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Greylorn

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I looked at the Mark 9’s on the table. A blast from one of those would have burned all four of us in that enclosed room. I dumped them into a drawer and loaded my Browning 2mm. The trouble wasn’t over yet, I knew. After this farce, Kramer would have to make another move to regain his prestige. I unlocked the door, and left it slightly ajar. Then I threw the main switch and stretched out on my bunk. I put the Browning needler on the little shelf near my right hand. Perhaps I had made a mistake, I reflected, in eliminating formal discipline as far as possible in the shipboard routine. It had seemed the best course for a long cruise under the present conditions. But now I had a morale situation that could explode in mutiny at the first blunder on my part. I knew that Kramer was the focal point of the trouble. He was my senior staff officer, and carried a great deal of weight in the Officer’s Mess. As a medic, he knew most of the crew better than I. I thought I knew Kramer’s driving motive, too. He had always been a great success with the women. When he had volunteered for the mission he had doubtless pictured himself as quite a romantic hero, off on a noble but hopeless quest. Now, after four years in deep space, he was beginning to realize that he was getting no younger, and that at best he would have spent a decade of his prime in monastic seclusion. He wanted to go back now, and salvage what he could. It was incredible to me that this movement could have gathered followers, but I had to face the fact; my crew almost to a man had given up the search before it was well begun. I had heard the first rumors only a few weeks before, but the idea had spread through the crew like wildfire. Now, I couldn’t afford drastic action, or risk forcing a blowup by arresting ringleaders. I had to baby the situation along with an easy hand and hope for good news from the Survey Section. A likely find now would save us. There was still every reason to hope for success in our search. To date all had gone according to plan. We had followed the route of Omega as far as it had been charted, and then gone on, studying the stars ahead for evidence of planets. We had made our first finds early in the fourth year of the voyage. It had been a long tedious time since then of study and observation, eliminating one world after another as too massive, too cold, too close to a blazing primary, too small to hold an atmosphere. In all we had discovered twelve planets, of four suns. Only one had looked good enough for close observation. We had moved in to televideo range before realizing it was an all-sea world. Now we had five new main-sequence suns ahead within six months’ range. I hoped for a confirmation on a planet at any time. To turn back now to a world that had pinned its last hopes on our success was unthinkable, yet this was Kramer’s plan, and that of his followers. They would not prevail while I lived. Still it was not my plan to be a party to our failure through martyrdom. I intended to stay alive and carry through to success. I dozed lightly and waited. <hr class='minor' /> I awoke when they tried the door. It had swung open a few inches at the touch of the one who had tried it, not expecting it to be unlatched. It stood ajar now, the pale light from the hall shining on the floor. No one entered. Kramer was still fumbling, unsure of himself. At every surprise with which I presented him, he was paralyzed, expecting a trap. Several minutes passed in tense silence; then the door swung wider. “I’ll be forced to kill the first man who enters this room,” I said in a steady voice. I hadn’t picked up the gun. I heard urgent whispers in the hall. Then a hand reached in behind the shelter of the door and flipped the light switch. Nothing happened, since I had opened the main switch. It was only a small discomfiture, but it had the effect of interfering with their plan of action, such as it was. These men were being pushed along by Kramer, without a clearly thought out plan. They hardly knew how to go about defying lawful authority. I called out, “I suggest you call this nonsense off now, and go back to your quarters, men. I don’t know who is involved in this, yet. You can get away clean if you leave quietly, now, before you’ve made a serious mistake.” I hoped it would work. This little adventure, abortive though it was, might serve to let off steam. The men would have something to talk about for a few precious days. I picked up the needler and waited. If the bluff failed, I would have to kill someone. Distantly I heard a metallic clatter. Moments later a tremor rattled the objects on the shelf, followed a few seconds later by a heavy shuddering. Papers slid from my desk, fluttered across the floor. The whiskey bottle toppled, rolled to the far wall. I felt dizzy, as my bunk seemed to tilt under me. I reached for the intercom key and flipped it. “Taylor,” I said, “this is the Captain. What’s the report?” There was a momentary delay before the answer came. “Captain, we’ve taken a meteor strike aft, apparently a metallic body. It must have hit us a tremendous wallop because it’s set up a rotation. I’ve called out Damage Control.” “Good work, Taylor,” I said. I keyed for Stores; the object must have hit about there. “This is the Captain,” I said. “Any damage there?” I got a hum of background noise, then a too-close transmission. “Uh, Cap’n, we got a hole in the aft bulkhead here. I slapped a seat pad over it. Man, that coulda killed somebody.” <hr class='minor' /> I flipped off the intercom and started aft at a run. My visitors had evaporated. In the passage men stood, milled, called questions. I keyed my mike as I ran. “Taylor, order all hands to emergency stations.” It was difficult running, since the floors had assumed an apparent tilt. Loose gear was rolling and sliding along underfoot, propelled forward by centrifugal force. Aft of Stores, I heard the whistle of escaping air and high pressure gasses from ruptured lines. Vapor clouds fogged the air. I called for floodlights for the whole sector. Clay appeared out of the fog with his damage control crew. “Sir,” he said, “it’s punctured inner and outer shells in two places, and fragments have riddled the whole sector. There are at least three men dead, and two hurt.” “Taylor,” I called, “let’s have another damage control crew back here on the triple. Get the medics back here, too.” Clay and his men put on masks and moved off. I borrowed one from a man standing by and followed. The large exit puncture was in the forward cargo lock. The room was sealed off, limiting the air loss. “Clay,” I said, “pass this up for the moment and get that entry puncture sealed. I’ll put the extra crew in suits to handle this.” <hr class='minor' /> I moved back into clear air and called for reports from all sections. The worst of the damage was in the auxiliary power control room, where communication and power lines were slashed and the panel cut up. The danger of serious damage to essential equipment had been very close, but we had been lucky. This was the first instance I had heard <ins class='corr' title="Transcriber’s Note: The original showed ‘of of’.">of</ins> encountering an object at hyper light speed. It was astonishing how this threat to our safety cleared the air. The men went about their duties more cheerfully than they had for months, and Kramer was conspicuous by his subdued air. The emergency had reestablished at least for the time the normal discipline; the men still relied on the Captain in trouble. Damage control crews worked steadily for the next seventy-two hours, replacing wiring, welding, and testing. Power Section jockeyed endlessly, correcting air motions. Meanwhile, I checked almost hourly with Survey Section, hoping for good news to consolidate the improved morale situation. It was on Sunday morning, just after dawn relief that Lt. Taylor came up to the bridge looking sick. “Sir,” he said, “we took more damage than we knew with that meteor strike.” He stopped and swallowed hard. “What have you got, Lieutenant?” I said. “We missed a piece. It must have gone off on a tangent through stores into the cooler. Clipped the <ins class='corr' title="Transcriber’s Note: The original showed ‘collant’.">coolant</ins> line, and let warm air in. All the fresh frozen stuff is contaminated and rotten.” He gagged. “I got a whiff of it, sir. Excuse me.” He rushed away. This was calamity. We didn’t carry much in the way of fresh natural food; but what we had was vital. It was a bulky, delicate cargo to handle, but the chemists hadn’t yet come up with synthetics to fill all the dietary needs of man. We could get by fine for a long time on vitamin tablets and concentrates; but there were nutritional elements that you couldn’t get that way. Hydroponics didn’t help; we had to have a few ounces of fresh meat and vegetables grown in sunlight every week, or start to die within months. <hr class='minor' /> I knew that Kramer wouldn’t let this chance pass. As Medical Officer he would be well within his rights in calling to my attention the fact that our health would soon begin to suffer. I felt sure he would do so as loudly and publicly as possible at the first opportunity. My best move was to beat him to the punch by making a general announcement, giving the facts in the best possible light. That might take some of the sting out of anything Kramer said later. I gave it to them, short and to the point. “Men, we’ve just suffered a serious loss. All the fresh frozen stores are gone. That doesn’t mean we’ll be going on short rations; there are plenty of concentrates and vitamins aboard. But it does mean we’re going to be suffering from deficiencies in our diet. “We didn’t come out here on a pleasure cruise; we’re on a mission that leaves no room for failure. This is just one more fact for us to face. Now let’s get on with the job.” I walked into the wardroom, drew a cup of near-coffee, and sat down. The screen showed a beach with booming surf. The sound track picked up the crash and hiss of the breakers. Considering the red plague that now covered the scene, I thought it was a poor choice. I dialed for a high view of rolling farmland. Mannion sat at a table across the room with Kirschenbaum. They were hunched over their cups, not talking. I wondered where they stood. Mannion, Communications Officer, was neurotic, but an old Armed Force man. Discipline meant a lot to him. Kirschenbaum, Power Chief, was a joker, with cold eyes, and smarter than he seemed. The question was whether he was smart enough to idealize the stupidity of retreat now. Kramer walked in, not wasting any time. He saw me and came over. He stopped a few feet from the table, and said loudly, “Captain, I’d like to know your plans, now that the possibility of continuing is out.” I sipped my near-coffee and looked at the rolling farmland. I didn’t answer him. If I could get him mad, I could take him at his game. Kramer turned red. He didn’t like being ignored. The two at the other table were watching. “Captain,” Kramer said loudly. “As Medical Officer I have to know what measures you’re taking to protect the health of the men.” This was a little better. He was on the defensive now; explaining why he had a right to question his Commander. I wanted him a little hotter though. I looked up at him. “Kramer,” I said in a clear, not too loud voice, “you’re on watch. I don’t want to find you hanging around the wardroom making light chit-chat until you’re properly relieved from duty.” I went back to my near-coffee and the farmland. A river was in view now, and beyond it distant mountains. Kramer was furious. “Joyce has relieved me, Captain,” he said, controlling his voice with an effort. “I felt I’d better take this matter up with you as soon as possible, since it affects the health of every man aboard.” He was trying to keep cool, in command of himself. “I haven’t authorized any changes in the duty roster, Major,” I said mildly. “Report to your post.” I was riding the habit of discipline now, as far as it would carry me. I hoped that disobedience to a direct order, solidly based on regulations, was a little too big a jump for Kramer at the moment. Tomorrow it might be different. But it was essential that I break up the scene he was staging. He wilted. “I’ll see you at 1700 in the chart room, Kramer,” I said as he turned away. Mannion and <ins class='corr' title="Transcriber’s Note: The original showed ‘Kireschenbaum’.">Kirschenbaum</ins> looked at each other, then finished their near-coffee hurriedly and left. I hoped their version of the incident would help deflate Kramer’s standing among the malcontents. I left the wardroom and took the lift up to the bridge and checked with Clay and his survey team. “I think I’ve spotted a slight perturbation in Delta 3, Captain,” Clay said. “I’m not sure, we’re still pretty far out.” “All right, Clay,” I said. “Stay with it.” Clay was one of my more dependable men, dedicated to his work. Unfortunately, he was no man of action. He would have little influence in a show-down. <hr class='minor' /> I was at the Schmidt when I heard the lift open. I turned; Kramer, Fine, Taylor, and a half a dozen enlisted crew chiefs crowded out, bunched together. They were all wearing needlers. At least they’d learned that much, I thought. Kramer moved forward. “We feel that the question of the men’s welfare has to be dealt with right away, Captain,” he said smoothly. I looked at him coldly, glanced at the rest of his crew. I said nothing. “What we’re faced with is pretty grim, even if we turn back now. I can’t be responsible for the results if there’s any delay,” Kramer said. He spoke in an arrogant tone. I looked them over, let the silence build. “You’re in charge of this menagerie?” I said, looking at Kramer. “If so, you’ve got thirty seconds to send them back to their kennels. We’ll go into the matter of unauthorized personnel on the bridge later. As for you, Major, you can consider yourself under arrest in quarters. Now Move.” Kramer was ready to stare me down, but Fine gave me a break by tugging at his sleeve. Kramer shook him loose, snarling. At that the crew chiefs faded back into the lift. Fine and Taylor hesitated, then joined them. Kramer started to shout after them, then got hold of himself. The lift moved down. Kramer thought about going for his needler. I looked at him through narrowed eyes. He decided to rely on his mouth, as usual. He licked his lips. “All right, I’m under arrest,” he said. “But as Medical Officer of this vessel it’s my duty to remind you that you can’t live without a certain minimum of fresh organic food. We’ve got to start back now.” He was pale, but determined. He couldn’t bear the thought of getting bald and toothless from dietary deficiency. The girls would never give him another look. “We’re going on, Kramer,” I said. “As long as we have a man aboard still able to move. Teeth or no teeth.” “Deficiency disease is no joke, Captain,” Kramer said. “You can get all the symptoms of leprosy, cancer and <ins class='corr' title="Transcriber’s Note: The original showed ‘syphillis’.">syphilis</ins> just by skipping a few necessary elements in your diet. And we’re missing most of them.” “Giving me your opinions is one thing, Kramer,” I said. “Mutiny is another.” Clay stood beside the main screen, wide-eyed. I couldn’t send Kramer down under his guard. “Let’s go, Kramer,” I said. “I’m locking you up myself.” We rode down in the lift. The men who had been with Kramer stood awkwardly, silent as we stepped out into the passage. I spotted two chronic trouble-makers among them. I thought I might as well call them now as later. “Williams and Nagle,” I said, “this officer is under arrest. Escort him to his quarters and lock him in.” As they stepped forward hesitantly, Kramer said, “Keep your filthy hooks off me.” He started down the passage. <hr class='minor' /> If I could get Kramer put away before anybody else started trouble, I might be able to bluff it through. I followed him and his two sheepish guards down past the power section, and the mess. I hoped there would be no crowd there to see their hero Kramer under guard. I was out of luck. Apparently word had gone out of Kramer’s arrest, and the corridor was clogged with men. They stood unmoving as we approached. Kramer stopped. “Clear this passage, you men,” I said. Slowly they began to move back, giving ground reluctantly. Suddenly Kramer shouted. “That’s right, you whiners and complainers, clear the way so the Captain can take me back to the missile deck and shoot me. You just want to talk about home; you haven’t got the guts to do anything about it.” The moving mass halted, milled. Someone shouted, “Who’s he think he is, anyway.” Kramer whirled toward me. “He thinks he’s the man who’s going to let you all rot alive, to save his record.” “Williams, Nagle,” I said loudly, “clear this passage.” <hr class='minor' /> Williams started half-heartedly to shove at the men nearest him. A fist flashed out and snapped his head back. That was a mistake; Williams pulled his needler, and fired a <ins class='corr' title="Transcriber’s Note: The original showed ‘richochet’.">ricochet</ins> down the passage. “’Bout twelve a you yellow-bellies git outa my way,” he yelled. “I’m comin’ through.” Nagle moved close to Williams, and shouted something to him. The noise drowned it. Kramer swung back to me, frantic to regain his sway over the mob. “Once I’m out of the way, there’ll be a general purge,” he roared. The hubbub faded, as men turned to hear him. “You’re all marked men. He’s gone mad. He won’t let one of you live.” Kramer had their eyes now. “Take him now,” he shouted, and seized my arm to begin the action. He’d rushed it a little. I hit him across the face with the back of my hand. No one jumped to his assistance. I drew my 2mm. “If you ever lay a hand on your Commanding Officer again, I’ll burn you where you stand, Kramer.” Then a voice came from behind me. “You’re not killing anybody without a trial, Captain.” Joyce stood there with two of the crew chiefs, needler in hand. Fine and Taylor were not in sight. I pushed Kramer out of my way and walked up to Joyce. “Hand me that weapon, Junior, butt first,” I said. I looked him in the eye with all the glare I had. He stepped back a pace. “Why don’t you jump him,” he called to the crowd. The wall annunciator hummed and spoke. “Captain Greylorn, please report to the bridge. Unidentified body on main scope.” Every man stopped in his tracks, listening. The annunciator continued. “Looks like it’s decelerating, Captain.” I holstered my pistol, pushed past Joyce, and trotted for the lift. The mob behind me broke up, talking, as men under long habit ran for action stations. Clay was operating calmly under pressure. He sat at the main screen, and studied the blip, making tiny crayon marks. “She’s too far out for a reliable scanner track, Captain,” he said, “but I’m pretty sure she’s braking.” If that were true, this might be the break we’d been living for. Only manned or controlled bodies decelerated in deep space. “How did you spot it, Clay?” I asked. Picking up a tiny mass like this was a delicate job, even when you knew its coordinates. “Just happened to catch my eye, Captain,” he said. “I always make a general check every watch of the whole forward quadrant. I noticed a blip where I didn’t remember seeing one before.” “You have quite an eye, Clay,” I said. “How about getting this object in the beam.” “We’re trying now, Captain,” he said. “That’s a mighty small field, though.” Joyce called from the radar board, “I think I’m getting an echo at 15,000, sir. It’s pretty weak.” Miller, quiet and meticulous, delicately tuned the beam control. “Give me your fix, Joyce,” he said. “I can’t find it.” Joyce called out his figures, in seconds of arc to three places. “You’re right on it, Joyce,” Miller called a minute later. “I got it. Now pray it don’t get away when I boost it.” Clay stepped over behind Miller. “Take it a few mags at a time,” he said calmly. I watched Miller’s screen. A tiny point near the center of the screen swelled to a spec, and jumped nearly off the screen to the left. Miller centered it again, and switched to a higher power. This time it jumped less, and resolved into two tiny dots. <hr class='minor' /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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