. The engines and auxiliary equipment worked on a level below mechanical motion, on a level of pure force, as electrical transformers do. Instead of push buttons, levers, cams, and shafts, the controls and the machinery they served were planned in terms of balance between static fields, bias of electronic flow, circuits broken or closed by a hand placed over a light.
On this level of action, friction lost its meaning, wear and erosion took no toll. Had all hands been killed in the mutiny, the Ship would still have plunged on through space, still lighted, its air still fresh and moist, its engines ready and waiting. As it was, though elevators and conveyor belts fell into disrepair, disuse, and finally into the oblivion of forgotten function, the essential machinery of the Ship continued its automatic service to its ignorant human freight, or waited, quiet and ready, for someone bright enough to puzzle out its key.
Genius had gone into the building of the Ship. Far too huge to be assembled on Earth, it had been put together piece by piece in its own orbit out beyond the Moon. There it had swung for fifteen silent years while the problems presented by the decision to make its machinery foolproof and enduring had been formulated and solved. A whole new field of submolar action had been conceived in the process, struggled with, and conquered.
So, when Hugh placed an untutored, questing hand over the first of a row of lights marked ACCELERATION, POSITIVE, he got an immediate response, though not in terms of acceleration. A red light at the top of the chief pilot’s board blinked rapidly and the annunciator panel glowed with a message: MAIN ENGINES: NOT MANNED.
“What does that mean?" he asked Joe-Jim.
“There’s no telling," said Jim. “We’ve done the same thing in the main engine room," added Joe. “There, when you try it, it says 'Control Room Not Manned.’"
Hugh thought a moment. “What would happen," he persisted, “if all the control stations had somebody at 'em at once, and then I did that?"
“Can’t say," said Joe. “Never been able to try it."
Hugh said nothing. A resolve which had been growing, formless, in his mind was now crystalizing into decision. He was busy with it for some time, weighing it, refining it, and looking for the right moment to bring it into the open.
He waited until he found Joe-Jim in a mellow mood, both of him, before broaching his idea. They were in the Captain’s veranda at the time Hugh decided the moment was due. Joe-Jim rested gently in the Captain’s easy chair, his belly full of food, and gazed out through the heavy glass of the view port at the serene stars. Hugh floated beside him. The spinning of the Ship caused the stars to cross the circle of the port in barely perceptible arcs.
Presently he said, “Joe-Jim …"
“Eh? What’s that, youngster?" It was Joe who had replied.
“It’s pretty swell, isn’t it?"
“What is?"
“All that. The stars." Hugh indicated the view through the port with a sweep of his arm, then caught at the chair to stop his own backspin.
“Yeah, it sure is. Makes you feel good." Surprisingly, it was Jim who offered this.
Hugh knew the time was right. He waited a moment, then said, “Why don’t we finish the job?"
Two heads turned simultaneously, Joe leaning out a little to see past Jim. “What job?"
“The Trip. Why don’t we start up the main drive and go on with it? Somewhere out there," be said hurriedly to finish before he was interrupted, “there are planets like Earth, or so the First Crew thought. Let’s go find them."
Jim looked at him, then laughed. Joe shook his head.
“Kid," he said, “you don’t know what you are talking about. You’re as balmy as Bobo. “No," he went on, “that’s all over and done with. Forget it."
“Why is it over and done with, Joe?"
“Well, because. It’s too big a job. It takes a crew that understands what it’s all about, trained to operate the Ship."
“Does it take so many? You have shown me only about a dozen places, all told, for men actually to be at the controls. Couldn’t a dozen men run the Ship … if they knew what you know," he added slyly.
Jim chuckled. “He’s got you, Joe. He’s right"
Joe brushed it aside. “You overrate our knowledge. Maybe we could operate the Ship, but we wouldn’t get anywhere. We don’t know where we are. The Ship has been drifting for I don’t know how many generations. We don’t know where we’re headed, or how fast we’re going."
“But look," Hugh pleaded, “there are instruments. You showed them to me. Couldn’t we learn how to use them? Couldn’t you figure them out, Joe, if you really wanted to?"
“Oh, I suppose so," Jim agreed.
“Don’t boast, Jim," said Joe.
“I’m not boasting," snapped Jim. “If a thing’ll work, I can figure it out."
“Humph!" said Joe. The matter rested in delicate balance. Hugh had got them disagreeing among themselves — which was what he wanted — with the less tractable of the pair on his side. Now, to consolidate his gain, “I had an idea," he said quickly, “to get you men to work with, Jim, if you were able to train them."
“What’s your idea?" demanded Jim suspiciously. “Well, you remember what I told you about a bunch of the younger scientists?"
“Those fools!"
“Yes, yes, sure; but they didn’t know what you know. In their way they were trying to be reasonable. Now, if I could go back down and tell them what you’ve taught me, I could get you enough men to work with."
Joe cut in. “Take a good look at us, Hugh. What do you see?"
“Why … why, I see you. Joe-Jim."
“You see a mutie," corrected Joe, his voice edged with sarcasm. “We’re a mutie. Get that? Your scientists won’t work with us."
“No, no," protested Hugh, “that’s not true. I’m not talking about peasants. Peasants wouldn’t understand, but these are scientists, and the smartest of the lot. They’ll understand. All you need to do is to arrange safe conduct for them throug
h mutie country. You can do that, can’t you?" he added, instinctively shifting the point of the argument to firmer ground.
“Why, sure," said Jim.
“Forget it," said Joe.
“Well, O.K.," Hugh agreed, sensing that Joe really was annoyed at his persistence, “but it would be fun." He withdrew some distance from the brothers.
He could hear Joe-Jim continuing the discussion with himself in low tones. He pretended to ignore it. Joe-Jim had this essential defect in his joint nature: being a committee, rather than a single individual, he was hardly fitted to be a man of action, since all decisions were necessarily the result of discussion and compromise. Several moments later Hugh heard Joe’s voice raised. “All right, all right, have it your own way!" He then called out, “Hugh! Come here!" Hugh kicked himself away from an adjacent bulkhead and shot over to the immediate vicinity of Joe-Jim, arresting his flight with both hands against the framework of the Captain’s chair.
“We’ve decided," said Joe without preliminaries, “to let you go back down to the high-weight and try to peddle your goods. But you’re a fool," he added sourly.
Bobo escorted Hugh down through the dangers of the levels frequented by muties and left him in the uninhabited zone above high-weight “Thanks, Bobo," Hugh said in parting. “Good eating." The dwarf grinned, ducked his head, and sped away, swarming up the ladder they had just descended. Hugh turned and started down, touching his knife as he did so. It was good to feel it against him again.
Not that it was his original knife. That had been Bobo’s prize when he was captured, and Bobo had been unable to return it, having inadvertently left it sticking in a big one that got away. But the replacement Joe-Jim had given him was well balanced and quite satisfactory.
Bobo had conducted him, at Hugh’s request and by Joe-Jim’s order, down to the area directly over the auxiliary Converter used by the scientists. He wanted to find Bill Ertz, Assistant Chief Engineer and leader of the bloc of younger scientists, and he did not want to have to answer too many questions before he found him. Hugh dropped quickly down the remaining levels and found himself in a main passageway which he recognized. Good! A turn to the left, a couple of hundred yards walk and he found himself at the door of the compartment which housed the Converter. A guard lounged in front of it. Hugh started to push on past, was stopped. “Where do you think you’re going?"
“I want to find Bill Ertz."
“You mean the Chief Engineer? Well, he’s not here."
“Chief? What’s happened to the old one?" Hoyland regretted the remark at once, but it was already out.
“Huh? The old Chief? Why, he’s made the Trip long since." The guard looked at him suspiciously. “What’s wrong with you?"
“Nothing," denied Hugh. “Just a slip."
“Funny sort of a slip. Well, you’ll find Chief Ertz around his office probably."
“Thanks. Good eating."
“Good eating."
Hugh was admitted to see Ertz after a short wait Ertz looked up from his desk as Hugh came in. “Well," he said, “so you’re back, and not dead after all. This is a surprise. We had written you off, you know, as making the Trip."
“Yes, I suppose so."
“Well, sit down and tell me about it; I’ve a little time to spare at the moment. Do you know, though, I wouldn’t have recognized you. You’ve changed a lot, all that gray hair. I imagine you had some pretty tough times."
Gray hair? Was his hair gray? And Ertz had changed a lot, too, Hugh now noticed. He was paunchy and the lines in his face had set. Good Jordan! How long had he been gone?
Ertz drummed on his desk top, and pursed his lips. “It makes a problem — your coming back like this. I’m afraid I can’t just assign you to your old job; Mort Tyler has that. But we’ll find a place for you, suitable to your rank."
Hugh recalled Mort Tyler and not too favorably. A precious sort of a chap, always concerned with what was proper and according to regulations. So Tyler had actually made scientisthood, and was on Hugh’s old job at the Converter. Well, it didn’t matter. “That’s all right, he began. “I wanted to talk to you about —"
“Of course, there’s the matter of seniority," Ertz went on, “Perhaps the Council had better consider the matter. I don’t know of a precedent. We’ve lost a number of scientists to the muties in the past, but you are the first to escape with his life in my memory."
“That doesn’t matter," Hugh broke in. “I’ve something much more pressing to talk about. While I was away I found out some amazing things, Bill, things that it is of paramount importance for you to know about. That’s why I came straight to you. Listen. I —"
Ertz was suddenly alert. “Of course you have! I must be slowing down. You must have had a marvelous opportunity to study the muties and scout out their territory. Come on, man, spill it! Give me your report."
Hugh wet his lips. “It’s not what you think," he said. “It’s much more important than just a report on the muties, though it concerns them, too. In fact, we may have to change our whole policy with respect to the mu —"
“Well, go ahead, go ahead! I’m listening."
“All right." Hugh told him of his tremendous discovery as to the actual nature of the Ship, choosing his words carefully and trying very hard to be convincing. He dwelt lightly on the difficulties presented by an attempt to reorganize the Ship in accordance with the new concept and bore down heavily on the prestige and honor that would accrue to the man who led the effort.
He watched Ertz’s face as he talked. After the first start of complete surprise when Hugh launched his key idea, the fact that the Ship was actually a moving body in a great outside space, his face became impassive and Hugh could read nothing in it, except that he seemed to detect a keener interest when Hugh spoke of how Ertz was just the man for the job because of his leadership of the younger, more progressive scientists.
When Hugh concluded, he waited for Ertz’s response. Ertz said nothing at first, simply continued with his annoying habit of drumming on the top of his desk. Finally he said, “These are important matters, Hoyland, much too important to be dealt with casually. I must have time to chew it over."
“Yes, certainly," Hugh agreed. “I wanted to add that I’ve made arrangements for safe passage up to no-weight. I can take you up and let you see for yourself."
“No doubt that is best," Ertz replied. “Well — are you hungry?"
“No."
“Then we’ll both sleep on it. You can use the compartment at the back of my office. I don’t want you discussing this with anyone else until I’ve had time to think about it; it might cause unrest if it got out without proper preparation."
“Yes, you’re right"
“Very well, then" — Ertz ushered him into a compartment behind his office which he very evidently used for a lounge — “Have a good rest," he said, “and we’ll talk later."
“Thanks," Hugh acknowledged. “Good eating."
“Good eating."
Once he was alone, Hugh’s excitement gradually dropped away from him, and he realized that he was fagged out and very sleepy. He stretched out on a builtin couch and fell asleep.
When he awoke he discovered that the only door to the compartment was barred from the other side. Worse than that, his knife was gone.
He had waited an indefinitely long time when he heard activity at the door. It opened; two husky, unsmiling men entered. “Come along," said one of them. He sized them up, noting that neither of them carried a knife. No chance to snatch one from their belts, then. On the other hand he might be able to break away from them.
But beyond them, a wary distance away in the outer room, were two other equally formidable men, each armed with a knife. One balanced his for throwing; the other held his by the grip, ready to stab at close quarters. He was boxed in and be knew it. They had anticipated his possible moves.
He had long since learned to relax before the inevitable. He composed his face and marched quietly out. Once through the
door he saw Ertz, waiting and quite evidently in charge of the party of men. He spoke to him, being careful to keep his voice calm. “Hello, Bill. Pretty extensive preparations you’ve made. Some trouble, maybe?"
Ertz seemed momentarily uncertain of his answer, then said, “You’re going before the Captain."
“Good!" Hugh answered. “Thanks, Bill. But do you think it’s wise to try to sell the idea to him without laying a little preliminary foundation with the others?"
Ertz was annoyed at his apparent thickheadedness and showed it. “You don’t get the idea," he growled. “You’re going before the Captain to stand trial — for heresy!"
Hugh considered this as if the idea had not before occurred to him. He answered mildly, “You’re off down the wrong passage, Bill. Perhaps a charge and trial is the best way to get at the matter, but I’m not a peasant, simply to be hustled before the Captain. I must be tried by the Council. I am a scientist."
“Are you now?" Ertz said softly. “I’ve had advice about that. You were written off the lists. Just what you are is a matter for the Captain to determine."
Hugh held his peace. It was against him, he could see, and there was no point in antagonizing Ertz. Ertz made a signal; the two unarmed men each grasped one of Hugh’s arms. He went with them quietly.
Hugh looked at the Captain with new interest. The old man had not changed much — a little fatter, perhaps. The Captain settled himself slowly down in his chair, and picked up the memorandum before him. “What’s this all about?" he began irritably. “I don’t understand it."
Off The Main Sequence Page 19
