They Shall Have Stars

by James Blish

  Committee Counsel: Now then, Dr. Corsi, according to our records, your last interview with Senator Wagoner was in the winter of 2013.Did you discuss the Jupiter Project with him at that time?

  Corsi: How could I have? It didn't exist then.

  Counsel: But was it mentioned to you in any way? Did Senator Wagoner say anything about plans to start such a project?

  Corsi: No.

  Counsel: You didn't yourself suggest it to Senator Wagoner?

  Corsi: Certainly not. It was a total surprise to me, when it was announced afterwards.

  Counsel: But I suppose you know what it is.

  Corsi: I know only what the general public has been told. We're building a Bridge on Jupiter. It's very costly and ambitious. What it's for is a secret. That's all.

  Counsel: You're sure you don't know what it's for?

  Corn: For research.

  Counsel: Yes, but research for what? Surely you have some clues.

  Corsi: I don't have any clues, and Senator Wagoner didn't give me any. The only facts I have are those I read in the press. Naturally I have some conjectures. But all I know is what is indicated, or hinted at, in the official announcements. Those seem to convey the impression that the Bridge is for weapons research.

  Counsel: But you think that maybe it isn't?

  Corsi: I'm not in a position to discuss government projects about which I know nothing,

  Counsel: You could give us your opinion.

  Corsi: If you want my opinion as an expert, I'll have my office go into the subject and let you know later 'what such an opinion would cost.

  Senator Billings: Dr. Corsi, do we understand that you refuse to answer the question? It seems to me that in view of your past record you might be better advised

  Corsi: I haven't refused an answer, Senator. I make part of my living by consultation. If the government wishes to use me in that capacity, it's my right to ask to be paid. You have no right to deprive me of my livelihood, or any part of it.

  Senator Croft: The government made up its mind about employing you some time back, Dr. Corsi. And rightly, in my opinion.

  Corsi: That is the government's privilege.

  Senator Croft: but you are being questioned now by the Senate of the United States. If you refuse to answer, you may be held in contempt.

  Corsi: For refusing to state an opinion?

  Counsel: If you will pardon me, Senator Croft, the witness may refuse to offer an opinionor withhold such an opinion, pending payment. He can be held in contempt only for declining to state the facts as be knows them.

  Senator Croft: All right, let's get some facts, and stop the pussyfooting.

  Counsel: Dr. Corsi, was anything said during your last meeting with Senator Wagoner which might have had any bearing on the Jupiter Project?

  Corsi: Well, yes. But only negatively. I did counsel him against any such project. Rather emphatically, as I recall.

  Counsel: I thought you said that the Bridge hadn't been mentioned.

  Corsi: It hadn't. Senator Wagoner and I were discussing research methods in general. I told him that I thought research projects of the Bridge's order of magnitude were no Longer fruitful.

  Senator Billings: Did you charge Senator Wagoner for that opinion, Dr. Corsi?

  Corsi: No, Senator. Sometimes I don't.

  Senator Billings: Perhaps you should have. Wagoner didn't follow your free advice.

  Senator Croft: It looks like he considered the source.

  Corsi: There's nothing compulsory about advice. I gave him my best opinion at the time. What he did with it was up to him.

  Counsel: Would you tell us if that is your best opinion now? That research projects the size of the Bridge are I believe your phrase was, "no longer fruitful"?

  Corsi: That 1s still my opinion.

  Senator Billings: Which you will give us free of charge...?

  Corsi: It is the opinion of every scientist I know. You could get it free from those who work for you. I have better sense than to charge fees for common knowledge

  It had been a near thing. Perhaps, Wagoner thought, Corsi had after all remembered the really crucial part of that interview and had decided not to reveal it to the subcommittee. It was more likely, however, that those few words that Corsi had thrown off while standing at the blinded windows of his apartment would not have stuck in his memory as they had stuck in Wagoner's.

  Yet surely Corsi knew, at least in part, what the Bridge was for. He must have remembered the part of that conversation which dealt with gravity. By now he would have reasoned his way from those words all the difficult way to the Bridge after all, the Bridge was not a difficult object for an understanding like Corsi's.

  But he had said nothing about it. That had been a crucial silence.

  Wagoner wondered if it would ever be possible for him to show his gratitude to the aging physicist. Not now. Possibly never. The pain and the puzzlement in Corsi's mind stood forth in what he had said, even through the coldness of the official transcript. Wagoner badly wanted to assuage both. But he couldn't. He could only hope that Corsi would see it whole, and understand it whole, when the time came.

  The pare turned on Corsi. Now there was another question which had to be answered. Was there a single hint, anywhere in the sixteen hundred mimeographed pages of the report, that the Bridge was incomplete without what was going on at mo. Pfitzner & Sons?

  No, there was not. Wagoner let the report fall, with a sigh of relief of which he was hardly conscious. That was that.

  He filed the report, and reached into his "In" basket for the dossier on Paige Russell, Colonel, Army Space Corps, which had come in from the Pfitzner plant only a week ago. He was tired, and he did not want to perform an act of judgment on another man for the rest of his life but he had asked for the job, and now he had to work at it.

  Bliss Wagoner had not been cut out to be a general. As a god he was even more inept.

  CHAPTER FIVE: New York

  The original phenomena which the soul hypothesis attempted to explain still remain. Homo sapiens does have some differences from other animal species. But when his biological distinctions and their consequences are clearly described, man's 'morality,' his 'soul,' and his 'immortality' all become accessible to a purely naturalistic formulation and understanding, . . . Man's 'immortality' (in so far as it differs from the immortality of the germ plasm of any other animal species) consists in his time transcending inter-individually shared values, symbol systems, languages, and cultures and in nothing else.

  WESTON LA BARRE

  IT TOOK Paige no more than Anne's mandatory ten seconds, during breakfast of the next day in his snuggery at the spaceman's Haven, to decide that he was going back to the Pfitzner plant and apologize. He didn't quite understand why the date had ended as catastrophically as it had, but of one thing he was nearly certain: the fiasco had had something to do with his space rusty manners, and if it were to be mended, he had to be the one to tool up for it.

  And now that he came to think of it over his cold egg, it seemed obvious in essence. By his last line of questioning, Paige had broken the delicate shell of the evening and spilled the contents all over the restaurant table. He had left the more or less safe womb of technicalities, and had begun, by implication at least, to call Anne's ethics into question first by making clear his first reaction to the business about the experimental infants, and then by pressing home her irregular marriage to her firm.

  In this world called Earth of disintegrating faiths, one didn't call personal ethical codes into question without getting into trouble. Such codes, where they could be found at all, obviously had cost their adherents too much pain to be open for any new probing. Faith had once been self-evident; now it was desperate. Those who still had it or had made it, chunk by fragment by shard, wanted nothing but to be allowed to hold it.

  As for why he wanted to set matters right with Anne Abbott, Paige was less clear. His leave was passing him by rapidly, and thus far he had done little
more than stroll while it passed especially if he measured it against the desperate meterstick established by his last two leaves, the two after his marriage had shattered and he had been alone again. After the present leave was over, there was a good chance that he would be assigned to the Proserpine station, which was now about finished and which had no competitors for the title of the most forsaken outpost of the solar system. None, at least, until somebody should discover an 11th planet.

  Nevertheless, he was going to go out to the Pfitzner plant again, out to the scenic Bronx, to revel among research scientists, business executives, government brass, and a frozen voiced girl with a figure like an ironing board, to kick up his heels on a reception room rug in the sight of gay steel engravings of the founders, cheered on by a motto which might or might not be Dionysiac, if he could only read it. Great. Just great. If he played his cards right, he could go on duty at the Proserpine station with fine memories: perhaps the vice-president in charge of export would let Paige call him "Hal," or maybe even "Bubbles."

  Maybe it was a matter of religion, after all. Like everyone else in the world, Paige thought, he was still looking for something bigger than himself, bigger than family, army, marriage, fatherhood, space itself, or the pubcrawls and tyrannically meaningless sexual spasms of a spaceman's leave. Quite obviously the project at Pfitzner, with its air of mystery and selflessness, had touched that very vulnerable nerve in him once more. Anne Abbott's own dedication was merely the touchstone, the key. ... No, he hadn't the right word for it yet, but her attitude somehow fitted into an empty, jagged edge blemish in his own soul like like. . . yes, that was it: like a jigsaw puzzle piece.

  And besides, he wanted to see that sunburst smile again.

  Because of the way her desk was placed, she was the first thing he saw as he came into Pfitzner's reception room. Her expression was even stranger than he had expected, and she seemed to be making some kind of covert gesture, as though she were flicking dust off the top of her desk toward him with the tips of all her fingers. He took several slower and slower steps into the room and stopped, finally baffled.

  Someone rose from a chair which he had not been able to see from the door, and quartered down on him. The pad of the steps on the carpet and the odd crouch of the shape in the corner of Paige's eye were unpleasantly stealthy. Paige turned, unconsciously closing his hands.

  "Haven't we seen this officer before, Miss Abbott? What's his business here or has he any?"

  The man in the eager semi crouch was Francis X. MacHinery.

  When he was not bent over in that absurd position, which was only his prosecutor's stance, Francis X. MacHinery looked every inch the inheritor of an unbroken line of Boston aristocrats, as in fact he was. Though he was not tall, he was very spare, and his hair had been white since he was 26 years old, giving him a look of col4 wisdom which was complemented by his hawklike nose and high cheekbones. The FBI had come down to him from his grandfather, who had somehow persuaded the then incumbent president, a stunningly popular Man-on-Horseback who dripped charisma but had no brains worth mentioning that so important a directorship should not be hazarded to the appointments of his successors, but instead ought to be handed on from father to son like a corporate office.

  Hereditary pasts tend to become nominal with the passage of time, since it takes only one weak scion to destroy the importance of the office; but that had not happened yet to the MacHinery family. The current incumbent could, in fact, have taught his grandfather a thing or two. MacHinery was as full of cunning as a wolverine, and he had managed times without number to land on his feet regardless of what political disasters had been planned for him. And he was, as Paige was now discovering, the man for whom the metaphor "gimlet-eyed" had all unknowingly been invented.

  "Well, Miss Abbott?"

  "Colonel Russell was here yesterday," Anne said. "You may have seen him then."

  The swinging doors opened and Horsefield and Gunn came in. MacHinery paid no attention to them. He said, "What's your name, soldier?"

  "I'm a spaceman;" Paige said stiffly. "Colonel Paige Russell, Army Space Corps."

  "What are you doing here?"

  "I'm on leave."

  "Will you answer the question?" MacHinery said. He was, Paige noticed, not looking at Paige at all, but over his shoulder, as though he were actually paying no real heed to the conversation. "What are you doing at the Pfitzner plant?'

  "I happen to be in love with Miss Abbott," Paige said sharply to his own black and utter astonishment. "I came here to see her. We had a quarrel last night and I wanted to apologize. That's all."

  Anne straightened behind her desk as though a curtain rod had been driven up her spine, turning toward Paige a pair of blindly blazing eyes and a rigidly unreadable expression. Even Gunn's mouth sagged slightly to one side; he looked first at Anne, then at Paige, as if he were abruptly uncertain that he had ever seen either of them before.

  MacHinery, however, shot only one quick look at Anne, and his eyes seemed to turn into bottle glass. "I'm not interested in your personal life," he said in a tone which, indeed, suggested active boredom. "I will put the question another way, so that there'll be no excuse for evading it. Why did you come to the plant in the first place? What is your business at Pfitzner, soldier?"

  Paige tried to pick his next words carefully. Actually it would hardly matter what he said, once MacHinery developed a real interest in him; an accusation from the FBI had nearly the force of law. Everything depended upon so conducting himself as to be of no interest to MacHinery to begin with an exercise at which, fortunately up to now, Paige had had no more practice than had any other spaceman.

  He said: "I brought in some soil samples from the Jovian system. Pfitzner asked me to do it as part of their research program."

  "And you brought these samples in yesterday, you told me."

  "No, I didn't tell you. But as a matter of fact I did bring them in yesterday."

  "And you're still bringing them in today, I see." MacHinery perked his chin over his shoulder toward Horsefield, whose face had frozen into complete tetany as soon as he had shown signs of realizing what was going on. "What about this, Horsefield? Is this one of your men that you haven't told me about?"

  "No," Horsefield said, but putting a sort of a question mark into the way he spoke the word, as though he did not mean to deny anything which he might later be expected to affirm. "Saw the man yesterday, I think. For the first time to the best of my knowledge."

  "I see. Would you say, General, that this man is no part of the Army's assigned complement on the project?"

  "I can't say that for sure," Horsefield said, his voice sounding more positive now that he was voicing a doubt. "I'd have to consult my T.O. Perhaps he's somebody new in Alsos' group. He's not part of my staff, though doesn't claim that he is, does he?"

  "Gunn, what about this man? Did you people take him on without checking with me? Does he have security clearance?"

  "Well, we did in a way, but he didn't need to be cleared," Gunn said. "He's just a field collector, hasn't any real part in the research work, no official connection. These field people are all volunteers; you know that."

  MacHinery's brows were drawing closer and closer together. With only a few more of these questions, Paige knew even from the few newspapers which had reached him in space, he would have material enough for an arrest and a sensation the kind of sensation which would pillory Pfitzner, destroy every civilian working for Pfitzner, trigger a long chain of courts martial among the military assignees, ruin the politicians who had sponsored the research, and thicken MacHinery's scrapbook of headlines about himself by at least three inches. That last outcome was the only one in which MacHinery was really interested; that the project itself would die was a side effect which, though nearly inevitable, could hardly have interested him less.

  "Excuse me, Mr. Gunn," Anne said quietly. "I don't think you're quite as familiar with Colonel Russell's status as I am. He's just come in from deep space, and his
security record has been in the 'Clean and Routine' file for years; he's not one of our ordinary field collectors."

  "Ah," Gunn said. "I'd forgotten, but that's quite true." Since it was both true and perfectly irrelevant, Paige could not understand why Guns was quite so hearty about agreeing to it. Did he think Anne was stalling?

  "As a matter of fact," Anne proceeded steadily, "Colonel Russell is a planetary ecologist specializing in the satellites; he's been doing important work for us. He's quite well known in space, and has many friends on the Bridge team and elsewhere. That's correct, isn't it, Colonel Russell?"

  "I know most of the Bridge gang," Paige agreed, but he barely managed to make his assent audible. What the girl. was saving added up to something very like a big, black lie. And lying to MacHinery was a short cut to ruin; only MacHinery had the privilege of lying, never his witnesses.

  "The samples Colonel Russell brought us yesterday contained crucial material," Anne said. "That's why I asked him to come back; we needed his advice. And if his samples turn out to be as important as they seem, they'll save the taxpayers quite a lot of money they may help us close out the project a long time in advance of the projected closing date. If that's to be possible, Colonel Russell will have to guide the last steps of the work personally; he's the only one who knows the microflora of the Jovian satellites well enough to interpret the results."

  MacHinery looked dubiously over Paige's shoulder. It was hard to tell whether or not he had heard a word. Nevertheless, it was evident that Anne had chosen her final approach with great care, for if MacHinery had any weakness at all, it was the enormous cost of his continual, overlapping investigations. Lately he had begun to be nearly as sure death on "waste in government" as he was traditionally on "subversives." He said at last:

  "There's obviously something irregular here. If all that's so, why did the man say what he said in the beginning?"

  "Perhaps because it's also true," Paige said sharply.