“Back where?” asked Muriel.
Aunt Hester put her arms around the girl and drew her close. “I hope you never find out, dear . . . Now be off with you!”
Muriel made one last feeble protest: “But I don’t want to leave you alone in this gloomy old house.”
Aunt Hester smiled a secret smile. “I have a feeling that somebody down at the Athletic Club is sitting by his telephone, waiting for an invitation to dinner. You run along, honey. I won’t be lonely. Not ever again.”
CONTACT POINT
To the three survivors of Spaceship Arcturus there was suddenly a point of no going on and no going back. Which left only one course—that of exit. And. sometimes it depends on how you make that exit.
BEYOND the ports there was darkness and loneliness and a million swarming stars. Earth had grown to a bright blue crescent, the size of the moon seen from the ground, the size of the sun-disk that blazed through the darkened starboard ports. The ship was a humming metal shell falling toward the planet which sent her forth, a meteor driving through a night of immensities. There were only three men left, and the huge solitude was heavy on them.
They were crowded into the forward compartment—the pilot, Kurt Keeler, at the controls; the navigator, Duncan Carr, bent over his instruments and plotting board; the biologist, Edward Brian, working over a microscope at his table. Kurt’s voice was the only human sound in the thrumming cabin—bored and monotonous, droning into the radio microphone before him.
“Spaceship Arcturus calling Spaceport Chicago. Spaceship Arcturus calling Spaceport Chicago. Spaceship . . .”
Brian picked up a couple of test tubes and went out, closing the control room hatch behind him. Kurt’s monotone went on: “. . . approximate distance, eight hundred and forty thousand miles out. Estimated time of arrival, thirty-two hours. Over.”
He sat listening for a moment, but the loudspeaker remained silent. His right fist clinched irritably; all their nerves were rubbed raw by the long journey and the death that lay behind them and the death that stirred within them. For another instant he sat motionless, a tall rangy man of thirty-eight, lean faced and cold-eyed. Then he swung suddenly around in his chair and his hard voice broke the stillness: “Damn it, Dune, I told you your figures were off. You haven’t been worth a damn since we left Alpha Centauri. Ten to one we don’t hit radio contact point before 0500.”
The navigator’s slender figure stiffened in its drab overalls, and his lips parted in the boyish face as if to form words. He closed his mouth again, tightly, as Brian came in with a hypodermic needle.
“Time for your shots, boys,” said the biologist.
Wordlessly, the other two rolled up their sleeves. He swabbed their arms with alcohol and thrust the needle into Duncan’s skin.
“Anything new, Doc?” asked Kurt.
“Yes,” said Brian. He took the needle from Duncan’s arm and prepared to stick the pilot. “Yes, there is.”
“Ouch!” said Kurt. “Why don’t you sharpen that thing?” He rubbed his arm and looked up. His face had not changed its taut expressionlessness, and his voice remained flat as he asked, “What’s the story?”
Brian walked over to the microscope and adjusted it. “There she is, Kurt,” he said, motioning them over. “I know its refractive index and its biaxial interference fringe . . . and that’s about all.”
“Yeah,” grunted Kurt, “but what is it?”
There was a hint of a twinkle in Brian’s eyes. “A rectangular parallelepiped bounded by pinacoidal faces. Optically anisotropic.”
“Oh, yeah,” muttered Kurt. “Sure. Of course!” His tones roughened a little. “Okay, Doc, climb off it. So we picked up some dust in the Alpha Centauri system and we aren’t feeling so good. Why make big words out of green dirt?”
Brian was suddenly serious. “Because big words is all I can make out of it. It’s a strange sort of radioactive life, a crystalline virus that attacks any organic tissue it comes in contact with. And there doesn’t seem to be any stopping it once it gets going. It’s not good.” He went out again, shaking his head, before they could ask him any more questions.
“Doc has his wind up again,” said Kurt with a shadowy smile. He looked into the microscope and sang in a lugubrious voice:
“Oh, the dust blows in
And the dust blows out . . .”
Duncan shoved him aside and stared down the barrel of the microscope.
“What’s your rush, Dune?” asked Kurt softly. “It won’t run away. Even if it did, there’s lots more where that came from. The ship’s full of it.” He walked over to the wall, ran his finger along the molding, and came back holding it erect. It was green with the dust. “Here, want some?”
Duncan pushed his hand away and looked up from the instrument. His face was haggard. “So that’s what it looks like.”
Kurt grinned at him, without much humor. “Purty, ain’t it? Buck up, kid. You ain’t a man until you’ve had it once.” He laughed and seated himself before the controls again, cocking his feet up on the panel. He began to sing, tunelessly.
“Oh, I left my girl at the spaceport,
Left her at the spaceport gate;
Said, ‘I hate to leave you, honey,
But the Lunar Queen won’t wait.’
I’m outward bound,
But I’ll soon be back.
Now when I blast off from Denver
With all of my jets flaring red,
I’ll set my course for the rising moon
That floats out there cold and dead.
I’m outward bound,
But I’ll soon be back . . .”
Duncan had returned to his computations. He lifted his voice now, snappishly: “Pipe down, will you? I’ve got work to do.”
“What’s the matter, kid?” grinned Kurt. “With a voice like mine, you’re lucky you don’t have to pay admission.” His voice rose to a harsh bellow.
“OOOOOOOH, I ain’t going to hold her to three G’s,
I ain’t going to hold her to four, I’m going to make this flight faster
Than she’s ever been made before.
I’m outward bound . . .”
Duncan yelled this time. “Shut up!”
“Aw, relax,” said Kurt. “You’ve been so jumpy lately there’s no living with you.”
“That’s a good one,” snapped the navigator. “You mean dying with me, don’t you?”
“Take it easy,” said Kurt. “Relax before you blow a jet. Doc’s taking care of us.”
“Sure he’s taking care of us.” The tone was ragged. “Just like he took care of Ames and Livingston. Dr. Brian’s Universal Panacea. A shot in the arm every three hours cures everything. With the Court’s permission, I hereby submit as Exhibit A, three satisfied corpses.”
“Two, Dune,” said Kurt. “Shirey wasn’t sick and you know it.”
“I suppose he threw himself out through the airlock because he had claustrophobia? He knew he was going to die . . . just like we’re all going to die.” The young man’s voice climbed toward a scream. “If we had any guts we’d blow the ship up and get it over with instead of sitting around waiting for that green virus to claw the life out of “Climb off it, Dune,” said Kurt. “Climb off it.” He got up from the controls and went over to the navigator and slapped him on the back. “Look, kid, forget all that. Doc will get us through. We’re almost home.” He skinned his teeth in a grin. “Once I get this starwagon in for a landing we’ll be sitting on top of the world. Think of it, Dune! The first men to make the big jump!” He shrugged. “Sure we lost three guys. They knew the chance they were taking when they signed on. What matters is that we got there and some of us are getting back to talk about it.”
“We got there,” said Duncan dully. “Yeah! And we got something to tell them. About Ames standing out on the green desert with the dust swirling around him and us goggling down at him through the port. And Doc yelling, ‘Crack open the champagne’ when the kid came clumping back into the s
hip with the dust all over his suit. ‘A toast to the first man to set foot on a planet of another star!’ He raised an imaginary glass and dashed it to the floor in a hysterical gesture. “And all the time . . .” His voice cracked. “All the time the dust was spreading through the ship and working its way down into our lungs and . . .”
Kurt grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. “Stop it!” he barked.
“. . . and eating away at our insides with sharp little teeth!”
Kurt gripped him by the front of his tunic and slapped his face, back and forth. The sharp cracks seemed to fill the cabin. “Damn it, I told you to stop. One more whimper and you’re going to get my fist instead of the back of my hand. Doc’s keeping us alive, isn’t he? You don’t hear him crying about what might happen, do you? He’ll fix us up if you give him half a chance. Now sit down at that plotting board and give me a corrected course!”
Duncan drew a shaky breath and was silent.
Kurt went back to the controls and sat down, easing himself into the pilot’s chair like a big cat. “I’ve got a blonde waiting for me Earthside,” he said cheerfully, “and the sooner I can get this mechanized sky-rocket in for a landing, the sooner I can start putting some of my theories into practice.”
Duncan returned to his plotting board. His fingers still trembled as he picked up his slide rule. After a moment he looked up. Kurt, bent over his own instruments, didn’t see his shamefaced air.
“Kurt.” It was almost a whisper.
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to let myself go like that. It was just that I got to thinking about Ames and Livingston—and Shirey—and—”
“Forget it, kid. Anyone’s apt to go off half-cocked once in a while. Hell, I remember once back in ’84, just after the Venusians atomicked New York. I was flying patrol in an old Tri-Jet Cyclone, cruising along easy-like, minding my own business, when all of a sudden down out of the sun came—”
“Well?” Duncan’s tone brought Kurt around sharply. Brian had come back in.
The pilot studied the biologist with a narrowing gaze. His grey hair was rumpled, and there was a terrible quiet desperation in his eyes.
“Come here, Duncan.” Brian’s voice was very soft. “You too, Kurt.”
They came over to his worktable. His eyes held theirs. “Boys,” he said slowly, “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you.”
Duncan’s breath rattled in his throat. “The dust?”
Brian nodded and gestured toward the microscope. “Those little specks have a structure like nothing I’ve ever seen, but they’re alive—alive with an eager life that keeps growing and spreading. I’ve tried everything and I can’t stop them. The crystals keep growing and dividing, and then growing again. It doesn’t make sense, Dune.” He shook his head as if in puzzled bewilderment. “It just doesn’t make sense.”
Kurt grinned lopsidedly. “What we need is a large family size bottle of Listerine,” he said. “Want me to run down to the comer and get one, Doc?”
“It isn’t funny, Kurt,” said Brian. “I can take care of the radioactivity. The shots I’ve been giving you do that.” He sighed, “If I had realized what was up sooner, I might have been able to save Ames and Livingston. Perhaps it’s just as well that they went when they did.”
“What do you mean, ‘just as well’ ?” asked Duncan slowly.
“I think maybe he means that he can keep us alive for a while but he can’t cure us,” said Kurt. “Right, Doc?”
“I’m afraid that that’s about it,” said Brian. “When the green dust hit our lungs each tiny crystal began to grow and radiate. Blocking off radiation seems to slow down the growth. It will be a long time yet before they grow big enough to get really hungry.”
“How long?” asked Kurt. “Maybe fifteen years, maybe twenty.”
“That calls for a drink.” Kurt went over to the wall cabinet, took out a bottle, gulped twice, and came back.
“There’s an answer for it somewhere, but answers take time,” said Brian. “Sometimes too much time. We’ve got twenty years. To get inside this thing far enough to find out what makes it tick would take equipment that is still generations in the future. I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure.”
“So you knew it all along and never told us,” said Kurt slowly. “Just let us go on week after week thinking you were going to be able to do something. You shouldn’t have done that, Doc. Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Would it have helped any?” asked Brian. “Haven’t the last months been bad enough?”
“You’ve got to do something for us,” whispered Duncan. “I can’t take it, Doc. It isn’t death I’m afraid of—it’s waiting year after year, knowing that damned virus is rotting away the insides of me—” He looked around wildly. “Maybe Shirey had the right idea. He knew what was ahead of him and did something about it.”
“Shut up before I slug you!” said Kurt brutally. He started toward Duncan.
Brian motioned him away and placed his hand gently on the navigator’s shoulder. “Listen, son . . .” Duncan shook him off. “You can’t know for sure,” he cried.
“You’re only one man. Once we get to Earth they’ll be able to do something. They won’t let us die. They can’t. Not after what we’ve done for them.”
Brian tried again. “Duncan, don’t let yourself go like this.” He placed one hand on the boy’s arm. “Go aft and lie down for a while. We’re all tired and—”
Duncan slapped down his hand. “Leave me alone, can’t you? I can’t sleep. How do you expect me to sleep when I have a torch inside me slowly burning and searing the life out of me? And the glow of it coming through my skin so my face looks like a paper skull with a lantern inside.” He turned to Kurt. “You know what it’s like to undress in the dark and see that hellish light coming from your skin! Standing in front of the mirror watching yourself shine like a rotten mackerel! You know, don’t you?” He was almost screaming now. “Don’t you?” He broke into a sob. “Look at us!”
He jumped over to the interior light switch and flicked it off. In the sudden darkness the stars loomed enormously, crowding against the ports. And the faces and hands of the three men were limned in blue phosphorescence.
“. . . shining like stinking mackerel!”
“Duncan!” cried Brian sharply.
Kurt stepped over to the boy, spun him around, and knocked him to the floor with a short brutal left to the jaw. Then he switched on the lights, pressing back the sardonic stars, and stood rubbing his knuckles.
Brian gave him an indignant look. Wordlessly the biologist helped the navigator to his feet and led him out of the control room. Kurt looked after him, shrugged, and seated himself back at the pilot board. He fiddled with minor adjustments and began to sing softly to himself.
“Now when I blast off from Denver . . .”
THERE will be no more of that,” said Brian sternly as he came back into the control room.
“Okay,” said Kurt, without looking up from the controls. “He had it coming though.”
There was a long silence broken only by the thrum of the hyperdrive. Then finally the pilot turned around and asked, “You said twenty years?”
“What?” Brian looked up from his work. “Something like that.”
“How many years before it would really start to bother a guy?” went on Kurt.
“I’d guess at fifteen.” Brian turned back to his work.
“Hell, that’s not too bad,” said Kurt. “I’m thirty-eight now. Fifteen more will boost me to—fifty-three.” He smiled wryly. “No offense meant, Doc, but I can’t see hanging around until I’m as old as you are. What good’s a woman to a guy sixty?” He added quickly: “Yeah, I know you’ve got your microscope, but in my racket a guy needs what I’ve got now, and what I’ve got now I won’t have fifteen years from now. Me, I’ve got no kick coming. Most of the guys I started out with are pushing up daisies now.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Funny thing, the kid
back there. On the way out and during landing he was as solid a character as you could ask for. But ever since Ames and Livingston went west, he’s been falling apart at the seams. I’ll bet he’s tossing around on his bunk right now trying to work up enough guts to knock himself off.”
Brian looked up, alarmed. “You don’t think he would?”
“Relax, Doc,” said Kurt as the biologist started for the door. “I’ve seen kids like him go psycho before. It takes them a week to work themselves up to the point where they can really face the idea. When they do they usually leave enough farewell notes scattered around so that their friends will be sure and reach them in time.”
“I don’t know,” said Brian uneasily.
“Forget it,” said Kurt. Then slowly: “You know, I never could understand people like Dune and Shirey. Shirey blows his top and goes off the deep end before he’s really sick at all, just because the other two went out in a nasty way. And there’s Dune with fifteen or twenty sure years ahead of him, getting his wind up so that there’s no telling what he might pull next.” He added cheerfully, “Complicated organic structure or not, once Science Center gets to work on the dust, they’ll pop up with an answer in no time. And if they don’t, I’ve still got fifteen years. After that—” He shrugged.
“Kurt,” said Brian quietly, “I know you’re tough enough to take this so I’m not going to sugar-coat the pill. We can’t go back to Earth.”
The pilot rose slowly to his feet. “I guess I ain’t hearing so good these days,” he said. “Would you mind saying that again?”
“I said, ‘We can’t go back to Earth.’ ”
“And who’s going to stop us?”
“Nobody,” said Brian, “. . . and everybody.”
“Look Doc,” said Kurt, “would you mind going back to the beginning and starting all over?”
“It should be obvious, Kurt,” said Brian. He checked off on his fingers. “Ames, Livingston, Shirey, Duncan, you—” He laughed sadly and looked down at his hands. “—and even the great doctor. Do you think it would stop with us?” Kurt shrugged again.
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