The old woman bit her lip. “Do I get my usuals?” she said sharply.
“Certainly you get your usuals,” he assured her. “A tithe on every kill till the blades are paid for—and good eating all the time you work.”
She shrugged her misshapen shoulders. “O.K.” She turned, tonged up a long flat fragment of steel with her two left hands and clanged the stock into the furnace. Joe-Jim turned to Forty-One.
* * *
“What is it?” Joe asked.
“Boss, Ertz sent me to get Hugh.”
“Well, why didn’t you do it?”
“I don’t find him. Bobo says he’s gone up to no-weight.”
“Well, go get him. No, that won’t do—you wouldn’t know where to find him. I’ll have to do it myself. Go back to Ertz and tell him to wait.”
Forty-One hurried off. The Boss was all right, but it was not good to tarry in his presence.
“Now you’ve got us running errands,” Jim commented sourly. “How do you like being a blood brother, Joe?”
“You got us into this.”
“So? The blood-swearing was your idea.”
“Damn it, you know why I did that. They took it seriously. And we are going to need all the help we can get, if we are to get out of this with a skin that will hold water.”
“Oh? So you didn’t take it seriously?”
“Did you?”
Jim smiled cynically. “Just about as seriously as you do, my dear, deceitful brother. As matters stand now, it is much, much healthier for you and me to keep to the bargain right up to the hilt. ‘All for one and one for all.’”
“You’ve been reading Dumas again.”
“And why not?”
“That’s O.K. But don’t be a damn fool about it.”
“I won’t be. I know which side of the blade is edged.”
Joe-Jim found Squatty and Pig sleeping outside the door which led to the Control Room. He knew then that Hugh must be inside, for he had assigned the two as personal bodyguards to Hugh. It was a foregone conclusion anyhow; if Hugh had gone up to no-weight, he would be heading either for Main Drive, or the Control Room—more probably the Control Room. The place held a tremendous fascination for Hugh. Ever since the earlier time when Joe-Jim had almost literally dragged him into the Control Room and had forced him to see with his own eyes that the Ship was not the whole world but simply a vessel adrift in a much larger world—a vessel that could be driven and moved—ever since that time and throughout the period that followed while he was still a captured slave of Joe-Jim’s, he had been obsessed with the idea of moving the Ship, of sitting at the controls and making it go!
It meant more to him than it could possibly have meant to a space pilot from Earth. From the time that the first rocket made the little jump from Terra to the Moon, the spaceship pilot has been the standard romantic hero whom every boy wished to emulate. But Hugh’s ambition was of no such picayune caliber—he wished to move his world. In Earth standards and concepts it would be less ambitious to dream of equipping the Sun with jets and go gunning it around the Galaxy.
Young Archimedes had his lever; he sought a fulcrum.
Joe-Jim paused at the door of the great silver stellarium globe which constituted the Control Room and peered in. He could not see Hugh, but he knew that he must be at the controls in the chair of the chief astrogator, for the lights were being manipulated. The images of the stars were scattered over the inner surface of the sphere producing a simulacrum of the heavens outside the Ship. The illusion was not fully convincing from the door where Joe-Jim rested; from the center of the sphere it would be complete.
Sector by sector the stars snuffed out as Hugh manipulated the controls from the center of the sphere. A sector was left shining on the far side forward. It was marked by a large and brilliant orb, many times as bright as its companions. Joe-Jim ceased watching and pulled himself hand over hand up to the control chairs. “Hugh!” Jim called out.
“Who’s there?” demanded Hugh and leaned his head out of the deep chair. “Oh, it’s you. Hello.”
“Ertz wants to see you. Come on out of there.”
“O.K. But come here first. I want to show you something.”
“Nuts to him,” Joe said to his brother. But Jim answered, “Oh, come on and see what it is. Won’t take long.”
The twins climbed into the control station and settled down in the chair next to Hugh’s. “What’s up?”
“That star out there,” said Hugh, pointing at the brilliant one. “It’s grown bigger since the last time I was here.”
“Huh? Sure it has. It’s been getting brighter for a long time. Couldn’t see it at all first time I was ever in here.”
“Then we’re closer to it.”
“Of course,” agreed Joe. “I knew that. It just goes to prove that the Ship is moving.”
“But why didn’t you tell me about this?”
“About what?”
“About that star. About the way it’s been growing bigger.”
“What difference does it make?”
“What difference does it make! Why, good Jordan, man—that’s it. That’s where we’re going. That’s the End of the Trip!”
Joe-Jim—both of him—was momentarily startled. Not being himself concerned with any objective other than his own safety and comfort, it was hard for him to realize that Hugh, and perhaps Bill Ertz as well, held as their first objective the recapturing of the lost accomplishments of their ancestors in order to complete the long-forgotten, half-mythical Trip to Far Centaurus.
Jim recovered himself. “Hm-m-m—maybe. What makes you think that star is Far Centaurus?”
“Maybe it isn’t. I don’t care. But it’s the star we are closest to and we are moving toward it. When we don’t know which star is which, one is as good as another. Joe-Jim, the ancients must have had some way of telling the stars apart.”
“Sure they did,” Joe confirmed, “but what of it? You’ve picked the one you want to go to. Come on. I want to get back down.”
“All right,” Hugh agreed reluctantly. They began the long trip down.
Ertz sketched out to Joe-Jim and Hugh his interview with Narby. “Now my idea in coming up,” he continued, “is this: I’ll send Alan back down to heavy-weight with a message to Narby, telling him that I’ve been able to get in contact with you, Hugh, and urging him to meet us somewhere above Crew country to hear what I’ve found out.”
“Why don’t you simply go back and fetch him yourself?” objected Hugh.
Ertz looked slightly sheepish. “Because you tried that method on me—and it didn’t work. You returned from mutie country and told me the wonders you had seen. I didn’t believe you and had you tried for heresy. If Joe-Jim hadn’t rescued you, you would have gone to the Converter. If you had not hauled me up to no-weight and forced me to see with my own eyes, I never would have believed you. I assure you Narby won’t be any easier a lock to force than I was. I want to get him up here, then show him the stars and make him see—peacefully if we can; by force if we must.”
“I don’t get it,” said Jim. “Why wouldn’t it be simpler to cut his throat?”
“It would be a pleasure. But it wouldn’t be smart. Narby can be a tremendous amount of help to us. Jim, if you knew the Ship’s organization the way I do, you would see why. Narby carries more weight in the Council than any other Ship’s officer and he speaks for the Captain. If we win him over, we may never have to fight at all. If we don’t—well, I’m not sure of the outcome, not if we have to fight.”
“I don’t think he’ll come up. He’ll suspect a trap.”
“Which is another reason why Alan must go rather than myself. He would ask me a lot of embarrassing questions and be dubious about the answers. Alan he won’t expect so much of.” Ertz turned to Alan and continued, “Alan, you don’t know anything when he asks you but just what I’m about to tell you. Savvy?”
“Sure. I don’t know nothing, I ain’t seen nothing, I ain’t heard noth
ing.” With frank simplicity he added, “I never did know much.”
“Good. You’ve never laid eyes on Joe-Jim, you’ve never heard of the stars. You’re just my messenger, a knife I took along to help me. Now here’s what you are to tell him—” He gave Alan the message for Narby, couched in simple but provocative terms, then made sure that Alan had it all straight. “All right—on your way! Good eating.”
Alan slapped the grip of his knife, answered, “Good eating!” and sped away.
It is not possible for a peasant to burst precipitously into the presence of the Captain’s Executive—Alan found that out. He was halted by the master-at-arms on watch outside Narby’s suite, cuffed around a bit for his insistence on entering, referred to a boredly unsympathetic clerk who took his name and told him to return to his village and wait to be summoned. He held his ground and insisted that he had a message of immediate importance from the Chief Engineer to Commander Narby. The clerk looked up again. “Give me the writing.”
“There is no writing.”
“What? That’s ridiculous. There is always a writing. Regulations.”
“He had no time to make a writing. He gave me a word message.”
“What is it?”
Alan shook his head. “It is private, for Commander Narby only. I have orders.”
The clerk looked his exasperation. But, being only a probationer, he forewent the satisfaction of direct and immediate disciplining of the recalcitrant churl in favor of the safer course of passing the buck higher up. The chief clerk was brief. “Give me the message.”
Alan braced himself and spoke to a scientist in a fashion he had never used in his life, even to one as junior as this passed clerk. “Sir, all I ask is for you to tell Commander Narby that I have a message for him from Chief Engineer Ertz. If the message is not delivered, I won’t be the one to go to the Converter! But I don’t dare give the message to anyone else.”
The under official pulled at his lip, and decided to take a chance on disturbing his superior.
Alan delivered his message to Narby in a low voice in order that the orderly standing just outside the door might not overhear. Narby stared at him. “Ertz wants me to come along with you up to mutie country?”
“Not all the way up to mutie country, sir. To a point in between, where Hugh Hoyland can meet you.”
Narby exhaled noisily. “It’s preposterous. I’ll send a squad of knives up to fetch him down to me.”
Alan delivered the balance of his message. This time he carefully raised his voice to ensure that the orderly, and, if possible, others might hear his words. “Ertz said to tell you that if you were afraid to go, just to forget the whole matter. He will take it up with the Council himself.”
Alan owed his continued existence thereafter to the fact that Narby was the sort of man who lived by shrewdness rather than by direct force. Narby’s knife was at his belt; Alan was painfully aware that he had been required to deposit his own with the master-at-arms.
Narby controlled his expression. He was too intelligent to attribute the insult to the oaf before him, though he promised himself to give said oaf a little special attention at a more convenient time. Pique, curiosity, and potential loss of face all entered into his decision. “I’m coming with you,” he said savagely. “I want to ask him if you got his message straight.”
Narby considered having a major guard called out to accompany him, but he discarded the idea. Not only would it make the affair extremely public before he had an opportunity to judge its political aspects, but also it would lose him almost as much face as simply refusing to go. But he inquired nervously of Alan as Alan retrieved his weapon from the master-at-arms, “You’re a good knife?”
“None better,” Alan agreed cheerfully.
Narby hoped that the man was not simply boastful. Muties—Narby wished that he himself had found more time lately for practice in the manly arts.
Narby gradually regained his composure as he followed Alan up toward low-weight. In the first place, nothing happened, no alarms; in the second place, Alan was obviously a cautious and competent scout, one who moved alertly and noiselessly and never entered a deck without pausing to peer cautiously around before letting his body follow his eye. Narby might have been more nervous had he heard what Alan did hear—little noises from the depths of the great dim passageways, rustlings which told him that their progress was flanked on all sides. This worried Alan subconsciously, although he had expected something of the sort—he knew that both Hugh and Joe-Jim were careful captains who would not neglect to cover an approach. He would have worried more if he had not been able to detect a reconnaissance which should have been present.
When he approached the rendezvous some twenty decks above the highest civilized level, he stopped and whistled.
A whistle answered him. “It’s Alan,” he called out.
“Come up and show yourself.” Alan did so, without neglecting his usual caution. When he saw no one but his friends—Ertz, Hugh, Joe-Jim, and Bobo, he motioned for Narby to follow him.
The sight of Joe-Jim and Bobo broke Narby’s restored calm with a sudden feeling that he had been trapped. He snatched at his knife and backed clumsily down the stairs—turned. Bobo’s knife was out even faster. For a split moment the outcome hung balanced, ready to fall either way. But Joe-Jim slapped Bobo across the face, took his knife from him and let it clatter to the deck, then relieved him of his slingshot.
Narby was in full flight, with Hugh and Ertz calling vainly after him. “Fetch him, Bobo!” Jim commanded. “And don’t hurt him.” Bobo lumbered away.
He was back in fairly short order. “Run fast,” he commented. He dropped Narby to the deck where the officer lay almost quiet while he fought to catch his breath. Bobo took Narby’s knife from his own belt and tried it by shaving coarse black hairs from his left forearm. “Good blade,” he approved.
“Give it back to him,” Jim ordered. Bobo looked extremely startled but complied wistfully. Joe-Jim returned Bobo’s own weapons to him.
Narby matched Bobo’s surprise at regaining his sidearm, but he concealed it better. He even managed to accept it with dignity.
“Look,” Ertz began in worried tones, “I’m sorry you got your wind up, Fin. Bobo’s not a bad sort. It was the only way to get you back.”
Narby fought with himself to regain the cool self-discipline with which he habitually met the world. Damn! he told himself, this situation is preposterous. Well—“Forget it,” he said shortly. “I was expecting to meet you; I didn’t expect a bunch of armed muties. You have an odd taste in playmates, Ertz.”
“Sorry,” Bill Ertz replied, “I guess I should have warned you”—a piece of mendacious diplomacy. “But they’re all right. Bobo you’ve met. This is Joe-Jim. He’s a . . . a sort of a Ship’s officer among the muties.”
“Good eating,” Joe acknowledged politely.
“Good eating,” Narby replied mechanically.
“Hugh you know, I think.” Narby agreed that he did. An embarrassed pause followed. Narby broke it.
“Well,” he said, “you must have had some reason to send word for me to come up here. Or was it just to play games?”
“I did,” Ertz agreed. “I—shucks, I hardly know where to start. See here, Narby, you won’t believe this, but I’ve seen. Everything Hugh told us was true. I’ve been in the Control Room. I’ve seen the stars. I know.”
Narby stared at him. “Ertz,” he said slowly, “you’ve gone out of your mind.”
Hugh Hoyland spoke up excitedly. “That’s because you haven’t seen. It moves, I tell you. The Ship moves like a—”
“I’ll handle this,” Ertz cut in. “Listen to me, Narby. What it all means you will soon decide for yourself, but I can tell you what I saw. They took me up to no-weight and into the Captain’s veranda. That’s a compartment with a glass wall. You can stare right out through into a great black empty space—big—bigger than anything could be. Bigger than the Ship. And there were lights out there,
stars, just like the ancient myths said.”
Narby looked both amazed and disgusted. “Where’s your logic, man? I thought you were a scientist. What do you mean, ‘bigger than the Ship’? That’s an absurdity, a contradiction in terms. By definition, the Ship is the Ship. All else is a part of it.”
Ertz shrugged helplessly. “I know it sounds that way. I can’t explain it; it defies all logic. It’s—Oh, Huff! You’ll know what I mean when you see it.”
“Control yourself,” Narby advised him. “Don’t talk nonsense. A thing is logical or it isn’t. For a thing to be it must occupy space. You’ve seen, or thought you saw, something remarkable, but whatever it was, it can be no larger than the compartment it was in. You can’t show me anything that contradicts an obvious fact of nature.”
“I told you I couldn’t explain it.”
“Of course you can’t.”
The twins had been whispering disgustedly, one head to the other. “Stop the chatter,” Joe said in louder tones. “We’re ready to go. Come on.”
“Sure,” Ertz agreed eagerly, “let’s drop it, Narby, until you have seen it. Come on now—it’s a long climb.”
“What?” Narby demanded. “Say, what is this? Go where?”
“Up to the Captain’s veranda, and the Control Room.”
“Me? Don’t be ridiculous. I’m going down at once.”
“No, Narby,” Ertz denied. “That’s why I sent for you. You’ve got to see.”
“Don’t be silly—I don’t need to see; common sense gives sufficient answer. However,” he went on, “I do want to congratulate you on making a friendly contact with the muties. We should be able to work out some means of cooperation. I think—”
Joe-Jim took one step forward. “You’re wasting time,” he said evenly. “We’re going up—you, too. I really do insist.”
Narby shook his head. “It’s out of the question. Some other time, perhaps, after we have worked out a method of cooperation.”
Man Who Sold the Moon / Orphans of the Sky Page 37
