Eldreth said, “You read it. That’s cheating.”
“Hush a moment. Here’s Jupiter. To go from Mars to Jupiter you have to go from here to here, don’t you?”
“Obviously.”
“But suppose I fold it so that Mars is on top of Jupiter? What’s to prevent just stepping across?”
“Nothing, I guess. Except that what works for that scarf wouldn’t work very well in practice. Would it?”
“No, not that near to a star. But it works fine after you back away from a star quite a distance. You see, that’s just what an anomaly is, a place where space is folded back on itself, turning a long distance into no distance at all.”
“Then space is warped.”
“No, no, no! Look, I just folded your scarf. I didn’t stretch it out of shape! I didn’t even wrinkle it. Space is the same way; it’s crumpled like a piece of waste paper—but it’s not warped, just crumpled. Through some extra dimensions, of course.”
“I don’t see any ‘of course’ about it.”
“The math of it is simple, but it’s hard to talk about because you can’t see it. Space—our space—may be crumpled up small enough to stuff into a coffee cup, all hundreds of thousands of light-years of it. A four-dimensional coffee cup, of course.”
She sighed. “I don’t see how a four-dimensional coffee cup could even hold coffee, much less a whole galaxy.”
“No trouble at all. You could stuff this sheer scarf into a thimble. Same principle. But let me finish. They used to think that nothing could go faster than light. Well, that was both right and wrong. It…”
“How can it be both?”
“That’s one of the Horst anomalies. You can’t go faster than light, not in our space. If you do, you burst out of it. But if you do it where space is folded back and congruent, you pop right back into our own space again—but a long way off. How far off depends on how it’s folded. And that depends on the mass in the space, in a complicated fashion that can’t be described in words but can be calculated.”
“But suppose you do it just anywhere?”
“That’s what happened to the first ones who tried it. They didn’t come back. And that’s why surveys are dangerous; survey ships go poking through anomalies that have been calculated but never tried. That’s also why astrogators get paid so much. They have to head the ship for a place you can’t see and they have to put the ship there just under the speed of light and they have to give it the gun at just the right world point. Drop a decimal point or use a short-cut that covers up an indeterminancy and it’s just too bad. Now we’ve been gunning at twenty-four gee ever since we left the atmosphere. We don’t feel it of course because we are carried inside a discontinuity field at an artificial one gravity—that’s another of the anomalies. But we’re getting up close to the speed of light, up against the Einstein Wall; pretty soon, we’ll be squeezed through like a watermelon seed between your finger and thumb and we’ll come out near Theta Centauri fifty-eight light-years away. Simple, if you look at it right.”
She shivered. “If we come out, you mean.”
“Well… I suppose so. But it’s not as dangerous as helicopters. And look at it this way: if it weren’t for the anomalies, there never would have been any way for us to reach the stars; the distances are too great. But looking back, it is obvious that all that emptiness couldn’t be real—there had to be the anomalies. That’s what my uncle used to say.”
“I suppose he must have been right, even if I don’t understand it.” She scrambled to her feet. “But I do know that I had better hoof it back upstairs, or Mrs. Dumont may change her mind.” She hugged Mr. Chips and shoved the little creature into Max’s arms. “Walk the baby—that’s a pal.”
8
THREE WAYS TO GET AHEAD
Max intended to stay awake during the first transition, but he slept through it. It took place shortly after five in the morning, ship’s time. When he was awakened by idlers’ reveille at six, it was all over. He jerked on his clothes, fuming at not having awakened earlier, and hurried to the upper decks. The passageways above Charlie deck were silent and empty; even the early risers among the passengers would not be up for another hour. He went at once to the Bifrost Lounge and crossed it to the view port, placed there for the pleasure of passengers.
The stars looked normal but the familiar, age-old constellations were gone. Only the Milky Way, our own galaxy, seemed as usual—to that enormous spiral of stars, some hundred thousand fight-years across, a tiny displacement of less than sixty light-years was inconsequential.
One extremely bright yellow-white star was visible; Max decided that it must be Theta Centauri, sun of Garson’s Planet, their first stop. He left shortly, not wanting to chance being found loafing in passengers’ country. The sand boxes which constituted his excuse were then replaced with greater speed than usual and he was back in crew’s quarters in time for breakfast.
The passage to Garson’s Planet took most of a month even at the high boost possible to a Horst-Conrad ship. Eldreth continued to make daily trips to see Mr. Chips—and to talk with and play 3-dee chess with Max. He learned that while she had not been born on Hespera, but in Auckland on Terra, nevertheless Hespera was her home. “Daddy sent me back to have them turn me into a lady, but it didn’t take.”
“What do you mean?”
She grinned. “I’m a problem. That’s why I’ve been sent for. You’re in check, Max. Chipsie! Put that back. I think the little demon is playing on your side.”
He gradually pieced together what she meant. Miss Mimsey’s school had been the third from which she had been expelled. She did not like Earth, she was determined to go home, and she had created a reign of terror at each institution to which she had been entrusted. Her widower father had been determined that she must have a “proper” education, but she had been in a better strategic position to impose her will—her father’s Earthside attorneys had washed their hands of her and shipped her home.
Sam made the mistake of joshing Max about Eldreth. “Have you gotten her to set the day yet, old son?”
“Who set what day?”
“Now, now! Everybody in the ship knows about it, except possibly the Captain. Why play dumb with your old pal?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about!”
“I wasn’t criticizing, I was admiring. I’d never have the nerve to plot so high a trajectory myself. But as grandpop always said, there are just three ways to get ahead: sweat and genius, getting born into the right family, or marrying into it. Of the three, marrying the boss’s daughter is the best, because—Hey! Take it easy!” Sam skipped back out of range.
“Take that back!”
“I do, I do. I was wrong. But my remarks were inspired by sheer admiration. Mistaken, I admit. So I apologize and withdraw the admiration.”
“But…” Max grinned in spite of himself. It was impossible to stay angry at Sam. Sure, the man was a scamp, probably a deserter, certainly a belittler who always looked at things in the meanest of terms, but—well, there it was. Sam was his friend.
“I knew you were joking. How could I be figuring on getting married when you and I are going to…”
“Keep your voice down.” Sam went on quietly, “You’ve made up your mind?”
“Yes. It’s the only way out, I guess. I don’t want to go back to Earth.”
“Good boy! You’ll never regret it.” Sam looked thoughtful. “We’ll need money.”
“Well, I’ll have some on the books.”
“Don’t be silly. You try to draw more than spending money and they’ll never let you set foot on dirt. But don’t worry—save your tips, all that Fats will let you keep, and I’ll get us a stake. It’s my turn.”
“How?”
“Lots of ways. You can forget it.”
“Well…all right. Say, Sam, just what did you mean when you—I mean, well, suppose I did want to marry Ellie—I don’t of course; she’s just a kid and anyhow I’m not the type to marry—but
just supposing? Why should anybody care?”
Sam looked surprised. ‘You don’t know?”
“Why would I be asking?”
“You don’t know who she is?”
“Huh? Her name’s Eldreth Coburn and she’s on her way home to Hespera, she’s a colonial. What of it?”
“You poor boy! She didn’t mention that she is the only daughter of His Supreme Excellency, General Sir John FitzGerald Coburn, O.B.E., K.B., O.S.U., and probably X.Y.Z., Imperial Ambassador to Hespera and Resident Commissioner Plenipotentiary?”
“Huh? Oh my gosh!”
“Catch on, kid? With the merest trifle of finesse, you can be a remittance man, at least. Name your own planet, just as long as it isn’t Hespera.”
“Oh, go boil your head! She’s a nice kid anyhow.”
Sam snickered. “She sure is. As grandpop used to say, ‘It’s an ill wind that gathers no moss.’”
The knowledge disturbed Max. He had realized that Eldreth must be well to do—she was a passenger, wasn’t she? But he had no awe of wealth. Achievement as exemplified by his uncle held much more respect in his eyes. But the notion that Eldreth came from such an impossibly high stratum—and that he, Maximilian Jones, was considered a fortune-hunter and social climber on that account—was quite upsetting.
He decided to put an end to it. He started by letting his work pile up so that he could say truthfully that he did not have time to play three-dee chess. So Ellie pitched in and helped him. While he was playing the unavoidable game that followed, he attempted a direct approach. “See here, Ellie, I don’t think you ought to stay down here and play three-dee chess with me. The other passengers come down to see their pets and they notice. They’ll gossip.”
“Pooh!”
“I mean it. Oh, you and I know it’s all right, but it doesn’t look right.”
She stuck out her lower lip. “Am I going to have trouble with you? You talk just like Miss Mimsey.”
“You can come down to see Chipsie, but you’d better come down with one of the other pet owners.”
She started to make a sharp answer, then shrugged, “Okay, this isn’t the most comfortable place anyhow. From now on, we play in Bifrost Lounge, afternoons when your work is done and evenings.”
Max protested that Mr. Giordano would not let him; she answered quickly, “Don’t worry about your boss. I can twist him around my little finger.” She illustrated by gesture.
The picture of the gross Mr. Gee in such a position slowed up Max’s answer, but he finally managed to get out, “Ellie, crew members can’t use the passenger lounge. It’s…”
“They can so. More than once, I’ve seen Mr. Dumont having a cup of coffee there with Captain Blaine.”
“You don’t understand. Mr. Dumont is almost an officer, and if the Captain wants him as his guest, well, that’s the Captain’s privilege.”
“You’d be my guest.”
“No, I wouldn’t be.” He tried to explain to her the strict regulation that crew members were not to associate with passengers. “The Captain would be angry if he could see us right now—not at you, at me. If he caught me in the passengers’ lounge he’d kick me all the way down to ‘H’ deck.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“But…” He shrugged. “All right. I’ll come up this evening. He won’t kick me, actually; that would be beneath him. He’ll just send Mr. Dumont over to tell me to leave, then he’ll send for me in the morning. I don’t mind being fined a month’s pay if that is what it takes to show you the way things are.”
He could see that he had finally reached her. “Why, I think that’s perfectly rotten! Everybody is equal. Everybody! That’s the law.”
“They are? Only from on top.”
She got up suddenly and left. Max again had to soothe Mr. Chips, but there was no one to soothe him. He decided that the day that he and Sam disappeared over a horizon and lost themselves could not come too soon.
Eldreth returned next day but in company with a Mrs. Mendoza, the devoted owner of a chow who looked much like her. Eldreth treated Max with the impersonal politeness of a lady “being nice” to servants, except for a brief moment when Mrs. Mendoza was out of earshot.
“Max?”
“Yes, Miss?”
“I’ll ‘Yes, Miss’ you! Look, Max, what was your uncle’s name? Was it Chester Jones?”
“Why, yes, it was. But why…”
“Never mind.” Mrs. Mendoza rejoined them. Max was forced to drop it.
The following morning, the dry-stores keeper sought him out. “Hey, Max! The Belly wants you. Better hurry—I think you’re in some sort of a jam.”
Max worried as he hurried. He couldn’t think of anything he had done lately; he tried to suppress the horrid fear that Ellie was involved.
It was clear that Mr. Giordano was not pleased but all that he said was, “Report to the Purser’s Office. Jump.” Max jumped.
The Purser was not there; Mr. Kuiper received him and looked him over with a cold eye. “Put on a clean uniform and make it quick. Then report to the Captain’s cabin.”
Max stood still and gulped. Mr. Kuiper barked, “Well? Move!”
“Sir,” Max blurted, “I don’t know where the Captain’s cabin is.”
“What? I’ll be switched! Able deck, radius nine oh and outboard.” Max moved.
The Captain was in his cabin. With him was Mr. Samuels the Purser, Mr. Walther the First Officer, and Dr. Hendrix the Astrogator. Max concluded that whatever it was he was about to be tried for, it could be nothing trivial. But he remembered to say, “Steward’s Mate Third Class Jones reporting, sir.”
Captain Blaine looked up. “Oh, yes. Find a chair.” Max found one, sat down on the edge of it. The Captain said to the First Officer, “Under the circumstances, Dutch, I suppose it’s the best thing to do—though it seems a little drastic. You agree, Hal?”
The Purser agreed. Max wondered just how drastic it was and whether he would live through it.
“We’ll log it as an exception, then, Doc, and I’ll write up an explanation for the board. After all, regulations were made to be broken. That’s the end of it.” Max decided that they were simply going to space him and explain it later.
The Captain turned back to his desk in a manner that signified that the meeting was over. The First Officer cleared his throat. “Captain…” He indicated Max with his eyes.
Captain Blaine looked up again. “Oh, yes! Young man, your name is Jones?”
“Yessir.”
“I’ve been looking over your record. I see that you once tried out for chartsman for a short time in the Thule?”
“Uh, yes, Captain.”
“Didn’t you like it?”
“Well, sir.” Max asked himself what Sam would say when confronted by such a ghost. “It was like this…to tell you the truth I didn’t do much except empty ash trays in the Worry—in the control room.” He held his breath.
The Captain smiled briefly. “It can sometimes work out that way. Would you be interested in trying it again?”
“What? Yes, sir!”
“Dutch?”
“Captain, ordinarily I see no point in a man striking twice for the same job. But there is this personal matter.”
“Yes, indeed. You can spare him, Hal?”
“Oh, certainly, Captain. He’s hardly a key man where he is.” The Purser smiled. “Bottom deck valet.”
The Captain smiled and turned to the Astrogator. “I see no objection, Doc. It’s a guild matter, of course.”
“Kelly is willing to try him. He’s short a man, you know.”
“Very well, then…”
“Just a moment, Captain.” The Astrogator turned to Max. “Jones…you had a relative in my guild?”
“My uncle, sir. Chester Jones.”
“I served under him. I hope you have some of his skill with figures.”
“Uh, I hope so, sir.”
“We shall see. Report to Chief Computerman Kelly.”
9
CHARTSMAN JONES
The change in Max’s status changed the whole perspective of his life. His social relations with the other crew members changed not entirely for the better. The control room gang considered themselves the gentry of the crew, a status disputed by the power technicians and resented by the stewards. Max found that the guild he was leaving no longer treated him quite as warmly while the guild for which he was trying out did not as yet accept him.
Mr. Gee simply ignored him—would walk right over him if Max failed to jump aside. He seemed to regard Max’s trial promotion as a personal affront.
It was necessary for him to hit the slop chest for dress uniforms. Now that his duty station was in the control room, now that he must pass through passengers’ country to go to and from work, it was no longer permissible to slouch around in dungarees. Mr. Kuiper let him sign for them; his cash would not cover it. He had to sign as well for the cost of permission to work out of his guild, with the prospect of going further in debt to both guilds should he be finally accepted. He signed cheerfully.
The control department of the Asgard consisted of two officers and five men—Dr. Hendrix the Astrogator, his assistant astrogator Mr. Simes, Chief Computerman Kelly, Chartsman First Class Kovak, Chtsmn 2/c Smythe, and computermen Noguchi and Lundy, both second class. There was also “Sack” Bennett, communicator first class, but he was not really a part of the control gang, even though his station was in the Worry Hole; a starship was rarely within radio range of anything except at the very first and last parts of a trip. Bennett doubled as Captain Blaine’s secretary and factotum and owed his nickname to the often-stated belief of the others that he spent most of his life in his bunk.
Since the Asgard was always under boost, a continuous watch was kept; not for them were the old, easy days of rocket ships, with ten minutes of piloting followed by weeks of free fall before more piloting was required. Since the Asgard carried no apprentice astrogator, there were only two officers to stand watches (Captain Blaine was necessarily an astrogator himself, but skippers do not stand watches); this lack was made up by Chief Computerman Kelly, who stood a regular watch as control officer-of-the-watch. The other ratings stood a watch in four; the distinction between a computerman and a chartsman was nominal in a control room dominated by “Decimal Point” Kelly—what a man didn’t know he soon learned, or found another ship.
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