Time for the Stars

by Robert A. Heinlein

  The boats were whale boats molded of glass and teflon and made nonsinkable by plastic foam in all dead spaces. They were so tough that, while you might be able to bash one in, you could not puncture it with anything short of a drill or a torch, yet they were so light that four men could lift one that was empty. It did them no harm to drive them up onto a rocky beach, then they could be unloaded and easily dragged higher. They were driven by alcohol jets, just as the helis were, but they had oars and sails as well. We never used the oars although all the men had gone through a dry drill under my Uncle Steve’s watchful eye.

  The boats had come in the night before loaded with specimens for the research department; now they were going back with people who would replace those ashore. From the monkey island I could see, half a mile away, the people who were coming back, waiting on the beach for the boats. Two of the boats were lying off, waiting for the third; each had about eighteen people in it and a few bundles of things requisitioned by Harry Gates for his scientific uses ashore, as well as a week’s supplies for the whole party.

  I noticed a movement behind me, turned, and saw that it was the Old Man coming up the airlock hatch. “Good morning, Captain.”

  “Morning, Bartlett.” He looked around. “Nice day.”

  “Yes, sir…and a nice place.”

  “It is indeed.” He looked toward the shore. “I’m going to find some excuse to hit dirt before we leave here. I’ve been on steel too long.”

  “I don’t see why not, sir. This place is friendly as a puppy. Not like Inferno.”

  “Not a bit.” He turned away, so I did too; you don’t press conversation on the Captain unless he wants it. The third boat was loaded now and cast loose; all three were about fifty yards away and were forming a column to go in together. I waved to Gloria and Anna.

  At each boat, a long, wet rope as thick as my waist came up out of the water, passed across it amidships and back into the water on the other side. I yelled, “Hey, Captain! Look!”

  He turned. The boats rolled sideways and sank—they were pulled under. I heard somebody scream and the water was crowded with struggling bodies.

  The Captain leaned past me at the raft and looked at the disaster. He said in an ordinary tone, “Can you start that chopper?”

  “Uh, I think so, Captain.” I was not a helicopter pilot but I knew how it worked.

  “Then do it.” He leaned far over and yelled, “Get that cargo door closed!” He turned and dived down the hatch. I caught a glimpse of what had made him yell as I turned to climb into the helicopter. It was another of those wet ropes slithering up the Elsie’s side toward the cargo port.

  Starting the helicopter was more complicated than I had realized, but there was a check-off list printed on the instrument panel. I had fumbled my way down to “step four: start impeller” when I was pushed aside by Ace Wenzel, the torchman who was the regular pilot. Ace did something with both hands, the blades started to revolve, making shadows across our faces, and he yelled, “Cast her loose!”

  I was shoved out the door as the Surgeon was climbing in; I fell four feet to the deck as the down blast hit me. I picked myself up and looked around.

  There was nothing in the water, nothing. Not a body, not a person struggling to keep afloat, no sign of the boats. There was not even floating cargo although some of the packages would float. I knew; I had packed some of them.

  Janet was standing next to me, shaking with dry sobs. I said stupidly, “What happened?”

  She tried to control herself and said shakily, “I don’t know. I saw one of them get Otto. It just…it just—” She started to bawl again and turned away.

  There wasn’t anything on the water, but now I saw that there was something in the water, under it. From high up you can see down into water if it is fairly smooth; arranged around the ship in orderly ranks were things of some sort. They looked like whales—or what I think a whale would look like in water; I’ve never seen a whale.

  I was just getting it through my confused head that I was looking at the creatures who had destroyed the boats when somebody yelled and pointed. On shore the people who were to return were still on the beach, but they were no longer alone—they were surrounded. The things had come ashore, on each side of them and had flanked them. I could not see well at that distance but I could see the sea creatures because they were so much bigger than we were. They didn’t have legs, so far as I could tell, but it did not slow them down—they were fast.

  And our people were being herded into the water.

  There was nothing we could do about it, not anything. Under us we had a ship that was the end product of centuries of technical progress; its torch could destroy a city in the blink of an eye. Ashore the guard had weapons by which one man was equal to an army of older times and there were more such weapons somewhere in the ship. But at the time I did not even know where the armory was, except that it was somewhere in the auxiliary deck—you can live a long time in a ship and never visit all her compartments.

  I suppose I should have been down in the auxiliary deck, searching for weapons. But what I did was stand there, frozen, with a dozen others, and watch it happen.

  But somebody had been more alert than I had been. Two men came bursting up through the hatch; they threw down two ranger guns and started frantically to plug them in and break open packages of ammunition. They could have saved the effort; by the time they were ready to sight in on the enemy, the beach was as empty as the surface of the water. Our shipmates had been pushed and dragged under. The helicopter was hovering over the spot; its rescue ladder was down but there was no one on it.

  The helicopter swung around over the island and across our camp site, then returned to the ship.

  While it was moving in to touch down, Chet Travers hurried up the ladder. He looked around, saw me and said, “Tom, where’s the Captain?”

  “In the chopper.”

  “Oh.” He frowned. “Well, give him this. Urgent. I’ve got to get back down.” He shoved a paper at me and disappeared. I glanced at it, saw that it was a message form, saw who it was from, and grabbed the Captain’s arm as he stepped out of the heli.

  He shrugged me off. “Out of my way!”

  “Captain, you’ve got to—it’s a message from the island—from Major Lucas.”

  He stopped then and took it from me, then fumbled for his reading glasses, which I could see sticking out of a pocket. He shoved the dispatch form back at me before I could help him and said, “Read it to me, boy.”

  So I did. “‘From: Commander Ship’s Guard—To: Commanding Officer Lewis and Clark—Oh nine three one—at oh nine oh five survey camp was attacked by hostile natives, believed to be amphibious. After suffering initial heavy losses the attack was beaten off and I have withdrawn with seven survivors to the hilltop north of the camp. We were forced to abandon survey craft number two. At time of attack, exchange party was waiting on beach; we are cut off from them and their situation is not known but must be presumed to be desperate.

  “‘Discussion: The attack was intelligently organized and was armed. Their principal weapon appears to be a jet of sea water at very high pressure but they use also a personal weapon for stabbing and cutting. It must be assumed that they have other weapons. It must be conditionally assumed that they are as intelligent as we are, as well disciplined, and possibly as well armed for the conditions. Their superior numbers give them a present advantage even if they had no better weapons.

  “‘Recommendations: My surviving command can hold out where it is against weapons thus far encountered. It is therefore urgently recommended that immediate measures be limited to rescuing beach party. Ship should then be placed in orbit until a plan can be worked out and weapons improvised to relieve my command without hazard to the ship.—S. Lucas, Commandant, oh nine three six.’”

  The Captain took the message and turned toward the hatch without speaking. Nobody said anything although there were at least twenty of us crowded up there. I hesitated, then wh
en I saw that others were going down, I pushed in and followed the Captain.

  He stopped two decks down and went into the communications office. I didn’t follow him, but he left the door open. Chet Travers was in there, bent over the gear he used to talk with the camp, and Commander Frick was leaning over him with a worried look on his face: The Captain said, “Get me Major Lucas.”

  Commander Frick looked up. “We’re trying to, Captain. Transmission cut off while they were sending us a list of casualties.”

  The Captain chewed his lip and looked frustrated, then he said “Keep trying,” and turned. He saw me.

  “Bartlett!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “You have one of your people over there. Raise him.”

  I thought rapidly, trying to remember the Greenwich even as I was calling Vicky—if Vicky was home, she could get through on the direct line to LRF and they could hook her with Sam Rojas’s telepartner and thence to Sam, and the Captain could talk to Uncle Steve on a four-link relay almost as fast as he could by radio. (“Vicky! Come in, Vicky! Urgent!”)

  “Yes; Uncle Tom? What is it? I was asleep.”

  Commander Frick said, “I don’t think that will work, Captain. Rojas isn’t on the list of survivors. He was scheduled for rotation; he must have been down at the beach.”

  Of course, of course! Sam would have been down at the beach—I had stood by and must have watched him being herded into the water!

  “What is it, Uncle Tom?”

  (“Just wait, hon. Stay linked.”)

  “Then get me somebody else,” the Captain snapped.

  “There isn’t anyone else, Captain,” Frick answered. “Here’s the list of survivors. Rojas was the only fr—the only special communicator we had ashore.”

  The Captain glanced at the list, said, “Pass the word for all hands not on watch to assemble in the mess room on the double.” He turned and walked right through me. I jumped out of the way.

  “What’s the matter, Uncle Tom? You sound worried.”

  I tried to control my voice. (“It was a mistake, hon. Just forget it and try to get back to sleep. I’m sorry.”)

  “All right. But you still sound worried.”

  I hurried after the Captain. Commander Frick’s voice was calling out the order over the ship’s system as we hurried down the ladders, yet he was only a moment or two behind me in reaching the mess room. In a matter of seconds we were all there…just a handful of those who had left Earth—about forty. The Captain looked around and said to Cas Warner, “Is this all?”

  “I think so, Captain, aside from the engineering watch.”

  “I left Travers on watch,” added Frick.

  “Very well.” The Captain turned and faced us. “We are about to rescue the survivors ashore. Volunteers step forward.”

  We didn’t step, we surged, all together. I would like to say that I was a split second ahead, because of Uncle Steve, but it wouldn’t be true. Mrs. Gates was carrying young Harry in her arms and she was as fast as I was.

  “Thank you,” the Captain said stiffly. “Now will the women please go over there by the pantry so that I can pick the men who will go.”

  “Captain?”

  “Yes, Captain Urqhardt?”

  “I will lead the party.”

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort, sir. I will lead: You will now take some women and go down and fetch what we need.”

  Urqhardt barely hesitated, then said, “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “That rule—our standing rule for risk—will apply to all of you. In doubly-manned jobs the older man will go. In other jobs, if the job can be dispensed with, the man will go; if it cannot be, the man will stay.” He looked around. “Dr. Babcock!”

  “Righto, Skipper!”

  Mr. O’Toole said, “Just a moment, Captain. I am a widower and Dr. Babcock is much more—”

  “Shut up.”

  “But—”

  “Confound it, sir, must I debate every decision with every one of you? Must I remind you that every second counts? Get over there with the women.”

  Red-faced and angry Mr. O’Toole did as he was told. The Captain went on, “Mr. Warner. Mr. Bach. Dr. Severin—” Quickly he picked those he wanted, then waved the rest of us over toward the pantry.

  Uncle Alfred McNeil tried to straighten his stooped shoulders. “Captain, you forgot me. I’m the oldest in my department.”

  The Captain’s face softened just a hair. “No, Mr. McNeil, I didn’t forget,” he said quietly, “but the capacity of the chopper is limited—and we have seven to bring back. So I must omit you.”

  Unc’s shoulders sagged and I thought he was going to cry, than he shuffled over away from the selected few. Dusty Rhodes caught my eye and looked smug and proud; he was one of the chosen. He still did not look more than sixteen and I don’t think he had ever shaved; this was probably the first time in his life that he had ever been treated in all respects as a man.

  In spite of the way the others had been shut off short I couldn’t let it stand. I stepped forward again and touched the Captain’s sleeve. “Captain…you’ve got to let me go! My uncle is over there.”

  I thought he was going to explode, but he caught himself. “I see your point. But you are a special communicator and we haven’t any spare. I’ll tell Major Lucas that you tried.”

  “But—”

  “Now shut up and do as you are told—before I kick you half across the compartment.” He turned away as if I didn’t exist.

  Five minutes later arms had been issued and we were all crowding up the ladders to see them off. Ace Wenzel started the helicopter at idling speed and jumped out. They filed in, eight of them, with the Captain last. Dusty had a bandolier ever each shoulder and a ranger gun in his hands; he was grinning excitedly. He threw me a wink and said, “I’ll send you a postcard.”

  The Captain paused and said, “Captain Urqhardt.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The Captain and the reserve captain conferred for a moment; I couldn’t hear them and I don’t think we were meant to hear. Then Captain Urqhardt said loudly, “Aye, aye, sir. It shall be done.”

  “Very good, sir.” The Captain stepped in, slammed the door, and took the controls himself. I braced myself against the down blast.

  Then we waited.

  I alternated between monkey island and the comm office. Chet Travers still could not raise Uncle Steve but he was in touch with the heli. Every time I went top side I looked for the sea things but they seemed to have gone away.

  Finally I came down again to the comm room and Chet was looking joyful. “They’ve got ’em!” he announced. “They’re off the ground.” I started to ask him about it but he was turning to announce the glad news over the ship’s system; I ran up to see if I could spot the heli.

  I saw it, near the hilltop, about a mile and a half away. It moved rapidly toward the ship. Soon we could see people inside. As it got closer someone opened a window on the side toward us.

  The Captain was not really skilled with a helicopter. He tried to make a landing straight in but his judgment of wind was wrong and he had to swing on past and try again. The maneuver brought the craft so close to the ship that we could see the passengers plainly. I saw Uncle Steve and he saw me and waved; he did not call out, he just waved. Dusty Rhodes was beside him and saw me, too. He grinned and waved and shouted, “Hey, Tom, I rescued your buddy!” He reached back and then Percy’s head and cloven forehooves showed above the frame, with Dusty holding the pig with one hand and pointing to him with the other. They were both grinning.

  “Thanks!” I yelled back. “Hi, Percy!”

  The chopper turned a few hundred feet beyond the ship and headed back into the wind.

  It was coming straight toward the ship and would have touched down soon when something came out of the water right under it. Some said it was a machine—to me it looked like an enormous elephant’s trunk. A stream of water so solid, hard, and bright that it looked like steel shot out of th
e end of it; it struck a rotor tip and the heli staggered.

  The Captain leaned the craft over and it slipped out of contact. The stream followed it, smashed against the fuselage and again caught a rotor; the heli tilted violently and began to fall.

  I’m not much in an emergency; it is hours later when I figure out what I should have done. This time I acted without thinking. I dived down the ladder without hitting the treads and was on down in the cargo deck almost at once. The port of that side was closed, as it had been since the Captain ordered it closed earlier; I slapped the switch and it began to grind open. Then I looked around and saw what I needed: the boat falls, coiled loosely on deck, not yet secured. I grabbed a bitter end and was standing on the port as it was still swinging down to horizontal.

  The wrecked helicopter was floating right in front of me and there were people struggling in the water. “Uncle Steve!” I yelled “Catch!” I threw the line as far as I could.

  I had not even seen him as I yelled. It was just the idea that was in the top of my mind. Then I did see him, far beyond where I had been able to throw the line. I heard him call back, “Coming, Tom!” and he started swimming strongly toward the ship.

  I was so much in a daze that I almost pulled the line in to throw it again when I realized that I had managed to throw far enough for some one. I yelled again. “Harry! Right behind you! Grab on!”

  Harry Gates rolled ever in the water, snatched at the line and got it. I started to haul him in.

  I almost lost him as I got him to the ship’s skin. One of his arms seemed almost useless and he nearly lost his grasp. But between us we managed to manhandle him up and into the port; we would not have made it if the Ship had not been so low in the water. He collapsed inside and lay on his face, gasping and sobbing.

  I jerked the fall loose from his still clenched hand and turned to throw it to Uncle Steve.