He was bored silly in five days — and there were five months of it ahead. He shared a cramped room with his father and mother and slept in a hammock swung “nightly" (the ship used Greenwich time) between their bunks. Hammock in place, there was no room in the cubicle; even with it stowed, only one person could dress at a time. The only recreation space was the messrooms and they were always crowded. There was one view port in his part of the ship. At first it was popular, but after a few days even the kids didn’t bother, for the view was always the same: stars, and more stars.
By order of the Captain, passengers could sign up for a “sightseeing tour." Charlie’s chance came when they were two weeks out — a climb through accessible parts of the ship, a quick look into the power room, a longer look at the hydroponics gardens which provided fresh air and part of their food, and a ten-second glimpse through the door of the Holy of Holies, the control room, all accompanied by a lecture from a bored junior officer. It was over in two hours and Charlie was again limited to his own, very crowded part of the ship.
Up forward there were privileged passengers, who had staterooms as roomy as those of the officers and who enjoyed the luxury of the officers’ lounge. Charlie did not find out that they were aboard for almost a month, but when he did, he was righteously indignant.
His father set him straight. “They paid for it."
“Huh? But we paid, too. Why should they get —"
“They paid for luxury. Those first-class passengers each paid about three times what your ticket cost, or mine. We got the emigrant rate — transportation and food and a place to sleep."
“I don’t think it’s fair."
Mr. Vaughn shrugged. “Why should we have something we haven’t paid for?"
“Uh, … well, Dad, why should they be able to pay for luxuries we can’t afford?"
“A good question. Philosophers ever since Aristotle have struggled with that one. Maybe you’ll tell me, someday."
“Huh? What do you mean, Dad?"
“Don’t say 'Huh.’ Chuck, I’m taking you to a brand new planet. If you try, you can probably get rich. Then maybe you can tell me why a man with money can command luxuries that poor people can’t."
“But we aren’t poor!"
“No, we are not. But we aren’t rich either. Maybe you’ve got the drive to get rich. One thing is sure: on Venus the opportunities are all around you. Never mind — how about a game before dinner?"
Charlie still resented being shut out of the nicest parts of the ship — he had never felt like a second-class anything (citizen, or passenger) before in his life; the feeling was not pleasant. He decided to get rich on Venus. He would make the biggest uranium strike in history; then he would ride first class between Venus and Earth whenever he felt like it — that would teach those stuck-up snobs!
He then remembered he had already decided to be a famous spaceman. Well, he would do both. Someday he would own a space line … and one of the ships would be his private yacht. But by the time the Hesperus reached the halfway point he no longer thought about it.
The emigrants saw little of the ship’s crew, but Charlie got acquainted with Slim, the emigrants’ cook. Slim was called so for the reason that cooks usually are; he sampled his own wares all day long and was pear shaped.
Like all space ships, the Hesperus was undermanned except for astrogators and engineers — why hire a cook’s helper when the space can be sold to a passenger? It was cheaper to pay high wages to a cook who could perform production-line miracles without a helper. And Slim could.
But he could use a helper. Charlie’s merit badge in cooking plus a willingness to do as he was told made him Slim’s favorite volunteer assistant. Charlie got from it something to do with his time, sandwiches and snacks whenever he wanted them, and lots of knowledgeable conversation. Slim had not been to college but his curiosity had never dried up; he had read everything worth reading in several ship’s libraries and had kept his eyes open dirtside on every inhabited planet in the Solar System.
“Slim, what’s it like on Venus?"
“Mmm … pretty much like the books say. Rainy. Hot. Not too bad at Borealis, where you’ll land."
“Yes — but what’s it like?"
“Why not wait and see? Give that stew a stir … and switch on the shortwaver. Did you know that they used to figure that Venus couldn’t be lived on?"
“Huh? No, I didn’t."
" 'Struth. Back in the days when we didn’t have space flight, scientists were certain that Venus didn’t have either oxygen nor water. They figured it was a desert, with sand storms and no air you could breathe. Proved it, all by scientific logic."
“But how could they make such a mistake? I mean, obviously, with clouds all over it and —"
“The clouds didn’t show water vapor, not through a spectroscope they didn’t. Showed lots of carbon dioxide, though, and by the science of the last century they figured they had proved that Venus couldn’t support life."
“Funny sort of science! I guess they were pretty ignorant in those days."
“Don’t go running down our grandfathers. If it weren’t for them, you and I would be squatting in a cave, scratching fleas. No, Bub, they were pretty sharp; they just didn’t have all the facts. We’ve got more facts, but that doesn’t make us smarter. Put them biscuits over here. The way I see it, it just goes to show that the only way to tell what’s in a stew is to eat it … and even then you aren’t always sure. Venus turned out to be a very nice place. For ducks. If there were any ducks there. Which there ain’t."
“Do you like Venus?"
“I like any place I don’t have to stay in too long. Okay, let’s feed the hungry mob."
The food in the Hesperus was as good as the living accommodations were bad. This was partly Slim’s genius, but was also the fact that food in a space ship costs by its weight; what it had cost Earthside matters little compared with the expense of lifting it off Earth. The choicest steaks cost the spaceline owners little more than the same weight of rice — and any steaks left over could be sold at high prices to colonists weary .for a taste of Earth food. So the emigrants ate as well as the first class passengers, even though not with fine service and fancy surroundings. When Slim was ready he opened a shutter in the galley partition and Charlie dealt out the wonderful viands like chow in a Scout camp to passengers queued up with plates. Charlie enjoyed this chore. It made him feel like a member of the crew, a spaceman himself.
Charlie almost managed not to worry about Nixie, having told himself that there was nothing to worry about. They were a month past midpoint, with Venus only six weeks away before he discussed it with Slim. “Look, Slim, you know a lot about such things. Nixie’ll make it all right … won’t he?"
“Hand me that paddle; Mmm … don’t know as I ever ran across a dog in space before. Cats now … cats belong in space. They’re clean and neat and help to keep down mice and rats."
“I don’t like cats."
“Ever lived with a cat? No, I see you haven’t. How can you have the gall not to like something you don’t know anything about? Wait till you’ve lived with a cat, then tell me what you think. Until then … well, who told you were entitled to an opinion?"
“Huh? Why, everybody is entitled to his own opinion!"
“Nonsense, Bub. Nobody is entitled to an opinion about something he is ignorant of. If the Captain told me how to bake a cake, I would politely suggest that he not stick his nose into my trade … contrariwise, I never tell him how to plot an orbit to Mars."
“Slim, you’re changing the subject. How about Nixie? He’s going to be all right … isn’t he?"
“As I was saying, I don’t have opinions about things I don’t know. Happens I don’t know dogs. Never had one as a kid; I was raised in a big city. Since then I’ve been in space. No dogs."
“Darn it, Slim! — you’re being evasive: You know about sleep-freeze. I know you do."
Slim sighed. “Kid, you’re going to die someday and so am I. An
d so is your pup. It’s the one thing we can’t avoid. Why, the ship’s reactor could blow up and none of us would know what hit us till they started fitting us with haloes. So why fret about whether your dog comes out of sleep-freeze? Either he does and you’ve worried unnecessarily … or he doesn’t and there’s nothing you can do about it."
“So you don’t think he will?"
“I didn’t say that. I said it was foolish to worry."
But Charlie did worry; the talk with Slim brought it to the top of his mind, worried him more and more as the day got closer. The last month seemed longer to him than the four dreary months that had preceded it.
As for Nixie, time meant nothing to him. Suspended between life and death, he was not truly in the Hesperus at all; but somewhere else, outside of time. It was merely his shaggy little carcass that lay, stored like a ham, in the frozen hold of the ship.
Eventually the Captain slowed his ship, matched her with Venus and set her in a parking orbit alongside Venus’s single satellite station. After transshipment and maddening delay the Vaughns were taken down in the winged shuttle Cupid into the clouds of Venus and landed at the north pole colony, Borealis.
For Charlie there was a still more maddening delay: cargo (which included Nixie) was unloaded after passengers and took many days because the mighty Hesperus held so much more than the little Cupid. He could not even go over to the freight sheds to inquire about Nixie as immigrants were held at the reception center for quarantine. Each one had received many shots during the five-month trip to inoculate them against the hazards of Venus; now they found that they must wait not only on most careful physical examination and observation to make sure that they were not bringing Earth diseases in with them but also to receive more shots not available aboard ship. Charlie spent the days with sore arms and gnawing anxiety.
So far he had had one glimpse outdoors — a permanently cloudy sky which never got dark and was never very bright. Borealis is at Venus’s north pole and the axis of the planet is nearly erect; the unseen Sun circled the horizon, never rising nor setting by more than a few degrees. The colony lived in eternal twilight.
The lessened gravity, nine-tenths that of Earth, Charlie did not notice even though he knew he should. It had been five months since he had felt Earth gravity and the Hesperus had maintained only one-third gravity in that outer part, where spin was most felt. Consequently Charlie felt heavier than seemed right, rather than lighter — his feet had forgotten full weight.
Nor did he notice the heavy concentration (about 2%) of carbon dioxide in the air, on which Venus’s mighty jungles depended. It had once been believed that so much carbon dioxide, breathed regularly, would kill a man, but long before space flight, around 1950, experiments had shown that even a higher concentration had no bad effects. Charlie simply didn’t notice it.
All in all, he might have been waiting in a dreary, barracks-like building in some tropical port on Earth. He did not see much of his father, who was busy by telephone and by germproof conference cage, conferring with his new employers and arranging for quarters, nor did he see much of his mother; Mrs. Vaughn had found the long trip difficult and was spending most of her time lying down.
Nine days after their arrival Charlie was sitting in the recreation room of the reception center, disconsolately reading a book he had already read on Earth. His father came in. “Come along."
“Huh? What’s up?"
“They’re going to try to revive your dog. You want to be there, don’t you? Or maybe you’d rather not? I can go … and come back and tell you what happened."
Charlie gulped. “I want to be there. Let’s go."
The room was like the one back at White Sands where Nixie had been put to sleep, except that in place of the table there was a cage-like contraption with glass sides. A man was making adjustments on a complex apparatus which stood next to the glass box and was connected to it. He looked up. “Yes? We’re busy."
“My name is Vaughn and this is my son Charlie. He’s the owner of the dog."
The man frowned. “Didn’t you get my message? I’m Doctor Zecker, by the way. You’re too soon; we’re just bringing the dog up to temperature."
Mr. Vaughn said, “Wait here, Charlie," crossed the room and spoke in a low voice to Zecker.
Zecker shook his head. “Better wait outside."
Mr. Vaughn again spoke quietly; Dr. Zecker answered, “You don’t understand. I don’t even have proper equipment — I’ve had to adapt the force breather we use for hospital monkeys. It was never meant for a dog."
They argued in whispers for a few moments. They were interrupted by an amplified voice from outside the room “Ready with ninety-seven-X, Doctor — that’s the dog."
Zecker called back, “Bring it in!" — then went on to Mr. Vaughn, “All right — keep him out of the way. Though I still say he would be better off outside." He turned, paid them no further attention.
Two men, came in, carrying a large tray. Something quiet and not very large was heaped on it, covered by dull blue cloth. Charlie whispered, “Is that Nixie?"
“I think so," his father-answered in a low voice. “Keep quiet and watch."
“Can’t I see him?"
“Stay where you are and don’t say a word — else the doctor will make you leave."
Once inside, the team moved quickly and without speaking, as if this were something rehearsed again and again, something that must be done with great speed and perfect precision. One of them opened the glass box; the other placed the tray inside, uncovered its burden. It was Nixie, limp and apparently dead. Charlie caught his breath.
One assistant moved the little body forward, fitted a collar around its neck, closed down a partition like a guillotine, jerked his hands out of the way as the other assistant slammed the glass door through which they had put the dog in, quickly sealed it. Now Nixie was shut tight in a glass coffin, his head lying outside the end partition, his body inside. “Cycle!"
Even as he said it, the first assistant slapped a switch and fixed his eyes on the instrument board and Doctor Zecker thrust both arms into long rubber gloves passing through the glass, which allowed his hands to be inside with Nixie’s body. With rapid, sure motions he picked up a hypodermic needle, already waiting inside, shoved it deep into the dog’s side.
“Force breathing established."’
“No heart action, Doctor!"
The reports came one on top of the other, Zecker looked up at the dials, looked back at the dog and cursed. He grabbed another needle. This one he entered gently, depressed the plunger most carefully, with his eyes on the dials. “Fibrillation."
“I can see!" he answered snappishly, put down the hypo and began to massage the dog in time with the ebb and surge of the “iron lung."
And Nixie lifted his head and cried.
It was more than an hour before Dr. Zecker let Charlie take the dog away. During most of this time the cage was open and Nixie was breathing on his own, but with the apparatus still in place, ready to start again if his heart or lungs should falter in their newly relearned trick of keeping him alive. But during this waiting time Charlie was allowed to stand beside him, touch him, sooth and pet him to keep him quiet.
At last the doctor picked up Nixie and put him in Charlie’s arms. “Okay, take him. But keep him quiet; I don’t want him running around for the next ten hours. But not too quiet, don’t let him sleep."
“Why not, Doctor?" asked Mr. Vaughn.
“Because sometimes, when you think they’ve made it, they just lie down and quit — as if they had had a taste of death and found they liked it. This pooch has had a’ near squeak — we have only seven minutes to restore blood supply to the brain. Any longer than that … well, the brain is permanently damaged and you might as well put it out of its misery."
“You think you made it in time?"
“Do you think," Zecker answered angrily, “that I would let you take the dog if I hadn’t?"
“Sorry."
“Just keep him quiet, but not too quiet. Keep him awake."
Charlie answered solemnly, “I will, Doctor Nixie’s going to be all right — I know he is."
Charlie stayed awake all night long, talking to Nixie, petting him, keeping him quiet but not asleep. Neither one of his parents tried to get him to go to bed.
Chapter Two
Nixie liked Venus. It was filled with a thousand new smells, all worth investigating, countless new sounds, each of which had to be catalogued. As official guardian of the Vaughn family and of Charlie in particular, it was his duty and pleasure to examine each new phenomenon, decide whether or not it was safe for his people; he set about it happily.
It is doubtful that he realized that he had traveled other than that first lap in the traveling case to White Sands. He took up his new routine without noticing the five months clipped out of his life; he took charge of the apartment assigned to the Vaughn family, inspected it thoroughly, then nightly checked it to be sure that all was in order and safe before he tromped out his place on the foot of Charlie’s bed and tucked his tail over his nose.
He was aware that this was a new place, but he was not homesick. The other home had been satisfactory and he had never dreamed of leaving it, but this new home was still better. Not only did it have Charlie — without whom no place could be home — not only did it have wonderful odors, but also he found the people more agreeable. Iii the past, many humans had been quite stuffy about flower beds and such trivia, but here he was almost never scolded or chased away; on the contrary people were anxious to speak to him, pet him, feed him. His popularity was based on arithmetic: Borealis had fifty-five thou. sand people but only eleven dogs; many colonists were homesick for man’s traditional best friend. Nixie did not know this, but he had great capacity for enjoying the good things in life without worrying about why.
Mr. Vaughn found Venus satisfactory. His work for Synthetics of Venus, Ltd. was the sort of work he had done on Earth, save that he was now paid more and given more responsibility. The living quarters provided by the company were as comfortable as the house he had left back on Earth and he was unworried about the future of his family for the first time in years.
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