Anchorite

by Randall Garrett

to learn the ancient art of diplomacyout here if we're going to survive, George.

  "The crowning glory came this afternoon. You should have been there."

  "I was up to here in work, Larry. I just couldn't take the time off toattend a club luncheon. Did the great man give his speech?"

  "Did he? I should hope to crack my helmet he did! We must all pulltogether, George, did you know that? We must care for the widow and theorphan--and the needy, George, the needy. We must be sure to provide thefools, the idiots, the malingerers, the moral degenerates, and suchuseful, lovable beings as that with the necessities and the luxuries oflife. We must see to it that they are respected and permitted to havetheir dignity. We must see to it that the dear little things arepermitted the rights of a human being to hold his head up and spit inyour eye if he wishes. We must see to it that they be fruitful,multiply, and replenish the Earth."

  "They've already done that," Alhamid said caustically. "And they canhave it. Let's just see that they don't replenish the Belt. So whathappened?"

  "Why, George, you'll never realize how much we appreciated that speech.We gave him a three-minute rising ovation. I think he was surprised tosee that we could stand for three minutes under a one-gee pull in thecentrifuge. And you should have seen the smiles on our faces, George."

  "I hope nobody broke out laughing."

  "We managed to restrain ourselves," the governor said.

  "What's next on the agenda?"

  "Well, it'll be tricky, but I think I can pull it off. I'm going to takehim around and show him that we _do_ take care of the widow and theorphan, and hope that he assumes we are as solicitous toward the rest ofhis motley crew. Wish me luck."

  "Good luck. You may need it."

  "Same to you. Take care of Danley."

  "Don't worry. He's in good hands. See you, Larry."

  "Right."

  * * * * *

  There were three space-suited men on the bleak rocky ground near thenorth pole of Pallas, a training area of several square miles known asthe North Forty. Their helmets gleamed in the bright, hard light from asun that looked uncomfortably small to an Earthman's eyes. Two of themen were standing, facing each other some fifteen feet apart. The third,attached to them by safety lines, was hanging face down above thesurface, rising slowly, like a balloon that has almost more weight thanit can lift.

  "No, no, _no_, Mr. Danley! You are not _crawling_, Mr. Danley, you areclimbing! Do you understand that? _Climbing!_ You have to _climb_ anasteroid, just as you would climb a cliff on Earth. You have to hold onevery second of the time, or you will fall off!" St. Simon's voicesounded harsh in Danley's earphones, and he felt irritatingly helplesspoised floatingly above the ground that way.

  His instructors were well anchored by metal eyes set into the rockysurface for just that purpose. Although Pallas was mostly nickel-iron,this end of it was stony, which was why it had been selected as atraining ground.

  "_Well?_" snapped St. Simon. "What do you do now? If this were a smallrock, you'd be drifting a long ways away by now. Think, Mr. Danley,_think_."

  "Then shut up and let me think!" Danley snarled.

  "If small things distract you from thinking about the vital necessity ofsaving your own life, Mr. Danley, you would not live long in the Belt."

  Danley reached out an arm to see if he could touch the ground. When hehad pushed himself upwards with a thrust of his knee, he hadn't givenhimself too hard a shove. He had reached the apex of his slow flight,and was drifting downward again. He grasped a jutting rock and pulledhimself back to the surface.

  "Very good, Mr. Danley--but that wouldn't work on a small rock. You tooktoo long. What would you have done on a rock with a millionth of a geeof pull?"

  Danley was silent.

  "_Well?_" St. Simon barked. "_What would you do?_"

  "I ... I don't know," Danley admitted.

  "Ye gods and little fishhooks!" This was Kerry Brand's voice. It wassupposed to be St. Simon's turn to give the verbal instructions, butBrand allowed himself an occasional remark when it was appropriate.

  St. Simon's voice was bitingly sweet. "What do you think those safetylines are for, Mr. Danley? Do you think they are for decorativepurposes?"

  "Well ... I thought I was supposed to think of some other way. I mean,that's so obvious--"

  "Mr. Danley," St. Simon said with sudden patience, "we are not here togive you riddles to solve. We're here to teach you how to stay alive inthe Belt. And one of the first rules you must learn is that you will_never_ leave your boat without a safety line. _Never!_

  "An anchor man, Mr. Danley, is called that for more than one reason. Youcannot anchor your boat to a rock unless there is an eye-bolt set in it.And if it already has an eye-bolt, you would have no purpose on thatrock. In a way, _you_ will be the anchor of your boat, since you will betied to it by your safety line. If the boat drifts too far from yourrock while you are working, it will pull you off the surface, since ithas more mass than you do. That shouldn't be allowed to happen, but, ifit does, you are still with your boat, rather than deserted on a rockfor the rest of your life--which wouldn't be very long. When the powerunit in your suit ran out of energy, it would stop breaking your exhaledcarbon dioxide down into carbon and oxygen, and you would suffocate.Even with emergency tanks of oxygen, you would soon find yourselffreezing to death. That sun up there isn't very warm, Mr. Danley."

  Peter Danley was silent, but it was an effort to remain so. He wanted toremind St. Simon that he, Danley, had been a spaceman for nearly fifteenyears. But he was also aware that he was learning things that weren'ttaught at Earthside schools. Most of his professional life had beenspent aboard big, comfortable ships that made the short Earth-Luna hop.He could probably count the total hours he had spent in a spacesuit onthe fingers of his two hands.

  "All right, Mr. Danley; let's begin again. Climb along the surface. Usetoeholds, handholds, and fingerholds. Feel your way along. Find thoselittle crevices that will give you a grip. It doesn't take much. You'rea lot better off than a mountain climber on Earth because you don't haveto fight your weight. You have only your mass to worry about. That's it.Fine. Very good, Mr. Danley."

  * * * * *

  And, later:

  "Now, Mr. Danley," said Captain Brand, "you are at the end of yourtether, so to speak."

  The three men were in a space boat, several hundred miles from Pallas.Or, rather, two of them were in the boat, standing at the open door.Peter Danley was far out from it, at the end of his safety line.

  "How far are you from us, Mr. Danley?" Brand asked.

  "Three hundred meters, Captain Brand," Danley said promptly.

  "Very good. How do you know?"

  "I am at the end of my safety line, which is three hundred meters longwhen fully extended."

  "Your memory is excellent, Mr. Danley. Now, how will you get back to theboat?"

  "Pull myself hand over hand along the line."

  "Think, Mr. Danley! _Think!_"

  "Uh. Oh. Well, I wouldn't keep pulling. I'd just give myself a tug andthen coast in, taking up the line slowly as I went."

  "Excellent! What would happen if you, as you put it, pulled yourself inhand over hand, as if you were climbing a rope on Earth?"

  "I would accelerate too much," Danley said. "I'd gain too much momentumand probably bash my brains out against the boat. And I'd have no way tostop myself."

  "Bully for you, Mr. Danley! Now see if you can put into action thatwhich you have so succinctly put into words. Come back to the boat.Gently the first time. We'll have plenty of practice, so that you canget the feel of the muscle pull that will give you a maximum of velocitywith a minimum of impact at this end. Gently, now."

  * * * * *

  Still later:

  "Judgment, Mr. Danley!" St. Simon cautioned. "You have to use judgment!A space boat is not an automobile. There is no friction out here to slowit to a stop. Your accelerator is just e
xactly that--an accelerator.Taking your foot off it won't slow you down a bit; you've got to useyour reverse."

  Peter Danley was at the controls of the boat. There were tiny beads ofperspiration on his forehead. Over a kilometer away was a good-sizedhunk of rock; his instructors wouldn't let him get any closer. Theywanted to be sure that they could take over before the boat struck therock, just in case Danley should freeze to the accelerator a little toolong.

  He wasn't used to this sort of thing. He was used to a tapedacceleration-deceleration program which lifted a big ship, aimed it, andwent through the