When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained;
What is man, that thou art mindful of him? And the son of man, that thou visitest him?
For thou hast made him a little lower than angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honour.
He stopped and much of the pain seemed to have eased from his own eyes. Rob stood up and went slowly to the window, the jerkiness gone from his movements. Evening was falling and lights were beginning to come on in various wings of the hospital. Across the lawn came two nurses in white uniforms and dark capes. At the horizon the sky was suffused with rose, and against the rose began the greenish night flickering of the radioactive wastelands. They were used to it, they took it for granted, but familiarity did not make it cease to be sinister, and it contradicted the comforting colors of the sunset and the words of the psalms. Rob turned from the window, and as he did, Ginnie said, “Your orders came today, didn’t they?”
* * *
Ginnie did not cry when he left the hospital. He felt that he himself was the nearer to tears, so determined was she to be brave and not make it harder for him. He paused for a moment at the nursery, looking down at his baby. Then he set out for home, again taking the long walk. He would be exhausted by morning, but perhaps that was just as well. There would not be a great deal for anyone to do on the trip out; certainly many of the old shipboard mutinies came from the boredom of the voyage and the uncertainty of the sailors to their eventual arrival, and the monotony of this trip through the uncharted seas of space would not be dissimilar to that of the old ships alone in the unknown enormity of ocean.
After the fog, the air had turned cold as well as clear and he walked briskly. He passed by Matt’s church, small and dark, and he knew what the loss of it meant. Officially the state did not believe in God, but it permitted the various religions that had been springing up, in much the same way that, a century and a half before, the Soviet state had winked at the onion-domed churches to which the people continued to flock on Sundays. And there was the same infinite variety of religious belief—no, even greater variety—than there had been back in the mid-war days. Only two blocks after Matt’s austere white building was the imposing stone structure of the Sacred Heart. This was tied up, Matt had explained, with the old pre-war Christianity, but had not much to do with the Jesus who was one of Matt’s favorite teachers. Once a year, though this was definitely frowned on, there was an actual sacrifice in front of the altar, with the bleeding heart extracted from the still warm and twitching victim. Then there was the flourishing sect of the Golden Lamb, and the Society of Warlocks, all colorful, subtly (and sometimes not so subtly) sadistic organizations. Matt’s group, searching, groping, never presuming, called contemptuously the Godders by the more wealthy and highly organized groups, was the only one which had wakened a response in Rob and Ginnie. It was certainly the least successful of the religious groups, perhaps because it demanded the most of its members. No one going to Matt’s church could throw his responsibilities onto the shoulders of bishop or priest; no one was given easy answers, or told that truth was tangible and God immanent and comprehensible. It was not an easy religion, but nothing worth anything, Rob thought, was easy, and wanting religion to be all cozy and comfortable was like trying to get back in the womb again.
Rob stopped suddenly on the quiet night street. The sky that had been sullen with fog now stretched to infinity. If he looked directly upwards he could no longer see the green flickering, only the dark chasm of sky and the pulses of stars and the steady glow of planets. O God, if you are, he begged silently, care for us, be great enough to comprehend the small, do not forget thy sparrows.
* * *
Then there was the journey, cramped in the small dark cabins of the ship, and at least Raleigh’s sailors had had the open deck to walk upon, the sight of ocean stretching out to the horizon on all sides, the stars at night. Was it more fearful to be allowed to see infinity than to have it shut out by cabin walls? Two of the men on the crew panicked to such an extent that they had to be heavily sedated by the ship’s doctor. This was a dark-skinned man, Bill Hayes, who became Rob’s only close friend on the voyage out. He and Rob played chess, read, talked, helped separate two young lieutenants who got into a fistfight and had a hard time with the artificial gravity. One struck his head against the ceiling and got a mild concussion and had to be put to bed in the tiny sick bay. Bill in a way reminded Rob of Matt, in spite of the fact that physically and intellectually they seemed to be diametrically opposite. It was Bill’s quiet way with the men when they were in trouble, the unassuming strength and compassion, Rob finally decided, that made him feel a similarity. Bill had no illusion about the reasons for the voyage. “Of course we’re looking for a place where we can expand and settle, and we want to do it before anyone else does. You Godders are always so hopeful that people are doing things for the right reasons. If you’d only accept the fact that people always do things for the wrong reasons, everything’d be much simpler for you.”
“We don’t need to colonize yet,” Rob argued. “With only one woman in ten able to conceive, with two-fifths of the babies having to be put in state nurseries for their few sad little years, the population isn’t growing rapidly enough to make us feel any desperate need for expansion.”
“But it will,” Bill said. They had switched from chess to cribbage and he put his cards down. At the other end of the mess table a poker game was in progress. “The eastern nations who’ve always spawned more rapidly than we have are already beginning to feel the pinch. That’s why we’ve got to get in first, before anybody else does. Maybe we know enough to share. They don’t.”
“And suppose the patterns do mean something? Suppose there’s a race more cultured and advanced than our own who have no idea of being exploited and colonized?”
“That’s a risk we have to take, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so.”
“And tell me honestly, Rob, have you found any meaning to the patterns? Has anybody?”
“Not that I know of.”
“And in spite of popular superstition,” Bill continued, “official opinion is that it’s a meaningless accident, isn’t it?”
“I guess.” Rob picked up the peg board and studied it as though there he might find the answers.
“So why the hell do you think we’re sitting in this—this artificial womb, waiting to be spawned on an unknown planet? Expansion and colonization. And why not? What’s so wrong with it? Why shouldn’t we get there first? What’s so selfish about it? After this, the possibilities are unlimited. If we make it, of course.”
The captain, who had seemed to be immersed in poker, raised his head. “We’ll make it.”
“Captain,” another officer asked, “aren’t we running behind according to calculations?”
The captain nodded imperturbably. “Right. So did Columbus, I believe. The ocean was larger than he’d anticipated, and he didn’t get to where he expected, but as far as history’s concerned, where he did get to was much more important.” There was a twinkle in his eye. “So let’s just take the historical point of view, men.”
“My wife prefers her history in the form of fiction,” one of the men said.
But the captain turned back to the cards. “My deal, I believe.”
When the ship was three weeks overdue, the men began to get restless. They had seen all the movies twice, they were bored with poker, with sleeping, with playing tricks with the artificial gravity. Although at this stage of the journey, moving through the dark wastes of space, they were using practically no fuel, the captain eyed the fuel gauges speculatively. All through the small, pressurized cabins of the great ship there were murmurs. Bill Hayes tried to get a laugh by calling the captain “Chris.” The laugh was feeble, but the name stuck.
“Sir. Captain Columbus, sir.”
“Yes. What is it?”
“I have a petition, sir, signed by all the men of the crew, sir. We want to turn
back.”
“We don’t have enough fuel to get back,” the captain said. “Bear with me, men. To turn back means death to us all. Our only hope is to push on.”
Irrationally, the men still wanted to turn back. If they were to die, they wanted to die heading towards home instead of the unknown. Bill spent a great deal of time with the crew, giving a kind word and a joke wherever possible, medication when necessary. One morning he arrived in the crew’s quarters to find a table made into a crude altar and one of the men stretched out on it. The knife had already cut into his skin when Bill, suddenly and for the first time on the voyage losing his temper, punched his way through the men and knocked down the sailor who was acting as priest. Then he overturned the table and turned, white with rage, to face the men.
The sailor who was acting as priest said, “Don’t be so angry, Doc. You know how the men are. Just a little ceremony to propitiate the gods; the man was perfectly willing to be offered up as a sacrifice.”
Bill still shook with anger as he took the man to sick bay to dress his wound, and met Rob waiting for him.
“You goddamn Godders,” he said. “What kind of a God is this of yours?”
“My God?” Rob asked. “Ever hear of Moses, Bill?”
“Yeah.”
“Remember the golden lamb? This isn’t my God or anybody’s God. It’s an idol.”
“So? What’s the difference?”
There was no assurance or calmness in Rob as he looked at Bill, his usually rather florid face still mottled with rage.
“Okay, tell me,” he demanded, not wanting to know, wanting only in his fury to hurt Rob. And all Rob could do was to try not to let his own confusions show as he spoke fumblingly, trying to think what Matt might have said.
“Idolatry is turning away from God, turning inwards instead of outwards. Most people say that we Godders have no faith because we don’t try to make God understandable, but we have to make the biggest leap of faith of all.”
“Can’t be a very satisfactory sort of god, can it?” came a voice from behind him, and he turned to see the captain.
“Oh. Good morning, sir.”
“At this point I’m inclined to sympathize with the men and their sacrificial offering. How can this incomprehensible God of yours give you any comfort?”
“My friend Matt believes that there are signs along the way.”
“We could do with a sign right now,” the captain said bitterly. “Frankly, boys, if I believed in God I’d be saying my prayers.”
“Well, sir,” Rob said, “Bill and his idol-smashing reminded me of Moses and the golden lamb, and after Moses had demolished the lamb and been furious at his men, he asked God for a sign.”
“So did God give him one?”
“Well, Moses was on a journey, remember, just about as impossible as ours, and he said to God, ‘Show me now thy way, that I may know thee, that I may find grace in thy sight… For wherein shall it be known here that I and thy people have found grace in thy sight? Is it not in that thou goest with us?’”
The captain smiled. “So what did God say?”
“God said, ‘My presence shall go with thee, and I will give thee rest.’ But Moses, like most of us, wasn’t satisfied. He said, ‘I beseech thee, show me thy glory!’ And God said, ‘I will make all my goodness pass before thee, and I will proclaim the name of the Lord before thee… But thou canst not see my face: for no man shall see me, and live.’” Rob looked at the captain apologetically. “My wife thought idols would be easier, too, but if I have to make my faith comprehensible I’d rather go along with the state and worship science.”
“Want to make a bet, Rob?” Bill asked suddenly.
“What?”
“When we reach our promised land, if we find that the patterns have after all been sent, if there is a rational race there, I’ll bet that you’ll give up your God. Let’s put it this way: If there is a God he’ll send you—or us—a sign. No sign, and you give him up.”
“Okay,” said Rob rather grimly. “At this point I’m willing to bet on that.”
“Let me know who wins,” the captain said. “By the way, I want to see all the officers in the mess in ten minutes. We’re going to have a full-size mutiny on our hands if we don’t do something, and do it quickly.”
The men had just gathered around the mess table when there was a shout from the crew member at the instrument board. “Captain Columbus, there’s a blip! There’s a blip!”
With a sudden loss of discipline by mutual consent, everyone crowded to the door of the instrument room. The captain pushed his way in, looked at the screen, and turned triumphantly to the men. “Every man to his post. We are nearing our destination.”
Now at last through the screen there was more than darkness and distant stars. The planet approached rapidly, became the size of Earth’s moon. It became the size of the sun. Now the murmuring and games of poker and petitions stopped. There was silence throughout the ship. The planet grew. It was suddenly enormous, hurling itself at them. They felt the tremendous impact of atmosphere and deceleration. They were there. They had not fallen over the edge.
It was dawn and they had landed on a desert not unlike the one from which they had taken off, though the instruments showed them that the temperature was some fifty degrees lower. And here there was no green glow on the horizon, visible even in the daytime as a faint miasma. The atmosphere here was thin and the visibility tremendous. Taking turns at the screen, they felt as though they had all been given new spectacles which enabled them to see better than they had ever seen in their lives, as though a long-term myopia had been suddenly and dramatically corrected. The captain, out for a brief reconnoiter, reported that the atmosphere was just over the border of being too light, but was otherwise pure. They would need helmets, but could probably breathe for a brief period without them in an emergency. He had seen no sign of life, but they would send out their signals at once. Rob, in charge of this, went to his board and pressed the buttons and pulled the switches that would send out signals both visual and audible, signals that could be caught by ear, eye, instrument, or nervous system attuned to any kind of vibration. He felt unaccountably nervous, like an actor making his first appearance and afraid that his audience may not hear or understand him, or that he might get the words wrong. And any misunderstanding at this point could have far more drastic potentialities than any of them could understand.
They all sat watching the instrument board for a while, but when there was no response of any kind, the captain chose a small party to go back out with him. Rob looked after them longingly. His job was by the message center but his every instinct was to don a space suit and follow the others out, the first men ever to step on an alien planet. He sat in the instrument chamber restlessly, moving from the complicated wall of the message center to the viewer and back. The men in their cumbersome space suits seemed to move easily in the thin clear air, and he looked at them eagerly. From the viewer he could see great stretches of sand, and in the distance trees of an extraordinarily clear and shimmering green, some of which had rosy blossoms. There was nothing tropical about their look, however; the green was the pale green, touched with yellow, of early spring, and the flowers, in spite of their hue, had nothing lush about them. They were exquisite, but cool.
Rob finally in lonely desperation sent a message to Bill Hayes: “If you see anything unusual, for heaven’s sake tell me. I’m going bats here all alone. Please tune in to me.”
There was a click from Bill’s set, and he relayed back, “Okay,” and after that, from time to time he made comments in his laconic manner: “Insect life; a rather large grasshopperlike thing, but all pale yellow. Beautiful. Wonder if it’s destructive. Ah. Have him in my jar for Benson. Hey, a kind of praying mantis bug. Wonder who he’s praying to on this planet. Maybe he’s just thumbing his nose at us. Don’t forget your bet, old boy. Small yellow flowers. Sticky. Yellow seems to be the predominant color here. Wonder if it always is or if this is spring.
Everything seems tender and young. Tracks. Small rodent-like animal, I’d guess. Ah. Nest. Could be bird, could be rodent. Definitely animal life as well as plant. Good Lord, bird tracks, enormous. My God, Rob, those birds must be man-size. Hope they aren’t predatory. Could easily swoop up a man, even in a heavy space suit, in those claws. Better let the captain in on this. Signing off for now.”
Rob waited impatiently at the silence. Then a message, urgent: OPEN THE HATCHES! QUICK! A garble of too many voices coming to him at once, Bill’s loud and angry: “Don’t shout, you fool!”
The sound of machinery groaning as the doors to the outer chamber opened, shut, then the doors to the inner chamber. A scramble of men into the ship. The call for a general meeting in the mess, men and crew.
And suddenly Rob’s instrument board was alive, lights flashing on and off, dit-dits sounding. Two minutes of it. Then complete silence.
“You’re excused from the meeting,” the captain told Rob. “Stay and work on your decoding. And quick.”
“What’s up, Captain?”
“The last we saw of Bill Hayes he was being flown off in the claws of an enormous bird,” the captain said grimly. “One of the men lost his head and fired after them. The idiot. Fortunately he missed his mark. A fine way to start a friendly relationship all round. Get at your decoding, man. It may mean Bill’s life.”
In fifteen minutes the captain was back. “What do you make of it?”
Rob shook his head. “Nothing. Not as far as understanding what it means. I do think, though, it seems to bear some kind of relationship to the patterns in the cosmic rays. There’s a pattern, all right, but I can’t make head or tail of it.”
“Send return messages in every medium at your disposal, explaining that we have received their messages but we cannot decode them.”
“Right, sir.”
The captain stood by him, waiting. When Rob had finished, he said, “Okay. We’ll wait half an hour for a return of some kind of response. If we receive none I’m going out again with two volunteers.”
The Moment of Tenderness Page 24