Chapter 4
You could call those five days aboard the Jehad a honeymoon, although the usual definition did not apply to Mr. and Mrs. William Drake. Not only had I promised to keep the marriage on a purely platonic level, but Gail, by her actions and formality, gave me to understand that I was not expected to even go through the motions of playing the newlywed husband.
However, it was a happy time for all of us, and I include Dr. Spartan, even though he might never again be described as being in sympathetic rapport with the rest of us.
As soon as we had cut loose from the capsule and filled the plasma craft with air, we got the artificial gravity in operation by starting some auxiliary rockets which made the ship rotate slowly. The gravity was only ten per cent, but it was sufficient to keep us from floating around the room. We took off our spacesuits and laughed uproariously at our costumes—shorts, T-shirts and lightweight sandals which had magnetic strips in the soles to assist the artificial gravity in holding us to the floor.
Axel relayed our messages back to the earth, telling of our safe arrival, and Dr. Spartan and Warner Joel got the plasma motors going. There were four banks of three motors each encircling the ship. Although we had twelve engines, we planned to use only eight at a time. Four were for emergencies and extra power, when needed.
There were no portholes except in the control room and even here the outside view was partially blocked by a huge nuclear reactor, well shielded and stuck out in front of the ship. This supplied all our electrical power. However, there were video cameras on the outside—in the front and rear of the craft—so that we could always see the heavens about us on the monitor screens. There were four of these in the control room and four more in the main cabin, which was the middle segment of the ship. There were six sections, not counting the rear cupola where Gail was quartered. The control dome was in front. Dr. Spartan's private cabin, which was partitioned for sleeping and working, was second.
The large main cabin was where we did most of our living, if you can call it that. Directly behind it was a small galley and storeroom for our food supplies. Next was the lavatory and shower room, and the rear segment was filled with machinery—air and water-cycling equipment, laundry, and some electrical tools for repairing the ship.
There wasn't much to see outside after we got in space but, during those early days when we circled the earth and gained momentum, we had a beautiful view of our world. There was also a procession of multicolored and unwinking stars. The sun, too, was beautiful because the corona could always be seen.
Probably it was because we were so busy in those first days that we got along so well. Or maybe it was the excitement of finding everything so new and different. From the moment we boarded the ship, we were in another world, an independent planet, no longer associated with the earth.
We had to learn to walk in diminished gravity; we had to accustom ourselves to looking up and finding a companion sleeping on the ceiling as if he were stuck there. Even the day was changed. Because there were five of us, we had a 25-hour day, each man, with the exception of Dr. Spartan, taking a five-hour control-room shift. The terrestrial day no longer had any meaning, since our little planet rotated once every 30 seconds.
We had a garden—two trays, one above and one below the tube that carried electrical wiring the length of the ship. We planted hybrid vegetables in the garden—plants using a minimum of water and converting a maximum of carbon dioxide into oxygen. However, the air-cycling machinery was sufficient for most purposes.
Our biggest problem was water. Due to its weight and bulk, we carried as little water as possible, since a great deal of it was already being used to shield the nuclear reactor. For all other purposes—drinking, preparation of dehydrated foods, laundry, sanitation and irrigation of the garden—there was a tank containing 35 gallons. Excess water, removed from the air and extracted from all waste products, was purified and distilled twice, then used again.
At first, Gail Loring made the trip pleasant by her very presence. She was pretty and cheerful, and the fact that she revealed so much in the way of feminine charm in her space clothing caused the usual male response. Not that we were a pack of wolves. There is nothing wrong with looking, or even giving a mental whistle. I think Gail read our minds and I'm sure she enjoyed it.
Axel's face mirrored his thoughts in a slow grin. Dr. Joel, who was acting with the vigor of a sales manager at a customers' convention, treated her to adoring, but not necessarily fatherly, witticisms. Morrie Grover positively drooled when she was around and made a great thing of helping her out with various tasks, even though I think Gail would have preferred not to have the help. Spartan watched her, too, but it was impossible to read his thoughts. As I said, everything was milk and honey in those days.
But after we had the ship functioning, the garden growing, and our schedules perfected, we suddenly found that there was not enough to do. The looks that had been innocently male, began slowly to change to something else.
Gail, who had usually shown me less attention than the others, apparently because I had a greater legal right to claim more attention, spoke of it one day when she came through the machinery room while I was washing out the dirty uniforms.
I'd brought a projector and a microfilm of a book on astrogation and was reading when she paused beside the washer. "Need help, Bill Drake?" she asked in a friendly tone.
I looked up and smiled. "Now that was a nice, wifely thing to say." I told her. "Unfortunately it's my turn to do the laundry so you don't have to help."
"But you wouldn't throw me out if I did?" she asked.
"There's really nothing to do," I said, nodding toward the automatic washer which was halfway through its cycle. "But if you'd like to join in a little small talk about the universe at large, I'll be thankful for company. You realize, don't you, that this is the first time the bride and groom have really been alone together since they were married?"
She frowned. "Let's not talk about that, Bill Drake," she said.
"Why not? Afraid that if we mention it too often we might suddenly realize we're married?"
She nodded her head slowly. "Something like that."
I shut off the projector. I had no interest in astrogation at the moment. "Is that why you avoid me?"
"I don't avoid you."
"You always find time to horse around with Morrie," I said.
Now she smiled. "Are you by any chance jealous?" she asked. "If you are, you have no right."
"Damnit, I'm not. I just want equal time," I said. "I should have the right to want as much time with my legal wife as those other bums."
"I'm doing the laundry with you," she said teasingly. "That's the first time I've done that with anybody on this ship."
"I'm in your debt, gracious lady," I said. There was a trace of sarcasm, less than I felt, in my voice.
She heard it, too, and gave me a sharp glance. "I do want to talk to you about something, Bill Drake," she said.
"Sure. The laundry doesn't need attention. Let's talk."
"You've noticed that we're not the jolly little group we started out to be when we first boarded the ship, haven't you?"
"Yes, but it's because we're getting bored. We've been going around the earth in a spiral, like a merry-go-round. We don't seem to be getting anyplace."
"That's not what I mean," she said. "We are getting someplace. The spiral widens a little more each turn. Very soon now—perhaps within hours—we'll break away from the earth. We all realize it. And the farther away from earth we go, the less we'll feel bound by standards of the earth."
I frowned. "I don't see what you're driving at, Gail."
She glanced toward the bulkhead door at the end of the room. It led to the shower room and lavatory. She glided toward it, using the familiar "space walk" we all had learned in order to conform to the very light, artificial gravity. She opened the door, peered in, then closed it and returned. "Just wanted to be sure we really were alone," she said. "What I wanted to talk about was Dr. Spartan. It—it's the way he looks at me."
"We all look at you," I said. "I thought most girls liked it and felt like they were slipping when men stopped looking."
"That's right, when you speak of a normal male look," she said. "But the bearded monster frightens me."
"Relax," I said. "He won't get out of hand. That old boy is no fool and he won't pull any raw deals. The one I'd look out for is Morrie. He acts like a crazy kid sometimes. You can't always figure him."
"Morrie!" she exclaimed. "Bill Drake, you are jealous! He's just a kid."
"That's what I said, a crazy kid."
"And I'm two years older than he is." The washer stopped spinning and I went over and began removing the duds and putting them in the dryer.
She started to get up to help me. She'd been sitting cross-legged on the floor, as we all did because we had no chairs aboard. "Don't bother," I told her. "This isn't hard work."
She sat down again. "Do you realize, Bill Drake, that there are no laws here in space excepting those laid down by Spartan?"
"I can think of a few of Newton's laws that he has no control over."
"I'm not talking about physical laws. Spartan is more powerful than any nabob who ever lived on earth—he is a greater despot than Caesar, than the Pharaohs. That's why he's stand-offish with everyone. He has the power of life and death over us all."
I closed the dryer and set the timer. "Forget it, Gail," I told her, dropping down beside her. "Spartan's like a military commander. Not only our lives, but the success of this mission are his responsibility. He can't very well get chummy with buck privates." I didn't particularly love the guy, but I thought—then—that I understood him.
"We're not buck privates," she said, with a woman's logic and hatred of metaphor.
"Okay. We're second looeys. Now, what shall I do? Go to Spartan and say, 'Listen, you old goat, stop looking lecherously at my wife-in-name-only'?"
"This is no joking matter, Bill Drake. I may be your wife-in-name-only but there was a good sound reason for our marriage. You have to keep me from—uh—well, getting involved. You're a sort of chaperon."
I groaned.
"Let me tell you something," she went on. "During my first trick in the control room—not long after we started our routine on this ship—Spartan came in and spent almost the five hours with me. He talked to me as I'd never been talked to before, Bill Drake. He told me to move my sleeping bag into his compartment and live there. He made it sound as if it were my duty and that I'd be shirking if I didn't."
I gaped at her. "The hell he did!" I just couldn't believe it. "You must have misunderstood him—"
"I most certainly did not!" she said. "Don't you believe me?"
"Well, the guy isn't any tin god," I said. "But he didn't force you to do what he'd suggested."
"Do you know why?" she asked. When I didn't answer she went on. "Because I told him that if he did, he'd have to explain to the whole crew. He'd wind up with a red-hot mutiny on his hands. And when we returned from Mars, I'd nail his hide to the Pentagon, or some other conspicuous place."
I whistled. "And he took it?"
"Not meekly. He said that if he wished, he could "take care" of the whole crew. And if I repeated what he said to me, to anyone, he'd brand it as a pack of lies. He particularly cautioned me against telling you. He said he didn't want to be forced into "taking care" of you."
"But you told me," I said.
"I'm warning you, Bill Drake. Watch out for Spartan. He doesn't intend for you to return alive—or anyone else who opposes him."
I no longer understood Spartan. Would he kill to have his way? I had suspected his hatred since the day the wedding was agreed upon. "He wanted to marry you," I said, "but you changed the plan. Why didn't he object then?"
"Because he couldn't on the earth. And when I made a point of platonic marriage he thought he could fit it into his plan."
My heart bounded hopefully. "It wasn't a platonic marriage you wanted?" I asked softly. I tried to take her hand but she pulled it away.
"No, Bill!" It was the first time since we'd left the earth, that she used my first name alone. "I really meant it when I suggested it. I knew Spartan. I'd been in space with him before, but I managed him. This is different. I wanted you to protect me—but not as a husband."
My heart sank and I felt helpless. I walked over to the dryer. "Lots of dirty laundry today," I said.
"You can say that again," she replied.
Spartan's voice came over the intercom as I started to take the laundry from the dryer.
"Attention, please. Just fifteen seconds ago, the Jehad reached the escape velocity for this distance from the earth. We have broken away from terrestrial gravity. Mr. Ludson and I are now computing the necessary corrections to put us on the proper orbit to reach Mars."
Gail looked at me and I stared back at her. We had gone beyond the point of no return.
Chapter 5
After that talk with Gail, I had my first thoughts of mutiny. But I'd been raised with a good, healthy respect for authority and, because most persons I'd come in contact with who had it, used judgment in administering it, I had seen no reason for changing my attitude. Even Spartan, when he was drilling us for this trip, had seemed to be right, in spite of his toughness. But as the earth grew smaller behind us, I began to look for allies, in case we were ever forced into a showdown with Spartan.
I wondered if Gail had been right when she said the others wouldn't stand for any nonsense. I doubted if they would. Not all of them anyhow. Dr. Joel had suddenly seemed to discover that Dr. Spartan was a great man. Spartan fawned on Joel and Joel became Spartan's slave, carrying his meals to him, posting Spartan's orders, and acting as a self-appointed second-in-command.
Morrie might defend Gail, but he certainly wouldn't raise a hand to keep Spartan from tossing me into the great out-yonder, if it came right down to it. Morrie was in the throes of puppy love for Gail. It showed in every move he made. Besides, the kid was upset. Homesick maybe. Or afraid. Everything was strange here and he longed for something familiar. He turned to Gail for comfort. And if Morrie were told of Spartan's actions toward Gail, the young fellow was hot-headed enough to march into Spartan's cabin and get himself—and me—in a jam.
Axel was steady, staunch and level-headed. But I hesitated about confiding in him. Like me, Axel had a respect for authority. He couldn't take my unsupported word that Spartan meant to kill me and take Gail. Furthermore, I remembered that Axel had refused to accept Gail because he did not believe in the kind of marriage she proposed. Was that the real reason? Or did he know Spartan's plans? Perhaps Axel was Spartan's real second-in-command, ready to do the muscle work when the time came.
We were still in radio communication with the earth and I considered sending a message back. But what could I say? Spartan would claim I was space crazy. And the next message would tell the earth that in a fit of madness I'd jumped overboard. What proof could I offer in a message that Spartan had ever made his proposition to her? He'd just say she'd dreamed it. It was his word against hers.
Gail agreed when I told her this. "Perhaps he didn't mean it the way it sounded," she said.
"How else could he mean it?" I asked.
"Well, maybe he intended for me to take his cabin and he'd sleep somewhere else."
"What about the bit where he said he had the power of life and death over us?"
"Well, he did mention that, but he might not have been serious. I don't know what to think any more." She sighed heavily. "And he does have the power of life and death, you know."
We'd been talking together in the galley, alone over cups of instant coffee. Now the door opened and Morrie Grover came in. He gave Gail one of his looks, then turned to me.
"Pretty soft," he said. "You got the only girl in umpteen million miles."
I thought he was kidding and I replied in kind. "Yeah. We're honeymooners. Can't you leave us alone?"
"That wasn't in the agreement," he snapped. I knew then he wasn't kidding.
Come to think of it, we'd all been a little edgy lately—ever since the earth had lost its grip on us. The pleasant feeling within our little group was no more. The honeymoon of the adventurers in space was just as phony as the honeymoon of Gail and me.
"What's the matter, Morrie?" I asked. "Got an upset stomach, or do you just need a cup of coffee? We've got the coffee. Help yourself."
"You're a jerk," said Morrie.
There was no doubt that I was as edgy as anyone. Otherwise, Morrie's attitude would not have set me off. "You're a punk," I replied.
"Come off it, you two," said Gail. "You're acting like a couple of schoolboys."
Morrie turned on Gail. "Are you in love with him?"
"Why—"
"What I mean is, why did you marry him?"
I grabbed him by the arm and swung him around. "It's none of your business," I said. "Now, do you lay off and behave like a grown-up man or do I belt you all the way through the main cabin?"
He swung at me. I ducked but, before I could do anything about it, Gail stepped between us. "Get out, Morrie!" she said, and then turned to me. "Bill Drake, you go back to the machinery room and find something to do there. We can't afford a fight right now."
As usual she was right. We calmed down and, out of respect for her, followed her advice.
As I said, I'd noticed that we all were edgy. Joel had sort of pulled his head into his shell like a turtle, and was having nothing to do with any of us, except Dr. Spartan, whom he followed around like a hound.
And Axel seemed preoccupied. I couldn't put my finger on what had happened to him. I thought it was the same sort of space madness that was gripping us all.
"What we ought to do, Axel," I said one day, in an effort to draw him out, "is to tell each other what's bugging us, rather than to bottle it up inside."
"Meaning me?" he asked.
"Meaning you," I said. "You've been acting like the ghost at the banquet. I don't even know whether I can call you a friend any more. What's the trouble?"
Axel shook his head. "I'm not sure," he said.
"Psychological? Depression?"
He gave me a crooked grin. "I wish it were something like that," he replied. "Trouble is, I know what does it, but I'm damned if I know what it is."
"Animal, vegetable or mineral?" I asked.
He started to get halfway cheerful. "I tried to tell Spartan about it and he accused me of imagining things," he said. "I guess it won't hurt to tell you. I'm getting some stuff on the radio I can't explain."
"Signals? From the earth?"
"Not from the earth. From the general direction of Mars."
The way he said it, it sent chills up my spine and down again. "Somebody's trying to signal us?"
"Sometimes I think so, sometimes not," he replied with a heavy sigh. "The signals—if that's what they are—are still very weak."
"Damn it, Axel," I said, "it's ridiculous. If anybody were trying to signal us from Mars, it would mean they knew we were on our way."
"Maybe they do," he said tersely.
It was so damned fantastic, I hardly knew what to say. "But how?" I asked.
"I don't know," he said, "but they could have radio, even radar—and they could be a million times better than ours."
We talked about it for about an hour and Axel couldn't add anything to what he'd already told me, which wasn't much.
During the next few days Gail exerted herself trying to restore a friendly relationship between Morrie and me. I think it was more because Morrie wanted to win her approval than for any other reason that she succeeded, partially.
When we were off duty at the same time, she'd bring us together and try to engage us in conversation. The only trouble was, we'd run out of anything to talk about.
"If we could only invent a game!" she exclaimed in one of her desperate moods.
"Charades?" I asked.
"They make me sick," said Morrie in his usual disagreeable manner.
"We don't even have extra paper and pencil," she went on. "All writing materials are under lock and key, being conserved for taking notes when we reach Mars."
Suddenly Morrie smiled. "You know, I'm a little stupid," he said. "I brought along a deck of cards."
"You what?" Gail exclaimed.
And I gave him a look of surprise. Regulations had forbidden us to bring anything aboard—not even a toothbrush—because all personal items, excepting the one uniform we wore at the time, had already been stored on the Jehad. Spartan had announced, with his usual correctness, that every ounce we carried would require extra fuel to lift us off the earth.
Morrie got up and shuffled over to his locker at the end of the cabin. He opened it, unzipped the pocket of his spacesuit hanging there, and brought out a brand-new pack of cards.
"Morrie! You darling!" said Gail.
"Forgot I had 'em," Morrie said, flushing with pleasure at Gail's words. "I figured things were apt to get boring up here and Doc had mentioned we'd have very little to do. So I stuck them in my pocket when I came down to the pad and, when Doc wasn't looking, put them in the pocket of my spacesuit."
I glanced nervously toward the front of the ship. Spartan probably was in his cabin, or making sure Warner Joel was awake in the control room. Axel was directly above us, snoring gently in his sleeping bag.
"Anyone for gin rummy?" I asked.
Morrie sat down and broke the seal on the deck. At that instant Axel's buzzer went off. The chronometer in the control room was attached to the buzzer which notified us five minutes before the end of each watch. Axel, who was to relieve Joel, stirred in his sleeping bag as he stopped snoring.
"Darn!" said Gail. "I'm next, and if I don't get a little rest, I'll go to sleep on duty and Doc Spartan will shoot me at sunrise." Naturally, Spartan had made no such threat, but he did make sure no one slept on duty by bobbing in and out of the control room at irregular intervals. No one knew when he slept, but I supposed he took many short naps instead of a single, long sleep.
"Good morning, folks," said Axel from the ceiling.
"You're the only person who thinks it's morning," I said.
"Any time I wake up, it's morning," said Axel. "Miss Loring, do you mind getting out of here? I have to get into my clothes."
Axel, like all of us, slept barefooted up to the ears and his clothing was in his locker at the end of the cabin.
"Next time think of the cards sooner, Morrie," said Gail. "I guess there'll be no gin rummy for me today." She got up, went to the rear of the cabin and out the door toward her own quarters.
Axel wriggled out of his sleeping bag, put on his sandals and went to his locker. He noticed the cards Morrie was shuffling. "Where in hell did you find those?" he asked.
"It doesn't matter," said Morrie. "We got 'em. Two-handed, Bill?"
"Sure. Deal 'em."
Morrie and I were seated lengthwise with the ship, and the first card he dealt sailed clear to the partition at the far end. The artificial gravity didn't pull the card to the deck as it would on earth. "Guess we'd better sit crosswise," he said, retrieving the card.
We shifted so that no matter which way Morrie sailed the card it would be "down." Axel dressed and then went into the control room. A few minutes later Dr. Joel came in. He saw us playing gin rummy.
"Good Lord! Interplanetary Las Vegas?"
"Want to join us, Warner?" I asked.
"Not for all the gold dust on the moon," he said. "If Spartan ever sees you playing cards, he'll hang you to an asteroid."
He watched us play, glancing apprehensively toward the forward bulkhead as if he expected Spartan to burst in on us at any moment. Then, at last, he got up and went through the door. I was facing the bulkhead but I didn't notice him leaving because I was trying to decide whether to gin or not. It was Morrie who heard the door open, whirling his head so suddenly it almost displaced him from his sitting position. "Hey!" he exclaimed, "Joel's gone. Do you suppose he intends to rat on us?"
"Let him," I said. "These cards are worth the powder it took to shoot 'em into space. They probably will preserve our sanity. That's why Spartan can't object."
Morrie looked at me as if he didn't know what to believe. I shrugged off his doubt, certain that Spartan was intelligent enough to see the cards weren't hurting anything, even though they'd been brought aboard illegally.
I ginned and won. Morrie was reshuffling the cards to deal again when the door opened and Dr. Spartan, followed by Warner Joel, came into the cabin.
"Stop this immediately!" Spartan barked.
We turned our heads and looked at Spartan's angry face. Then I noticed that he was wearing something new—a holster, holding a nickel-plated air pistol. A kid's toy.
"Stand up!" Spartan said, his hand on the pistol butt.
For a moment I wondered if Gail had been right, that Spartan was capable of going in for a little capital punishment to pass the boring hours in space. Morrie and I got to our feet.
"Those things—" Spartan nodded his head toward the cards. "—are strictly against regulations. If you have time on your hands, you should use the projector and study the scientific works aboard. We can't allow foolishness."
"Damnit, Doctor," I said, "all work and no play is going to turn this crew into a dull bunch of astronauts."
"Nonsense," said Spartan. "I forbid card playing. We're not on the earth any more. We're in space. Beyond terrestrial law. Beyond any standards and regulations that exist on our planet. We are, in effect, another world—and I rule this world. What I say is law and must be obeyed."
Morrie stared at him, open-mouthed. But I had been warned about what to expect from Spartan. After all, he'd said about the same thing to Gail. "We're not questioning your authority, sir," I said. "And what we were doing was very innocent."
"I'm the best judge of that. Give me the cards, Grover."
Morrie hesitated, his face registering uncertainty.
Spartan drew the gun. "This is an air pistol," he said, his manner imperious, his tone hard and relentless. "You understand the danger of a pistol aboard this craft. A bullet might puncture the walls or damage machinery. So I shoot a small dart which is impregnated with a mild, but very effective, poison. It will paralyze a man in a few seconds. Even a scratch on the skin will make you harmless. I can quell any sort of mutiny."
"This isn't mutiny!" I said, speaking with all the deference I could muster. "Sure, I'll admit the cards aren't supposed to be here, but they are. And they're causing no harm. The capsule was lifted into orbit and the flight of this ship has been A-okay from the beginning. Now these cards are helping our morale, which needs a hell of a lot of help right now."
Spartan pointed the gun at me. His jaw was set; his eyes were lifeless marble. "I have the power of life and death over every living thing on this ship," he said.
When a man is threatened with a weapon, he sometimes gives up, but this puny little air gun pointed at me seemed harmless. Besides, I was angry. I took a step toward Spartan. I don't believe I would have touched him. The step was just to prove I wasn't afraid of him or the gun and I thought he was making too big an issue out of something very small.
Ping.
The gun went off and I felt a stinging sensation in my left arm. I raised it, plucked a tiny dart from the flesh. Suddenly my knees buckled and I collapsed on the deck.
I was not unconscious. I could hear Spartan telling Morrie to give him the cards. Morrie was too frightened to disobey.
"Put the cards in the waste disposal, Dr. Joel," said Spartan.
"Yes, sir." Warner Joel's voice had a tremor in it.
I tried to call him a stool pigeon, but my vocal chords wouldn't work.
"For this disobedience, Bill Drake will have twenty extra tours of duty in the next twenty days," said Spartan. "For wasting time, Morrie Grover will have ten extra tours. We need two men in the control room now, so each of you will take his extra turns in company with another member of the crew."
Five hours later, when Gail came through the cabin to relieve Axel at the controls, I was just regaining use of my muscles. Morrie explained to her what had happened.
"Get some antiseptic," she said, examining my wound.
"No need," I said hoarsely. "Ship's been sterilized. No germs aboard."
She examined the wound. "It's sort of deep," she said. "The beast! He just wanted to throw his weight around."
"He'll be tough to get along with from now on, Gail," I said. "Mind if I take my extra duty with you?"
Morrie scowled and said nothing.
"No, Bill. Some of the time anyhow. Part of the watch I'll share with Morrie." I heard him release his breath. "Now listen, Bill. I know you're angry with Spartan, but you've got to be careful. I think you understand why. We've got to keep him from doing anything more rash than this."
I was able to nod my head. I had to get along with the bastard. Not only my life, but her safety depended on it.
Chapter 6
In the end, Spartan himself arranged a schedule for Morrie and me, so we had no choice when we would serve our extra shifts. However, I spent equal time with Gail, Axel and Joel, as did Morrie.
Gail and I had no opportunity to talk over our personal problems—concerning, mainly, Dr. Spartan—because he was always joining us in the control cabin. Axel was always engaged in radio astronomy, or trying to intercept terrestrial broadcasts, which were growing more feeble each day. Joel was uneasy in my presence.
"I'm sorry about causing you all this trouble," he said. "But if I hadn't reported that infraction of rules to Dr. Spartan, he might have punished me."
"Axel didn't report it and he wasn't punished," I said.
"Dr. Spartan didn't suspect that Axel knew anything about it." Joel sighed. "I'm afraid my act has made me very unpopular with the rest of you."
"Forget it," I said, "a trip to Mars isn't a popularity contest. If we return with good results, it won't matter. We'll all be fair-haired boys."
But the incident had helped me decide that Joel would not be trustworthy if it came to a showdown against Spartan. On the other hand, it also helped prove that Axel was not a confidential aide to our chief.
On the fourth extra tour of duty, I was in the control room with Axel. He was concentrating on the sounds he was picking up with our ultrahigh frequency receiver. Finally he ran the sounds he was getting through an oscilloscope.
"Look at that, Bill!" he exclaimed, pointing to the strange wave pattern.
"Pretty," I commented. All I saw was that it was something different.
"That signal," said Axel, "was made by intelligent beings. It's not a natural radio pattern—the kind you'd get from a star or a nebula."
I took my eyes off the instruments and looked at the pattern again. "Are you trying to tell me the Russians have invented a new kind of radio?"
"The signal's coming from Mars," said Axel.
"You're space crazy," I said. "There's nothing intelligent on Mars. Just a few plants."
"We don't really know," said Axel. "I've been picking up these signals for several days. They're traveling twice the distance of the terrestrial signals. And the volume is greater. That would mean at least four or more times the power."
"You've reported it to Spartan?" I asked.
"I've entered it in the log book," said Axel. "I've also made a recording. It's not a voice signal, but it has an artificial wave pattern. It's some kind of radar wave—"
"The Martians have spotted us?" I couldn't quite believe it. "They're gonna send out a fleet of spaceships and blast us before we land."
"If they had spaceships they would have visited the earth," said Axel.
"Then we're more advanced than they are. And if they're intelligent, we've nothing to fear. We'll probably get the keys to all the Martian cities."
"We may not be ahead of them," said Axel. "And even if they're intelligent, we might have things to fear. How would we receive Martians if they landed on the earth?"
"We'd probably give 'em television contracts," I said.
"Not at first," said Axel. "We'd take pains to contain them somehow—prevent them from causing us any harm. We'd make sure they had come to the earth with peaceful intent. And we'd be pretty slow to trust them even if they came unarmed."
"Martians may be different," I said. "Why don't you tell Spartan? You know how he is. If he thought we held out anything on him, he might use his popgun on us."
"That's what I've been going to do," said Axel. "But I wanted to make sure these signals came from Mars. Now I'm positive." He touched the buzzer signal on the big globe in the center of the room where all the ship's controls were located.
Spartan's voice came over the intercom. "What's the matter now?"
"We've picked up signals from Mars, sir," said Axel.
"Nonsense." There was a click. A moment later Spartan came in through the bulkhead door. His eyes darted about suspiciously, as if expecting some trick.
"It's sort of a carrier wave," said Axel as Spartan anchored himself on the floor. "Seems to be a kind of radar—as if we're being watched." It was obvious that Axel was awed by the new phenomenon.
"It's utterly ridiculous," said Spartan. "Radar would indicate intelligent life. Mars is a dying world. The age of intelligent life ended there long ago." There was still that wary look about him and his lips curled into a sneer.
"Perhaps it's a different kind of intelligence," I suggested.
"What other kinds are there?" Spartan snorted. "Intelligence is knowing what is true and what isn't. A thing can either be true or false. There's not much difference between intelligences."
I'd learned you couldn't argue with Spartan, who refused to recognize that truth is relative and that there are at least two sides to any question; that, more often, there are an infinite number of points of view, all true in a sense, none altogether false.
"Anyhow, we've got signals," I said meekly, seeing the utter futility of arguing.
"Signals. Bah!" He was almost snarling now, unwilling to admit any possibility which might interfere with his preconceived notions.
"Doc, there are millions of stars and even if only a fraction of one per cent of them has conditions suitable to life, we might find intelligent beings there."
"Granted. But Mars isn't a planet with the right conditions. Why, you're even inferring that these Martians might be more intelligent than we are. We on earth couldn't pick out an object the size of this ship so far away from our planet. Let me check these signals—"
Spartan began twisting the dials controlling the directional antennae at the front and rear of the craft. "Might be something else; different from radar—"
Axel's voice cut in. "Doctor! Look at our radarscope!"
I turned my head quickly toward the screen. There was just the flimsy outline of something there; something barely perceptible to the waves that scanned the path ahead of the ship. But whatever it was, it was in our path and it was very large. A cloud, maybe—only clouds don't show on radar.
"Meteors!" screamed Spartan. "Heaven help us! It's a meteor cloud!"
He pushed me aside and sprang to the controls. At the same time, he touched the emergency button, setting off a shrieking siren alarm.
Chapter 7
Except for two or three meteor clouds which the earth plows through on its annual turn around the sun, the number and location of these in the solar system are unknown. They are not clouds in the sense that they hang like a heavy mist and obscure objects behind them. They are so thin and tenuous that if thousands of meteors did not shower on the earth when it goes through their midst, we would be unaware of their presence in space.
The cloud ahead of us was, possibly, half a million miles in diameter, making it rather small. The Perseids and Leonids, for example, may extend completely around the sun in the orbit of a disintegrated comet. Very few of the meteors are larger than a grain of sand and they are so widely scattered that all of the meteors in a cubic mile of space might be packed into a teacup. However, a few of them might be as large as a teacup and, very rarely, one might be as big as a house.
For a planet like the earth to plow through a cloud of meteors, there is little danger. For one thing, most of the meteors are vaporized as they strike the upper atmosphere. Only a few ever reach the earth and there have been only a couple of cases on record where a human being has been harmed by a meteorite.
But the Jehad had no atmosphere to shield it from meteors. True, we were equipped with double walls capable of vaporizing a meteor up to a quarter of an inch in diameter. And we had methods of minimizing the danger of larger meteors—leakproof fluid in the walls, airtight bulkheads dividing the ship into segments, spacesuits, and a reserve supply of oxygen. But there was always that extreme chance of striking a big fellow, which would cancel out all our defenses. This cloud ahead of us certainly held a few that size.
Had Axel and I not been so interested in the signals from Mars, we might have spotted the meteors several minutes sooner. Our ship was now traveling close to 30,000 miles an hour, however, and those minutes had eaten up precious distance in which we might have maneuvered the craft out of danger.
We were less than an hour's run from the fringe of the cloud. The Jehad, using a very small amount of power to accelerate its huge mass, could not be turned in time to avoid it.
As Spartan sounded the alarm, he spoke tersely into the intercom mike, warning of the danger ahead and telling the crew to scatter to separate compartments, to minimize the loss in the event that a large meteor crashed into one segment of the ship. We had all been drilled on this procedure, which included the donning of spacesuits.
While Spartan remained in the control room, Axel and I put on our suits, zipped them, and then I carried one to Spartan, who put it on while Axel continued to manipulate the controls. The manipulation simply included increasing the power of the plasma motors.
All twelve were now operating, and auxiliary jets on the sides of the ship were being fired in order to curve the ship from its trajectory so that it would pass as near the extreme rear fringe of the cloud as possible. Here the meteors would be the smallest, driven back from the central mass by the pressure of sunlight, which would have less effect on the larger masses.
Wearing a space helmet aboard ship had one major disadvantage. In order to talk, it was necessary to use the radio transmitters located in the helmets. All were on the same wave length and since all of us were talking at the same time, there was a babble of voices in our ears.
"Silence!" Spartan's voice rose above the others. "Keep quiet! You distract me!"
The sounds subsided. Spartan took over the controls from Axel and continued to increase the power of the ship. Suddenly he seemed to be aware that Axel and I were still in the control room. "Go back to my compartment! Both of you! You know the regulations for an emergency like this."
Dr. Spartan's compartment, like the shower room and lavatory farther to the rear of the ship, was divided in half by a corridor. On one side were his living quarters and on the other was the chartroom which contained a small but adequate electronic computer, astronomic tables on microfilm, a projector for the film, and our entire supply of writing materials.
Axel stationed himself in the chartroom, and I went to Spartan's sleeping quarters. I felt helpless and trapped. The room, for a captain's quarters, was bleak. His sleeping bag was lashed to the bulkhead and there was a private lavatory and shaving mirror, for he did not share the one the rest of us used. A small chest—like the ones the rest of us had for our personal belongings—was near the bed roll.
I remembered suddenly that the male members of the crew had been clean-shaven and had sported butch hair-cuts when they'd come aboard. Even Gail wore a mannish bob. But Dr. Spartan had kept his beard. If, in order to cut down on weight, we'd been ordered to trim our hair, why hadn't Spartan made a sacrifice in that direction?
I thought about these things, perhaps, to turn my mind away from the approaching danger. This was also the reason I gave myself for looking into his space chest. I'm not naturally a snooper. Was he the kind of man who would murder me in order to possess Gail? Would a clue be in his chest? I looked inside.
I found a toothbrush, soap, extra clothing and shoes, electric razor for trimming his beard. There was also a locked box which probably contained poisoned darts. I had an urge to steal it, but I knew his gun was loaded and I'd never get away with the theft.
Next I found a small square of paper on which were written the names of the crew. Morrie Grover's name was first. Mine was second. Joel's had been third, but now it was crossed out and written below Axel's. Gail's name was followed by a question mark. There was no notation to indicate the reason for the names. He did not need a roster of the crew—that was in the log book.
I replaced the paper and closed the chest. I waited for meteors to strike, and wondered if any would damage the ship. But I knew the only sound I would hear would be when one struck the ship. The greater the sound, the larger the meteor.
I put my head to the floor. I was wearing my helmet, of course, but the vibrations of striking meteors would be transmitted to the helmet and I would hear them. We had often talked to each other this way without using our helmet radios.
For several minutes I waited and heard nothing. Then came a sound.
Ping.
It was faint, but I knew a meteor had made that sound as it hit the craft.
Then ping, ping, crump!
Two small, one much larger. But there had been no holes made in the ship. At least, there was no alarm from Dr. Spartan who would know from the air gauges if any compartment had been punctured.
The ringing sounds, singly and in twos and threes, continued. This was a dense cloud, although we were striking them only a dozen or so to a minute. That is density in space. Then I heard a loud thud. A tiny bump raised itself in the metal floor not two feet from my helmet. A large meteor had pierced the outer hide of our ship and dented the inside wall before vaporizing. But the fluid in the walls was now closing the hole and we had lost no air.
Another thud. I didn't know where this one had hit.
The ship's acceleration, which had increased when Dr. Spartan started the emergency motors, suddenly seemed to decrease. Spartan's gruff voice came through my helmet radio. "A motor has been hit."
He had cut down the power, of course. A single motor conking out would put more thrust on the other three sides of the ship, resulting in a curved trajectory for the craft. Therefore three other motors would have to be cut in order to keep the ship in a straight line.
There were more pings and thumps in my ears as I continued to press my helmet to the floor. An hour passed. Then another. Two hours of terror. Then the noise stopped.
"I think we're out of danger," Spartan's voice came through my helmet radio. "We penetrated a thin segment of the cloud."
"Any leaks, Doctor?" Axel asked.
"The air pressure gauges show no loss. But the motor will have to be repaired. Who's on duty now?"
"Miss Loring follows me into the control room," said Axel, "but this has been a tough experience for her. I won't mind working overtime."
"I can't permit it," said Spartan. "Everyone must do his share. Fetch her, Drake."
"Yes, sir," I said.
I went back to the main cabin where I found Joel slipping out of his spacesuit. I removed mine.
"Where's Gail?" I asked him.
He nodded to the rear of the ship. "She went to the machinery room," he said. "Morrie's in the kitchen."
I shuffled back to the kitchen. Morrie's spacesuit lay in a heap on the floor, but there was no sign of him.
He wasn't in the lavatory, either. I pushed open the door to the machinery room just in time to hear Gail scream.
I stood there a moment, hardly believing what I saw. Morrie had forced her to the floor. He had almost torn her uniform from her body. She was trying to fight him off, but his arms held her tight.
I pushed myself away from the bulkhead. In the center of the ship there is very little centrifugal force and I literally sailed across the room to drop lightly on my feet beside the struggling pair.
I reached down, caught Morrie savagely around the neck with my arm, and pulled him back, away from Gail.
He squirmed out of my grasp and threw a savage punch which struck me in the shoulder. But he hadn't been set to deliver the blow and I hardly felt it. I was angry now and I lunged forward, grabbing his arm with both hands. His feet left the floor and I literally hurled him across the cabin into the water purifier on the far side of the room.
He hit with a crash.
I turned to Gail. "Are you all right?"
"I—I'm—fine," she choked. Then her eyes focused on Morrie across the room. "Look out, Bill!" she screamed.
I turned. Morrie had wrenched a pipe from the water purifier and was getting set to dive at me.
Chapter 8
Crouching, I awaited Morrie's onslaught. He held the aluminum pipe—about a three-foot length—biding his time, his mouth twisting in bitter frustration. I remember thinking how lucky I was that the improvised weapon was aluminum and not heavy iron. Small consolation, I thought. He can certainly knock me out with it.
But Morrie's angry face showed more than a desire to make me unconscious. He had the wild eyes of a madman, and there was murder in his movements.
He swung the pipe. I ducked and it passed so close to my skull that I could feel it brush through my hair. The force of the blow tore his feet from the floor and he sailed upward, glancing off the garden trays so that he turned a somersault and came down on his feet above my head.
I sprang at him. He stepped aside and swung the pipe, catching me a glancing blow on the shoulder and knocking me across the ship and against the water purifier. The machine was already a shambles, both of us having hit it. The steam spurted into the room—water dripped on the floor.
Bruised and cautious, I shuffled around the ship toward him. He stood waving the pipe like a batter in a baseball game, determined not to miss again. I could see it in his eyes.
I moved within reach and he struck. But this time I didn't dodge. I caught the blow on my arm. Pain shot through it, but I'd caught the blow soon enough to prevent the full force from breaking the bone. As it hit, I seized the pipe with my other hand and twisted it sharply. It came out of Morrie's grasp.
He lunged toward me. I threw him back with a punch aimed at his chin, landing on his chest instead. He crouched to attack and I threw the pipe at him. Once more I didn't figure on the ten per cent gravity. The pipe went over his head and crashed into the bulkhead at the other end of the ship.
He sprang and I caught him. We stood with our magnetized shoes anchored to the floor, swinging, ducking, punching, each now angry enough to kill. We were about evenly matched as far as muscles and weight were concerned, but Morrie was showing the strength of a maniac. My punch staggered him but did no real damage. He came back and feinted. I suckered and he brought two punches against my chin and belly that sent me to the floor. Only the fact that I rolled with the punches kept me from being kayoed. He tried to dive on me, but I scrambled out of the way. We were both beginning to show some signs of damage. I had a soreness in the belly where he'd landed his blow, and his cheek had been cut by my knuckles. He dived at me again. I scored on his chin but he managed to get me in a clinch.
We wrestled, partly on the floor, partly floating near the garden trays and the cable housing in the center of the compartment. Suddenly he grasped my shoulders and brought up his knee.
It caught me in the groin and I screamed with pain.
Somehow I caught one of the trays and hurled myself out of reach, but as I hit the floor I could hardly move. All the fight left me with that blow. Somewhere, I heard Gail calling: "Bill! Get up!"
It was no use. I couldn't move my arms or legs.
Morrie hesitated a moment. Then, deciding that I was helpless, he pushed himself to the bulkhead where the length of pipe lay. He meant to use it in an attempt to beat me to death. He reached the weapon, picked it up and held it a moment in his hand as he turned a savage look toward me.
He came toward me, certain that I was no longer able to defend myself. I rolled away, the pain nearly killing me. Then I wrapped my legs around his and tripped him, in spite of the pain in my groin. He dropped the pipe as he fell.
Holding him tightly with a scissors grip, I lay there, inhaling deeply, trying to rid my body of pain. Morrie turned and twisted, trying to break free. With each movement he was sliding, until finally he was free.
I rolled over and got to my knees, waiting for his next rush. I needed all the time I could get to regain my strength. Knowing this, Morrie wasted no time. He got ready to leap again.
Then I saw Gail. She had picked up the pipe Morrie had dropped. She moved toward him, holding it high, ready to strike. My eyes, watching her, gave her away. Morrie saw my glance and turned just as she was ready to strike. He warded off the blow with his left arm, just as I'd done early in the fight, then he swung hard with his right. The punch landed solidly on Gail's jaw. She gave a startled moan of pain as she went down to the floor.
That did more than all the resting in the world for me. The pain seemed to leave my body for a moment. At least I didn't feel it any more. All that was left was a desire to pound Morrie Grover into a shapeless pulp because he had struck Gail with his fist. I hit him like a truck.
He went down and I fell on top of him. Holding him with my knees on his stomach I punched his face, his nose, his mouth, his jaw. Left, right. Left, right. One, two and again one, two. Morrie's head lolled with the punches and he was out. And then my strength left me. I fell over his unconscious body in a faint.
The darkness seemed to float away as I felt a cooling moisture on my face. I opened my eyes and saw Gail bending over me. Her clothing was in so many rags she looked naked. She had taken a strip of torn cloth, moistened it under the leaking water purifier, and was bathing my battered face.
I turned my head and saw Axel and Dr. Spartan coming through the bulkhead door.
"What in the devil happened here?" Spartan snarled.
"Grover," said Gail, nodding toward Morrie, who was trying to lift himself off the floor.
"He's hurt!" said Axel.
"Attend to him," said Spartan. Then he turned to Gail. "And Drake? Were they fighting? Over you?"
Gail stopped bathing my face. She began to sob. I sat up straight now.
"Stop tormenting her!" I said, my anger rising to choke me.
"Sir!" said Spartan. He always insisted we call him sir. Now that bit of rank pulling seemed more important to him than ever. His eyes showed steel-hard determination to force me into submission; his lips were tight with hatred.
"I said 'Stop tormenting her!' and I didn't say sir!" I shouted. "Morrie tried to rape her. Can't you figure that out?"
"Sir!" Spartan snapped. "And how do I know you weren't the one who tried it?"
"Because, damn you, SIR, I'm her husband!"
Spartan's face flushed angrily. "That's no way to talk to your superior officer!" he snapped. "For this impertinence—"
He stopped in the middle of pronouncing sentence as his eyes fell on the water-purifying apparatus.
"You've wrecked it!" he shouted and sprang to examine it.
Axel was holding Morrie upright now and Gail resumed bathing my bruised face with refreshing water. "Let me have some of that water," said Axel, ripping out a torn piece of Morrie's T-shirt.
Spartan swung around. "Stop wasting that water!" he roared. "Do you realize we're dangerously short of water as a result of this foolishness?"
Gail continued to bathe my face with the damp cloth.
"Stop it!" thundered Spartan.
"Bill's hurt," she replied calmly.
"By his own idiocy."
"Idiocy!" Gail stood up and faced Spartan. "If there's an idiot aboard this ship, it's you—you interplanetary Captain Bligh!"
Spartan didn't move a muscle. His face was frozen into a mask of contempt and resentment. "Miss Loring," he said, "just because you are a woman gives you no special privileges. I'm the captain of this ship, and I must be treated with respect."
"Why don't you do something to earn respect then?" she demanded, looking as though she might burst into tears at any moment.
"Ten days extra duty for you, Miss Loring," he said. He turned and went to the bulkhead door. When he reached it, he turned to Axel. "As soon as these men are able, bring them into the main cabin. We'll hold the court-martial there."
He disappeared through the door. Axel got up and went over to the water purifier. He spent three or four minutes examining it. When he finished he looked very grim.
"Two of the four units are wrecked," he said. "We may be on half rations of water for the next two years."
When Morrie and I were able to get on our feet, we went into the main cabin, where Spartan was arranging Morrie's spacesuit beside his sleeping bag. He gave us a frowning glance and beckoned to Axel, who went to where he was standing. They talked for a few minutes, discussing the damage to our water system. Only Joel was absent, being in the control room.
Finally Spartan turned to the rest of us. "Sit down," he said.
He waited until we had arranged ourselves in front of him, Axel, Gail and I sitting cross-legged on the floor behind Morrie, who reclined on his elbows facing Spartan.
"Mr. Ludson has just told me that our water-cycling equipment is badly damaged," Spartan said, seating himself. "Therefore, we will have to use less water, unless we can make repairs. The present outlook is very bad. The cycling units can now distill only half the amount we have been using.
"We can't cut down on the amount of water we use to irrigate our garden. And we can't prepare meals without water because we have to depend on dehydrated food. So we'll have to use less water for drinking, washing and laundry."
"Good heavens, Dr. Spartan! We can't live in filth!" said Gail.
"Perhaps not," said Spartan, "but when we wash, or do laundry, that water must come from our drinking supply. That will force us to hold unnecessary cleanliness to a minimum."
It was obvious that we would be the dirtiest group of spacemen who ever made an interplanetary voyage.
"In addition," Spartan went on, "No. Five motor is not functioning because it was hit by a meteor. We have yet to determine how badly it is damaged, but since it is important that we have that extra margin of safety, we must make every attempt to repair it. And if that isn't enough trouble for us, two of our crew have engaged in a disgraceful brawl."
"It was not a brawl!" said Gail.
"Miss Loring, I've warned you. I will increase your punishment if you continue with these remarks. I've called you together here to hold a court-martial to decide where to fix the blame for the damage to the water machinery. Now, Miss Loring, if you want to talk, you can tell me what happened."
Gail, who had found time to put on another uniform, bowed her head.
"It is very embarrassing, Dr. Spartan—"
"It is necessary," said Spartan.
Gail hesitated, collecting her thoughts. "When the meteor alarm was given I went to my station in the machinery room, which is nearest my quarters in the rear cupola of the ship—"
"We all know that. It is unnecessary to give these details," said Spartan.
"After you gave the all-clear signal, Morrie—Mr. Grover—who had been in the kitchen, came in through the bulkhead and asked me if I was all right. After I told him I was, he broke down and began to cry. I felt sorry for him and went over and put my arm on his shoulders to cheer him up."
"Are you sure, Miss Loring, that was the only reason you put your arm around him?" Spartan asked.
"I did not put my arm around him, Doctor," Gail said succinctly. "Mr. Grover apparently had been under tremendous strain. As you know, he's the youngest member of the crew."
"He's old enough to have mature emotions."
"He has shown that his emotions are definitely not mature," Gail replied. "As I said before, I tried to cheer him up, but he—like other people I could name—put a different interpretation on an innocent gesture. He threw his arms around me and kissed me. He said some wild things about being in love with me. I tried to push him away, explaining that I was a married woman—"
"We all understand about that marriage," Morrie broke in.
"Nevertheless, I made promises at that ceremony and I intend to keep them until Bill Drake is no longer my husband," she replied. "I thought Morrie was out of his head. Then, before I knew it, he began to tear off my clothing. I tried to struggle but he held me so tightly I couldn't. Then Bill Drake appeared. He threw Mr. Grover across the room, and Morrie tore a piece of pipe from the condenser and they—they fought."
"Then it was Drake who threw Grover into the machinery?" Spartan asked.
"Yes," replied Gail. "But it wasn't intentional."
"It may not have been intentional!" Spartan snarled, "but it has endangered the success of this expedition."
"Morrie also knocked Bill Drake into the machinery," she said. She was calling Morrie by a single name and me by my full name. Suddenly I sensed that in using my complete name she was not being formal. On the contrary, she had turned it into a term of endearment. It was as if she savored the full name, rather than any kind of abbreviation.
"Humph! And are you sure you never, at any time, encouraged Mr. Grover to make these—uh—advances?"
"Of course not!"
Spartan turned to Morrie. "What do you have to say?" It was obvious that he hoped Morrie could successfully refute the story told by Gail.
Morrie shrugged, his whole manner noncommittal.
"I want an answer," said Spartan. "Is she telling the truth?" He was driving for the answer he wanted.
Morrie breathed deeply. "What is the truth, Dr. Spartan?" he asked.
"Surely you know the truth." An incredulous look sprang to his face.
"Don't act so damned dogmatic. The truth can be a dozen different things. Right now I don't know what's real and what isn't. Nothing is the same out here as it was on the earth. Everything familiar is millions of miles away. Even the earth looks like a star in the sky and it takes a telescope to see the moon. Stars whirl like a merry-go-round and the sun is smaller and has a corona, which we never see at home except during an eclipse. We travel in something different from any vehicle ever dreamed of, powered by something nothing else runs by. We don't wear clothes, we wear gym suits. Our meals are dehydrated food and hybrid vegetables. And our drinking water is distilled from urine! We have centrifugal force for gravity and we even have a marriage that isn't real."
"The rest of us have adjusted ourselves to these conditions," said Spartan sternly, obviously disappointed at the turn the conversation had taken.
"Do you really think so?" Morrie asked. "I'm not so sure. We're living under conditions that are decidedly upsetting. It wouldn't take much to push any of us over the edge into a psychosis. Nothing is real, not even our thoughts, because our world is totally different."
Spartan's lips pressed together. Then he asked: "Is this your excuse?"
"Gail Loring is the only real thing aboard. That's because she's a woman and I'm a man. The only thing traveling with us that we knew on earth is sex." Having had his say, he took on a hangdog look, as if putting himself on the mercy of the court.
"Bah! A flimsy defense." Spartan's tone was not convincing. He was too much aware of sex himself.
"Then if it's not a defense or an excuse, it's a reason why I went mad for a few minutes," Grover said. "Perhaps I'm not justified by earth standards, but those standards don't exist here. You said so yourself. All I thought of was that she was a woman. I didn't think of the consequences. I thought of myself."
I was still angry and could never forgive Morrie, but I also felt sorry for him. Out of frustration, I'd nursed some pretty weird thoughts myself. Fortunately, I'd been able to control them.
Spartan seemed immune to understanding. "I take it that you plead guilty."
Gail cleared her throat. "There are extenuating circumstances, Doctor," she said. "As the injured party, I ask you not to be too hard on Mr. Grover."
Spartan turned cold, hard eyes on her. "Is this an admission that you may be more guilty than you admit?"
Gail flushed. "All I asked was a little human understanding for Mr. Grover."
"Humph." Spartan bit his lip beneath his beard. "It is necessary to make Mr. Grover understand that he must control himself in the future. He is not well adjusted. Certainly our examiners are at fault. They were supposed to perceive signs of instability and weakness. If they failed in this case, how do we know they did a better job of judging the rest of you?"
"And you, Doctor?" Gail asked.
He ignored her. "We can't send Grover to prison. There is none. But he is unstable," he mused, almost as if he were talking to himself. "The simplest way out would be to execute him—"
"Doctor!" exclaimed Gail.
"What in the hell, sir?" Axel said. "Don't be as crazy as Grover."
For a moment Spartan's eyes flared with indignation, then he waved his hand for silence. "I had not finished. I was just pointing out the simple solution. With Grover out of the way, we'd have less of a water problem, which he caused. If he did not exist, we would not have to worry about his psychotic violence, which might recur. On the other hand, the loss of one able-bodied crewman would certainly show itself in the results of our expedition. We must think of the expedition. However, some disciplinary action is needed." He paused.
"I agree with you," said Morrie. "And as for my being crazy, I'm not, really. I was under a strain. I was afraid. I just forgot to be civilized."
"I'm glad you see it in that light," said Spartan, "because I'm assigning you to a task that might be somewhat dangerous. You will make the necessary repairs to engine No. Five."
I felt a sense of relief. I'd been afraid of what Spartan might do, especially when he talked of capital punishment. And even though making the repairs to the plasma motors would be perilous, the danger wasn't excessive and the job was one that someone would have to do anyhow.
"You'll begin at once," said Dr. Spartan.
"Thank you, sir," said Morrie.
He rose, went over to his bed roll and began to put on his spacesuit. Dr. Spartan watched him with a curious glint in his eyes. Then he turned to me. "Stand by the locks till he returns, Drake."
I nodded.
Turning abruptly, Dr. Spartan went back into his ivory tower.