Alan E. Nourse

by Trouble on Titan

  "It's a lie!" Cortell screamed. "Don't listen to him! He's afraid, he's cornered and he knows it, and he's lying-"

  "Well, who are you going to believe?" Torm cried to the colonists. He pointed an accusing finger at Cortell. "Look at him! And then look at me. Think back, and try to remember the last time I've lied to you in the last thirty years—think! Cortell says I'm afraid—well, look at him, and then look at me, and see who's afraid—and then remember how many times you've seen me afraid—" Torm's eyes were blazing now, and his head was high. "Count the times you've seen me cower and cringe and go white with fear—go ahead, name the times! Name the times you've seen me a coward. Count the lies you've heard from my lips—and then look at the man who accuses me!"

  The faces were turned to John Cortell now, white faces, faces with the truth dawning in them. A hundred faces turned to him, two hundred, and voices began to rise. "Listen!" Torm cried. "I told you he's betrayed you—that he planned to leave in secret with

  Carver and Taggart and Strang and Yeakel, to take your ship and leave you behind. He was all ready to go when we caught him—* He glanced narrowly at the rear of the room, and said, "Well, we can prove it! Look around you! Who is missing from the room right now?"

  Eyes looked around, wide, frightened eyes, eyes filling with sudden suspicion. There was a hush over the room; then a woman let out a gasp and cried, "Their wives! Where are their wives?"

  There was silence, as though a huge curtain had fallen over the room. Then Torm said, "Bring 'em in, Ned. Show the people who we found on board the star-ship!"

  There was a scuffle on the stairs, and then four figures were pushed down the center aisle, figures still clad in pressure suits. The room was still as death as they marched forward—Dan Carver's wife, Johnny Taggart's wife, Rog Strang's wife, John Cortell's wife. They moved forward like people condemned, their hands covering their faces—

  And then, as the crowd rose in fury, Cortell jumped down from the chair with a roar, gun tight in his fist. Slowly he backed toward the stairs, covered on either side by Pete Yeakel and Rog Strang. His face was a mask of fear now, and when he reached the stairs he broke and ran as the mob fell upon his lieutenants. One of the Earth ship's crewmen was up the stairs in a flash, jerking his gun from its holster as he ran. Cortell was heading for the main tunnels; his footfalls rang out on the cold rock ground, until a shot rang out, and he fell, arms flung out, and lay kicking helplessly, blood streaming from his leg. And then the crewmen were around him, keeping back the colonists, waving down the bitter shouts, until stretcher-bearers came from the infirmary, and Doc Taber took over, and Cortell was taken away. And then they turned again, and went back to the hall.

  o o o o e

  It was much later when Ned Miller appeared at the door to Anson Torm's cabin, just as the Colonel and Tuck were finishing supper. He stood in the doorway, awkwardly, rubbing his stubbled chin, twisting his mining cap in his hands. Then finally he stepped inside, nodded uncomfortably at the Earth Colonel.

  "You did a fine job, Ned," Anson Torm said. "The timing was perfect—and I thought you'd find the women aboard the ship, especially when I couldn't spot a one of them in the crowd—"

  Ned nodded uneasily. "Anson," he said, "I've got to say something—"

  Torm looked up. "What is it, Ned?"

  The little miner shifted from one foot to the other. "I've been delegated," he blurted finally. "Some of the men got together, after the meeting was over. They want me to talk for them—" He looked up, his eyes unreadable.

  Torm stood up in alarm. "What's the trouble?" "We want to go," said Ned Miller softly. "We want to take the ship and go—"

  Torm's jaw sagged. "Ned! What are you saying?"

  "We mean it, Anson. The Colonel's given us promises—I know that. But we've heard promises from Earthmen before. Many promises, wonderful promises. And always, in the end, we were worse off than before—"

  "Ned, this is different now!"

  "I know you believe that," the little man said doggedly. "We—we'd like to. But we can't."

  Torm's face was white. "What are you trying to say, Ned?"

  "I'm saying we've worked on the ship for years. I've worked on it, without knowing what I was working on—until today. But I knew it was a hope against hope, something we could count on, something we could build our faith into. There's nothing here for me, not any more, not with my faith built into that ship. And there are a lot of men who feel the same way. They're afraid the Earthman will go aboard his ship tomorrow and take it up, and bomb our star-ship to smithereens. And then where would our hope be? Then what would prevent him from coming back down, and throwing us all into chains—even you? Or if not this Earthman, then the next, or the next after him. It would be the end, the bitter end of four generations of work—"

  Torm sat silent for a long time. Then he said, "What do your men want to do, Ned?"

  "There are a hundred and forty of us—men, women and children. We talked, and we all feel the same. We want to take the ship and go."

  Torm's face was gray. "You know the chances of ever finding a landing—"

  "We know. But it's a hope. We can have faith in it. The star-ship is the only answer, for us. If the others want to stay, take their chances, that's their choice. For us, we want to take the ship while we can."

  Torm looked at him, the weariness of long years written on his face. "I—I can't give you permission, Ned. That's the man who can give you permission, or not, as he sees fit." He looked sadly at Colonel Benedict.

  Ned turned to the Colonel, a desperate light in his eyes. "If you mean the promises you've made to Anson, then prove your faith. Give us permission to go."

  Colonel Benedict stared at the man. "Why, to allow you to take that ship would be to violate every principle of the Earth Security Commission. I'd be liable to a general court-martial. It's unthinkable—" He stood up, a strange light in his eyes. "It would be the biggest scandal Security has had on its hands for a hundred years—Anson, do you realize what it could mean? It would bring a wholesale, total investigation of the whole Earth-Titan relationship!" He stared at the colony leader, excitedly. "It would bring this colony under the spotlight like never before. People could see what's been happening out here; they could see the truth about the colony, instead of the lies they've been hearing! Why, Security would be turned inside out with investigation, and in a court-martial I could tell the truth, and there would be no brushing my report aside—they'd have to listen!"

  "Then you'll let us go?" Ned Miller's voice was eager.

  "Let you? You have my full, official permission— I'll give it to you in writing, with an Earth Security seal!"

  Ned turned to Anson Torm. "We have Security's permission, Anson," he said. "We want our leader's permission."

  Torm sighed. "Make me a listing of passengers," he said. "We'll help you finish supplying the ship and make it ready. And as for us who remain—" He looked proudly at Colonel Benedict. "We've got a fight on our hands. The sooner we make our plans, the better—'"

  Chapter IS " When Two Strong Men—"

  r

  ffi NEXT days were exhausting. The list of the colonists who were leaving on the star-ship was long; the men studied it carefully, and the weariness grew in Anson Torm's eyes as he checked name after name—friends of many years, men and women he had known and loved and fought for. Yet he knew that for them, their decision was the right one. The years of hatred and bitterness had left its mark on the colony, a mark that nothing could erase, a mark so deep that no human decision could now change it. And behind that mark was the knowledge that a hundred years of work and sorrow lay behind their decision.

  The boys pitched in with the rest in the tremendous task of making the ship ready for its final journey. With only a hundred and forty people aboard, the chances for a successful voyage were far greater than they ever could have been with the whole colony. But the boys saw something that their fathers perhaps did not see— they could see the greatness of the
adventure, they could feel the call of the unknown challenge that lay before the ship. They worked in bright-eyed eager-

  ness as they saw the supplies rolling up the ramp, the few personal belongings of the embarking colonists installed in the tiers of small lockers in the huge sleeping quarters of the ship. Here was the call of the stars—one small ship, manned by men who had no place in the land they were leaving. The ship sat still and proud as the work progressed, its silver nose pointed toward the dark sky, and as the boys worked, their excitement grew.

  At dinners, and in the evenings, they could talk of nothing else. The Colonel and Anson Torm watched them, feeling the excitement stir in their own minds, even as they listened. But then, finally, the work was done, and the ship was ready. Torm and the Colonel had agreed to wait until then before settling down to the plans that lay ahead for the colony; there was too much work to be done, too much excitement to talk and think of anything else. But finally the night before the leave-taking arrived, and Torm walked out of the cabin and found Tuck Benedict and David sitting quietly in front of the cabin, watching the yellow rings of Saturn as it rode high in the sky, talking a little, but mostly sitting in silence, watching.

  The old man sat down beside them. They hardly noticed him, so he sat and watched, too. And then, finally, he said, "It's a great adventure. We'll never know if they get to their destination, or when, or how many. We'll never live to know." He raised a finger, pointed to a tiny spot of brightness in the cloud of stars. "Those are the Centauris there—where they're heading. Even they will never know if those to come will get there, or whether they will find anything when they do."

  The boys sat mutely watching, and Anson Torm's eyes were on his son's face as he stared up. There were so many things he wanted to say to his son, so many, many things—and yet he knew that he and David were a million miles apart, that he could never understand the longing that had been in his son since he had first toddled out of the cabin and pointed toward the bright stars, and said, "I want that, Daddy—" He saw David's broad shoulders, the unruly shock of blond hair, the brightness in his eyes. He sat looking at David for a long time. Then he said, "You can go with the ship if you want to, son. If that's where you belong—if you really believe that—I'll not try to stop you—" The old man's voice trembled.

  David turned wide, wondering eyes to his father. "It's what I've always dreamed of—going there—"

  "I know. That's why I'd never stop you."

  Tuck watched the two, his heart suddenly beating wildly. He realized that David had taken the words from his mouth, stated in one short, simple sentence all the excitement and longing and adventure he felt in his own heart. David was silent for a long time. Then he said, "I should be the leader here, after you go— isn't that right, Dad?"

  Anson Torm's eyes were grave. "Torms have been elected to lead the Titan colony for generations, son. Your father, your grandfather, his father before him . . . they've been good leaders."

  "And there's work to be done—here at home. You and the Colonel will be able to make a start—but what about twenty years from now? Who will do the work then?" He looked at the stars again, and then his eyes caught his father's. "We've been talking, Tuck and I," he said softly. "We been thinking about things a good bit lately—the whole history of the Titan colony, and what there is to look forward to here. And Tuck is going back to study, and help his father fight for the colony, back on Earth. Last night the Colonel told me that he had friends who would help me arrange to take admission exams for the Polytechnic Institute, if I wanted to—" He glanced at Tuck, then dropped his eyes. "I'm not going to do it. And I'm not going with the ship. I think I belong here—on Titan. With me here, and Tuck back on Earth—we'll finish what you two have started."

  Anson Torm looked at the boys, first one, then the other, and his voice didn't seem to work right when he tried to speak. "That's your decision—the two of you?"

  "The two of us. That's our decision. Oh, Tuck will come out here when he has a chance. We've got great plans, Dad—we want to see some of Saturn's moons that haven't been mapped yet, maybe even go in to Saturn herself, someday. And Japetus—we'll land there one of these days, Geigers or no Geigers. And I'll go back to Earth to visit, too. But that's just play, in the long run. The real work is here."

  Fo- n long moment Torm sat, staring at the stars, his heart crying things he could never find words to say. And then, finally, he rose and walked back to the cabin. At the door he paused, his face happier than David had seen it in years. "We'll be seeing the ship off in the morning," he said. "Better get some sleep."

  a a & # p

  It was early, with the light just rising above the horizon when the last man walked up the ramp, and turned to wave to the group gathered below, then closed the port behind him, slowly, until it locked with a final clang. The group moved away, walking back from the crevice where the ship stood. Far back there were sandbag barriers to protect the remaining colonists from the blast. The people found their places, and waited in the still Titan morning. There were many tears, and much sadness on many faces. They waited, and it seemed that the minutes that ticked by were an eternity long—and then they heard the rumble, a whining groan which rose to a roar, shaking the ground with its power.

  A billow of powdery white rose around the silver nose of the star-ship, enveloping it in an iridescent cloud, and then slowly and majestically the nose of the ship began to rise through the cloud. The jets bellowed yellow flame, and the roar echoed and reechoed down the gorges and canyons of the planet. The ship rose, higher and higher, faster and faster, like a silver arrow in the sky, leaving its streamer of white behind it. Slowly it turned, slowly it dwindled, and the roar faded away in their ears, and with a last glint of silver the ship shrank to a tiny dot, blinked, and was lost from view.

  The people were silent as they made their way back to the colony, silent with an emptiness that they could neither explain nor express. The boys walked side by side, saying nothing, and a few yards behind them, Colonel Benedict and Anson Torm walked, almost surprised that they needed no words to communicate their feelings. In a few moments they would be seated at a table, an Earthman and a colonist working in trust and confidence for the peace and prosperity, of both Earth and Titan, for the first time in generations. It would be a hard job—they both knew that. A court-martial might ruin the Colonel's career. But if it would bring the truth to the attention of Earth lawmakers, if it would expose the cruelty and tyranny of the Security Commission's policy toward Titan, it would be worth the fight. And both men knew in their hearts that it would succeed.

  As they walked, Colonel Benedict smiled, and pointed ahead to David and Tuck. "Thick as thieves," he said quietly. "I wonder why they could see so much more clearly than we could? Two boys from the ends of the Solar System!"

  "Boys?" said Anson Torm. "I wonder. They were boys a week ago, that's true. But they were talking like men last night." He smiled, his eyes misty. "There was an old Earth ballad my grandfather used to recite to me when I was young." His eyes rested on the boys as they walked along. "Kipling, I think:

  "But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,

  When two strong men stand face to face, though they come from the ends of the earth!"

  The two men glanced at each other, then back to the boys. And the sun shone brightly on the Titan colony.