Well, with one thing and another, it was Tolstoi or Balzac, gin rummy, coffee, tablets, walking, more Tolstoi, more Balzac, more gin rummy, more solitaire. The first day passed, as did the second and the third.
On the fourth day he lay quietly in the shade of a rock, counting to a thousand by fives, then by tens, to keep his mind occupied and awake. His eyes were so tired he had to bathe them frequently in cool water. He couldn’t read, he was bothered with splitting headaches. He was so exhausted he couldn’t move. He was numb with medicine. He resembled a waxen dummy, stuffed with things to preserve him in a state of horrified wakefulness. His eyes were glass, his tongue a rusted pike, his fingers felt as if they were gloved in needles and fur.
He followed the hand of his watch. One second less to wait, he thought. Two seconds, three seconds, four, five, ten, thirty seconds. A whole minute. Now an hour less time to wait. Oh, ship, hurry on thy appointed round!
He began to laugh softly.
What would happen if he just gave up, drifted off to sleep? Sleep, ah, sleep; perchance to dream. All the world a stage . . . What if he gave up the unequal struggle, lapsed down ?
Eeeeeeeee, the high, shrill warning sound of battle metal.
He shivered. His tongue moved in his dry, burry mouth.
Iorr and Tylle would battle out their ancient battle.
Leonard Sale would become quite insane.
And whichever won the battle would take this ruin of an insane man, the shaking, laughing, wild body, and wander it across the face of this world for ten, twenty years, occupying it, striding in it, pompous, holding court, making grand gestures, ordering heads severed, calling on inward unseen dancing girls. Leonard Sale, what remained of him, would be led off to some hidden cave, there to be infested with wars and worms for twenty insane years, occupied and prostituted by old and outlandish thoughts.
When the rescue ship arrived it would find nothing. Sale would be hidden somewhere by a triumphant army in his head. Hidden in some cleft rock, placed there like a nest for Iorr to lie upon in evil occupation.
The thought of it almost broke him in half.
Twenty years of insanity. Twenty years of torture, doing what you don’t want to do. Twenty years of wars raging and being split apart, twenty years of nausea and trembling.
His head sank down between his knees. His eyes snapped and cracked and made soft noises. His eardrum popped tiredly.
Sleep, sleep, sang soft sea voices.
“I’ll—I’ll make a proposition with you. Listen,” thought Leonard Sale. “You, Iorr, you, too, Tylle! Iorr, you, you, too, Tylle! Iorr, you can occupy me on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Tylle, you can take me over on Sundays, Tuesdays, and Saturdays. Thursday is maid’s night out. Okay?”
Eeeeeeeee, sang the sea tides, seething in his brain.
Ohhhhhhhh, sang the distant voices softly, soft.
“What’ll you say, is it a bargain, Iorr, Tylle?”
No, said a voice.
No, said another.
“Greedy, both of you, greedy!” complained Sale. “A pox on both your houses!”
He slept.
~ * ~
He was Iorr, jeweled rings on his hands. He arose beside his rocket and held out his fingers, commanding blind armies. He was Iorr, ancient ruler of jeweled warriors.
He was Tylle, lover of women, killer of dogs!
With some hidden bit of awareness, his hand crept to the holster at his hip. The sleeping hand withdrew the gun there. The hand lifted, the gun pointed.
The armies of Tylle and Iorr gave battle.
The gun exploded.
The bullet tore across Sale’s forehead, wakening him.
He stayed awake for another six hours, getting over his latest siege. He knew it to be hopeless now. He washed and bandaged the wound he had given himself. He wished he had aimed straighter and it was all over. He watched the sky. Two more days. Two more. Come on, ship, come on. He was heavy with sleeplessness.
No use. At the end of six hours he was raving badly. He took the gun up and put it down and took it up again, put it against his head, tightened his hand on the trigger, changed his mind, looked at the sky again.
Night settled. He tried to read, threw the book away. He tore it up and burned it, just to have something to do.
So tired. In another hour, he decided. If nothing happens, I’ll kill myself. This is for certain now. I’ll do it, this time.
He got the gun ready and laid it on the ground next to himself.
He was very calm now, though tired. It would be over and done. He would be dead.
He watched the minute hand of his watch. One minute, five minutes, twenty-five minutes.
The flame appeared on the sky.
It was so unbelievable he started to cry. “A rocket,” he said, standing up. “A rocket!” he cried, rubbing his eyes. He ran forward.
The flame brightened, grew, came down.
He waved frantically, running forward, leaving his gun, his supplies, everything behind. “You see that, Iorr, Tylle! You savages, you monsters, I beat you! I won! They’re coming to rescue me now! I’ve won, damn you.”
He laughed harshly at the rocks and the sky and the backs of his hands.
The rocket landed. Leonard Sale stood swaying, waiting for the door to slide open.
“Good-by, Iorr, good-by, Tylle!” he shouted in triumph, grinning, eyes hot.
Eeeee, sang a diminishing roar in time.
Ahhhhh, voices faded.
The rocket flipped wide its airlock. Two men jumped out.
“Sale?” they called. “We’re Ship ACDN13. Intercepted your SOS and decided to pick you up ourselves. The Marsport ship won’t get through until day after tomorrow. We want a spot of rest ourselves. Thought it’d be good to spend the night here, pick you up, and go on.”
“No,” said Sale, face melting with terror. “No spend night—”
He couldn’t talk. He fell to the ground.
“Quick,” said a voice in the bleary vortex over him. “Give him a shot of food liquid, another of sedative. He needs sustenance and rest.”
“No rest!” screamed Sale.
“Delirious,” said one man softly.
“No sleep!” screamed Sale.
“There, there,” said the man gently. A needle poked into Sale’s arm.
Sale thrashed. “No sleep, go!” he mouthed horribly. “Oh, go!”
“Delirious,” said one man. “Shock.”
“No sedative!” screamed Sale.
The sedative flowed into him.
Eeeeeeee, sang the ancient winds.
Ahhhhhhhh, sang the ancient seas.
“No sedative, no sleep, please, don’t, don’t, don’t!” screamed Sale, trying to get up. “You don’t—understand!”
“Take it easy, old man, you’re safe among us now, nothing to worry about,” said the rescuer above him.
Leonard Sale slept. The two men stood over him.
As they watched, Sale’s features changed violently. He groaned and cried and snarled in his sleep. His face was riven with emotion. It was the face of a saint, a sinner, a fiend, a monster, a darkness, a light, one, many, an army, a vacuum, all, all!
He writhed in his sleep.
Eeeeeeeee! The sound burst from his mouth. Ahhhhhhhh! he screamed.
“What’s wrong with him?” asked one of the two rescuers.
“I don’t know. More sedative?”
“More sedative. Nerves. He needs more sleep.”
They stuck the needle in his arm. Sale writhed and spat and moaned.
Then, suddenly, he was dead.
He lay there, the two men over him. “What a shame,” said one of them. “Can you figure that?”
“Shock. Poor guy. What a pity.” They covered his face. “Did you ever see a face like that?”
“Totally insane.”
“Loneliness. Shock.”
“Yes. Lord, what an expression. I hope never to see a face like that again.”
“What a shame, waiting for us, and we arrive, and he dies anyway.”
They glanced around. “What shall we do? Shall we spend the night?”
“Yes. It’s good to be out of the ship.”
“We’ll bury him first, of course.”
“Naturally.”
“And spend the night in the open, with good air, right? Good to be in the open again. After two weeks in that damned ship.”
“Right. I’ll find a spot for him. You start supper, eh?”
“Done.”
“Should be good sleeping tonight.”
“Fine, fine.”
They made a grave and said a word over it. They drank their evening coffee silently. They smelled the sweet air of the planet and looked at the lovely sky and the bright and beautiful stars.
“What a night,” they said, lying down.
“Pleasant dreams,” said one, rolling over.
And the other replied, “Pleasant dreams.”
They slept.
<
~ * ~
Isaac Asimov
NOT FINAL!
Jupiter—five times as far from the Sun as Earth—ten times Earth’s diameter (over 86,000 miles)—largest of all the solar planets. Unwise to land on it; its gravity, plus the enormous depth and weight of its atmosphere, would make it practically impossible for a spaceship powered by methods now known or imagined by science on Earth to escape from it. Once down, there for good.
Consequently, man will first explore Jupiter’s moons (she has eleven), and Ganymede, which is a little larger than our own Moon, will probably be one of the first to be approached. Like our own Moon, it may turn out to be airless and uninhabited; but as to Jupiter itself, no one dare venture so positive a statement. You will get some uncomfortably eerie ideas about the Jovians from this story, though— and the trouble is, none of us ever will know for sure whether such beings exist and what they are like until they discover us!
~ * ~
Nicholas Orloff inserted a monocle in his left eye with all the incorruptible Briticism of a Russian educated at Oxford and said reproachfully, “But, my dear Mr. Secretary! Half a billion dollars!”
Leo Birnam shrugged his shoulders wearily and allowed his lank body to cramp up still farther in the chair, “The appropriation must go through, commissioner. The Dominion government here at Ganymede is becoming desperate. So far, I’ve been holding them off, but as secretary of scientific affairs, my powers are small.”
“I know, but-” and Orloff spread his hands helplessly. “I suppose so,” agreed Birnam. “The Empire government finds it easier to look the other way. They’ve done it consistently up to now. I’ve tried for a year now to have them understand the nature of the danger that hangs over the entire System, but it seems that it can’t be done. But I’m appealing to you, Mr. Commissioner. You’re new in your post and can approach this Jovian affair with an unjaundiced eye.”
Orloff coughed and eyed the tips of his boots. In the three months since he had succeeded Gridley as colonial commissioner he had tabled unread everything relating to “those damned Jovian D.T.’s.” That had been according to the established cabinet policy which had labeled the Jovian affair as “deadwood” long before he had entered office.
But now that Ganymede was becoming nasty, he found himself sent out to Jovopolis with instructions to hold the “blasted provincials” down. It was a nasty spot.
Birnam was speaking, “The Dominion government has reached the point where it needs the money so badly, in fact, that if they don’t get it, they’re going to publicize everything.”
Orloff’s phlegm broke completely, and he snatched at the monocle as it dropped, “My dear fellow!”
“I know what it would mean. I’ve advised against it, but they’re justified. Once the inside of the Jovian affair is out; once the people know about it; the Empire government won’t stay in power a week. And when the Technocrats come in, they’ll give us whatever we ask. Public opinion will see to that.”
“But you’ll also create a panic and hysteria-”
“Surely! That is why we hesitate. But you might call this an ultimatum. We want secrecy, we need secrecy; but we need money more.”
“I see.” Orloff was thinking rapidly, and the conclusions he came to were not pleasant. “In that case, it would be advisable to investigate the case further. If you have the papers concerning the communications with the planet Jupiter-”
“I have them,” replied Birnam, dryly, “and so has the Empire government at Washington. That won’t do, commissioner. It’s the same cud that’s been chewed by Earth officials for the last year, and it’s gotten us nowhere. I want you to come to Ether Station with me.”
The Ganymedan had risen from his chair, and he glowered down upon Orloff from his six and a half feet of height.
Orloff flushed, “ Are you ordering me?”
“In a way, yes. I tell you there is no time. If you intend acting, you must act quickly or not at all.” Birnam paused, then added, “You don’t mind walking, I hope. Power vehicles aren’t allowed to approach Ether Station, ordinarily, and I can use the walk to explain a few of the facts. It’s only two miles off.”
“I’ll walk,” was the brusque reply.
~ * ~
The trip upward to subground level was made in silence, which was broken by Orloff when they stepped into the dimly lit anteroom.
“It’s chilly here.”
“I know. It’s difficult to keep the temperature up to norm this near the surface. But it will be colder outside. Here!”
Birnam had kicked open a closet door and was indicating the garments suspended from the ceiling. “Put them on. You’ll need them.”
Orloff fingered them doubtfully, “Are they heavy enough?”
Birnam was pouring into his own costume as he spoke. “They’re electrically heated. You’ll find them plenty warm. That’s it! Tuck the trouser legs inside the boots and lace them tight.”
He turned then and, with a grunt, brought out a double compressed-gas cylinder from its rack in one corner of the closet. He glanced at the dial reading; and then turned the stopcock. There was a thin wheeze of escaping gas, at which Birnam sniffed with satisfaction.
“Do you know how to work one of these?” he asked, as he screwed onto the jet a flexible tube of metal mesh, at the other end of which was a curiously curved object of thick, clear glass.
“What is it?”
“Oxygen nosepiece! What there is of Ganymede’s atmosphere is argon and nitrogen, just about half and half. It isn’t particularly breathable.” He heaved the double cylinder into position, and tightened it in its harness on Orloff’s back.
Orloff staggered, “It’s heavy. I can’t walk two miles with this.”
“It won’t be heavy out there,” Birnam nodded carelessly upward and lowered the glass nosepiece over Orloff’s head. “Just remember to breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth, and you won’t have any trouble. By the way, did you eat recently?”
“I lunched before I came to your place.”
Birnam sniffed dubiously, “Well, that’s a little awkward.” He drew a small metal container from one of his pockets and tossed it to the commissioner. “put one of those pills in your mouth and keep sucking on it.”
Orloff worked clumsily with gloved fingers and finally managed to get a brown spheriod out of the tin and into his mouth. He followed Birnam up a gently sloped ramp. The blind-alley ending of the corridor slid aside smoothly when they reached it and there was a faint soughing as air slipped out into the thinner atmosphere of Ganymede.
Birnam caught the other’s elbow, and fairly dragged him out.
“I’ve turned your air tank on full,” he shouted. “Breathe deeply and keep sucking at that pill.”
Gravity had flicked to Ganymedan normality as they crossed the threshold and Orloff after one horrible moment of apparent levitation, felt his stomach turn a somersault and explode.
He gagged, and
fumbled the pill with his tongue in a desperate attempt at self-control. The oxygen-rich mixture from the air cylinders burned his throat, and gradually Ganymede steadied. His stomach shuddered back into place. He tried walking.
“Take it easy, now,” came Birnam’s soothing voice. “It gets you that way the first few times you change gravity fields quickly. Walk slowly and get the rhythm, or you’ll take a tumble. That’s right, you’re getting it “
Possible Worlds of Science Fiction Page 11