Ten (Stories) to The Stars

by Raymond Z. Gallun

  "Pardon? Who?" Gannet demanded, puzzled.

  "Miss Jeanne Pauls. Entertainer," Devlin said with a pained frown. "You know—former owner, and owner again, of what used to be my space suit. I gave it back to her. Jeanne, here are Gannet and Harwin—fellow voyagers, and former classmates of mine."

  They greeted her formally while they looked her over. She was wearing the suit, all but the helmet. There was the painted rose. She was cute and blonde and fuzzy—cute as anything you could name. Cuddly, too. But hardly smaller than Devlin. And what was the thought of her now? The roving, reckless eye. The flow of young feminine shrewdness. Maybe she wasn't as old even, as Devlin. Chronologically, that is. But Devlin was still a baby beside her.

  Now she giggled. "Hello, boys!" she said. "Devlin, you call him. But he's Arnold to me, already. Arnie told me that you thought I'd be headed back for Earth from Mars. Now why would I be doing that if I came so far? And Arnie found me... He checked back all of the women's names for months in the Registry. There weren't so many. And there were only a few hotels listed where they went. I'm at the Woman's Y. Arnie came there, wearing this armor. Of course I saw the rose..."

  She stopped, and a petulant look of anger and hurt came into her heart-shaped face. Gannet knew that it was Harwin's and his own expressions that did it. Of humor, judgment, and worry for their buddy. And vexation. Gannet thought for a second that this Jeanne Pauls, this pretty little devil, was going to launch into a tirade against him. So he nudged Harwin, chuckled genially, and said: "That sounds like an interesting start, Jeannie. Romance among the asteroids..."

  Later, though, he cornered Devlin. "Where did you get the money to buy yourself another space suit," he demanded, "to replace the one you needed, and gave away?"

  "Sold my ship," Devlin answered airily.

  "Umhm-m," Gannet commented. "All in a couple of hours time. Boy—you work fast! Or somebody does! Crazy, ain't it—dim wit? A guy wins a little of being man-size from space. And along comes a certain kind of sharp female operator and cuts him to zero. Haven't you got sense enough to see through this Jeanne?"

  For a second a terrible fight loomed. But Devlin held himself in, maybe because Gannet could surely lick him.

  "Sure I see through Jeanne," he said at last. "I don't say I thought she was an angel—not the regular kind, anyhow. I also see that you're trying to be a pal and put me straight. Thanks. But maybe I see more of Jeanne than you do. She was on Mars. Now she's among the asteroids. Alone. That means one thing to me. She's got guts. Courage. More in a minute than a lot of your 'good' stay-at-home girls have in a year."

  There was a pause. Gannet wasn't really taken aback. Because he knew. He chuckled. "You're right," he said. "But does that make you any less a sucker? Don't you want to go along with Harwin and me? I thought you did."

  "I'd like to," Devlin answered guardedly. "But not now. Sorry. I've got things figured out. The way I want them to be. The kind of mood that fits me and the asteroids. Maybe you'll see what I mean, sometime."

  Just then Harwin came into the room. "Oh," he laughed. "Rare jewels that women are out here, you want to hang onto one, eh, Sonny? Better learn judo, bud! Better hire a dozen body-guards. Better go for your blaster, whenever you hear a wolf's whistle!"

  After a good sleep, Gannet and Harwin said so-long to Glodosky, who had gotten the hospital job he wanted, and to the worried and rather puzzled Devlin. It was the parting of the ways, for a while.

  Then they were off Ceres, plunging deeper into the Belt. Gannet was a little like Devlin in his quest for the charm of newness. Here was vigor and manhood. And what was better than to be part of the leading edge of progress and colonization, than to be a searcher for resources?

  During his first hours, now, he realized the vast distance in the Belt. Deserts of nothing. Not all tiny worlds at fairly close quarters. But at long intervals. And sometimes in clusters. The glamor wore off quickly; yet for him and Harwin some of it always remained; or a different kind was built somewhere inside them.

  There were already fifty-thousand men in the Asteroid Belt. But how often did you see even one besides yourselves? Nor was the ancient wreckage of the culture of another people as thick in space as Gannet had pictured it.

  And you lived in a space suit. Lots of guys didn't even use ships out here. A small Harmon Pusher attached to your shoulder-plate was enough to hurl you millions of miles. For where was there an asteroid large enough and with a gravity strong enough even to pose the obstacle of velocity of escape? You could jump off of the smaller ones, and never fall back, by virtue of your own leg power. There was this much of the mood of fairyland, traveled by means of seven-league boots. But the dark shadows were real. The shrunken white hot sun was real. So was the rancid smell of your own sweat inside your armor.

  Food concentrates were all around you, inside. And you pulled an arm out of an armor sleeve and fed yourself—if you didn't have the cabin of a ship to relax in. But it was a lot the same both ways. You worked so much outside your ship. Water you drank through a tube, attached to a belt tank. Your armor became like your house.

  You investigated all wreckage, and all meteors around you. Relative to yourself there was no terrific speed to either. For, in general, in the Belt, you became part of your surroundings. You moved in the same direction, and at the same velocity.

  Certain heavy metallic meteors were what you wanted. Some were black. Some dull gray. Visually you could be confused. But a Geiger Counter fairly shouted at you if you were right—naming fragments from near the center of that broken planet. Anything less than sixty-percent pure, you ignored.

  Gold was no more worth the transportation than iron. And sometimes it was almost as plentiful. Earth had a heart of gold, too.

  Gannet and Harwin loaded up the freight nets, which then trailed behind their ships.... A full load on Earth would have been around fifty tons. Out here it was like a great bubble with a considerable inertial drag.

  And there were the souvenirs to pick up, or discard. Rails of steel. Or of some kind of titanium alloy. Maybe they were girders. They'd been snapped off by some terrific force. Once they found what might have been the tip of a tower. Inside they found a small square of woven glass-wool tapestry. Its bizarre design in red, blue, and white, would have turned a bum like Throckson green with avarice. And there were little hooks of silver. And there was something which might have been a microscope. And a flat object with one string. It was of vegetable substance, probably. Call it wood. Maybe the whole thing was some kind of musical instrument.

  There was a lot more in that curious round tower-top or chamber, which must have been hurled into space like a projectile, when the planet it had graced exploded. It was all mashed together against the floor. Metal, wood blackened and dehydrated by the complete dryness of space, crystal. Substances and shapes that couldn't be named.

  Harwin and Gannet took what they thought might be worth something, as they always did. Gannet felt there were ghosts around him. But he felt the thrill of discovery. This was living. This was a high point. And he thrilled to it.

  Of course he always knew that if the steady murmur of his air purifiers stopped, he might mingle with this wreckage too. And that was just one thing that could happen. But it was good to know that you were equal to your surroundings. Yes—good.

  Their first load went, not back to Ceres, but on to another group of much smaller asteroids. For from Lenz and Roscoe a radio message called them: "Unload at Refuge... Unload at Refuge... Get fair prices at Refuge. Stock up at Refuge. Refuge, the way station. Follow the radio beacon in..."

  "It's the business," Harwin laughed. "That was Roscoe's voice. From football to space, and then back to advertising. Seems as though those birds are even trying to start a town of their own..."

  So they saw Lenz again, and Roscoe, browned and casual, but a little scared underneath. Gannet's and Harwin's loaded nets bounced lightly down beside the half-dozen Nissen warehouses they had managed to build, and one worried so
me if this embryo outfit would ever be able to pay at all. But they'd run in supplies. And of course Lenz said, or maybe bragged, sounding like his old self:

  "We made out well enough doing what you guys are still doing, to start something better. Now we've got two supply ships started—plying directly to Earth. Pretty soon we'll be bringing in prefabricated houses, and wall paper for living rooms. You'll see... Join up when you want to..."

  "Not before, not now, not ever, not me," Harwin pronounced. "Maybe you can interest Gannet. But I don't think so..."

  The next time they went out, Gannet and Harwin almost had bad luck. Four men just in space suits fitted with Pushers tried to be friendly... But Harwin was smart, and wouldn't bite. And Gannet used a rifle that fired explosive bullets to keep them off. Stealing ships and net loads was a common thing.

  And when they got back to Refuge, Roscoe said, "Yeah, I know. I killed a bloke with a blaster. Had to. You know what he was on Earth? Yeah—a grocer. His credentials were in his pocket. And a family picture. Nice wife and kids. And he was okay himself, in the picture. Funny things the Belt does to people. Living the way they do. Not out of armor for weeks at a time. No luxury. Being scared of smothering something. So the weasel crops out. Watch yourselves, you guys..."

  Time went on. There were more and more men in the Belt. You almost expected to meet a few, now and then. Refuge showed signs of growing. Lenz, the poor boy, was building his town. And all the business in it belonged to him and Roscoe. But of course this was a common phenomenon, everywhere.

  "They're forcing us farther into the wilderness, Gannet," Harwin began to kid.

  Not always were they lucky. Once Gannet was far afield in just an armor. And his Pusher went wrong and almost quit. His radio was too weak for an SOS back a million miles. Lucky his air purifier cartridge was okay. Food and water was the problem. So what did he do. Well, you know what they say in the belt. "You can find anything." He knew what to look for. He'd seen them before. Flat containers of thin sheet metal. There's a little airlock under the arm of each space suit, for the entrance or exit of any object. The pasty stuff in some of those containers, made him sick, and the sour liquid in others made him dizzy. But taking his time, he limped back to Refuge all right, and laughed with his friends....

  He had a funny feeling, though, Something which kept telling him—only just so long. Sooner or later....

  Lots of things happened. Harwin and he might have stolen supplies themselves, once, when they were far afield, and low, and when some men passed near them, and glared at them. They didn't, but the old cutthroat impulse was there....

  They'd been out from Boom Town on Ceres a year then. And then Glodosky finally wrote:

  "Dear Gannet:

  "I haven't heard from you. Maybe you're in or around Refuge, which we hear about. Lenz' project, eh? Could be. I'll just take a chance. I'm sending him and old Harwin letters, too. Hope this finds you, and finds you prosperous enough to snoot an old friend. But I know how you are about letters, Pal. So I'm kidding.

  "I'm in the same place—same hospital. And in spare time in research branch. Electro-neuronics—artificial body parts section. You know how I got into that, don't you? My legs and my hand. All news is good, so far. And there's more good news. But first there's some bad.

  "I had a letter from Little Thomas. He's doing research work for an outfit on Mercury, now. What he tells me is that old Flash Phelps was killed on Mercury, shortly after their arrival, there. The accident was a simple one. He just slipped on a high ridge in fog, and tumbled into a deep gorge. I don't know what to say to all that, except that he financed us all, and looked as though his chances of taking care of himself were better than with most.

  "Thomas sent photographs. Of himself. He's not so thin anymore. He can grin. The kid in him is dead. There are photographs of Venus. Think of a cellar full of steam. But sometimes it's snow. Boiling hot. Then cold. That's the climate. The vegetation is low and crusty. It cakes the continents and scums the oceans. The mountains are hidden, in the fog. And there are the test stations, to find out what Venus is, was, and will be like. You know how the stations look. It's like everywhere. Low domes. Barometers and wind gauges on top. Cosmic ray testing equipment. And everything inside to study air, soil, rock, water, fauna, flora—what not.

  "So what is Venus? Twin of the Earth in size. Just a trifle smaller. Should be another, warmer Earth. Only it's not. Instead it's a problem world. What can you use it for? The crazy exaggerated seasons, because of the great tilt to the plane of its orbit. The long days. The heavy atmosphere. The place might be more useful if it had no atmosphere at all. And there aren't even any specially valuable mineral deposits.

  "I'll show you the pictures of Venus when I see you. There are also those of Mercury. Dead as the moon, but maybe promising someways. At the center of its forever sunward side, they're building a great solar observatory, for instance. Shielded against the heat, of course. 'Like putting up a lot of gauges to keep tabs on the functioning of the central power plant of the solar system,' is the way Thomas expresses it.

  "I guess he found himself. Maybe he's no great scientist. But he fits in planetary research. Strange tough conditions don't bother him. They seem to give him a lift, instead. He'll be okay.

  "Devlin married Jeanne Pauls, right after you left. I guess you thought it was bad. Maybe it is. And now they've got an heir. I'd say that he's one of the first kids born off of the Earth. All right—somebody says that space is too rugged for young love, much less babies. So it happens anyway. And Jeanne, remembering you, says, 'Ask that Gannet what he thinks I thought I wanted from life, anyway, just a new hat?' She's okay.

  "You know Devlin, the dreamer—the scientific visionary. There's something of the South Seas beachcomber in that guy—and he's brought it out here—in his head. He has done some of the work you are doing. He's brought back a lot of ancient instruments. He's in the metals labs of the big refiners. Now he's on his own, again. Maybe he'll make out—someway. He thinks of things like vacation centers in the Belt—featuring new sports like races in Pusher equipped space armor, from asteroid to asteroid. I guess maybe stuff like that will happen. Sometime.

  "Well—enough for now. I hope I'll see you. Norman Glodosky."

  So Gannet felt himself stirred up. And it was the same with Harwin.

  "I guess the wind blows the other way for us just now, don't it?" Harwin said, and grinned.

  "Yep, it does." Gannet agreed. "For now, anyway." He felt the urge in him. Go back to Ceres. Just for a look. For old times. But more for facts unravelling themselves strangely from the unknown. The future becoming the present, and turning itself into the visible and indelible past. Not hidden anymore, but still mysterious.

  Harwin still grinned—and it was right that he should. It was no lack of warmth for the memory of Phelps. Flash Phelps. Cocky. Sure. Brave. Opulent.

  "You'd say, 'scratch three.' " Harwin commented.

  Gannet felt not grief so much as a frosty tingling. Surprise. As if he thought that there should be no end to Phelps, ever.

  "And Devlin, the kid we thought was Earthbound, has a son in the Belt," Harwin said further.

  "This all needs looking into," Gannet laughed.

  They said so long to Roscoe and Lenz. There were even a couple of girls in Refuge to kiss goodbye—for a hundred hours, or for good. Then they picked up and left with the casual ease of tramps, the same as if they were going out for another net load. The meaning, here, might be less or more than this. They went out across the millions of miles. To Ceres.

  Boom Town had grown. Weight, under Cerean gravity, put scant limits on its potential for spidery height. For the beacons and guard towers.

  But Glodosky wasn't much changed. Steadier and cooler, that was all. Another guy with a niche, now. The three went to a small cluttered apartment in a new building, and looked on the Devlin heir with appropriate and flattering comments, mostly for Jeanne's sake, while they saw nothing new. A red, healthy kid. A y
oung couple struggling. How old a picture was that? And did it's being on an asteroid make any difference?

  Devlin searched their faces, and they searched his. Catching up on time that was. Then it was more or less as it used to be.

  "Do your still mumble?" Harwin asked brashly.

  Devlin blushed.

  "Sure he does, " Jeanne laughed.

  Devlin made a mock sour face and said, "Want to see what about?"

  He showed them a lot of pieces of apparatus from the ancients. "I'm supposed to take them apart and try to see what they're for. Or what they're parts of. Sometimes you can assemble pieces into something more complete. I've got a knack for it. Sometimes it's very hard going. The archeological research division, coordinating with the physical research section pays me for data on devices delivered to me. And the same to a lot of other guys. Sometimes it gets a little screwy. For instance this little brush. Does it sound sensible to you that the ancients used such things to oil their leathery hides? It was me that found it out. From a color photograph fifty million years old, half burnt away. Maybe I'll find out sometime if they had advertising. For cosmetic products."

  Devlin laughed and went on: "But that brings up another point—their color photography. Fragments of film emulsions have been put under test. That's a job mostly for a big lab. But I did find out one thing about their cameras on my own. They used not lenses of quartz or glass, but of clear gelatin. Focus then is controlled by flattening or thickening the lens—tensile shaping, as in the human eye. I found a little sac of thin plastic in a broken piece of a camera, and dried residue of the gelatin, and figured it out. In other fields—surgery, medicine, manufacturing processes, the same hunt goes on. Almost in any subject you can name. Superimposing what they knew on what we know..."

  "Some would call that bad, Devlin," Harwin chuckled. "A weakening force. Men should invent their own gadgets, not pirate them."

  "And who lives to invent gadgets?" Devlin shot back at him. "I live for fun. And the pay-dirt of exploration is richer when you've got more hints to explore. It's more exciting—particularly when the hints come from a world that blew up, leaving enough behind, preserved, perfectly. Nothing like that is true, on Mars. Too much weathering in an atmosphere. Nope—there's no place outside the Earth and in the solar system, as wonderful as the Belt."