Off The Main Sequence

by Robert A. Heinlein

  “What? Do you want to arrive on Venus a living skeleton? You’ve reduced all the doctor advises, and so have I."

  “Well … I thought that if somehow, among us, we could squeeze out Nixie’s weight — it’s not as if he were a St. Bernard! — we could swap it against what we weighed for our tickets."

  Mr. Vaughn shook his head unhappily. “They don’t do it that way."

  “You told me yourself that weight was everything. You even got rid of your chess set."

  “We could afford thirty pounds of chess sets, or china, or cheese, where we can’t afford thirty pounds of dog."

  “I don’t see why not."

  “Let me explain. Surely, it’s weight; it’s always weight in a space ship. But it isn’t just my hundred and sixty pounds, or your hundred and twenty, not Charlie’s hundred and ten. We’re not dead weight; we have to eat and drink and breathe air and have room to move — that last takes more weight because it takes more ship weight to hold a live person than it does for an equal weight in the cargo hold. For a human being there is a complicated formula — hull weight equal to twice the passenger’s weight, plus the number of days in space times four pounds. It takes a hundred and forty-six days to get to Venus — so it means that the calculated weight for each of us amounts to six hundred and sixteen pounds before they even figure in our actual weights. But for a dog the rate is even higher — five pounds per day instead of four."

  “That seems unfair. Surely a little dog can’t eat as much as a man? Why, Nixie’s food costs hardly anything."

  Her husband snorted. “Nixie eats his own rations and half of what goes on Charlie’s plate. However, it’s not only the fact that a dog does eat more for his weight, but also they don’t reprocess waste with a dog, not even for hydroponics."

  “Why not? Oh, I know what you mean. But it seems silly."

  “The passengers wouldn’t like it. Never mind; the rule is: five pounds per day for dogs. Do you know what that makes Nixie’s fare? Over three thousand dollars!"

  “My goodness!"

  “My ticket comes to thirty-eight hundred dollars and some, you get by for thirty-four hundred, and Charlie’s fare is thirty-three hundred — yet that confounded mongrel dog, which we couldn’t sell for his veterinary bills, would cost three thousand dollars. If we had that to spare — which we haven’t — the humane thing would be to adopt some orphan, spend the money on him, and thereby give him a chance on an uncrowded planet… not waste it on a dog. Confound it! — a year from now Charlie will have forgotten this dog."

  “I wonder."

  “He will. When I was a kid, I had to give up dogs — more than once they died, or something. I got over it. Charlie has to make up his mind whether to give Nixie away … or have him put to sleep." He chewed his lip. “We’ll get him a pup on Venus."

  “It won’t be Nixie."

  “He can name it Nixie. He’ll love it as much."

  “But — Charles, how is it there are dogs on Venus if it’s so dreadfully expensive to get them there?"

  “Eh? I think the first exploring parties used them to scout. In any case they’re always shipping animals to Venus; our own ship is taking a load of milch cows."

  “That must be terribly expensive."

  “Yes and no. They ship them in sleep-freeze of course, and a lot of them never revive. But they cut their losses by butchering the dead ones and selling the meat at fancy prices to the colonists. Then the ones that live have calves and eventually it pays off." He stood up. “Nora, let’s go to bed. It’s sad — but our boy is going to have to make a man’s decision. Give the mutt away, or have him put to sleep."

  “Yes, dear." She sighed. “I’m coming."

  Nixie was in his usual place at breakfast — lying beside Charlie’s chair, accepting tidbits without calling attention to himself. He had learned long ago the rules of the dining room: no barking, no whining, no begging for food, no paws on laps, else the pets of his pet would make difficulties. Nixie was satisfied. He had learned as a puppy to take the world as it was, cheerful over its good points, patient with its minor shortcomings. Shoes were not to be chewed, people were not to be jumped on, most strangers must be allowed to approach the house (subject, of course, to strict scrutiny and constant alertness) — a few simple rules and everyone was happy. Live and let live.

  He was aware that his boy was not happy even this beautiful morning. But he had explored this feeling carefully, touching his boy’s mind with gentle care by means of his canine sense for feelings, and had decided, from his superior maturity, that the mood would wear off. Boys were sometimes sad and a wise dog was resigned to it.

  Mr. Vaughn finished his coffee, put his napkin aside. “Well, young man?"

  Charlie did not answer. Nixie felt the sadness in Charlie change suddenly to a feeling more aggressive and much stronger but no better. He pricked up his ears and waited.

  “Chuck," his father said, “last night I gave you a choice. Have you made up your mind?"

  “Yes, Dad." Charlie’s voice was very low.

  “Eh? Then tell me."

  Charlie looked at the tablecloth. “You and Mother go to Venus. Nixie and I are staying here."

  Nixie could feel anger welling up in the man … felt him control it. “You’re figuring on running away again?"

  “No, sir," Charlie answered stubbornly. “You can sign me over to the state school."

  “Charlie!" It was Charlie’s mother who spoke. Nixie tried to sort out the rush of emotions impinging on him.

  “Yes," his father said at last, “I could use your passage money to pay the state for your first three years or so, and agree to pay your support until you are eighteen. But I shan’t."

  “Huh? Why not, Dad?"

  “Because, old-fashioned as it sounds, I am head of this family. I am responsible for it — and not just food, shelter, and clothing, but its total welfare. Until you are old enough to take care of yourself I mean to keep an eye on you. One of the prerogatives which go with my responsibility is deciding where the family shall live. I have a better job offered me on Venus than I could ever hope for here, so I’m going to Venus — and my family goes with me." He drummed on the table, hesitated. “I think your chances are better on a pioneer planet, too — but, when you are of age, if you think otherwise, I’ll pay your fare back to Earth. But you go with us. Understand?"

  Charlie nodded, his face glum.

  “Very well. I’m amazed that you apparently care more for that dog than you do for your mother — and myself. But —"

  “It isn’t that, Dad. Nixie needs —"

  “Quiet. I don’t suppose you realize it, but I tried to figure this out — I’m not taking your dog away from you out of meanness. If I could afford it, I’d buy the hound a ticket. But something your mother said last night brought up a third possibility."

  Charlie looked up suddenly, and so did Nixie; wondering why the surge of hope in his boy.

  “I can’t buy Nixie a ticket … but it’s possible to ship him as freight."

  “Huh? Why, sure, Dad! Oh, I know he’d have to be caged up — but I’d go down and feed him every day and pet him and tell him it was all right and —"

  “Slow down! I don’t mean that. All I can afford is to have him shipped the way animals are always shipped in space ships … in sleep-freeze."

  Charlie’s mouth hung open. He managed to say, “But that’s —"

  “That’s dangerous. As near as I remember, it’s about fifty-fifty whether he wakes up at the other end. But if you want to risk it — well, perhaps it’s better than giving him away to strangers, and I’m sure you would prefer it to taking him down to the vet’s and having him put to sleep."

  Charlie did not answer. Nixie felt such a storm of conflicting emotions in Charlie that the dog violated dining room rules; he raised up and licked the boy’s hand.

  Charlie grabbed the dog’s ear. “All right, Dad," he said gruffly. “We’ll risk it — if that’s the only way Nixie and I can still
be partners."

  Nixie did not enjoy the last few days before leaving; they held too many changes. Any proper dog likes excitement, but home is for peace and quiet. Things should be orderly there — food and water always in the same place, newspapers to fetch at certain hours, milkmen to supervise at regular times, furniture all in its proper place. But during that week all was change — nothing on time, nothing in order. Strange men came into the house (always a matter for suspicion), and he, Nixie, was not even allowed to protest, much less give them the what-for they had coming.

  He was assured by Charlie and Mrs. Vaughn that it was “all right" and he had to accept it, even though it obviously was not all right. His knowledge of English was accurate for a few dozen words but there was no way to explain to him that almost everything owned by the Vaughn family was being sold, or thrown away … nor would it have reassured him. Some things in life were permanent; he had never doubted that the Vaughn home was first among these certainties

  By the night before they left, the rooms were bare except for beds. Nixie trotted around the house, sniffing places where familiar objects had been, asking his nose to tell him that his eyes deceived him, whining at the results. Even more upsetting than physical change was emotional change, a heady and not entirely happy excitement which he could feel in all three of his people.

  There was a better time that evening, as Nixie was allowed to go to Scout meeting. Nixie always went on hikes and had formerly attended all meetings. But he now attended only outdoor meetings since an incident the previous winter — Nixie felt that too much fuss had been made about it … just some spilled cocoa and a few broken cups and anyhow it had been that cat’s fault.

  But this meeting he was allowed to attend because it was Charlie’s last Scout meeting on Earth. Nixie was not aware of that but he greatly enjoyed the privilege, especially as the meeting was followed by a party at which Nixie became comfortably stuffed with hot dogs and pop. Scoutmaster McIntosh presented Charlie with a letter of withdrawal, certifying his status and merit badges and asking his admission into any troop on Venus. Nixie joined happily in the applause, trying to outbark the clapping.

  Then the Scoutmaster said, 'Okay, Rip."

  Rip was senior patrol leader. He got up and said, “Quiet, fellows. Hold it, you crazy savages! Charlie, I don’t have to tell you that we’re all sorry to see you go … but we hope you have a swell time on Venus and now and then send a postcard to Troop Twenty-Eight and tell us about it — we’ll post 'em on the bulletin board. Anyhow, we wanted to get you a going-away present. But Mr. McIntosh pointed out that you were on a very strict weight allowance and practically anything would either cost you more to take with you than we had paid for it, or maybe you couldn’t take it at all, which wouldn’t be much of a present.

  “But it finally occurred to us that we could do one thing. Nixie —"

  Nixie’s ears pricked. Charlie said softly, “Steady, boy."

  “Nixie has been with us almost as long as you have. He’s been around, poking his cold nose into things, longer than any of the tenderfeet, and longer even than some of the second class. So we decided he ought to have his own letter of withdrawal, so that the troop you join on Venus will know that Nixie is a Scout in good standing. Give it to him, Kenny."

  The scribe passed over the letter. It was phrased like Charlie’s letter, save that it named “Nixie Vaughn, Tenderfoot Scout" and diplomatically omitted the subject of merit badges. It was signed by the scribe, the scoutmaster, and the patrol leaders and countersigned by every member of the troop. Charlie showed it to Nixie, who sniffed it. Everybody applauded, so Nixie joined happily in applauding himself.

  “One more thing," added Rip. “Now that Nixie is officially a Scout, he has to have his badge. So send him front and center."

  Charlie did so. They had worked their way through the Dog Care merit badge together while Nixie was a pup, all feet and floppy ears; it had made Nixie a much more acceptable member of the Vaughn family. But the rudimentary dog training required for the merit badge had stirred Charlie’s interest; they had gone on to Dog Obedience School together and Nixie had progressed from easy spoken commands to more difficult silent hand signals.

  Charlie used them now. At his signal Nixie trotted forward, sat stiffly at attention, front paws neatly drooped in front of his chest, while Rip fastened the tenderfoot badge to his collar, then Nixie raised his right paw in salute and gave one short bark, all to hand signals.

  The applause was loud and Nixie trembled with eagerness to join it. But Charlie signaled “hold quiet," so Nixie remained silently poised in salute until the clapping died away. He returned to heel just as silently, though quivering with excitement. The purpose of the ceremony may not have been clear to him — if so, he was not the first tenderfoot Scout to be a little confused. But it was perfectly clear that he was the center of attention and was being approved of by his friends; it was a high point in his life.

  But all in all there had been too much excitement for a dog in one week; the trip to White Sands, shut up in a travel case and away from Charlie, was the last straw. When Charlie came to claim him at the baggage room of White Sands Airport, his relief was so great that he had a puppyish accident, and was bitterly ashamed.

  He quieted down on the drive from airport to spaceport, then was disquieted again when he was taken into a room which reminded him of his unpleasant trips to the veterinary — the smells, the white-coated figure, the bare table where a dog had to hold still and be hurt. He stopped dead.

  “Come, Nixie!" Charlie said firmly. “None of that, boy. Up!"

  Nixie gave a little sigh, advanced and jumped onto the examination table, stood docile but trembling.

  “Have him lie down," the man in the white smock said. “I’ve got to get the needle into the large vein in his foreleg."

  Nixie did so on Charlie’s command, then lay tremblingly quiet while his left foreleg was shaved in a patch and sterilized. Charlie put a hand on Nixie’s shoulder blades and soothed him while the veterinary surgeon probed for the vein. Nixie bared his teeth once but did not growl, even though the fear in the boy’s mind was beating on him, making him just as afraid.

  Suddenly the drug reached his brain and he slumped limp.

  Charlie’s fear surged to a peak but Nixie did not feel it. Nixie’s tough little spirit had gone somewhere else, out of touch with his friend, out of space and time — wherever it is that the “I" within a man or a dog goes when the body wrapping it is unconscious.

  Charlie said shrilly, “Is he all right?"

  “Eh? Of course."

  “Uh … I thought he had died."

  “Want to listen to his heart beat?"

  “Uh, no — if you say he’s all right. Then he’s going to be okay? He’ll live through it?"

  The doctor glanced at Charlie’s father, back at the boy, let his eyes rest on Charlie’s lapel. “Star Scout, eh?"

  “Uh, yes, sir."

  “Going on to Eagle?"

  “Well … I’m going to try, sir."

  “Good. Look, son. If I put your dog over on that shelf, in a couple of hours he’ll be sleeping normally and by tomorrow he won’t even know he was out. But if I take him back to the chill room and start him on the cycle —" He shrugged. “Well, I’ve put eighty head of cattle under today. If forty percent are revived, it’s a good shipment. I do my best."

  Charlie looked grey. The surgeon looked at Mr. Vaughn, back at the boy. “Son, I know a man who’s looking for a dog for his kids. Say the word and you won’t have to worry about whether this pooch’s system will recover from a shock it was never intended to take."

  Mr. Vaughn said, “Well, son?"

  Charlie stood mute, in an agony of indecision. At last Mr. Vaughn said-sharply, “Chuck, we’ve got just twenty minutes before we must check in with Emigration. Well? What’s your answer?"

  Charlie did not seem to hear. Timidly. he put out one hand, barely touched the still form with the staring, unseeing eyes
. Then he snatched his hand back and squeaked, “No! We’re going to Venus — both of us!" — turned and ran out of the room.

  The veterinary spread his hands helplessly. “I tried."

  “I know you did, Doctor," Mr. Vaughn answered gravely. “Thank you."

  The Vaughns took the usual emigrant routing: winged shuttle rocket to the inner satellite station, ugly wingless ferry rocket to the outer station, transshipment there to the great globular cargo liner Hesperus. The jumps and changes took two days; they stayed in the deepspace ship for twenty-one tedious weeks, falling in half-elliptical orbit from Earth down to Venus. The time was fixed, an inescapable consequence of the law of gravity and the sizes and shapes of the two planetary orbits.

  At first Charlie was terribly excited. The terrific high gravity boost to break away from Earth’s mighty grasp was as much of a shocker as he had hoped; six gravities is shocking, even to those used to it. When the shuttle rocket went into free fall a few minutes later, utter weightlessness was as distressing, confusing — and exciting — as he had hoped. It was so upsetting that he would have lost his lunch had he not been injected with anti-nausea drug.

  Earth, seen from space, looked as it had looked in color-stereo pictures, but he found that the real thing is as vastly more satisfying as a hamburger is better than a picture of one. In the outer satellite station, someone pointed out to him the famous Captain Nordhoff, just back from Pluto. Charlie recognized those stern, lined features, familiar from TV and news pictures, and realized with odd surprise that the hero was a man, like everyone else. He decided to be a spaceman and famous explorer himself.

  S. S. Hesperus was a disappointment. It “blasted" away from the outer station with a gentle shove, one tenth gravity, instead of the soul-satisfying, bone-grinding, ear-shattering blast with which the shuttle had left Earth. Also, despite its enormous size, it was terribly crowded. After the Captain had his ship in orbit to intercept Venus five months later, he placed spin on his ship to give his passengers artificial weight — which took from Charlie the pleasant new feeling of weightlessness which he had come to enjoy.