by Dave Dryfoos
To snap himself out of it he made Al stay behind, and rode the tri-cycle to the blast-off ring alone. The boom was rigged, by then, and he started to climb it, but a gantry man insisted by helmet radio on hoisting him to the level of the air lock that had been clamped to the ship’s hull.
When he spoke to the boy, his words were carried electronically still, though only a couple of hatches now separated them.
“It’s Dad, Twoie,” he said. “Stand by to receive me.”
“Sure, Dad.” He sounded as if Dad were a fellow you stood by to receive every day, as he trudged up from the basement, perhaps, after leaving some five-fifteen pneumocar.
The air lock was small, but pumping it up took time—interminable time, Ray thought. He found himself shaking, cramped. Several times Twoie tried to talk to him, but Ray could only grunt in reply.
It was just as well. The boy had a lot of instructions for the ground crew. Routine instructions, of course—they could have been recited by the ground chief if Twoie’d missed a cue—but the point, Ray decided, was that Twoie made them sound as routine as they were. As if he’d had practice—though you don’t practice Moonlandings—you just do them.
Ray found himself taking unexpected pleasure in the fact Twoie had done his so well. But then, he decided, men take perverse pleasure in all kinds of things.
He tried to seem agile when crawling through the inner manhole at the green light’s flash. But he stood up in the cramped cockpit panting and sweating. The boy’s lips were moving, but Ray had already shut off his radio and was awkwardly reaching around for his helmet’s right rear thumbscrew. He didn’t want a radio audience.
* * * *
Twoie thought of that, too—turned off his throat mike before helping his father out of the helmet.
“Hi, Dad,” he said. He had his mother’s eyes—blue and misty. Ray remembered that mist—it had always been there when she’d watched him blast off.
“You’re tall!” he said.
“Yeah—” He’d made Twoie self-conscious. “I guess you figured on a little Ray Fincek, and I’m not so little, any more. Still…they say I look like you—”
Like him? This arrow-straight athlete? Nuts! But no wonder he’d attracted a beautiful girl—
“How’s your wife? How’s Janet?”
“Fine! Sends her love. I’ve got some pictures of her in my wallet, here.” He turned to a drawer for the wallet. Over a broad shoulder he said, “She made you a cake and a muffler, Dad. This package, here. You can take it with you—”
“Take it? You mean you’re leaving right away?”
“It’s not that I want to—but I was delayed by a big sunspot storm that sent a lot of radiation around. They made me wait, and the Moon is moving the wrong way, now—”
So every minute they spent talking, deflected the ship’s launching point. Stall long enough, and the boy couldn’t go at all—
“Where are you headed?”
“Adonis. Want to check my charts?”
“No. The CAA has experts. I’m no Ph. D., Twoie. I’m janitor here—”
“Well…naturally your Martians do only the simplest kind of work—”
“Yeah. But this is a government job. You do the work of a head janitor, and some stupid Wage and Salary Analyst insists you get the pay of a head janitor.”
“I…I know how much I owe you, Dad—”
“You owe me nothing!” Strain made Ray’s tone explosive. “That isn’t what I meant. I want you to have the best. The best of everything. But being a space-pilot isn’t the best of anything. You’ve got to go back. I don’t want you to go on. I won’t give my consent to your going on!”
There! It was out. Not the fatherly, affectionate tone he’d hoped to achieve, but at least the cards were on the table.
Twoie trumped—and almost took the trick: “Don’t you think I’m good enough, Dad?”
Ray reached with both hands for his son’s shoulders—but felt him through only one glove. “Of course you’re good enough! Too good! You’ve got a career ahead in some terrestrial observatory. You’ve got a wife—can raise a family. If you don’t get yourself sterilized by radiation, up here—”
Twoie looked away, and Ray dropped his hand resignedly. He glanced around the cockpit. Some of the gadgets were strange to him. In this crowded place, where he couldn’t even take off his suit unless Twoie first lay down in the bunk—in this cage, this coffin—were gadgets he didn’t even recognize. Only five years since he’d piloted—and already his blood-won knowledge was getting obsolete!
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“I… I don’t know what to say. The last thing in the world that I want is to make you sore at me—but, look! Taking this flight even this far without your consent is illegal. I talked them into it because you were here. I mean, it isn’t only that I have to turn back, if you don’t consent—but all the people who let me take up the ship will lose their jobs. Mostly they’re old friends of yours. They thought you’d be proud—”
“I am proud, boy—believe me! But—”
“But why refuse a signature, then? It’s just a formality.”
“A death sentence is always just a formality—until it’s carried out!”
“Death sentence? But you’re alive! Alive and admired and written up in all the textbooks!”
“Yeah—but my son still argues with me. You may never have a son, if you go on flying. I’m sterile, now, they say.”
“But, they know more about shielding, nowadays. New alloys—” It was a relief when the annunciator flashed.
Twoie plugged in a headset. “Tower calling,” he reported, holding the receiver to his ear. “Microgram for Ray Fincek.”
“Put my helmet on me,” Ray ordered. “Time enough for you to say I’m coming when I’m in the air lock.”
* * * *
He left his radio off so he could think, and it was only when he was going back to the tower that Ray realized they could have read him the message, and saved the time it took to pass the lock. Time—while the Moon jogged its course, moving his son’s starting-point, requiring the use of additional fuel—if Twoie went on, that is. Well, of course that was nothing to worry about—
He read the message at the plotting-table, with the three dispatchers ostentatiously busy in corners. Then he realized there were two Ray Finceks in the world.
DARLING
IN SIX MONTHS YOU’LL BE THE PROUD PAPA OF A SEVEN-POUND BOY.
KISSES
JANET
The dispatchers knew of it, of course, for all their polite pretenses. He felt their eyes on him, felt their hands itching to pummel his back.
He felt neither embarrassment nor pride—only relief. This was the out, the face-saver, the lifesaver. Now Twoie would have to go back.
He switched on his helmet radio.
“Twoie may change his plans, Al,” he said. “I’ll go out and see him.”
“I…uh…I wouldn’t, Ray.” Al said. “We’re sure happy for you both. But two more trips through the air lock will take too long—he’s behind his flight plan already. I’ll give you a private frequency to talk to him, though—Boy, what a send-off!”
Al’s helmet was filled with grin, Ray noted. But he wasn’t standing for any change in plans, just the same—And what the chief dispatcher wouldn’t stand for, wouldn’t happen.
But Ray had a card in his own hand. “You’re the Dispatcher,” he grunted, “but I’m the Consenter. Find me that wave-length, will you?”
Al laughed. “Whatever you say, Grandpa. I’ll call the boy, first. To give him the channel.”
Twoie was waiting when Al twisted the dial on Ray’s suit and nodded his signal.
“Everything’s fine,” Ray told his son. “But sit down. I want to read you something.”
He read. Deafeningl
y, Twoie howled his joy. Ray cut him off.
“Listen, this ties right up with what I’ve been saying. Now you can’t go!”
“Of course I can! Now I’ve got something—someone new to do well for. You went, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. And they don’t allow children on the Moon, so today’s the first day I ever saw you face to face.”
“I know, Dad. And I didn’t handle it well, did I? But don’t you see, I want to go out there so much I’ve practically got to do it. Janet knows that—”
“Oh?”
“Look, Dad. I’m all set. The tower called while you went after the message and gave me final clearance. I’ll see you on my return trip. I’ll stay longer—”
“How can you go and let your wife stay behind and have your son all alone?”
“How else do women have children?” Twoie was laughing at him! “I’m glad to be out of the way—babies are something I just can’t bear!”
“It’ll be more than a few months, what with quarantine and all. You may not see the kid for years!”
“They’ve cut down the quarantine period, Dad. The things you found out have made it easier for the rest of us.”
“Never mind the apple-polishing,” Ray said. “Tm still bound and determined not to give my consent.”
“Listen! My name is also Ray Fincek. And I’m bound and determined to go!”
“At the price of not seeing your wife and boy for a long time?”
Silence. Then, “That’ll be O.K., Dad. Just so my boy wants to pilot, too. Just so he wants to be like his Grandpa—”
The air went dead again, till Twoie asked, “Still there, Dad?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” Ray answered heavily. “And I guess I’ll still be here when you get back. Good luck, Twoie. I’ll watch your blast-off.” But when the time came, he couldn’t see a thing. His eyes were watering.
MAN
We used to think ours was the only world, till the man taught us by the shortness of his visit that there must be other. But of course ours is the best world.
Where else could there exist brings like ourselves, knowing only pure thought and simple joy? We need merely spread our leaves to be bathed in warmth and light. We embrace the air, and dance with zephyrs; hug the earth, and drink its nectar. Our only enemy is fire, a rare and accidental occurrence. The Things scampering among our branches and clinging to our trunks are seldom disturbing, and if they become destructive, we have the means to dispose of them.
Surely no one lives as pleasantly as we do, blooming with the juices of Spring, strengthening in the heat of Summer, transmitting the impulse to life in Fall, and baring our heads every Winter in respect for the Sun that fills our lives with familiar rhythm.
Familiar rhythm. Yes. Nothing ever was strange here till the man came.
He, however, spoke of unfamiliar matters: of Systems and Galaxies; of his home, which he termed a planet like our world; of himself and his life-schedule, which was not rhythmic, but ugly; and of fear, which he mentioned continually—in denial. These concepts were strange to us.
We were equally strange to the man. He called us trees, though admittedly we differed from any trees he had previously experienced. He knew we respond to radiant energy, but did not grasp the extent of our sensitivity. He was totally unaware of the wave lengths affecting us, and could not comprehend our ability to converse by modulating the frequencies we reflect and amplifying them with the electricity of our life processes.
Because he did not know we can speak, he did not realize we are men, since speech is the distinguishing characteristic of men, the trait by which we recognized him.
He was ignorant because his perceptions were so inferior to ours. For instance, certain vibrations in the air seemed unpleasantly meaningful to him in ways he mentioned as sound and odor. And reflected light was not to him the carrier of thought, but the cause of useless reactions called shapes and colors.
He lived imprisoned in a world all his own even when among us. It would be absurd to suppose his foreign origin prejudiced us, but inadequate physical and mental endowment doomed him to inferiority—or would have, had he stayed here.
Because this man was an inferior, there were those among us who wished to dispose of him as soon as his emanations became perceptible. Most of us however, wanted to talk to him first. We who were curious had our way but not without an attack of disagreement—a disease with which the foreigner seemed to have infected us upon his arrival, and to which he was himself peculiarly susceptible.
But this we did not learn till we had deciphered his language.
Decoding was difficult, and required the collaboration of us all—the pooled perceptions and ratiocinations of our thousandfold individual intellects, each with instantaneous access to the rest. The task was possible only because the man had of course to discuss matters familiar to us—the world, new to him in which we live. Certain carefully planned operations, such as the simultaneous disposal of all the Things nesting in our branches, helped us by stimulating him to consider subjects known to us in advance.
Thus we learned his names for the Things, which he called animal life-forms and understood danger, his primary concern. His thought-processes we found more limited than our own, but, as is true of the Things, he was extremely mobile.
Since the Things do not speak at all, he was not quite the lowest being we had experienced, but he spoke only when separated into parts at a distance from one another, not when behaving as a unit. His several parts could rejoin his main body or split off at will, thereby demonstrating that he was an extremely primitive sort of man, since we have long since lost this power of subdivision.
Additional evidence of inferiority lay in the disagreements to which he was subject and with which, as I said, he infected us. We had no way of knowing whether his main body was in a state of conflict within itself, but the subdivisions often argued with that main body when at a distance from it.
The principal area of contention concerned his ignorance of our world. A subdivision would say something like: “Numerous and varied life-forms available here. Request permission to initiate biological collections.”
And the reply would be: “Biologists have repeatedly been directed to confine activities to photography, sound recording, and similar nondestructive research. No specimens may be collected.”
Without quite understanding all that was intended, we were well able to comprehend the finality of this reply. It should have settled the matter, but one of our number nevertheless suffered a disfiguring attack on his trunk. Only after destruction had been prevented by our usual means did we learn our attacker was the man, or part of him.
The news came in the form of a message from a subdivision to the main body. “Anderson killed, apparently by falling limb,” the subdivision said. “Returning.”
This was an exceedingly ignorant remark, since the attack had been prevented, as always, by an electrical discharge. But perhaps ignorance was to have been expected, in view of the apparently limitless divisibility of this man. Not only had he broken apart his main body, but also the segment we had destroyed seemed a mere portion of the subdivision. And even that was not the end.
“Detail driver and jeep only,” the main body told the Anderson segment. “Repetition accident considered unlikely. Do not return.”
There was more, but we changed frequency to consider our own position. One attack on us had already been made. Other attacks were possible, particularly since the man failed to understand how and why we had disposed of the Anderson fragment. Further, it was obvious that nothing of value could be learned from so inferior a being.
A little discussion preceded these conclusions, but this was symptomatic of our man-borne infection which itself proved the conclusions to be correct. We sent out our usual emanations unanimously.
The result was somewhat unexpected. In the first place, con
trary to what experience with Things had led us to expect, all widely separated parts of the man caught fire, though we were merely trying to electrocute him. Then, just at the wrong time, a wind rose and spread the flames among us.
The effect was disastrous. Moat of us were completely consumed. I was lucky to survive even in my present crippled condition.
And the man was not destroyed. His voice seemed enfeebled, but was detectable even when the holocaust was at its height. We paid little attention then, of course, but our survivors tuned in on his frequency in time to hear some reports.
“Primary radio transmitter and receiver destroyed by fire originating from unexplained electrical disturbance of atmospheric origin,” the Anderson portion reported to the main body. “Fire not, repeat not, starred by negligence here. Many crippled life-forms, already dying, now available for collection. Request revocation of prohibition against taking biological specimens.”
“Return to base,” was the answer, “Destruction of equipment necessitates immediate departure. Make no, repeat no, collections. Life-forms here not yet well enough known to justify risks of handling, killing, or dissection. Disappointment of biologists regretted, but we cannot safely destroy what we do not understand.”
Like everything else about the man, this explanation seemed strange. One would almost suspect he sensed his inferiority to us.
But that is quite impossible. Self-satisfaction is as characteristic of man as is language itself.
THE OLD-FASHIONED SPACEMAN
We’d cut our little corner through spacetime with the accuracy that men despair of and only machines can accomplish. Earth lay a hundred years and a million miles behind us, as Earth would figure it; but the two of us aboard our dumbbell-shaped cruiser felt we had been out only three months when Terra-nu loomed up to greet us.
Terra-nu was our destination—an unvisited planet, Greek-lettered because the astro-geographers thought it would resemble Earth. We’d come to check their guess, and from a fifty-thousand-foot altitude it seemed a good one.
At least the upper levels of Terra-nu’s atmosphere tested like Earth’s. Its level-looking surface appeared to be covered with the blue-green of vegetation, except where masked by pink-lined tufts of morning mist; and occasional silver glints highlighted the probability of open water. Everything looked as the astro-geographers had anticipated—terrestrial in style, habitable by terrestrial life.