Alan Foster: Dark Star

“As to the specifics of your message—sorry to hear about the radiation leaks on the ship, but equally glad to hear they’ve only affected minor mechanisms and haven’t touched anything basic to your mission. Really sorry to hear about the death of Commander Powell. I was personally all broke up. Of course, I never had the honor of actually meeting him, but I remember how we used to read about him and the rest of you wonderful guys in school. There was a week of mourning here on Earth. The flags were at half mast, and a Congressional inquiry has been launched to investigate the firm that made the defective seat circuitry.

“We are informed, though, that the seat circuit shorting out like that was a one-in-a-million chance, so the rest of you should have no compunctions about sitting down on the job, hah, hah.” He smiled again.

“We’re all behind you wonderful guys a hundred percent. The job you’re doing now will be remembered by billions of successful colonists thousands of years in the future, when all those systems you’ve cleared are filled with flourishing new populations—all operating under democratic principles, we expect.” He winked.

“Now, about your two requests…” His eyes strayed to the hidden sheet again.

“I hate him,” Doolittle whispered under his breath.

“Gee, what a nice fella,” Pinback grinned inanely.

Boiler growled and punched buttons.

“First, about your request for portable radiation shielding and weld mechanism to replace the apparently defective plating.” He shook his head. “Sorry to have to report that this request has been denied. I hate to send bad news when you guys are doing such a wonderful job, but I think you’ll take it in the proper spirit.” He heaved a theatrical sigh. “You know how politicians are when money is mentioned.

“There have been some cutbacks in the U.N. appropriations, and what with the cash for the colony ships and all having such a rough time getting through committee, we just can’t afford to send a hyperspeed cargo shuttle out there to you. I’ve got to confess it didn’t help our case when we had to admit that we didn’t know exactly where you were, but have you ever tried explaining to a minister from Malaysia how big a parsec is?

“But I know you guys will make do. You’ve been doing amazing things so far. Lourdes—he’s our project chief now, and a nicer, sweeter guy you couldn’t find anywhere—says he doesn’t know how you and Boiler got the shielding redistributed near the drive without getting a lethal dose of radiation. He doesn’t think it made you sterile, since you should have died in the first place, but you guys shouldn’t worry about that.

“About your other request.” He leaned forward and looked right and left in a conspiratorial way. “Frankly, if it was up to me and the regulars here at Deep Space Mission Control, we’d cryostate the six girls and shoot ’em out to you. Only trouble was, some idiot leaked the request to the press, and they blew it up out of all proportion. But don’t worry.” He sat back and winked again. “We covered for you guys… made out how it was all a big joke on your part to show how well you’re doing, right?”

Boiler was punching buttons faster now.

“Gee, what a nice fella,” Pinback repeated, his smile a little less broad now.

I wish it were him up here and me down there smiling idiotically up at him, Doolittle thought desperately.

“So I’m really afraid,” the alien continued, “that the request has been declared inoperative. But at least you know that we down here sympathize with you guys. It’s the higher-ups who’re making things tough.”

“It’ll bet he’s queer as a two-dollar bill,” Boiler said suddenly. “Flaming queen.” Growl.

“He looks like a queer—look at his nails.”

“That might be the current style on Earth,” countered Pinback. “Anyway, you can’t see his nails. They’re below the vision pickup.”

“Well, I saw ’em,” Boiler insisted, his voice rising dangerously. He glared at the sergeant. “Wanna make something of it?”

“Well, gee, no,” Pinback admitted. “I mean, it didn’t seem to me it meant that much to you… I mean…”

“Goddamn faggots,” Boiler rumbled.

“Quiet, Boiler,” Doolittle said softly. He had his finger on the Hold button. “We’ve started it… we may as well hear all of it.” As he lifted his finger off the control, Boiler lavished a last predatory glare on the subdued Pinback and returned to his button pushing. It didn’t seem quite as much fun now. Damn queer had broken his concentration. Who needed their stupid messages anyhow?

“So anyway, that’s how it is down here on Earth. Or up here on Earth, depending on which way you guys are heading, hah, hah. I wish there was something more I could say,” and for a moment a flicker of humanity seemed to appear in the alien’s face. Again he seemed to acknowledge the words of an off-screen presence, and the flicker disappeared.

“Well, as you know, these deep space calls cost a lot of money, so all I can say for all of us here at McMurdo is, keep up the good work and drop us a line more often, huh?”

Fizzle… pop… the words END COMMUNICATION appeared on the screen. Doolittle switched it off.

“Surprised he didn’t blow us a goodbye kiss,” muttered Boiler. The other two ignored him.

“Nice to know they’re thinking about us so warmly, isn’t it, guys?” Pinback ventured cautiously, looking from Doolittle to Boiler and back to Doolittle. “Isn’t it?”

“Quiet, Pinback,” said Doolittle, working controls. “We’re almost there. We’ve got a planet to blow.”

“Ah, gee, you guys never wanna talk anymore.” Pinback folded his arms and sat back, pouting. “Blow it up, blow it up—that’s all you think about anymore. We do that all the time. When was the last time we all just sat around and talked, huh? About nothing in particular?”

“You do that all the time, Pinback,” Doolittle commented.

“Yeah, but it’s pretty dull just talking to you guys if you don’t chat back. I might as well talk to a blank wall.”

“You do that all the time, Pinback.”

Oh, you think you’re so smart, Doolittle, Pinback muttered silently. Always ready with the snappy comeback, aren’t you? Well, we’ll see who comes out of this mission with a clean bill of health! Wait till the psyche boys get a look inside your head. Then you’ll be sorry you didn’t talk to me when you had the chance.

I tried to help you, Doolittle, but you don’t want to be helped, so don’t blame me when they lock you in solitary for observation, with doctors poking and monitoring and prodding and digging into your brain, digging, digging…

Pinback was glad when Doolittle switched the overhead screen from communications to fore visual pickup. He was beginning to drown in the sweat of his own thoughts.

A world sprang into sharp focus. It was sterile, empty, deserted. No animals moved on its surface, no fish swam in its seas. Nothing grew and nothing moved. It was no different from a thousand other worlds they had encountered, but it had one thing in common with eighteen others—eighteen others they had encountered and destroyed.

They had found two habitable worlds in this system. One planet was very Earthlike, the other marginally so. Some day each might support a population as great as that of Earth’s today.

But as things stood there would be no point in planting an incipient civilization on either of them because this world, according to computer predictions, sat in an unstable orbit. In not more than two hundred thousand nor less than five thousand years it would spiral inward to intercept its own sun.

There was the chance that nothing serious would happen—the world might be turned instantly to ashes. However, if conditions were right, it could be enough, just enough, to alter the position of the star in relation to its habitable planets. Or worse yet, set it on the path to nova.