III
Spaceman
Most crewmen lived rough, ugly lives--and usually, short ones.Passengers and officers on the big tubs were given the equivalent ofgravity in spinning compartments, but the crews rode "free". The luckycrewmen lived through their accidents, got space-stomach now and then,and recovered. Nobody cared about the others.
Feldman's ticket was work-stamped for the _Navaho_, and nobodyquestioned his identity. He suffered through the agony of accelerationon the shuttle up to the orbital station, then was sick as accelerationstopped. But he was able to control himself enough to follow othercrewmen down a hall of the station toward the _Navaho_. The big shipsnever touched a planet, always docking at the stations.
A checker met the crew and reached for their badges. He barely glancedat them, punched a mark for each on his checkoff sheet, and handed themback. "Deckmen forward, tubemen to the rear," he ordered. "_Navaho_blasts in fifteen minutes. Hey, you! You're tubes."
Feldman grunted. He should have expected it. Tubemen had the lowest lotof all the crew. Between the killing work, the heat of the tubes, andoccasional doses of radiation, their lives weren't worth the metal valueof their tickets.
He began pulling himself clumsily along a shaft, dodging freight theloaders were tossing from hand to hand. A bag hit his head, drawingblood, and another caught him in the groin.
"Watch it, bo," a loader yelled at him. "You dent that bag and they'llbrig you. Cantcha see it's got a special courtesy stripe?"
It had a brilliant green stripe, he saw. It also had a name, printed inblock letters that shouted their identity before he could read thewords. _Dr. Christina Ryan, Southport, Mars._
And he'd had to choose this time to leave Earth!
Suddenly he was glad he was assigned to the tubes. It was the one placeon the ship where he'd be least likely to run into her. As a doctor anda courtesy passenger, she'd have complete run of the ship, but she'dhardly bother with the dangerous and unpleasant tube section.
He dragged his way back, beginning to sweat with the effort. The_Navaho_ was an old ship. A lot of the handholds were missing, and hehad to throw himself along by erratic leaps. He was gaining proficiency,but not enough to handle himself if the ship blasted off. Time wasgrowing short when he reached the aft bunkroom where the other tubemenwere waiting.
"Ben," one husky introduced himself. "Tube chief. Know how to workthis?"
Feldman could see that they were assembling a small still. He'd heard ofthe phenomenal quantities of beer spacemen drank, and now he realizedwhat really happened to it. Hard liquor was supposed to be forbidden,but they made their own. "I can work it," he decided. "I'm--uh--Dan."
"Okay, Dan." Ben glanced at the clock. "Hit the sacks, boys."
By the time Feldman could settle into the sacklike hammock, the_Navaho_ began to shake faintly, and weight piled up. It was mildcompared to that on the shuttle, since the big ships couldn't take highacceleration. Space had been conquered for more than a century, but theships were still flimsy tubs that took months to reach Mars, usingimmense amounts of fuel. Only the valuable plant hormones from Mars madecommerce possible at the ridiculously high freight rate.
Three hours later he began to find out why spacemen didn't seem to feardying or turning pariah. The tube quarters had grown insufferably hotduring the long blast, but the main tube-room was blistering as Ben ledthe men into it. The chief handed out spacesuits and motioned for Dan.
"Greenhorn, aincha? Okay, I'll take you with me. We go out in the tubesand pull the lining. I pry up the stuff, you carry it back here andstack it."
They sealed off the tube-room, pumped out the air, and went into thesteaming, mildly radioactive tubes, just big enough for a man on handsand knees. Beyond the tube mouth was empty space, waiting for the manwho slipped. Ben began ripping out the eroded blocks with a specialtool. Feldman carried them back and stacked them along with others. Aplasma furnace melted them down into new blocks. The work grewprogressively worse as the distance to the tube-room increased. The tubemouth yawned closer and closer. There were no handholds there--only thefriction of a man's body in the tube.
Life settled into a dull routine of labor, sleep, and the brief reliefof the crude white mule from the still.
They were six weeks out and almost finished with the tube cleaning whenNumber Two tube blew. Bits of the remaining radioactive fuel must havecollected slowly until they reached blow-point. Feldman in Number Onewould have gone sailing out into space, but Ben reacted at once. As theship leaped slightly, Feldman brought up sharply against the chief'sbraced body. For a second their fate hung in the balance. Then it wasover, and Ben shoved him back, grinning faintly.
He jerked his thumb and touched helmets briefly. "There they go, Dan."
The two men who had been working in Number Two were charred lumps,drifting out into space.
No further comment was made on it, except that they'd have to workharder from now on, since they were shorthanded.
That rest period Feldman came down with a mild attack ofspace-stomach--which meant no more drinking for him--and was off workfor a day. Then the pace picked up. The tubes were cleared and theybegan laying the new lining for the landing blasts. There was no timefor thought after that. Mars' orbital station lay close when the workwas finished.
Ben slapped Feldman on the back. "Ya ain't bad for a greenie, Dan. Weall get six-day passes on Mars. Hit the sack now so you won't waste timesleeping then. We'll hear it when the ship berths."
Feldman didn't hear it, but the others did. He felt Ben shaking hisshoulder, trying to drag him out of the sack. "Grab your junk, Dan."
Ben picked up Feldman's nearly empty bag and tossed it toward him,before his eyes were fully open. He grabbed for it and missed. Hegrabbed again, with Ben's laughter in his ears. The bag hit the wall andfell open, spilling its contents.
Feldman began gathering it up, but the chief was no longer laughing. Abig hand grabbed up the space ticket suddenly, and there was nofriendliness now on Ben's face.
"Art Billing's card!" Ben told the other tubemen. "Five trips I madewith Art. He was saving his money, going to buy a farm on Mars. Fivetrips and one more to go before he had enough. Now you show up with histicket!"
The tubemen moved forward toward Feldman. There was no indecision. Tothem, apparently, trial had been held and sentence passed.
"Wait a minute," Feldman began. "Billings died of--"
A fist snaked past his raised hand and connected with his jaw. Hebounced off a wall. A wrench sailed toward him, glanced off his arm, andripped at his muscles. Another heavy fist struck.
Abruptly, Ben's voice cut through their yells. "Hold it!" He shovedthrough the group, tossing men backwards. "Stow it! We can take care ofhim later. Right now, this is captain's business. You fools want to loseyour leave?" He indicated two of the others. "You two bring himalong--and keep him quiet!"
The two grabbed Feldman's arms and dragged him along as the chief beganpulling his way forward through the tubes up towards the control sectionof the ship. Feldman took a quick glance at their faces and made noeffort to resist; they obviously would have enjoyed any chance to subduehim.
They were stopped twice by minor officers, then sent on. They finallyfound the captain near the exit lock, apparently assisting thepassengers to leave. Most of them went on into the shuttle, but ChrisRyan remained behind as the captain listened to Ben's report andinspected the false ticket.
Finally the captain turned to Feldman. "You. What's your name?"
Chris' eyes were squarely on Feldman, cold and furious. "He _was_ DoctorDaniel Feldman, Captain Marker," she stated.
Feldman stood paralyzed. He'd been unwilling to face Chris. He wanted toavoid all the past. But the idea that she would denounce him had neverentered his head. There was no Medical rule involved. She knew that as apariah he was forbidden to board a passenger ship, of course. But she'dbeen his wife once!
Marker bowed slightly to her. "Thank you, Dr. Ryan. I should take thiscriminal back
to Earth in chains, I suppose. But he's hardly worth thefreightage. You men. Want to take him down to Mars and ground himthere?"
Ben grinned and touched his forelock. "Thank you, sir. We'd enjoy that."
"Good. His pay reverts to the ship's fund. That's all, men."
Feldman started to protest, but a fist lashed savagely against hismouth.
He made no other protests as they dragged him into the crew shuttle thattook off for Southport. He avoided their eyes and sat hunched over. Itwas Ben who finally broke the silence.
"What happened to Art's money? He had a pile on him."
"Go to hell!"
"Give, I said!" Ben twisted his arm back toward his shoulder, applyingincreasing pressure.
"A doctor took it for his fee when Billings died of space-stomach. Damnyou, I couldn't help him!"
Ben looked at the others. "Med Lobby fee, eh? All the market will take.Umm. It could be, maybe." He shrugged. "Okay, reasonable doubt. Wewon't kill you, bo. Not quite, we won't."
The shuttle landed and Ben handed out the little helmets and aspiratorsthat made life possible in Mars' thin air. Outside, the tubemen tookturns holding Feldman and beating him while the passengers disembarkedfrom their shuttle. As he slumped into unconsciousness, he had a pictureof Chris Ryan's frozen face as she moved steadily toward the portstation.
Badge of Infamy Page 3