Off The Main Sequence

by Robert A. Heinlein

  Hugh found no door, but what he did find interested him even more — an impossibility. He was about to shout for Joe-Jim, when he heard his own name called. “Hugh! Come here!"

  Reluctantly he left his discovery, and sought out the twins. “Come see what I’ve found," he began.

  “Nevermind," Joe cut him short. “Look at that."

  Hugh looked. “That" was a Converter. Quite impossibly but indubitably a Converter. “It doesn’t make sense," Jim protested. “An apartment this size doesn’t need a Converter. That thing would supply power and light for half the Ship. What do you make of it, Hugh?"

  Hugh examined it. “I don’t know," he admitted, “but if you think this is strange, come see what I’ve found."

  “What have you found?"

  “Come see."

  The twins followed him, and saw a small compartment, one wall of which appeared to be of glass — black as if the far side were obscured. Facing the wall were two acceleratlon chairs, side by side. The arms and the lap desks of the chairs were covered with patterns of little white lights of the same sort as the control lights on the chairs in the Main Control Room.

  Joe-Jim made no comment at first, save for a low whistle from Jim. He sat down in one of the chairs and started experimenting cautiously with the controls. Hugh sat down beside him. Joe-Jim covered a group of white lights on the righthand arm of his chair; the lights in the compartment went out. When he lifted his hand the tiny control lights were blue instead of white. Neither Joe-Jim nor Hugh was startled. When the lights went out; they had expected it, for the control involved corresponded to similar controls in the Control Room.

  Joe-Jim fumbled around, trying to find controls which would produce a simulacrum of the heavens on the blank glass before him. There were no such controls and he had no way of knowing that the glass was an actual view port, obscured by the hull of the Ship proper, rather than a view screen.

  But he did manage to actuate the controls that occupied the corresponding position. These controls were labeled LAUNCHING; Joe-Jim had disregarded the label because he did not understand it. Actuating them produced no very remarkable results, except that a red light blinked rapidly and a transparency below the label came into life. It read: AIRLOCK OPEN.

  Which was very lucky for Joe-Jim, Hugh, and Bobo. Had they closed the doors behind them and had the little Converter contained even a few grams of mass available for power, they would have found themselves launched suddenly into space, in a Ship’s boat unequipped for a trip and whose controls they understood only by analogy with those in the Control Room. Perhaps they could have maneuvered the boat back into its cradle; more likely they would have crashed attempting it.

  But Hugh and Joe-Jim were not yet aware that the “apartment" they had entered was a spacecraft; the idea of a Ship’s boat was still foreign to them.

  “Turn on the lights," Hugh requested. Joe-Jim did so.

  “Well?" Hugh went on. “What do you make of it?"

  “It seems pretty obvious," answered Jim. “This is another Control Room. We didn’t guess it was here because we couldn’t open the door."

  “That doesn’t make sense," Joe objected. “Why should there be two Control Rooms for one Ship?"

  “Why should a man have two heads?" his brother reasoned. “From my point of view, you are obviously a supernumerary."

  “It’s not the same thing; we were born that way. But this didn’t just happen — the Ship was built."

  “So what?" Jim argued. “We carry two knives, don’t we? And we weren’t born with 'em. It’s a good idea to have a spare."

  “But you can’t control the Ship from here," Joe protested. “You can’t see anything from here. If you wanted a second set of controls, the place to put them would be the Captain’s veranda, where you can see the stars."

  “How about that?" Jim asked, indicating the wall of glass.

  “Use your head," his brother advised. “It faces the wrong direction. It looks into the Ship, not out. And it’s not an arrangement like the Control Room; there isn’t any way to mirror the stars on it."

  “Maybe we haven’t located the controls for it."

  “Even so, you’ve forgotten something. How about that little Converter?"

  “What about it?"

  “It must have some significance. It’s not here by accident. I’ll bet you that these controls have something to do with that Converter."

  “Why?"

  “Why not? Why are they here together if there isn’t some connection?"

  Hugh broke his puzzled silence. Everythmg the twins had said seemed to make sense, even the contradictions. It was all very confusing. But the Converter, the little Conver — “Say, look," he burst out.

  “Look at what?"

  “Do you suppose — Do you think that maybe this part of the Ship could move?"

  “Naturally. The whole Ship moves."

  “No," said Hugh, “no, no. I don’t mean that at all. Suppose it moved by itself. These controls and the little Converter, suppose it could move right away from the Ship."

  “That’s pretty fantastic."

  “Maybe so — but if it’s true, this is the way out."

  “Huh?" said Joe. “Nonsense. No door to the Outside here either."

  “But there would be if this apartment were moved away from the Ship: the way we came in!"

  The two heads snapped simultaneously toward him as if jerked by the same string. Then they looked at each other and fell to arguing. Joe-Jim repeated his experiment witit the controls. “See?" Joe pointed out “'Launching.’ It means to start something, to push something away."

  “Then why doesn’t it?"

  “'Air Lock Open.’ The doors we came through — it has to be that. Everything else is closed."

  “Let’s try it."

  “We would have to start the Converter first."

  “O.K."

  “Not so fast. Get out, and maybe you can’t come back. We’d starve."

  “Hm-m-m — we’ll wait a while."

  Hugh listened to the discussion while snooping around the control panels, trying to figure them out. There was a stowage space under the lap desk of his chair; he fished into it, encountered something, and hauled it out. “See what I’ve found!"

  “What Is it?" asked Joe. “Oh — a book. Lot of them back in the room next to the Converter." “Let’s see it," said Jim.

  But Hugh had opened it himself. “Log, Starship Vanguard," he spelled out, “2 June, 2172. Cruising as before —"

  “What!" yelled Joe. “Let me see that!"

  “3 June. Cruising as before. 4 June. Cruising as before. Captain’s mast for rewards and punishments held at 1300. See Administration Log. 5 June. Cruising as before —"

  “Gimme that!"

  “Wait!" said Hugh. “6 June. Mutiny broke out at 0431. The watch became aware of it by visiplate. Hull, Metalsmith Ordinary, screened the control station and called on the watch to surrender, designating himself as 'Captain.’ The officer of the watch ordered him to consider himself under arrest and signaled the Captain’s cabin. No answer.

  “0435. Communications failed. The officer of the watch dispatched a party of three to notify the Captain, turn out the chief proctor, and assist in the arrest of Huff.

  “0441. Converter power off; free flight

  “0502. Lacy, Crewman Ordinary, messenger-of-thewatch, one of the party of three sent below, returned to the control station alone. He reported verbally that the other two, Malcolm Young and Arthur Sears, were dead and that he had been permitted to return in order to notify the watch to surrender. The mutineers gave 0515 as a —"

  The next entry was in a different hand: “0545. I have made every attempt to get into communication with other stations and officers in the Ship, without success. I conceive it as my duty, under the circumstances, to leave the control station without being properly relieved, and attempt to restore order down below. My decision may be faulty, since we are unarmed, but I see no other course open to
me.

  “Jean Baldwin, Pilot Officer Third Class, Officer of the Watch."

  “Is that all?" demanded Joe.

  “No," said Hugh. “1 October (approximately), 2172. I, Theodor Mawson, formerly Storekeeper Ordinary, have been selected this date as Captain of the Vanguard. Since the last entry in this log there have been enormous changes. The mutiny has been suppressed, or more properly, has died out, but with tragic cost. Every pilot officer, every navigation officer is dead, or believed to be dead. I would not have been chosen Captain had there been a qualified man left.

  “Approximately ninety per cent of the personnel are dead. Not all of that number died in the original outbreak; no crops have been planted since the mutiny; our food stocks are low. There seems to be clear evidence of cannibalism among the mutineers who have not surrendered.

  “My immediate task must be to restore some semblance of order and discipline among the Crew. Crops must be planted. A regular watch must be instituted at the auxiliary Converter on which we are dependent for heat and light and power."

  The next entry was undated. “I have been far too busy to keep this log up properly. Truthfully, I do not know the date even approximately. The Ship’s clocks no longer run. That may be attributable to the erratic operation of the auxiliary Converter, or it may possibly be an effect of radiations from outer space. We no longer have an antiradiation shield around the Ship, since the Main Converter is not in operation. My Chief Engineer assures me that the Main Converter could be started, but we have no one fitted to astrogate. I have tried to teach myself astrogation from the books at hand, but the mathematics involved are very difficult.

  “About one newborn child out of twenty is deformed. I have instituted a Spartan code — such children are not permitted to live. It is harsh, but necessary.

  “I am growing very old and feeble and must consider the selection of my successor. I am the last member of the crew to be born on Earth, and even I have little recollection of it — I was five when my parents embarked. I do not know my own age, but certain unmistakable signs tell me that the time is not far away when I, too, must make the Trip to the Converter.

  “There has been a curious change in orientation in my people. Never having lived on a planet, it becomes more difficult as time passes for them to comprehend anything not connected with the Ship. I have ceased trying to talk to them about it — it is hardly a kindness anyhow, as I have no hope of leading them out of the darkness. Theirs is a hard life at best: they strive for a crop only to have it raided by the outlaws who still flourish on the upper levels. Why speak to them of better things?

  “Rather than pass this on to my successor I have decided to attempt to hide it, if possible, in the single Ship’s boat left by the mutineers who escaped. It will be safe there a long time — otherwise some witless fool may decide to use it for fuel for the Converter. I caught the man on watch feeding it with the last of a set of Encyclopaedia Terrestriana — priceless books. The idiot had never been taught to read! Some rule must be instituted concerning books.

  “This is my last entry. I have put off making the attempt to place this log in safekeeping, because it is very perilous to ascend above the lower decks. But my life is no longer valuable; I wish to die knowing that a true record is left.

  “Theodor Mawson, Captain."

  Even the twins were silent for a long time after Hugh stopped reading. At last Joe heaved a long sigh and said, “So that’s how it happened."

  “The poor guy," Hugh said softly.

  “Who? Captain Mawson? Why so?"

  “No, not Captain Mawson. That other guy, Pilot Officer Baldwin. Think of him going out through that door, with Huff on the other side." Hugh shivered. In spite of his enlightenment, he subconsciously envisioned Huff, 'Huff the Accursed, first to sin,’ as about twice as high as Joe-Jim, twice as strong as Bobo, and having fangs rather than teeth.

  Hugh borrowed a couple of porters from Ertz — porters whom Ertz was using to fetch the pickled bodies of the war casualties to the Main Converter for fuel, and used them to provision the Ship’s boat: water, breadstuffs, preserved meats, mass for the Converter. He did not report the matter to Narby, nor did he report the discovery of the boat itself. He had no conscious reason — Narby irritated him.

  The star of their destination grew and grew, swelled until it showed a visible disc and was too bright to be stared at long. Its bearing changed rapidly, for a star; it pulled across the backdrop of the stellariwn dome. Left uncontrolled, the Ship would have swung part way around it in a wide hyperbolic arc, accelerated as it flipped around the star, then sped off again into the darkness. It took Hugh the equivalent of many weeks to calculate the elements of the trajectory; it took still longer for Ertz and Joe-Jim to check his figures and satisfy themselves that the preposterous answers were right. It took even longer to convince Ertz that the way to rendezvous in space was to apply a force that pushed one away from where one wished to go — that is to say, dig in the heels, put on the brakes, kill the momentum.

  In fact it took a series of experiments in free flight on the level of weightlessness to sell him the idea — otherwise he would have favored finishing the Trip by the simple expedient of crashing headlong into the star at top Speed. Thereafter Hugh and Joe-Jim calculated how to apply acceleration to kill the speed of the Vanguard and warp her into an eccentric ellipse around the star. After that, they would search for planets.

  Ertz bad a little trouble understanding the difference between a planet and a star. Alan never did get it.

  “If my numbering is correct," Hugh informed Ertz, “we should start accelerating any time now."

  “O.K.," Ertz told him. “Main Drive is ready — over two hundred bodies and a lot of waste mass. What are waiting for?"

  “Let’s see Narby and get permission to start."

  “Why ask him?"

  Hugh shrugged. “He’s Captain. He’ll want to know."

  “All right. Let’s pick up Joe-Jim and get on with it." They left Hugh’s apartment and went to Joe-Jim’s. Joe-Jim was not there, but they found Alan looking for him, too.

  “Squatty says he’s gone down to the Captain’s office," Alan informed him.

  “So? It’s just as well — we’ll see him there. Alan, old boy, you know what?"

  “What?"

  “The time has arrived. We’re going to do it! Start moving the Ship!" Alan looked round-eyed. “Gee! Right now?"

  “Just as soon as we can notify the Captain. Come along, if you like."

  “You bet! Wait while I tell my woman." He darted away to his own quarters nearby.

  “He pampers that wench," remarked Ertz.

  “Sometimes you can’t help it," said Hugh with a faraway look.

  Alan returned promptly, although it was evident that he had taken time to change to a fresh breechcloth. “O.K.," he bubbled. “Let’s go!"

  Alan approached the Captain’s office with a proud step. He was an important guy now, he exulted to himself. He’d march on through with his friends while the guards saluted — no more of this business of being pushed around.

  But the doorkeeper did not stand aside, although he did salute — while placing himself so that he filled the door. “Gangway, man!" Ertz said gruffly.

  “Yes, sir," acknowledged the guard, without moving. “Your weapons, please."

  “What! Don’t you know me, you idiot? I’m the Chief Engineer."

  “Yes, sir. Leave your weapons with me, please. Regulations."

  Ertz put a hand on the man’s shoulder and shoved. The guard stood firm. “I’m sorry, sir. No one approaches the Captain wearing weapons. No one."

  “Well, I’ll be damned!"

  “He remembers what happened to the old Captain," Hugh observed sotto voce. “He’s smart." He drew his own knife and tossed it to the guard, who caught it neatly by the hilt. Ertz looked; shrugged, and handed over his own. Alan, considerably crestfallen, passed his own pair over with a look that should have shortened the guard’s life
.

  Narby was talking; Joe-Jim was scowling on both his faces; Bobo looked puzzled, and naked, unfinished, without his ubiquitous knives and slingshot. “The matter is closed, Joe-Jim. That is my decision. I’ve granted you the faver of explaining my reasons, but it does not matter whether you like them or not."

  “What’s the trouble?" inquired Hugh.

  Narby looked up. “Oh — I’m glad you came in. Your mutie friend seems to be in doubt as to who is Captain."

  “What’s up?"

  “He," growled Jim, hooking a thumb toward Narby, “seems to think he’s going to disarm all the muties."

  “Well, the war’s over, isn’t it?"

  “It wasn’t agreed on. The muties were to become part of the Crew. Take the knives away from the muties and the Crew will kill them off in no time. It’s not fair. The Crew have knives."

  “The time will come when they won’t," Narby predicted, “but I’ll do it at my own time in my own way. This is the first step. What did you want to see me about, Ertz?"

  “Ask Hugh." Narby turned to Hugh.

  “I’ve come to notify you, Captain Narby," Hugh stated formally, “that we are about to start the Main Converter and move the Ship."

  Narby looked surprised but not disconcerted. “I’m afraid you will have to postpone that. I am not yet ready to permit officers to go up to no-weight."

  “It won’t be necessary," Hugh explained. “Ertz and I can handle the first maneuvers alone. But we can’t wait. If the Ship is not moved at once, the Trip won’t be in your lifetime nor mine."

  “Then it must," Narby replied evenly, “wait."

  “What?" cried Hugh. “Narby, don’t you want to the Trip?"

  “I’m in no hurry."

  “What sort of damn foolishness is this?" Ertz demanded. “What’s got into you, Fin? Of course we move the Ship."

  Narby drummed on his desk top before replying. Then: he said, “Since there seems to be some slight misunderstanding as to who gives orders around here, I might as well let you have it straight. Hoyland, as long as your pastimes did not interfere with the administration of tbe Ship, I was willing for you to amuse yourself. I granted that willingly, for you have been very useful in your own way. But when your crazy beliefs become a possible source of corruption to good morals and a danger to the peace and security of the Ship, I have to crack down."