“Good Lord!” he exclaimed. “It’s five in the morning!”
“Have you finally noticed?” She grinned. The whisky haze around her reached his nostrils, together with a muski-ness. He took a pinch of snuff, a luxury that occupied a large part of his baggage allowance.
“I’m not due at work in three hours,” he said.
“Nor I. I told my boss I wanted a week’s leave. He agreed. He’d better. Who else has he got?”
“What attitude is that? Suppose others on whom the ship depends behaved thus.”
“Tetso Iwamoto … Iwamoto Tetsuo, really; Japanese put last name first, like Chinese … like Hungarians, did you know? — ’cept when they’re being polite to us ignorant Westerners—” Sadler captured her thought. “He’s a nice man to work for. He can manage a spell ’thout me. So why not?”
“Nevertheless—”
She lifted a finger. “I will not be scolded, Elof. You hear? I’ve borne with that o-ver-com-pensated inferiority complex of yours more’n I should’ve. And a lot else. Thinking maybe the rest of you’d grow up to match that IQ of yours. Enough’s enough. Gather ye roses while ye may.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Sort of.” Wistfully: “You should’ve come along.”
“What for? Why not confess how weary I am of the same faces, the same actions, the same inane conversations? I’m far from unique in that.”
Her voice dropped. “Are you tired of me?”
“Why—” Nilsson’s Kewpie-doll form clambered erect. “What’s the matter, my dear?”
“You haven’t exactly bowled me over with attention, these past months.”
“No? No, perhaps not.” He drummed a dresser top. “I’ve been preoccupied.”
She drew a breath. “I’ll say it straight. I was with Johann tonight.”
“Frewald? The machinist?” Nilsson stood speechless for a humming minute. She waited. Soberness had come upon her. He said at length, with difficulty, watching the tattoo of his fingers: “Well, you have the legal and doubtless the moral right. I am no handsome young animal. I am … was … more proud and happy than I knew how to express when you agreed to be my partner. I let you teach me a number of things I did not understand before. Probably I was not the most adept pupil anyone ever had.”
“Oh, Elof!”
“You are leaving me, aren’t you?”
“We’re in love, he and I.” Her vision blurred. “I thought it’d be easier than this to tell you. I didn’t figure you cared a lot.”
“You wouldn’t consider a discreet — No, discretion isn’t feasible. Besides, you couldn’t bring yourself to it. And I have my own pride.” Nilsson sat down again and reached for his snuffbox. “You had better go. You can remove your things later.”
“That quick?”
“Get out!” he shrieked.
She fled, weeping but on eager feet.
Leonora Christine re-entered populated country. Passing within fifty light-years of a giant new-born sun, she transited the gas envelope that surrounded it. Being ionized, the atoms were seizable with maximum efficiency. Her tau plummeted close to asymptotic zero: and with it, her time rate.
Chapter 12
Reymont paused at the entrance to commons. The deck lay empty and quiet. After an initial surge of interest, athletics and other hobbies had become increasingly less popular. Aside from meals, the tendency was for scientists and crew-folk to form minute cliques or retreat altogether into reading, watching taped shows, sleeping as much as possible. He could force them to get a prescribed amount of exercise. But he had not found a way to restore what the months were grinding out of the spirit. He was the more helpless in that respect because his inflexible enforcement of basic rules had made him enemies.
A propos rules — He strode down the corridor to the dream room and opened its door. A light above each of the three boxes within said it was occupied. He fished a master key from his pocket and unlocked the lids, which passed air but not light, one by one. Two he closed again. At the third, he swore. The stretched-out body, the face under the somnohelmet, belonged to Emma Glassgold.
For a space he stood looking down at the small woman. Peace dwelt in her smile. Doubtless she, like most aboard, owed her continued sanity to this apparatus. Despite every effort at decoration, at actual interior construction of desired facilities, the ship was too sterile an environment. Total sensory deprivation quickly causes the human mind to lose its hold on reality. Deprived of the data-flow with which it is meant to deal, the brain spews forth hallucinations, goes irrational, and finally collapses into lunacy. The effects of prolonged sensory impoverishment are slower, subtler, but in many ways more destructive. Direct electronic stimulation of the appropriate encephalic centers becomes necessary. That is speaking in neurological terms. In terms of immediate emotion, the extraordinarily intense and lengthy dreams generated by the stimulus — whether pleasurable or not — become a substitute for real experience.
Nevertheless…
Glassgold’s skin was loose and unhealthy in hue. The EEG screen behind the helmet said she was in a soothed condition. That meant she could be roused fast without danger. Reymont snapped down the override switch on the timer. The oscilloscopic trace of the inductive pulses that had been going through her head flattened and darkened.
She stirred. “Shalom, Moshe,” he heard her whisper. There was nobody along of that name. He slid the helmet off. She squeezed her eyes tighter shut, knuckled them, and tried to turn around on the padding.
“Wake up.” Reymont gave her a shake.
She blinked at him. The breath snapped into her. She sat straight. He could almost see the dream fade away behind those eyes. “Come on,” he said, offering his hand to assist. “Out of that damned coffin.”
“Ach, no, no,” she slurred. “I was with Moshe.”
“I’m sorry, but—”
She crumpled into sobbing. Reymont slapped the box, a crack across the ship’s murmur. “All right,” he said. “I’ll make that a direct order. Out! And report to Dr. Latvala.”
“What the devil’s going on here?”
Reymont turned. Norbert Williams must have heard them, the door being ajar, and come in from the pool, because the chemist was nude and wet. He was also furious. “You’ve gotten to bullying women, huh?” he said. “Not even big women. Scram.”
Reymont stood where he was. “We have regulations about these boxes,” he said. “If a person hasn’t the self-discipline to obey them, I have to compel.”
“Yah! Snooping, peering, shoving your nose up our privacy — by God, I’m not going to stand for it any longer!”
“Don’t,” Glassgold implored. “Don’t fight. I’m sorry. I will go.”
“Like hell you will,” the American answered, “Stay. Insist on your rights.” His features burned crimson. “I’ve had a bellyful of this little tin Jesus, and now’s the time to do something about him.”
Reymont said, spacing his words: “The regulation limiting use wasn’t written for fun, Dr. Williams. Too much is worse than none. It becomes addictive. The end result is insanity.”
“Listen.” The chemist made an obvious effort to curb his wrath. “People aren’t identical. You may think we can be stretched and trimmed to fit your pattern — you and your dragooning us into calisthenics, your arranging work details that a baby could see aren’t for anything except to keep us busy a few hours a day, your smashing the still that Pedro Barrios built — your whole petty dictatorship, ever since we veered off on this Flying Dutchman chase—” He lowered his volume. “Listen,” he said. “Those regulations. Like here. They’re written to make sure nobody gets an overdose. Of course. But how do you know that some of us are getting enough? We’ve all got to spend time in the boxes. You too, Constable Iron Man. You too.”
“Certainly—” Reymont was interrupted:
“How can you tell how much another guy may need? You don’t have the sensitivity God gave a cockroach. Do you know one mucking thing about Emma? I do. I kn
ow she’s a fine, courageous woman … perfectly well able to judge her own necessities and guide herself … she doesn’t need you to run her life for her.” Williams pointed. “There’s the door. Use it.”
“Norbert, don’t.” Glassgold climbed from the casket and tried to go between the men. Reymont eased her aside and answered Williams:
“If exceptions are to be made, the ship’s physician is the person to determine them. Not you. She has to see Dr. Latvala anyway, after this. She can ask him for a medical authorization.”
“I know how far she’ll get with him. That louse won’t even issue tranquilizers.”
“We’ve years ahead of us. Unforeseeable troubles to outlive. If we start getting dependent on pacifiers—”
“Did you ever think without some such help, we’ll go crazy and die? We’ll decide for ourselves, thank you. Get out, I said!”
Glassgold sought again to intervene. Reymont had to seize her by the arms to move her.
“Take your hands off her, you swine!” Williams charged with both fists flailing.
Reymont released Glassgold and drifted back, into the hall where room for maneuvering was available. Williams yelped and followed. Reymont guarded himself against the inexpert blows until, after a minute, he sprang. A karate flurry and two strokes sent Williams to the deck. He huddled, retching. Blood dripped from his nose.
Glassgold wailed and ran to him. She knelt, pulled him close, glared up at Reymont. “Aren’t you brave?” she spat.
The constable spread his palms. “Was I supposed to let him hit me?”
“You c-c-could have left.”
“Impossible. My duty is to maintain order on board. Until Captain Telander relieves me, I’ll continue to do so.”
“Very well,” Glassgold said between her teeth. “We are going to him. I am lodging a formal complaint.”
Reymont shook his head. “It was explained and agreed on when this situation developed, the skipper mustn’t be bothered with our bickerings. He has to think of the ship.”
Williams groaned his way back toward full consciousness.
“We will see First Officer Lindgren,” Reymont said. “I have to file charges against both of you.”
Glassgold compressed her lips. “As you wish.”
“Not Lin’gren,” Williams mouthed. “Lin’gren an’ him, they was—”
“No longer,” Glassgold said. “She couldn’t stand any more of him, even before the accident. She will be fair.” With her help, Williams got dressed and limped to the command deck.
Several people saw the group pass and started to ask what had happened. Reymont snapped them into silence. The looks they returned were sullen. At the first intercom call box, he dialed Lindgren and requested her to be in the interview room.
It was minuscule but soundproof, a place for confidential hearings and necessary humiliations. Lindgren sat behind the desk. She had donned a uniform. The fluoropanel spilled light onto her frost-blond hair; the voice in which she bade Reymont commence, after they were all seated, was equally cold.
He gave a terse account of the incident. “I charge Dr. Glassgold with violation of a hygienic rule,” he finished, “and Dr. Williams with assault on a peace officer.”
“Mutiny?” Lindgren inquired. Dismay sprang forth on Williams.
“No, madame. Assault will suffice,” Reymont said. To the chemist: “Consider yourself lucky. We can’t psychologically afford a trial, which a charge of mutiny would bring. Not unless you persist in this kind of behavior.”
“That will do, Constable,” Lindgren clipped. “Dr. Glassgold, will you give me your version?”
Anger still upbore the biologist. “I plead guilty to the violation as alleged,” she declared firmly, “but I am asking for a review of my case — of everybody’s case — as provided by the articles. Not Dr. Latvala’s sole judgment; a board of officers and my colleagues. As for the fight, Norbert was intolerably provoked, and he was made the victim of sheer viciousness.”
“Your statement, Dr. Williams?”
“I don’t know how I stand under your fool reg—” The American checked himself. “Pardon me, ma’m,” he said, a trifle thickly through his puffed lips. “I never did memorize space law. I thought common sense and good will would see us through. Reymont may be technically in the right, but I’ve had about my limit of his brass-headed interference.”
“Then, Dr. Glassgold, Dr. Williams, are you willing to abide by my sentence? You are entitled to a trial if you desire it.”
Williams achieved a lopsided smile. “Matters are bad enough already, ma’m. I suppose this has to go in the log, but maybe it doesn’t have to go in the whole crew’s ears.”
“Oh yes,” Glassgold breathed. She caught Williams’ hand.
Reymont opened his mouth. “You are under my authority, Constable,” Lindgren intercepted him. “You may, of course, appeal to the captain.”
“No, madame,” Reymont answered.
“Well, then.” Lindgren leaned back. Her countenance thawed. “I order accusations on every side of this case dropped — or, rather, never be filed. This is not to be entered on any record. Let us talk the problem out as among human beings who are all in, shall I say, the same boat.”
“Him too?” Williams jerked a thumb at Reymont.
“We must have law and discipline, you know,” Lindgren said mildly. “Without them, we die. Perhaps Constable Reymont gets overzealous. Or perhaps not. In any event, he is the single police and military specialist we have. If you dissent from him … that’s what I’m here for. Do relax. I’ll send for coffee.”
“If the first officer pleases,” Reymont said, “I’ll excuse myself.”
“No, we have things to say to you,” Glassgold snapped.
Reymont kept his eyes on Lindgren’s. It was as if sparks flew between. “As you explained, madame,” he said, “my job is to preserve the rules of the ship. No more, no less. This has become something else: a personal counseling session. I’m sure the lady and gentleman will talk easier without me.”
“I believe you are right. Constable.” She nodded. “Dismissed.”
He rose, saluted, and left. On his way upstairs he encountered Freiwald, who greeted him. He had kept some approximation of cordiality with his half dozen deputies.
He entered his cabin. The beds were down, joined into one. Chi-Yuen sat on it. She wore a light, frilly peignoir which made her resemble a little girl, a sad one. “Hello,” she said tonelessly. “You have thunder in your face. What happened?”
Reymont settled beside her and related it.
“Well,” she asked, “can you blame them very much?”
“No. I suppose not. Though — I don’t know. This band was intended to be the best Earth could offer. Intelligence, education, stable personality, health, dedication. And they knew they’d likely never come home again. At a minimum, they’d return to countries older than the ones they left by the better part of a century.” Reymont ran fingers through his wire-brush hair. “So things have changed,” he sighed. “We’re off to an unknown destiny, maybe to death, certainly to complete isolation. But is it that different from what we were planning on from the start? Should it make us go to pieces?”
“It does,” Chi-Yuen said.
“You too. I’ve been meaning to take that up with you.” He gave her a ferocious look. “You were busy at first, your amusements, your theoretical work, your programming the studies you wanted to carry out in the Beta Vee System. And when the trouble hit us, you responded well.”
A ghostly smile crossed her. She patted his cheek. “You inspired me.”
“Since then, however … more and more, you sit doing nothing. We had the beginnings of something real, you and I; but you don’t often make meaningful contact with me of late. You’re seldom interested in talk or sex or anything, including other people. No more work. No more big daydreams. Not even crying into your pillow after lights out … oh yes, I’d lie awake and hear you. Why, Ai-Ling? What’s happening
to you? To them?”
“I imagine we have not quite your raw will to survive at any cost,” she said, almost inaudibly.
“I’d consider some prices for life too high myself. Here, though — We have what we need. A certain amount of comfort to boot. An adventure like nothing ever before. What’s wrong?”
“Do you know what the year is on Earth?” she countered.
“No. I was the one who got Captain Telander to order that particular clock removed. Too morbid an attitude was developing around it.”
“Most of us can make our own estimates anyway.” She spoke in a level, indifferent voice. “At present, I believe it is about anno Domini 10,000 at home. Give or take several centuries. And yes, I learned in school about the concept of simultaneity breaking down under relativistic conditions. And I remember that the century mark was expected to be the great psychological hurdle. In spite of that, these mounting dates have meaning. They make us absolute exiles.
Already. Irrevocably. No longer simply our kinfolk must be extinct. Our civilization must be. What has happened on Earth? Throughout the galaxy? What have men done? What have they become? We will never share in it. We cannot.”
He tried to break her apathy with sharpness: “What of that? On Beta Three, the maser would have brought us words a generation old. Nothing else. And our individual deaths would have closed us off from the universe. The common fate of man. Why should we whine if ours takes an unexpected shape?”
She regarded him gravely before she told him, “You don’t really want an answer for yourself. You want to pull one out of me.”
Startled, he said, “Well … yes.”
“You understand people better than you let on. Your business, no doubt. You tell me what our trouble is.”
“Loss of control over life,” he replied at once. “The crew aren’t in such bad condition yet. They have their jobs. But the scientists, like you, had vowed themselves to Beta Virginis. They had heroic, exciting work to look forward to, and meanwhile their preparations to make. Now they’ve no idea what will happen. They know just that it’ll be something altogether unpredictable. That it may be death — because we are taking frightful risks — and they can do nothing to help, only sit passive and be carried. Of course their morale cracks.”
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