by Jack Vance
“Sutton and Ostrander, sir.”
“Gentlemen, have you noticed the sail? It has swung about and is canting to show its back to the sun. In another ten minutes we shall be tangled in a hundred miles of guy-wires.”
Sutton and Ostrander sprang to repair the situation. Henry Belt shook his head disparagingly. “This is precisely what is meant by the words ‘negligence’ and ‘inattentiveness.’ You two have committed a serious error. This is poor spacemanship. The sail must always be in such a position as to hold the wires taut.”
“There seems to be something wrong with the sensor, sir,” Sutton blurted. “It should notify us when the sail swings behind us.”
“I fear I must charge you an additional demerit for making excuses, Mr. Sutton. Tt is your duty to assure yourself that all the warning devices are functioning properly, at all times. Machinery must never be used as a substitute for vigilance.”
Ostrander looked up from the control console. “Someone has turned off the switch, sir. I do not offer this as an excuse, hut as an explanation.”
“The line of distinction is often hard to define, Mr. Ostrander. Please bear in mind my remarks on the subject of vigilance.”
“Yes, sir, but—who turned off the switch?”
“Both you and Mr. Sutton are theoretically hard at work watching for any accident or occurrence. Did you not observe it?”
“No, sir.”
“I might almost accuse you of further inattention and neglect, in this case.”
Ostrander gave Henry Belt a long, dubious side-glance. “The only person 1 recall going near the console is yourself, sir. I’m sure you wouldn’t do such a thing.”
Henry Belt shook his head sadly. “In space you must never rely on anyone for rational conduct. A few moments ago Mr. Sutton unfairly imputed to me an unusual thirst, for whiskey. Suppose this were the case? Suppose, as an example of pure irony, that I had indeed been drinking whiskey, that I was in fact drunk?”
“I will agree, sir, that anything is possible.”
Henry Belt shook his head again. “That is the type of remark, Mr. Ostrander, that I have come to associate with Mr. Culpepper. A better response would have been, ‘In the future, I will try to be ready for any conceivable contingency.’ Mr. Sutton, did you make a hissing sound between your teeth?”
“I was breathing, sir.”
“Please breathe with less vehemence.”
Henry Belt turned away and wandered back and forth about the wardroom, scrutinizing cases, frowning at smudges on polished metal. Ostrander muttered something to Sutton, and both watched Henry Belt closely as he moved here and there. Presently Henry Belt lurched toward them. “You show great interest in my movements, gentlemen.”
“We were on the watch for another unlikely contingency, sir.”
“Very good, Mr. Ostrander. Stick with it. In space nothing is impossible. I’ll vouch for this personally.”
4
Henry Belt sent all hands out to remove the paint from the surface of the parabolic reflector. When this had been accomplished, incident sunlight was now focused upon an expanse of photoelectric cells. The power so generated was used to operate plasma jets, expelling ions collected by the vast expanse of sail, further accelerating the ship, thrusting it ever out into an orbit of escape. And finally one day, at an exact instant dictated by the computer, the ship departed from Earth and floated tangentially out into space, off at an angle for the orbit of Mars. At an acceleration of g/100, velocity built up rapidly. Earth dwindled behind; the ship was isolated in space. The cadets’ exhilaration vanished, to be replaced by an almost funereal solemnity. The vision of Earth dwindling and retreating is an awesome symbol, equivalent to eternal loss, to the act of dying itself. The more impressionable cadets—Sutton, von Gluck, Ostrander—could not look astern without finding their eyes swimming with tears. Even the suave Culpepper was awed by the magnificence of the spectacle, the sun an aching pit not to be tolerated, Earth a plump pearl rolling on black velvet among a myriad glittering diamonds. And away from Earth, away from the sun, opened an exalted magnificence of another order entirely. For the first time the cadets became dimly aware that Henry Belt had spoken truly of strange visions. Here was death, here was peace, solitude, star-blazing beauty which promised not oblivion in death, but eternity. . . . Streams and spatters of stars. . . . The familiar constellation, the stars with their prideful names presenting themselves like heroes: Achemar, Fomalhaut, Sadal, Suud,
Canopus. . . .
Sutton could not bear to look into the sky. “It’s not that I feel fear,” he told von Gluck, “or yes, perhaps it is fear. It sucks at me, draws me out there. ... I suppose in due course I’ll become accustomed to it.”
“I’m not so sure,” said von Gluck. “I wouldn’t be surprised if space could become a psychological addiction, a need—so that whenever you walked on Earth you felt hot and breathless.”
Life settled into a routine. Henry Belt no longer seemed a man, but a capricious aspect of nature, like storm or lightning; and like some natural cataclysm, Henry Belt showed no favoritism, nor forgave one jot or tittle of offense. Apart from the private cubicles no place on the ship escaped his attention. Always he reeked of whiskey, and it became a matter of covert speculation as to exactly how much whiskey he had brought aboard. But no matter how he reeked or how he swayed on his feet, his eyes remained clever and steady, and he spoke without slurring in his paradoxically clear sweet voice.
One day he seemed slightly drunker than usual, and ordered all hands into spacesuits and out to inspect the sail for meteoric puncture. The order seemed sufficiently odd that the cadets stared at him in disbelief. “Gentlemen, you hesitate, you fail to exert yourselves, you luxuriate in sloth. Do you fancy yourselves at the Riviera? Into the spacesuits, on the double, and everybody into space. Check hoop, sail, reflector, struts and sensor. You will be adrift for two hours. When you return I want a comprehensive report. Mr. Lynch, I believe you are in charge of this watch. You will present the report.”
“Yes, sir.”
“One more matter. You will notice that the sail is slightly bellied by the continual radiation pressure. It therefore acts as a focusing device, the focal point presumably occurring behind the cab. But this is not a matter to be taken for granted. I have seen a man burned to death in such a freak accident. Bear this in mind.”
For two hours the cadets drifted through space, propelled by tanks of gas and thrust tubes. All enjoyed the experience except Sutton, who found himself appalled by the immensity of his emotions. Probably least affected was the practical Verona, who inspected the sail with a care exacting enough to satisfy even Henry Belt.
The next day the computer went wrong. Ostrander was in charge of the watch and knocked on Henry Belt’s door to make the report.
Henry Belt appeared in the doorway. He apparently had been asleep. “What is the difficulty, Mr. Ostrander?”
“We’re in trouble, sir. The computer has gone out."
Henry Belt rubbed his grizzled pate. “This is not an unusual circumstance. We prepare for this contingency by schooling all cadets thoroughly in computer design and repair. Have you identified the difficulty?”
“The bearings which suspend the data-separation disks have broken. The shaft has several millimeters play and as a re—
suit there is total confusion in the data presented to the analyzer.”
“An interesting problem. Why do you present it to me?” “I thought you should be notified, sir. I don’t believe we carry spares for this particular bearing.”
Henry Belt shook his head sadly. “Mr. Ostrander, do you recall my statement at the beginning of this voyage, that you six gentlemen are totally responsible for the navigation of the ship?”
“Yes, sir. But—”
“This is an applicable situation. You must either repair the computer, or perform the calculations yourself.”
“Very well, sir. I will do my best.”
5
Lynch, Verona, Ostrander and Sutton disassembled the mechanism, removed the worn bearing. “Confounded antiquel” said Lynch. “Why can’t they give us decent equipment? Or if they want to kill us, why not shoot us and save us all trouble.”
“We’re not dead yet,” said Verona. “You’ve looked for a spare?”
“Naturally. There’s nothing remotely like this.”
Verona looked at the bearing dubiously. “I suppose we could cast a babbitt sleeve and machine it to fit. That’s what we’ll have to do—unless you fellows are awfully fast with your math.”
Sutton glanced out the port, quickly turned his eyes away. “I wonder if we should cut sail.”
“Why?” asked Ostrander.
“We don’t want to build up too much velocity. We’re already going thirty miles a second.”
“Mars is a long way off.”
“And if we miss, we go shooting past. Then where are we?”
“Sutton, you’re a pessimist. A shame to find morbid tendencies in one so young.” This from von Gluck.
“I’d rather be a live pessimist than a dead comedian.” The new sleeve was duly cast, machined and fitted. Anxiously the alignment of the data disks was checked. “Well,” said Verona doubtfully, “there’s wobble. How much
that affects the functioning remains to be seen. We can take some of it out by shimming the mount. . .
Chims of tissue paper were inserted and the wobble seemed to be reduced. “Now—feed in the data,” said Sutton. “Let’s see how we stand.”
Coordinates were fed into the system; the indicator swung. “Enlarge sail cant four degrees,” said von Gluck; “we’re making too much left concentric. Projected course. . . .” He tapped buttons, watched the bright line extend across the screen, swing around a dot representing the center of gravity of Mars. “I make it an elliptical pass, about twenty thousand miles out. That’s at present acceleration, and it should toss us right back at Earth.”
“Great. Simply great. Let’s go, Twenty-Five!” This was Lynch. “I’ve heard of guys dropping flat on-their faces and kissing Earth when they put down. Me, I’m going to live in a cave the rest of my life.”
Sutton went to look at the data disks. The wobble was slight but perceptible. “Good Lord,” he said huskily. “The other end of the shaft is loose too.”
Lynch started to spit curses; Verona’s shoulders slumped. “Let’s get to work and fix it.”
Another bearing was cast, machined, polished, mounted. The disks wobbled, scraped. Mars, an ocher disk, shouldered ever closer in from the side. With the computer unreliable the cadets calculated and. plotted the course manually. The results were at slight but significant variance with those of the computer. The cadets looked dourly at each other. “Well,” growled Ostrander, “there’s error. Is it the instruments? The calculation? The plotting? Or the computer?”
Culpepper said in a subdued voice, “Well, we’re not about to crash head-on at any rate.”
Verona went back to study the computer. “I can’t imagine why the bearings don’t work better. . . . The mounting brackets—could they have shifted?” He removed the side housing, studied the frame, then went to the case for tools.
“What are you going to do?” demanded Sutton.
“Try to ease the mounting brackets around. I think that’s our trouble.”
“Leave me alonel You’ll bugger the machine so it’ll never work.”
Verona paused, looked questioningly around the group. “Well? What’s the verdict?”
“Maybe we’d better check with the old man,” said Ostrander nervously.
“All well and good—but you know what hell say.”
“Let’s deal cards. Ace of spades goes to ask him.”
Culpepper received the ace. He knocked on Henry Belt’s door. There was no response. He started to knock again, but restrained himself.
He returned to the group. “Wait till he shows himself. I’d rather crash into Mars than bring forth 'Henry Belt and his red book.”
The ship crossed the orbit of Mars well ahead of the looming red planet. It came toppling at them with a peculiar clumsy grandeur, a mass obviously bulky and globular, but so fine and clear was the detail, so absent the perspective, that the distance and size might have been anything. Instead of swinging in a sharp elliptical curve back toward Earth, the ship swerved aside in a blunt hyperbola and proceeded outward, now at a velocity of close to fifty miles a second. Mars receded astern and to the side. A new part of space lay ahead. The sun was noticeably smaller. Earth could no longer be differentiated from the stars. Mars departed quickly and politely, and space seemed lonely and forlorn.
Henry Belt had not appeared for two days. At last Culpepper went to knock on the door—once, twice, three times: a strange face looked out. It was Henry Belt, face haggard, skin like pulled taffy. His eyes glared red, his hair seemed matted and more unkempt than hair a quarter-inch should be. But he spoke in his quiet clear voice. “Mr. Culpepper, your merciless din has disturbed me. I am quite put out with you.”
“Sorry, sir. We feared that you were ill.”
Henry Belt made no response. He looked past Culpepper, around the circle of faces. “You gentlemen are unwontedly serious. Has this presumptive illness of mine caused you all distress?”
Sutton spoke in a rush. “The computer is out of order."
“Why then, you must repair it.”
“It's a matter of altering the housing. If we do it incorrectly—”
“Mr. Sutton, please do not harass me with the hour-byhour minutiae of running the ship.”
“But, sir, the matter has become serious; we need your advice. We missed the Mars turn-around—”
“Well, 1 suppose there's always Jupiter. Must I explain the basic elements of astrogation to you?”
“But the computer’s out of order—definitely."
“Then, if you wish to return to Earth, you must perform the calculations with pencil and paper. Why is it necessary to explain the obvious?”
“Jupiter is a long way out,” said Sutton in a shrill voice. “Why can’t we just turn around and go home?” This last was almost a whisper.
“I see I’ve been too easy on you cads,” said Henry Belt. “You stand around idly; you chatter nonsense while the machinery goes to pieces and the ship flies at random. Everybody into spacesuits for sail inspection. Come now. Let’s have some snap. What are you all? Walking corpses? You, Mr. Culpepper, why the delay?”
“It occurred to me, sir, that we are approaching the asteroid belt. As I am chief of the watch, I consider it my duty to cant sail to swing us around the area.”
"You may do this; then join the rest in hull-and-sail inspection.”
“Yes, sir."
The cadets donned spacesuits, Sutton with the utmost reluctance. Out into the dark void they went, and now here was loneliness indeed.
When they returned, Henry Belt had returned to his compartment.
“As Mr. Belt points out, we have no great choice,” said Ostrander. “We missed Mars, so let’s hit Jupiter. Luckily it’s in good position—otherwise we’d have to swing out to Saturn or Uranus—”
“They’re off behind the sun,” said Lynch. “Jupiter’s our last chance.”
“Let’s do it right then. I say, let’s make one last attempt to set those confounded bearings. . . .”
But now it seemed as if the wobble and twist had been eliminated. The disks tracked perfectly, the accuracy monitor glowed green.
“Great!” yelled Lynch. “Feed it the dope. Let’s get goingl
All sail for Jupiter. Good Lord, but we’re having a trip!” “Wait till it’s over,” said Sutton. Since his return from sail inspection he had stood to one side, cheeks pinched, eyes staring. “It’s not over yet. And maybe it’s not meant to be.” The other five pretended not to have heard him. The computer spat out figures and angles. There was a billion miles to travel. Acceleration was less, due to the diminution in the intensity of sunlight. At least a month
must pass before Jupiter came close.
6
The ship, great sail spread to the fading sunlight, fled like a ghost—out, always out. Each of the cadets had quietly performed the same calculation, and arrived at the same result. If the swing around Jupiter were not performed with exactitude, if the ship were not slung back like a stone on a string, there was nothing beyond. Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, Pluto were far around the sun; the ship, speeding at a hundred miles a second, could not be halted by the waning gravity of the sun, nor yet sufficiently accelerated in a concentric direction by sail and jet into a true orbit. The very nature of the sail made it useless as a brake; always the thrust was outward. Within the hull seven men lived and thought, and the psychic relationship worked and stirred like yeast in a. vat of decaying fruit. The fundamental similarity, the human identity of the seven men, was utterly canceled; apparent only were the disparities. Each cadet appeared to others only as a walking characteristic, and Henry Belt was an incomprehensible Thing, who appeared from his compartment at unpredictable times, to move quietly here and there with the blind blank grin of an archaic Attic hero.
Jupiter loomed and bulked. The ship, at last within reach of the Jovian gravity, sidled over to meet it. The cadets gave ever more careful attention to the computer, checking and counter-checking the instructions. Verona was the most assiduous at this, Sutton the most harassed and ineffectual. Lynch growled and cursed and sweat; Ostrander complained in a thin peevish voice. Von Gluck worked with the calm of pessimistic fatalism; Culpepper seemed unconcerned, almost debonair, a blandness which bewildered Ostrander, infuriated Lynch, awoke a malignant hate in Sutton. Verona and von Gluck on the other hand seemed to derive strength and refreshment from Culpepper’s placid acceptance of the situation. Henry Belt said nothing. Occasionally he emerged from his compartment, to survey the wardroom and the cadets with the detached interest of a visitor to an asylum.