Tunnel in the Sky

by Robert A. Heinlein

  Let them go! Cowpertown would be better and stronger without them.

  Maybe some just wanted to make a visit, show off grandchildren to grandparents, then come back. Probably…in which case they had better make sure that Sansom or somebody gave them written clearance to come back. Maybe he ought to warn them.

  But he didn’t have anyone to visit. Except Sis—and Sis might be anywhere—unlikely that she was on Terra.

  Bob and Carmen, carrying Hope, came in to say good-by. Rod shook hands solemnly. “You’re coming back, Bob, when you get your degree…aren’t you?”

  “Well, we hope so, if possible. If we are permitted to.”

  “Who’s going to stop you? It’s your right. And when you do, you’ll find us here. In the meantime we’ll try not to break legs.”

  Baxter hesitated. “Have you been to the gate lately, Rod?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Uh, don’t plan too far ahead. I believe some have already gone back.”

  “How many?”

  “Quite a number.” Bob would not commit himself further. He gave Rod the addresses of his parents and Carmen’s, soberly wished him a blessing, and left.

  Margery did not come back and the fire pit remained cold. Rod did not care, he was not hungry. Jimmy came in at what should have been shortly after lunch, nodded and sat down. Presently he said, “I’ve been out at the gate.”

  “So?”

  “Yup. You know, Rod, a lot of people wondered why you weren’t there to say good-by.”

  “They could come here to say good-by!”

  “Yes, so they could. But the word got around that you didn’t approve. Maybe they were embarrassed.”

  “Me?” Rod laughed without mirth. “I don’t care how many city boys run home to mama. It’s a free country.” He glanced at Jim. “How many are sticking?”

  “Uh, I don’t know.”

  “I’ve been thinking. If the group gets small, we might move back to the cave just to sleep, I mean. Until we get more colonists.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Don’t be so glum! Even if it got down to just you and me and Jackie and Carol, we’d be no worse off than we once were. And it would just be temporary. There’d be the baby, of course—I almost forgot to mention my godson.”

  “There’s the baby,” Jimmy agreed.

  “What are you pulling a long face about? Jim…you’re not thinking of leaving?”

  Jimmy stood up. “Jackie said to tell you that we would stick by whatever you thought was best.”

  Rod thought over what Jimmy had not said. “You mean she wants to go back? Both of you do.”

  “Now, Rod, we’re partners. But I’ve got the kid to think about. You see that?”

  “Yes. I see.”

  “Well—”

  Rod stuck out his hand. “Good luck, Jim. Tell Jackie good-by for me.”

  “Oh, she’s waiting to say good-by herself. With the kid.”

  “Uh, tell her not to. Somebody once told me that saying good-by was a mistake. Be seeing you.”

  “Well—so long, Rod. Take care of yourself.”

  “You, too. If you see Caroline, tell her to come in.”

  Caroline was slow appearing; he guessed that she had been at the gate. He said bluntly, “How many are left?”

  “Not many,” she admitted.

  “How many?”

  “You and me—and a bunch of gawkers.”

  “Nobody else?”

  “I checked them off the list. Roddie, what do we do now?”

  “Huh? It doesn’t matter. Do you want to go back?”

  “You’re boss, Roddie. You’re the Mayor.”

  “Mayor of what? Carol, do you want to go back?”

  “Roddie, I never thought about it. I was happy here. But—”

  “But what?”

  “The town is gone, the kids are gone—and I’ve got only a year if I’m ever going to be a cadet Amazon.” She blurted out the last, then added, “But I’ll stick if you do.”

  “No.”

  “I will so!”

  “No. But I want you to do something when you go back.”

  “What?”

  “Get in touch with my sister Helen. Find out where she is stationed. Assault Captain Helen Walker—got it? Tell her I’m okay…and tell her I said to help you get into the Corps.”

  “Uh… Roddie, I don’t want to go!”

  “Beat it. They might relax the gate and leave you behind.”

  “You come, too.”

  “No. I’ve got things to do. But you hurry. Don’t say good-by. Just go.”

  “You’re mad at me, Roddie?”

  “Of course not. But go, please, or you’ll have me bawling, too.”

  She gave a choked cry, grabbed his head and smacked his cheek, then galloped away, her sturdy legs pounding. Rod went into his shack and lay face down. After a while he got up and began to tidy Cowpertown. It was littered, dirtier than it had been since the morning of Grant’s death.

  It was late afternoon before anyone else came into the village. Rod heard and saw them long before they saw him—two men and a woman. The men were dressed in city garb; she was wearing shorts, shirt, and smart sandals. Rod stepped out and said, “What do you want?” He was carrying his spear.

  The woman squealed, then looked and added, “Wonderful!”

  One man was carrying a pack and tripod which Rod recognized as multi-recorder of the all-purpose sight-smell-sound-touch sort used by news services and expeditions. He said nothing, set his tripod down, plugged in cables and started fiddling with dials. The other man, smaller, ginger haired, and with a terrier mustache, said, “You’re Walker? The one the others call ‘the Mayor’?”

  “Yes.”

  “Kosmic hasn’t been in here?”

  “Cosmic what?”

  “Kosmic Keynotes, of course. Or anybody? LIFE-TIME-SPACE? Galaxy Features?”

  “I don’t know what you mean. There hasn’t been anybody here since morning.”

  The stranger twitched his mustache and sighed. “That’s all I want to know. Go into your trance, Ellie. Start your box, Mac.”

  “Wait a minute,” Rod demanded. “Who are you and what do you want?”

  “Eh? I’m Evans of Empire… Empire Enterprises.”

  “Pulitzer Prize,” the other man said and went on working;

  “With Mac’s help,” Evans added quickly. “The lady is Ellie Ellens herself.”

  Rod looked puzzled. Evans said, “You don’t know? Son, where have you—never mind. She’s the highest paid emotional writer in the system. She’ll interpret you so that every woman reader from the Outlands Overseer to the London Times will cry over you and want to comfort you. She’s a great artist.”

  Miss Ellens did not seem to hear the tribute. She wandered around with a blank face, stopping occasionally to look or touch.

  She turned and said to Rod, “Is this where you held your primitive dances?”

  “What? We held square dances here, once a week.”

  “‘Square dances’… Well, we can change that.” She went back into her private world.

  “The point is, brother,” Evans went on, “we don’t want just an interview. Plenty of that as they came through. That’s how we found out you were here—and dropped everything to see you. I’m not going to dicker; name your own price—but it’s got to be exclusive, news, features, commercial rights, everything. Uh…” Evans looked around. “Advisory service, too, when the actors arrive.”

  “Actors?!”

  “Of course. If the Control Service had the sense to sneeze, they would have held you all here until a record was shot. But we can do it better with actors. I want you at my elbow every minute—we’ll have somebody play your part. Besides that—”

  “Wait a minute!” Rod butted in. “Either I’m crazy or you are. In the first place I don’t want your money.”

  “Huh? You signed with somebody? That guard let another outfit in ahead of us?”

  �
��What guard? I haven’t seen anybody.”

  Evans looked relieved. “We’ll work it out. The guard they’ve got to keep anybody from crossing your wall—I thought he might have both hands out. But don’t say you don’t need money; that’s immoral.”

  “Well, I don’t. We don’t use money here.”

  “Sure, sure…but you’ve got a family, haven’t you? Families always need money. Look, let’s not fuss. We’ll treat you right and you can let it pile up in the bank. I just want you to get signed up.”

  “I don’t see why I should.”

  “Binder,” said Mac.

  “Mmm…yes, Mac. See here, brother, think it over. Just let us have a binder that you won’t sign with anybody else. You can still stick us for anything your conscience will let you. Just a binder, with a thousand plutons on the side.”

  “I’m not going to sign with anybody else.”

  “Got that, Mac?”

  “Canned.”

  Evans turned to Rod. “You don’t object to answering questions in the meantime, do you? And maybe a few pictures?”

  “Uh, I don’t care.” Rod was finding them puzzling and a little annoying, but they were company and he was bitterly lonely.

  “Fine!” Evans drew him out with speed and great skill. Rod found himself telling more than he realized he knew. At one point Evans asked about dangerous animals. “I understand they are pretty rough here. Much trouble?”

  “Why, no,” Rod answered with sincerity. “We never had real trouble with animals. What trouble we had was with people…and not much of that.”

  “You figure this will be a premium colony?”

  “Of course. The others were fools to leave. This place is like Terra, only safer and richer and plenty of land. In a few years—say!”

  “Say what?”

  “How did it happen that they left us here? We were only supposed to be here ten days.”

  “Didn’t they tell you?”

  “Well…maybe the others were told. I never heard.”

  “It was the supernova, of course. Delta, uh—”

  “Delta Gamma one thirteen,” supplied Mac.

  “That’s it. Space-time distortion, but I’m no mathematician.”

  “Fluxion,” said Mac.

  “Whatever that is. They’ve been fishing for you ever since. As I understand it, the wave front messed up their figures for this whole region. Incidentally, brother, when you go back—”

  “I’m not going back.”

  “Well, even on a visit. Don’t sign a waiver. The Board is trying to call it an ‘Act of God’ and duck responsibility. So let me put a bug in your ear: don’t sign away your rights. A friendly hint, huh?”

  “Thanks. I won’t—well, thanks anyhow.”

  “Now how about action pix for the lead stories?”

  “Well…okay.”

  “Spear,” said Mac.

  “Yeah, I believe you had some sort of spear. Mind holding it?”

  Rod got it as the great Ellie joined them. “Wonderful!” she breathed. “I can feel it. It shows how thin the line is between man and beast. A hundred cultured boys and girls slipping back to illiteracy, back to the stone age, the veneer sloughing away…reverting to savagery. Glorious!”

  “Look here!” Rod said angrily. “Cowpertown wasn’t that way at all! We had laws, we had a constitution, we kept clean. We—” He stopped; Miss Ellens wasn’t listening.

  “Savage ceremonies,” she said dreamily. “A village witch doctor pitting ignorance and superstition against nature. Primitive fertility rites—” She stopped and said to Mac in a businesslike voice, “We’ll shoot the dances three times. Cover ’em a little for ‘A’ list; cover ’em up a lot for the family list—and peel them down for the ‘B’ list. Got it?”

  “Got it,” agreed Mac.

  “I’ll do three commentaries,” she added. “It will be worth the trouble.” She reverted to her trance.

  “Wait a minute!” Rod protested. “If she means what I think she means, there won’t be any pictures, with or without actors.”

  “Take it easy,” Evans advised. “I said you would be technical supervisor, didn’t I? Or would you rather we did it without you? Ellie is all right, brother. What you don’t know—and she does—is that you have to shade the truth to get at the real truth, the underlying truth. You’ll see.”

  “But—”

  Mac stepped up to him. “Hold still.”

  Rod did so, as Mac raised his hand. Rod felt the cool touch of an air brush.

  “Hey! What are you doing?”

  “Make up.” Mac returned to his gear.

  “Just a little war paint,” Evans explained. “The pic needs color. It will wash off.”

  Rod opened his mouth and eyes in utter indignation; without knowing it he raised his spear. “Get it, Mac!” Evans ordered.

  “Got it,” Mac answered calmly.

  Rod fought to bring his anger down to where he could talk. “Take that tape out,” he said softly. “Throw it on the ground. Then get out.”

  “Slow down,” Evans advised. “You’ll like that pic. We’ll send you one.”

  “Take it out. Or I’ll bust the box and anybody who gets in my way!” He aimed his spear at the multiple lens.

  Mac slipped in front, protected it with his body. Evans called out, “Better look at this.”

  Evans had him covered with a small but businesslike gun. “We go a lot of funny places, brother, but we go prepared. You damage that recorder, or hurt one of us, and you’ll be sued from here to breakfast. It’s a serious matter to interfere with a news service, brother. The public has rights, you know.” He raised his voice. “Ellie! We’re leaving.”

  “Not yet,” she answered dreamily. “I must steep myself in—”

  “Right now! It’s an ‘eight-six’ with the Reuben Steuben!”

  “Okay!” she snapped in her other voice.

  Rod let them go. Once they were over the wall he went back to the city hall, sat down, held his knees and shook.

  Later he climbed the stile and looked around. A guard was on duty below him; the guard looked up but said nothing. The gate was relaxed to a mere control hole but a loading platform had been set up and a power fence surrounded it and joined the wall. Someone was working at a control board set up on a flatbed truck; Rod decided that they must be getting ready for major immigration. He went back and prepared a solitary meal, the poorest he had eaten in more than a year. Then he went to bed and listened to the jungle “Grand Opera” until he went to sleep.

  “Anybody home?”

  Rod came awake instantly, realized that it was morning—and that not all nightmares were dreams. “Who’s there?”

  “Friend of yours.” B. P. Matson stuck his head in the door. “Put that whittler away. I’m harmless.”

  Rod bounced up. “Deacon! I mean ‘Doctor.’”

  “‘Deacon,’” Matson corrected. “I’ve got a visitor for you.” He stepped aside and Rod saw his sister.

  Some moments later Matson said mildly, “If you two can unwind and blow your noses, we might get this on a coherent basis.”

  Rod backed off and looked at his sister. “My, you look wonderful, Helen.” She was in mufti, dressed in a gay tabard and briefs. “You’ve lost weight.”

  “Not much. Better distributed, maybe. You’ve gained, Rod. My baby brother is a man.”

  “How did you—” Rod stopped, struck by suspicion. “You didn’t come here to talk me into going back? If you did, you can save your breath.”

  Matson answered hastily. “No, no, no! Farthest thought from our minds. But we heard about your decision and we wanted to see you—so I did a little politicking and got us a pass.” He added, “Nominally I’m a temporary field agent for the service.”

  “Oh. Well, I’m certainly glad to see you…as long as that is understood.”

  “Sure, sure!” Matson took out a pipe, stoked and fired it. “I admire your choice, Rod. First time I’ve been on Tangaroa.”
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br />   “On what?”

  “Huh? Oh. Tangaroa. Polynesian goddess, I believe. Did you folks give it another name?”

  Rod considered it. “To tell the truth, we never got around to it. It…well, it just was.”

  Matson nodded. “Takes two of anything before you need names. But it’s lovely, Rod. I can see you made a lot of progress.”

  “We would have done all right,” Rod said bitterly, “if they hadn’t jerked the rug out.” He shrugged. “Like to look around?”

  “I surely would.”

  “All right. Come on, Sis. Wait a minute—I haven’t had breakfast; how about you?”

  “Well, when we left the Gap is was pushing lunch time. I could do with a bite. Helen?”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  Rod scrounged in Margery’s supplies. The haunch on which he had supped was not at its best. He passed it to Matson. “Too high?”

  Matson sniffed it. “Pretty gamy. I can eat it if you can.”

  “We should have hunted yesterday, but…things happened.” He frowned. “Sit tight. I’ll get cured meat.” He ran up to the cave, found a smoked side and some salted strips. When he got back Matson had a fire going. There was nothing else to serve; no fruit had been gathered the day before. Rod was uneasily aware that their breakfasts must have been very different.

  But he got over it in showing off how much they had done—potter’s wheel, Sue’s loom with a piece half finished, the flume with the village fountain and the showers that ran continuously, iron artifacts that Art and Doug had hammered out. “I’d like to take you up to Art’s iron works but there is no telling what we might run into.”

  “Come now, Rod, I’m not a city boy. Nor is your sister helpless.”

  Rod shook his head. “I know this country; you don’t. I can go up there at a trot. But the only way for you would be a slow sneak, because I can’t cover you both.”

  Matson nodded. “You’re right. It seems odd to have one of my students solicitous over my health. But you are right. We don’t know this set up.”

  Rod showed them the stobor traps and described the annual berserk migration. “Stobor pour through those holes and fall in the pits. The other animals swarm past, as solid as city traffic for hours.”

  “Catastrophic adjustment,” Matson remarked.

  “Huh? Oh, yes, we figured that out. Cyclic catastrophic balance, just like human beings. If we had facilities, we could ship thousands of carcasses back to Earth every dry season.” He considered it. “Maybe we will, now.”