"I can't take it again," whispered Remy. "I'm going on to the ship and get busy. He'll tell it whether anyone's listening or not. But each time it gets a little shorter. It took all morning the first time." And Remy went on down the drift, a refugee from a sorrow he couldn't ease.
"-so I said I'd come out and help him." Tom's voice became audible and I sank down on the floor beside him.
"His friends had died-Jug, of pneumonia, Buck, from speeding in his car to tell my son he'd figured out some angle that bad them stopped. And there my son was-no one to help him finish-no one to go out to Space with, so I said I'd come out and help him. We could live on my pension. We had to, because all our money was spent on the ship. All our money and a lot more has gone into the ship. I don't know how they got started or who got the idea or who drew
the plans or which one of them figured out how to make it go, but they were in the service together and I think they must have pirated a lot of the stuff. That's maybe why they were so afraid the government would find them. I don't hold with dishonesty and mostly my son don't either, but he was in on it along with the other two and I think he wanted to go more than any of them. It was like a fever in his blood. He used to say, 'If I can't make it alive, I want to make it dead. What a burial! Blackness of Outer Space for my shroud-a hundred million stars for my candles and the music of the spheres for my requiem!' And here he lies-all in the dark-" Tom's whole body dropped and he nearly collapsed beside me.
"I heard the crack and crumble," he whispered urgently. "I heard the roof give away. I heard him yell, 'No! Not down here!' and I saw him race for the ship and I saw the rocks come down and I saw the dust billow out-" His voice was hardly audible, his face buried in his hands. "The lights didn't go. They're strung along the other wall. After the dust settled, I saw-I saw my son. Only his hand-only his hand reaching-reaching for Space and a hundred million stars. Reaching-asking-wanting." He turned to me, his face awash with tears. "I couldn't move the rock. I couldn't push life back into him. I couldn't save my son, but I swore that I'd take his ship into Space-that I'd take something of his to say he made it, too. So I gave him the flag to hold. The one he meant to put where the other moon-shot, landed. 'Litterbugs!' he called them for messing up the moon. He was going to put this flag there instead-so small it wouldn't clutter up the landscape. So he's been holding it all this time-and as soon as Remy and I get the ship to going, we'll take the flag and-and-" His eyes brightened and I helped him-shielding strongly from him-to his feet. "You can come, too, if you bring one of those lemon pies!" He had paid his admission ticket of sorrow and was edging past the heap of fallen rock.
"We'll save that to celebrate with when we get back," I said.
"Get back?" He smiled over his shoulder. "We're only going. We have a capsule to send back with all the information, and a radio to keep in touch as long as we can, but we never said anything about coming back. Why should we ever come back?"
Stunned, I watched him edge out of sight off down the drift, his sorrow for the moment behind him. I leaned against the wall, waiting for my Channeling to be complete. I looked down at the small mound of earth and the quietly drooping flag and cried in a sudden panic-"We can't handle this alone! Not a one-way trip."
I clasped my hands over my mouth, but Tom was gone. I hurried after him, the echo of my feet slipping on the jagged rocks canceling out the frightened echo of my voice.
As I followed Tom down the drift I was trying frantically to find some way out of this horrible situation. Finally I smiled, relieved. "We just won't go," I said aloud. "We just won't go-"
And then I saw the ship, curving gently up into the darkness of the covered shaft. It was almost with a feeling of recognition that I saw and sensed the quiet, efficient beauty of her, small, compact, lovely, and I saw inside where everything flowed naturally into everything else, where one installation merged so logically and beautifully into another. I stood and felt the wonderful wholeness of the ship. It wasn't something thrown together of tags and leftovers. It had grown, taking into itself each component part and assimilating it. It was a beautiful, functional whole, except for
I followed the unfinished feeling and found Tom and Remy where they were working together. Tom's working consisted of holding a corner of a long sheet of diagrams while he dozed the facile doze of age and weariness. Remy had wound himself around behind some sort of panel and was making mysterious noises.
"Finally get here?" His voice came hollowly. "Take a look at the plans, will you? Tom left his reading specs in the shack. See where-" and his speech went off into visualization of something that was lovely to look at but completely
incomprehensible to me. I gently took the sheet from Tom.
He snorted and his eyes opened. He half grinned and closed his eyes again. I looked at the sheet. Lines went all over it. There were wiggly lines bisecting other lines and symbols all over it, but I couldn't find anywhere the thing Remy had showed me.
"He must have the wrong paper," I said. "There's nothing here like you want. There's only-" and I visualized back at him.
"Why, it's right there!" And he showed me a wiggly sign and equated it to the picture he had given me.
"Well, how am I to tell what's what when it's put down in such a mysterious way!" I was annoyed. Remy's feet wiggled and he emerged backward.
"Ha!" he said, taking the sheet from me. "Anybody knows what a schematic diagram is. Anybody can see that this"-he waved it at me-"is this." And he showed me mentally a panel full of complications that I never could have conceived of.
"Well, maybe anyone can, but I can't," I said. "When did you learn to read this? In school?"
"'Course not in school," said Remy. ''Tom showed me all the plans of the stuff that was left to do. He couldn't figure them out, so I'm doing it. No sweat."
"Remy," I said, pointing to a cluster of symbols on the page. "What's that?"
"Why, this, of course." And he visualized back the things that were symbolized.
"Had you ever seen any of those parts before?" I asked seriously.
"No." Remy put down his tools and his own seriousness matched mine. "What use would they be around The People? They're things Tom's son brought."
"But you looked at all this-this-" I waved the page at him. "And you knew what went where?"
"Why, of course," said Remy. "How could I help it when there the thing is before me, big as life and twice as natural. Anybody-"
"Stop saying 'of course' and 'anybody,'" I said. "Remy, don't you realize that to most people these marks are nonsense until they put in hours and even years of study? Don't you realize that most people can't see three dimensionally from something two dimensioned? Don't you know even with study it takes a special knack to see the thing complete when you're working with blueprints and diagrams? A special knack-" My voice slowed. "A special Gift? Oh, Remy! "Special Gift?" Remy took the plan from my hand and looked at it. "You mean you can't see this solid enough that you could almost pick it up off the paper?"
"No," I said. "It's just lines and odd marks."
"And when we looked at the plans for the addition to the cabin the other night, couldn't you see that funny little room sitting on the paper?"
"No," I said, smiling at the memory. "Is that why you pinched at the paper?"
"Yes," Remy grinned. "I was trying to pick it up, to show Father that it wasn't quite right along the back wall, but he found the mistake in the plans and changed it. That straightened the back wall out okay."
"Remy," I caught his eyes with mine. "Maybe you do have a special Gift. Maybe this is what you've been looking for! Oh, Remy!"
"Special Gift " Remy's eyes were clouded with speculation. "Special Gift?"
I looked around the compartment where we were. "You changed some things, didn't you?"
"Not much," he said absently, still busy with his thoughts.
"A few minor shapings that didn't look right-didn't fit exactly."
"That's why it all goes together so won
derfully, now. Oh, Remy, I'll bet you've found your Gift!"
Remy looked down at the paper. "My Gift!" His eyes glowed. "And it's to take me into Space!"
"But not back?' Tom's shaken voice startled us. "Strictly a one-way trip. We've got a capsule-"
"Yeah, Tom, yeah," said Remy, rolling his eyes at me.
"Strictly a one-way trip."
I felt an awful cave-in inside me and my lips were stiff with fear. "Remy, you can't mean that! To go into Space and never come back!"
"It'd be worth it, wouldn't it?" he asked, beginning to crawl back behind the panel again. ''Tom, will you go get my yellow-handled screwdriver? I left it in the drift by the tool chest."
"Sure, sure!" Tom scrambled to his feet and shuffled away.
"For Pete's sake" hissed Remy, his eyes glaring around the end of the panel. "Go along with the gag! Don't get into an argument with Tom. I tried it once and he nearly died of it-and so did I. He got his shotgun again. He's going out to Space, like making a trip to the cemetery. He knows he'll never make it back and he wouldn't want it any other way.
All he wants is that little flag on the moon and his body somewhere out there. But he wants it so much we've got to give it to him. I'm not fool enough to want to leave my bones out there. Give me credit for a little brains!"
"Then it's okay? There is a way to bring the ship back?"
"It's okay! It's okay!" Remy's voice came muffled from behind the panel. "Hand me back the screwdriver when Tom gets here with it."
So the days went, much too fast for us. We were working against the deadline of summer's ending and the fatal moment when Father and Mother would finally question our so-long absence from the cabin. So far we'd skipped the explanations. So it was that I felt a great release of tension on the day when Remy put down a tool, wiped his hands slowly on his jeans, and said quietly, "It's finished."
Tom's face went waxen and I was afraid he'd faint. I felt my face go scarlet and I was afraid I'd explode.
"Finished," whispered Tom. "Now my son can go into Space. I'll go tell him." And he shuffled off.
"How are we ever going to talk Mother and Father into letting us go?" I asked. "I doubt that even with the ship all ready-"
"We can't tell them," said Remy. "They don't have to know."
"Not tell them?" I was aghast. "Go on an expedition like this and not tell them? We can't!"
"We must." Remy had put on a measure of maturity he had never showed before. "I know very well they'd never let us go if they knew. So you've got to keep the secret-even after we're gone."
"Keep the secret! You're not going without me. Where did you get such a fool idea! If you think for one minute-" I was shrieking now. Remy took hold of my arm.
"Be quiet!" he said, shaking me lightly. "I couldn't possibly let you go along under the circumstances. You've got to stay-"
"Under the circumstances," I repeated, my eyes intent on his face. "Remy, is there a way to bring the ship back?"
"I said there was, didn't I?" Remy returned my look steadily.
"To bring the Ship back under its own power?"
Remy's hand dropped from my arm. "It'll get back all right. Stop worrying." "Remy." It was my turn to take his arm. "Have you the instructions for a return flight? Tom said-"
"No," said Remy. His voice was hard and impersonal.
"There are no instructions for a return flight-nor for the flight out. But I'll make it-there and back. if not with the ship, then by myself."
"Remy! You can't!" My protest crowded out of the horrified tumult of my thoughts. "Even the Old Ones wouldn't try it without a ship and they have all the Signs and Persuasions among them. You can't Motive the whole craft by yourself. You're not strong enough. You can't break it out of orbit-Oh, Remy!" I was almost sobbing. "You don't even know all the things-inertia-trajectory-gravitational pull-it's too complicated. No one could do it by himself! Not even the two of us together!"
Remy moved away from my hand. "There's no question of your going," he said. "You told me-this is my own little red wagon and I'll find some way of dragging it, even if a wheel comes off along the way." He smiled a little and then sobered.
"Look, Shadow, it's for Tom. He's so wrapped up in this whole project that there's literally nothing for him in this life but the ship and the trip. He'd have died long ago if this hope hadn't kept him alive. You haven't touched him unshielded or you'd know in a second that he was Called months ago and is stubbornly refusing to go. I doubt if he'll live through blastoff, even with all the shielding I can give him. But I've got to take him, Shadow. I've just got to. It-it-I can't explain it so it makes sense, but it's as necessary for me to do this for Tom as it is for Tom to do it. Why he's even forgotten God except as a spy who might catch us in the act and stop us. I think even the actual blast-off or one look at the Earth from Space will Purge him and he will submit to being Called and go to where his son is waiting, just the Otherside.
"I've got to give him his dream." Remy's voice faltered.
"Young people have time to dream and change their dreams, but old people Like Tom have time for only one dream, and if that fails them-"
"But, Remy," I whispered forlornly. "You might never make it back."
"It is in the hands of The Power," he said soberly. "If I'm to be Called, I'm to be Called."
"I don't think you're right," I said thickly, finding it difficult after all these years to contradict Remy in anything of importance. "You're trying to catch the sun in a sieve-and you'll die of it!" Tears were wet on my face. "I can't let you I can't-"
"It isn't for you to say "no' or 'go,'" said Remy, flatly. "If you won't help, don't hinder-"
Tom was back, holding out his hands, bloodstained across the palms.
"Come help me," he panted. "I can't get the rocks off my son-"
Remy and I exchanged astonished glances.
"But, Tom-" I took one of his hands in mine to examine the cut flesh-and was immediately caught up in Death! Death rolled over me like a smothery cloud. Death shrieked at me from every corner of my mind. Death! Death! Rebellious, struggling Death! Nothing of the solemn Calling. Nothing of preparation for returning to the Presence. I forced my stiff fingers to open and dropped his hand. Remy had my other hand, pulling me away from Tom, his eyes anxiously on me.
"But, Tom," he said into the silence my dry mouth couldn't fill, "we're going to take the little flag. Remember? That's to be the memorial for your son-"
"I promised my son I'd go into Space with him," said Tom serenely. "It cuts both ways. He's going into Space with me. Only there are so many rocks. Come help me, you kids. We don't want to be late." He wiped his palms on the seat of his pants and started back down the drift.
"Wait," called Remy. "You help us first. We can't go anywhere until we fuel up. You've got to show me the fuel dump. You promised you would when the ship was finished. Well, it's finished now-all but pumping the fuel in."
Tom stopped. "That's right," nodded his head. "That's right." He laughed. The sound of it crinkled my spine. "I'm nobody's fool. Always keep an ace in the hole."
We followed him down another drift. "Wonder what fuel they have," said Remy. "Tom either wouldn't say, or didn't know. Never could get a word out of him about it except it would be there when we were ready for it. The fuel compartment was finished before we ever found him. He wouldn't let me go in there. He has the key to it."
"It's awfully far from the ship," I worried. "How're we going to get it back there?"
"Don't know," Remy frowned. "They must have had something figured out. But if it's liquid-"
Tom had stopped at the padlocked door. He fumbled for a key and, after
several abortive attempts, found the right one and opened the lock. He flung the door wide. There was a solid wall of metal blocking the door, a spigot protruding from it was the only thing that broke its blank expanse.
"Liquid, then," whispered Remy. "Now, how on earth-"
Tom giggled at our expressions. "Used to keep
water in here. 'S'all gone now. Nothing but the fuel-" He pushed a section of the metal It swung inward. It had been cut into a rude door.
"There 'tis," cried Tom. "There 'tis."
At first we could see nothing because our crowding into the door shut out all the light that came from behind us; then Tom shuffled forward and the shaft of light followed him. He stopped and fumbled, then turned to us, lifting his burden triumphantly. "Here 'tis," he repeated. "You gotta put it in the ship. Here's the key to the compartment. I'll go get my son."
Remy grasped and almost dropped the thing Tom had given him. It was a box or something like a box. A little more rectangular than square, but completely featureless except for a carrying handle on each end and a smooth, almost mirrorlike surface on the top.
"What is it?" I asked. "How does it work?"
"I don't know." Remy was hunkered down by it on the floor, prodding at it with curious fingers.
"Maybe it's a solid fuel of some kind. It must be. Tom says it's the fuel."
"But why such a big fuel compartment if this is all that goes in it?" I had sensed the big empty chamber several times-padlock and all.
"Well, the only answer I have to that is let's go put it where it belongs and maybe we'll see."
We carried the object between us, back to the ship and into the fuel compartment-at least what was so labeled on the plans. We put it down on the spot indicated for it and fastened it down with the metal clamps that were situated in just the right places to hold the object. Then we stepped back and looked the situation over. The object sat there in the middle of the floor-plenty of room all around it and above it. The almost mirror surface reflected cloudily the ceiling above. There were no leads, no wires, no connections, nothing but the hold-clamps and they went no farther into the structure of the floor than was necessary to hold them secure.
"Remy?" I looked at his mystified face. "How does it work? Do the plans say?"
"There aren't any plans about this room," he said blankly, searching back in his memory of the plans that were available. "Only a label that says 'fuel room.' There's one notation. I couldn't figure it out before. It says, 'After clamps are secure, coordinate and lift off!!!!' With four exclamation points. That's all. You see, Tom had only the plans for finishing the ship. Nothing for the actual trip."
The People Page 25
