"That's quite believable in view of the age and condition of our ship. Don't overdo the static effects but repeat it with suitable variations and I don't think they'll bother us."
Shaking his head dubiously Jordan swung away toward the tiny fabricating shop.
"You seem worried," said Anti as she came in.
Docchi didn't turn around. "Yeah."
"What's the matter, won't it work?"
"Sure. There are too many ships. They can't pick us out among so many. Anyway they're not looking for us around earth. They don't really know why we took the rocket and escaped."
"Then why so much concern? Once we're near earth we won't need much time."
His face was taut and tired. "I thought so too, in the beginning. Things have changed. The entire Solar Police force has been alerted for us."
"So the Solar Police really want us? But I still don't understand why that changes a thing."
"Look, Anti. We planned to bypass the Medicouncil and take our case directly to the Solar Government. But if they want us as badly as the radio indicates they're not going to be sympathetic. Not at all.
"And if they're not, if the Solar Government doesn't support us all the way, we'll never get another chance. Hereafter there'll be guards everywhere on the asteroid. They'll watch us even when we sleep."
"Well?" said Anti. She seemed trimmer and more vigorous. "We considered it might turn out this way, didn't we? Let's take the last step first."
Docchi raised his head. "Go to the ultimate authority? The Solar Government won't like it."
"They won't, but there's nothing they can do about it."
"Don't be sure. They can shoot us down. When we stole the ship we automatically became criminals."
"I know, but they'll be careful, especially after we make contact. How would it look if we were blown to bits in front of their eyes, in a billion homes?"
Docchi chuckled grimly. "Very shrewd. All right, they'll be careful. But is it worth it to us?"
"It is to me."
"Then it is to me," said Docchi. "I suggest we start getting ready."
Anti scrutinized him carefully. "Maybe we ought to fix you up."
"With fake arms and a cosmetikit? No. They'll have to take us as we are, unpretty, even repulsive."
"That's a better idea. I hadn't thought of the sympathy angle."
"Not sympathy—reality. It means too much to us. I don't want them to approve of us as handsome unfortunates and then have them change their minds when they discover what we're really like."
Sitting in silence, Docchi watched her go. She at least would benefit. Dr. Cameron apparently hadn't noticed that the exposure to extreme cold had done more to inhibit her unceasing growth than the acid bath. She probably would never get back to her former size but some day, if the cold treatment were properly investigated, she might be able to stand at normal gravity. For her there was hope. The rest of them had to keep on pretending that there was.
He examined the telecom. They were getting closer. No longer a point of light, earth was a perceptible disc. He could see the outline of oceans, the shapes of land and the shadows of mountains, the flat ripple where prairies and plains were; he could imagine people. This was home—once.
Jordan came in. "The radio tape is rigged up. I haven't had to use it yet. But we have a friend trailing along behind us, an official friend."
"Has he blipped at us?"
"When I left he hadn't. He keeps hanging on."
"Is he overtaking us?"
"He'd like to."
"Don't let him."
"With this bag of bolts?"
"Shake it apart if you have to," said Docchi impatiently. "How soon can you slide into a broadcast orbit?"
Jordan furrowed his forehead. "I didn't think we'd planned on that this time. It was supposed to be our last resort."
"Anti and I have talked it over. We agree that this is our last chance. Now's the time to speak up if you've got any objections."
"I've been listening to the police calls," said Jordan thoughtfully. "No, I guess I haven't got any objection. Not with a heavy cruiser behind us. None at all."
They came together in the control compartment. "I don't want a focus exclusively on me," Docchi was saying. "Nor on Nona either, though I know she's most acceptable. To a world of perfect and beautiful people we may look strange but they must see us as we are. We have to avoid the family portrait effect."
"Samples," suggested And.
"In a sense we are, yes. A lot depends on whether they accept those samples."
For the first time Cameron began to realize what they were attempting. "Wait," he said urgently. "You're making a mistake. You've got to listen to me."
"We've got to do this and we've got to do that," said Jordan. "I'm getting tired of it. Can't you understand we're giving orders now?"
"That's right," said Docchi. "Jordan, see that Cameron stays out of the transmitting angle and doesn't interrupt. We've come too far to let him influence us."
"Sure. If he makes a sound I'll melt the teeth out of his mouth." Jordan held the toaster against his side, away from the telecom but aimed at Cameron.
The doctor wanted to break in but the weapon, though small, was very real. And Jordan was ready to use it. That was the only justification for his silence, that and the fact they'd leam anyway.
"Ready?" said Docchi.
"Flip the switch and we will be. I've hooked everything on. They can't help themselves. They've got to listen."
The rocket slipped out of the approach lanes. It spun down, stem tubes pulsing brightly, falling toward earth in a tight trajectory. Down, down; the familiar planet was very large.
"Citizens of the solar system, everyone on earth," began Docchi. "This is an unscheduled broadcast. We're using the emergency bands because for us it is an emergency. I said we, and you want to know who we are. Look at us. Accidentals— that's all we can be.
"We're not pretty. We know it. But there are other things more important. Accomplishment, contribution to progress. And though it may seem unlikely to you there are contributions we can make—if we're permitted to do so.
"But shut away on a little asteroid we're denied our rights. All we can do is exist in frustration and boredom, kept alive whether we want to be or not. And yet we can help you as you've helped us—if we're allowed to. You can't go to the stars yet, but we can. And ultimately, through what we leam, you'll be able to.
"You've listened to experts who say it can't be done, that rockets are too slow and that the crew would die of old age before they got back. They're almost right, but accidentals are the exception. Ordinary people would die but we won't. The Medicouncil has all the facts—they know what we are—and still they refuse us."
At the side of the control compartment Cameron moved to protest. Jordan glanced at him, imperceptibly waggling the weapon. Cameron stopped, the words unspoken.
"Biocompensation," continued Docchi evenly as if nothing had occurred. "Let me explain what it means in case information on it has been suppressed. The principle of biocompensation has long been a matter of conjecture. This is the first age in which medical techniques are advanced enough to explore it. Every cell and organism tends to survive as an individual and a species. Injure it and it strives for survival according to the extent of damage. If it can it will heal the wound and live on in its present state. Otherwise it propagates almost immediately. You can verify this by forgetting to water the lawn and watch how soon it goes to seed.
"Humans aren't plants, you say. And yet the principle applies. Accidentals are people who have been maimed and mutilated almost past belief. And our bodies have had the assistance of medical science, real medical science. Everyone knows how, after certain illnesses, immunity to that disease can be acquired. And more than blood fractions are involved in the process. For us blood was supplied as long as we needed it, machines did our breathing, kidneys replaced, hearts furnished, glandular products in exact minute quantities, nervous and mus
cular systems regenerated—and our bodies responded. They had to respond or none of us would be here today. And such was the extremity of the struggle—so close did we come to it that we gained practical immunity to—death."
Sweat ran down Docchi's face. He longed for hands to wipe it away.
"Most accidentals are nearly immortal. Not quite of course; we may die four or five hundred years from now. Meanwhile there is no reason why we can't be explorers for you. Rockets are slow. You'd die before you got to Alpha Centauri and back. We won't. Time means nothing to us.
"Perhaps better faster rockets will be devised after we leave. You may get there before we do. We don't mind. We will have tried to repay you the best way we know how and that will satisfy us."
With an effort Docchi smiled. The instant he did so he felt it was a mistake, one he couldn't call back. Even to himself it seemed more like a snarl.
"You know where we're kept—that's more polite than saying imprisoned. We don't call it Handicap Haven. Our name for it is: Junkpile. And we're junkmen. Do you know how we feel?
"I don't know how you can persuade the Medicouncil to let us man an expedition to the stars. We've appealed and appealed and they've always turned us down. Now that we've let you know it's up to you. Our future as humans is at stake. Settle it with your conscience. When you go to sleep think of us out there on the junkpile."
He nudged the switch and sat down. His face was gray and his eyes were rimmed and burning.
"I don't want to bother you," said Jordan. "What'Il we do about these?"
Docchi glanced at the telecom. The ships were uncomfortably close and considerably more numerous than the last time he had looked. "Take evasive action," he said wearily. "Swing close to earth and use the planet's gravity to give us a good fast sendoff. We can't let them take us until people have a chance to make their feelings known."
"Now that you've finished I want to discuss it with you," said Cameron. There was an odd tone to his voice.
"Later," said Docchi. "Save it. I'm going to sleep. Jordan, wake me if anything happens. And remember you don't have to listen to this fellow if you don't want to."
Jordan nodded contemptuously. "I know what he's like. He's got nothing to say to me."
Nona, leaning against the panel, paid no attention to any of them. She seemed to be listening to something nobody else could hear, she, to whom sound had no meaning. Docchi's body sagged as he went out. Her perpetual air of wondering search for something she could never have was not new but it was no more bearable because of that.
And while Docchi slept the race went on against a slowly changing backdrop of stars and planets. Only the darkness remained the same; it was immutable. The little flecks of light that edged nearer hour after hour didn't seem cheerful to Jordan. His lips were fixed in a thin hard line. His expression didn't alter. Presently, long after earth was far behind, he heard Docchi come in again.
"I've been thinking about it," said Cameron. "Nice speech."
"Yeah."Docchi glanced at the screen. The view didn't inspire comment.
Cameron was standing at the threshold. "I may as well tell you," he said reluctantly. "I tried to stop the broadcast as soon as I found out what was going on. You wouldn't listen."
He came on into the control compartment. Nona was huddled in a seat, her face blankly incurious. Anti was absent, replenishing the acid for her robe. "Do you know why the Medi-council refused to let you go?"
"Get to the point."
"Damn it, I am," said Cameron, sweating. "The Centauri group contains several planets, just how many we're not sure. From what we know of cosmology there's a good chance intelligent life exists there, probably not far behind us in technical development. Whoever goes there will be our representatives to an alien race. What they look like isn't important; it's their concern. But our ambassadors have to meet certain minimum standards. It's an important occasion, our future relations rest on. Damn it—don't you see our ambassadors must at least appear to be human beings?"
"You're not telling us anything new. We know how you feel." Jordan was rigid with disgust.
"You're wrong," said Cameron. "You're so wrong. I'm not speaking for myself. I'm a doctor. The medicouncilors are doctors. We graft on or regenerate legs and arms and eyes. The tools of our trade are blood and bones and intestines. We know very well what people look like from the inside. We're well aware of the thin borderline that separates normal men and women from accidentals.
"Can't you still understand what I'm saying? They're perfect, everybody's perfect. Too much so. They can't tolerate small blemishes. More money is spent for research on acne than to support the whole asteroid. They rush to us with wrinkles and dandruff. Health, or the appearance of it, has become a fetish. You may think the people you appealed to are sympathetic but what they feel is something else."
"What are you driving at?" said Docchi in a low voice.
"Just this: if it were up to the Medicouncil you'd be on your way to the Centauris. It isn't. The decision wasn't made by us. Actually it came directly from the Solar Government. And the Solar Government never acts contrary to public opinion."
Docchi turned away, his face wrinkled in distaste. "I didn't think you had the nerve to stand there and say that."
"I didn't want to. But you've got to know the truth." Cameron twisted his head uncomfortably. "You're not far from earth. You can still pick up the reaction to your broadcast. Try it and see."
Jordan looked at Docchi who nodded imperceptibly. "We may as well," said Docchi. "It's settled now, one way or the other. Nothing we can do will change it."
Jordan searched band after band, eagerly at first. His enthusiasm died and still the reaction never varied. Private citizen or public figure, man or woman, the indignation was concealed but nevertheless firm and unmistakable. There was no doubt accidentals were unfortunate but they were well taken care of. There was no need to trade on deformity; the era of the freak show had passed and it never would return.
"Turn it off," said Docchi at last.
Numbly Jordan complied.
"Now what?" he said.
"Why fight it?" said the doctor. "Go back to the asteroid. It'll be forgotten."
"Not by us," said Docchi dully. "But there doesn't seem to be any choice. It would have been better if we had tried to work through the Medicouncil. We misjudged our allies."
"We knew you had," said Cameron. "We thought we'd let you go on thinking as you did. It gave you something to hope for, allowed you to feel you weren't alone. The trouble was that your discontent carried you further than we thought it could."
"We did get somewhere," Docchi said. His lethargy seemed to lift somewhat as he contemplated what they'd achieved. "And there's no reason we have to stop. Jordan, contact the ships behind us. Tell them we've got Cameron on board. A hostage. Play him up as their man. Basically he's not bad. He's not against us as much as the rest are."
Anti came into the compartment. Cheerfulness faded from her face. "What's the matter?"
"Jordan'll tell you. I want to think."
Docchi closed his eyes and his mind to the whispered consulfation of Anti and Jordan, to the feeble ultimatum to the ships behind them. The rocket lurched slightly though the vibration from the exhaust did not change. There was no cause for alarm, the flight of a ship was never completely steady. Minor disturbances no longer affected Docchi.
When he had it straightened out in his mind he looked around. "If we were properly fueled and provisioned I would be in favor of heading for Alpha or Proxima. Maybe even Sir-ius. Distance doesn't matter since we don't care whether we come back." It was plain he wasn't expending much hope. "But we can't make it with the small fuel reserve we have. If we can lose the ships behind us we may be able to hide until we can steal fuel and food."
"What'll we do with doc?" said Jordan. He too was infected with defeat.
"We'll have to raid an unguarded outpost, a small mining asteroid is our best bet. We'll leave him there."
"Yeah," said Jordan listlessly. "A good idea, if we can run away from our personal escort. Offhand I don't think we can. They hesitated when I told them we had Cameron but they didn't drop back. Look."
He looked himself and, unbelievingly, looked again. He blinked rapidly but the screen could report only what there was.
"They're gone," he said, his voice breaking with excitement.
Almost instantly Docchi was at his side. "No, they're still following but they're very far behind." Even as he looked the pursuing ships shrank visibly, steadily losing ground.
"What's the relative speed?" said Jordan. He looked at the dials, tapped them, pounded on them, but the speed wouldn't change. If it hadn't been confirmed by the screen he'd have said that the needles were stuck or the instruments were completely unreliable.
"What did you do with the rockets?" demanded Docchi.
"That's a foolish question. What could I do? We were already at top speed for this piece of junk."
And there was no way to explain the astonishing thing that had happened. They were all in the control compartment, Cameron, Anti, Jordan and himself. Nona was there too, sitting huddled up, heatljiestinfe in her arms. There was no explanation at all, unless— Docchi scanned all the instruments again. That was when he first noticed it.
Power was pouring into the gravity drive. The useless, or at least long unused dial was indicating unheard of consumption. "The gravity drive is working," Docchi said.
"Nonsense," said Anti. "I don't feel the weight."
"You don't and won't," said Docchi. "The gravity drive was installed to propel the ship. When it was proved unsatisfactory for that purpose it was converted, which was cheaper than removing it.
"The difference between the drive and ordinary gravity is slight but important. An undirected general field produces weight effects inside the ship. That's for passenger comfort. A directed field, outside it, will drive it. You can have one or the other but not both."
"But I didn't turn on the drive," said Jordan in bewilderment. "It wouldn't work for more than a few seconds if I did. That's been proven."
"I'd agree with you except for one thing. It is working, has been working and shows no sign of stopping." Docchi stared speculatively at Nona. She was curled up but she wasn't resting. Her body was too tense. "Get her attention," he said.
F. L. Wallace Page 7
