A Large Anthology of Science Fiction

by Jerry

  Mike Gurloff’s eyes came around to him and his lips thinned back over his teeth.

  Doc Thorndon nodded again. “The men are reading books that they’ve already read a dozen times over; playing games they’re sick and tired of; seeing video-shows they’ve already memorized. They’ll never get through the full year, Mike. Cafard will have us in less than six months.”

  The skipper’s face went blank again and he stared vacantly at the overhead.

  Doc Thorndon said, “They’ve got you this time, I’m afraid, Mike.”

  Gurloff bit out stubbornly. “The crew is with me. We’re the proudest ship in the fleet. We’ve got a record that’s the envy of the solar system. We’ll—”

  The doctr shook his head. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to turn back, Mike. I can’t guarantee this crew’s mental health for a period of a year.”

  Gurloff held a hand up, clenched the fist. “We’ve got to make it!”

  He came to his elbow again, faced the other. “I’ve got them this time, Doc, if we can just make this trip. Don’t you see? The filthy makrons can’t stand outspoken criticism. They hate the popularity I’ve been accumulating with the public. I’ve become the spokesman for the opposition, and they’ve tried to keep me quiet by a series of cruises that seemed impossible to succeed. They’ve sent the New Taos to spots that required a full fleet, and we came back with the information they wanted. They sent us on assignments impossible to achieve, and we achieved them. And each time we won out, we gained that much more of the public’s approval.”

  Doc Thorndon allowed a half smile to touch his mouth. “Sure, Mike. And each time we returned from a cruise, you made a withering speech against the powers that be, against the present administration. And, each time, they’ve pulled the same trick; they’ve sent you out on another long cruise to get you away from Solar System politics. Each time they figured to be rid of you—and this time, Mike, I’m afraid they’ve won.”

  “No!”

  “Yes.”

  The skipper glared at him.

  Doc Thorndon held his palms up in a hopeless gesture. “If you try to complete the trip, your whole crew will be down with cafard in months. If you return, before completing your assignment they’ll have a legitimate excuse for court martialing you.” His voice went gentler now. “Personally, Mike, I’d stick it out with you. I’m behind what you stand for. I think every man on the ship is also. But—”

  Gurloff said, in sudden enthusiasm, “I’ll give them a talk over the intercom. I’ll explain the whole thing. Let them know why we’ve been discriminated against like this. Why we’ve been sent out repeatedly, without sufficient rest periods between.”

  Thorndon rubbed the end of his nose again and scowled. “You’ll do nothing of the sort, Mike. At first, they’d all be with you. But, as the months went by and as the grief piled up, they’d begin, subconsciously, at first, to see that it was you alone who was bringing such strain upon them. There’d be too much of that strain, finally, Mike. They’d turn on you.”

  Gurloff slumped back into his bunk and thought about it. “They’ll know sooner or later anyway,” he growled. “You said that we’ve got a full year’s supply of news wires on board. It won’t be long before somebody runs off that one telling about my last speech, just before we left. Then they’ll know why the New Taos was sent out again so soon. That is, if they don’t know already. Maybe somebody heard the talk, or read about it, while they were ashore.”

  Doc Thorndon grinned. “I doubt if anybody heard it except me. They were all too busy wine, women, and songs to listen to speeches. And I took care of the wires. I’ve made arrangements so that the Video-news wires are run off one a day. The cruise will almost be over before they come to that speech of yours,” His face soured again. “But the point is, Mike, that we’re not going to last that long. Even if this girl . . .”

  He broke off and stared at the other. Finally he said, slowly, “You know, Mike, maybe we’re wrong. Maybe she’s not the straw that broke the camel’s back. Maybe she’s a second backbone for the poor beast.”

  Gurloff scowled over at him. “I don’t get you, Doc.”

  “You will, Mike. You will. Maybe we’ll be able to take this next twelve months, after all.” The Doctr licked his upper lip, thoughtfully. “I think I’ll just go and see Miss . . . see Kathy, now. I’ve got some things I want to talk over with her.”

  THE conversation between Doc Thorndon and Kathy had been a lengthy one, and the officers and crew of the space cruiser New Taos would have been surprised at the ship’s doctr they thought they knew so well for his gentle kindliness. In fact, it could hardly be described as a conversation at all, since it started as an argument and wound up as a series of commands none too softly spoken.

  Doc Thorndon shook his finger at her, not disguising his irritation.

  “You just think you can’t sing. Let me tell you, you can sing. Can and will! Just remember, you’ve the only feminine voice on board. To a man, a woman’s voice sounds better than any masculine one—particularly after a few weeks in space, not to speak of months. Any woman’s voice.”

  Kathy had her eyes on the floor and her lower lip was out in what was almost a pout. “I don’t see why—”

  Thorndon grunted, “You don’t have to see why. I’ll do the seeing why, and the thinking, Kathy. I’ve let it go out over the ship that we are to have a . . . a show in about a month. The men are already spending almost full time in preparation. They’re making costumes, arranging scenery, composing songs. It’s keeping them busy. Busy, understand?” He paused momentarily, realizing that she didn’t know just how important that was.

  He finished with, “We’ve made an agreement, Kathy. Now let’s stick to it.”

  She said, stubbornly, “I still say I can’t sing, and, what’s more, I’ve never done any acting.”

  “You’ve got a month to learn,” Doc said sharply.

  Kathy twisted in her chair, shrugged her shoulders. “Seems to me,” she pouted, “the doctr on this ship is more important than the captain.”

  His mouth remained expressionless and she didn’t know him well enough to see the amusement in his eyes. He said, “Believe me, Kathy, on a ship faced with space cafard, he is.”

  KATHY sat at the small table in the officer’s wardroom and eyed the three of them severely. She said, “Johnny, Dick, Martie—I won’t have any more of this bickering. Either you’ll be nice, or I’m not going to . . . to put up with it. I’ll go in and talk with Commander Gurloff for the next two hours, and then the officer’s share of the day will be through.”

  Mart Bakr flashed an irritated glance at the lanky Johnny Norsen. “It’s his fault,” he grumbled. “He wants you to himself all the time. I thought it’d be a good idea if we went into the galley and whipped up some taffy or—”

  Johnny Norsen was on his feet. “Why you chunky little chow-hound, I’ll—”

  Mart Bakr jumped up to face him, his face livid, “Don’t you call me names, you long legged makron!”

  “Please!” Kathy breathed, putting her hands over her ears.

  The usually easy going Dick Roland reddened angrily, “Watch your language, Bakr,” he snapped.

  JAK HEMING, Space Rifleman, 2nd Class, hurried down the corridor and into the crew’s mess, bearing his invaluable burden importantly. He looked about the compartment in surprise.

  “Where the kert is everybody?” he said. Only three others were present.

  Taylor was nearest the door. He stuck his head out, looked up and down the passageway outside. “Any braid around?” he asked.

  Heming shook his head. “The officers are all up forward. Just gave me the video-news wire for today. Holy Wodo, I expected everybody off watch to be waiting here for it.”

  Taylor said, “We got two shows today, Jak. And everybody but us four is watching the second one.”

  Heming didn’t get it. Scowling questioningly at them, he went to the projector and began to insert the wire.

/>   Woodford, 1st Signalman, explained. “Rosen and Johnson are having it out with stun guns down in the tract-torpedo room.”

  The space rifleman stared. “A fight! You mean that they’re having a fight?”

  Taylor said, “That’s right.” He seemed pleased about it. “A fight it is. The screwy makrons got into an argument about Kathy and they decided to have it out. The Doc is refereeing the thing. He made ’em turn the stun guns down so they can’t hurt each other too much.”

  “Doc Thorndon?” That was as surprising as the fact that a fight was taking place at all. “That doesn’t sound like the Doc; he’s the one that usually cools everything off.”

  “Let’s see the wire,” Woodford complained. “Now that I think about it, I’m sorry I didn’t go down and see the fight. It’s just that I can’t wait to see whether or not they got this Jackie Black yet.” He shook his head in reluctant admiration. “Now, there’s a guy for you. Slick as they come, and tough as they come, too.”

  Taylor added, “They’ll get him. Just wait and see. The Solar System Bureau of Investigation gets them all, sooner or later. They’ll—”

  Heming snapped, “Like kert they will! You just never hear about the guys they don’t catch, they don’t give them no publicity. Ten credits says they haven’t caught Black by the time we end this here trip.”

  Taylor said sourly, “You know gambling isn’t allowed in space.”

  “Put up, or shut up. I say they won’t catch Jackie Black by the time we get back.”

  Taylor flushed angrily. “All right, all right. I’ll just take that.”

  “Let’s see the wire and knock off all this argument,” somebody else put in.

  The news video began to flash and they lapsed into silence.

  IN THE brief darkness of the shadow of a space rifle, Mart Bakr whispered hurriedly, urgently, “I could come to your room later, while Dick is on watch and while Johnny Norsen is sleeping. We—”

  “Why, Martie,” she said scoldingly, but keeping her voice low. “I . . . I think you’re insulting me.”

  He protested, vehemently as possible in his whisper.

  ON WATCH in the control room Petersen said to Ward, “You know, when she first came aboard, that is, when we first caught her, Kathy didn’t look so good to me. Nice girl, you know, but not what I’d call pretty. But these last six months with her being the only gal on board—”

  Ward said coldly, “Just what do you mean, Petersen?”

  The other shrugged. “You know, like that old, old gag they used to tell about the soldiers in New Guinea in the second—or was it the third or fourth?—World War. The one soldier’d say to the other one, ‘You know, the longer I’m here the less black they look to me.’ ”

  Ward spun him around and grasped his coverall front. He bit out between his teeth, “Listen, you makron, you’re talking about Kathy, understand! Watch your damned mouth!”

  KATHY, Doc Thorndon, Mart Bakr, Johnny Norsen and Dick Roland sat in the officer’s wardroom, preparatory to showing that day’s news wire. In spite of the importance of this one break in the day’s monotony, the eyes of all three of the younger men were on the girl.

  Used, by this time, to the attention, Kathy was able to ignore it. She said, “Just who is this Jackie Black that you’re always talking about?”

  “The last of the Robin Hoods,” Doc Thorndon said softly.

  “Robin Hoods?” she frowned.

  “Bet you five credits it’s something he dug up out of one of his old books,” Johnny Norsen snorted.

  “You’d win then,” Doc said. He turned his face to Kathy to explain. “The original Robin Hood was an outlaw who robbed from the rich but gave to the poor—a very long time ago. Since then, every time a bandit makes a practice of being kind to the poor, they’ve called him a Robin Hood.” He added, dry of voice, “Very seldom do they deserve the name.”

  She was interested. “Oh? Well, does this . . . what was his name, again . . .?”

  “Jackie Black,” Mart Bakr offered. As usual, he was sitting on the edge of his chair, eyes riveted on the girl to the point that should have caused acute embarrassment.

  She went on, “Yes, this Jackie Black—that’s a silly name, isn’t it? Does he deserve the name, Robin Hood?”

  Doc Thorndon shrugged, wrinkling up his cheerful face. “I suppose you’d say he does. Probably the principal reason he’s eluded the authorities for so long. He has had considerable support from the rank and file citizens.”

  Johnny Norsen said, “Well, what is it that he got this time? They’ve got half the police of three planets on his trail and as far as I can understand, all he stole were some papers.”

  Dick Roland said, “I heard some rumors, just before we left Terra, that the papers were inside dope on a bunch of the bureaucrats—really incriminating. The story is that Jackie Black figures on blackmailing them.”

  Doc Thorndon grunted. “Doesn’t sound like the sort of thing he’d do. Blackmail is a pretty nasty business.”

  Mart Bakr said, “Well, let’s get on with this news wire. Maybe they’ve caught him by now.”

  SHE was on her way to the crew’s mess, but Dick Roland found time to slip a note into her hand, flushing furiously as he did. She winked, infinitesimally, but hurried her way past him.

  His heart thumped over twice, then curled up in its corner and glowed heat. Did that wink mean . . .?

  Kathy entered the crew’s mess and smiled at the assembled men who were off duty.

  “All right,” she said cheerfully, “it’s your day—or night, whatever it is—who can tell on a space ship? What shall we do this time, boys? Do you want to draw lots to see who plays cards with me?”

  One of the spacemen growled, “I don’t see why the officers get your company the same amount of time we do. There’s five of them and forty of us. It ain’t fair.”

  She looked at him in mock reproach. “Why don’t you get up a petition?”

  Woodford muttered, “On a space cruiser, on a mission? They’d string us up by the thumbs.”

  Kathy tossed her head and laughed at him. “You see. You don’t really care. My company isn’t nearly as important to you as you’d make believe.”

  Jak Heming scrambled to his feet and faced the rest. “She’s right! Why don’t we? Why should forty of us have to share her time equally with only five? It’s not as though this was an ordinary situation. How often do you have women aboard a space ship? I say, let’s all sign a petition. We should have Kathy’s company six days out of the week, they, only once.”

  “Boys, boys,” she laughed.

  But they continued to mutter among themselves and the sounds of their voices went higher.

  THERE was an almost inaudible knock at the door.

  “Who’s there?” Kathy called. “It’s me.”

  There was silence for a moment, then, “Just a moment—me.” By the time she opened the door, he was glancing fearfully up and down the corridor. He slipped in.

  “Why, Johnny.”

  “Darling!” He reached for her but she avoided him as adroitly as possible in the tiny quarters.

  “Why, Johnny Norsen. You know you’re not allowed in here. What would Commander Gurloff say? Besides, I thought you were the one who was so sorry to see me on board.”

  He was hurried, but emphatic. “Look, darling, Kathy. I didn’t know then. I . . .”

  Her eyes were mocking.

  He held out a hand. “This ring. It was my mother’s . . . I . . . I want you to wear it.” His angular face was very intent and very sincere.

  Her eyes widened now. “Why, Johnny—”

  “Listen, sweetheart. I know these aren’t the circumstances. That nothing could . . . well, develop here in the ship. But when we return, when we’re back on Terra again, I’m going to give up the space service and we can—” She interrupted him with a finger on his lips. Her eyes were on the floor now so that he couldn’t see the glint of amusement, but she said softly, “I’ll . . . I�
��ll keep the ring, Johnny. We can talk about it when . . . when we’re back again. No, you’d better go.” She avoided his arms again. “Everybody would be angry if they knew you’d been in here.”

  After he’d gone, she put the ring in a small drawer—with a dozen others.

  THE sick call was almost daily growing in magnitude and Doc Thorndon didn’t like it. Not a bit. The cruise still had half way to go. He was amazed that they’d hung on this far, actually, but six months was still too long a period to stretch before them.

  He applied various tests to the last of his callers and then flicked a stylus against his teeth in irritation as he considered the findings.

  Rosen said, worriedly, “What is it Doc? Not . . . not cafard, is it, Doc?”

  Thorndon looked down at him and laughed gently. “Ever had even a touch of cafard, Rosen?

  “Well, no sir. But I saw a man with it once.” Rosen’s eyes went nervously about the ship’s hospital. The room was about the size of a bedroom of a Pullman of the 20th Century. It had two bunks, one above the other, a tiny folding table, a medicine chest built into the titanium alloy wall, a lavatory.

  Doc Thorndon chuckled. “Don’t worry. You’ll know it when you get space cafard.”

  Rosen shuddered. “Yes, sir, I know. The fear of black space. The terror of free fall. Complete, berserk hysteria.” The little crewman’s eyes went empty.

  Doc patted him on the shoulder. “Forget about it, Rosen. Haven’t you heard? There hasn’t been a case of cafard on this ship since I’ve been ship’s doctr.” His face tightened subtly. “By the way, what’s this I hear about some of you crew members tapping the tract-torpedoes for alcohol and brewing up some jungle juice?”

  The crewman was surprised. He hadn’t heard about it. But he came to his feet and began shruging back into his coveralls. He said, warily, “Where’d you hear this, Doc?”