Zach Hughes: Pressure Man

“Affirmative,” came the reply. “Congratulations, J.F.K .”

Dom made a grimace and did not acknowledge. He could feel the acceleration. He was tired. As far as he was concerned the ship could be put on auto and left to her own devices. At the moment he didn’t care much about anything. He was thinking of the war, American killing American. He tried to gauge the impact of the news that the Folly’s mission, made possible by the expenditure of billions, was a waste. The news could not be suppressed for long. An organization which could plant a fanatic on Mars, DOSE’s most secure stronghold, could ferret out the news that Folly had been sent on a fool’s errand and had come back with a load of noxious things from deep inside Jupiter.

He went back to his quarters and fell heavily onto his bunk. Doris was still at station and would be there until the flight plan was finalized and double-checked. When he heard a knock on his door he didn’t answer, but the door was not locked.

J.J. stuck his head in. “Want to talk a minute, Flash?”

“I’d rather not right now,” Dom said.

J.J. closed the door behind him. “It was a dirty trick, wasn’t it?”

“J.J., just get out, huh?”

“In a minute.” J.J. sat down. “Would it make you feel better to take a poke at me?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I wouldn’t even put you on report,” J J. said. “Are you ready to listen, or are you still feeling sorry for yourself?”

“Do I have a choice?” Dom growled.

“You got the idea, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Dom said. “I got it. My God, J J., you faked an alien ship and spent billions of dollars to chase a fairy tale.”

“I had to fake the ship,” J.J. said. “I had to do something so that practical types, like you, could relate to it. I thought the idea was rather brilliant, didn’t you?”

“J.J., I’m damned tired. Why don’t you go take a nap?”

“Who would have listened if I’d told them the real reason?” J J. asked. “It took a powerful incentive, like the prospect of finding a free sublight drive, to get anyone to listen.”

“Yes,” Dom said wearily.

“No need to put into Mars on the way home, huh?”

“No.”

“We go in Moon Base, darkside.”

“What difference does it make? Wherever we put her down she probably won’t ever lift off again.”

“She’ll lift,” J.J. said, “and dozens of others like her.”

“Go away,” Dom said.

“Promise me one thing.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Promise me that no matter what you won’t dump the cargo. Promise me that.”

“What difference does it make?” Dom asked. “OK, we’ll haul it back. It’ll make a fine temporary cloud when we dump it out behind the moon.”

“I’ve got something better to do with the cargo,” J. J. said.

“Sure,” Dom said, “you can supply the last two living scientists with enough Jovian atmosphere to last the few remaining days of their lifetimes, until the mobs catch them and tear their arms off.”

J.J. was standing. “I can see you’re a nonbeliever. Look up, boy. Peace and plenty lie ahead.”

Dom heard the click of the door. He dozed and was wakened by the communicator.

It was Neil. “J.J. is calling a crew meeting in the lounge. I thought you’d want to listen.”

“Might as well,” Dom said. He splashed water into his eyes and walked heavily, still tired, through the half gravity of the corridors. He checked in at control. The ship was on auto. She was a good ship. Behind them, visible on the stem viewers, was the mass of Jupiter. It was still an awesome sight. He felt a flash of pride in having, in a small way, conquered the mass of the second-largest object in the solar system, but his pride faded quickly.

He made one final visual check on instruments. The autos were clicking and humming nicely, making mere man unnecessary, running the ship with a precision which man could never match. He walked toward the lounge slowly, dreading to see J.J. reveal his madness further.

The door was open. He halted just outside and heard Doris laugh. Neil was seated so that he could face the lounge instrument board, thus keeping his eye on important ship’s functions. Doris was standing beside J.J. at the bar, serving drinks from J.J.’s personal bottle. They were all there except Jensen. Dom stood outside and watched. Ellen accepted a drink. Doris laughed at something Ellen said. They all drank and laughed. Nero, fiddling while Rome burned around him. Dom didn’t want to face it.

Still, sooner or later the others would have to hear the full story. He went in, resolved to see it through, then he changed his mind. Jensen wasn’t there, and if they were not all there to hear it it would be told again, and one more telling was all Dom could stand.

He had passed through control only a couple of minutes before, but it was automatic to look around. His eyes made a scan and halted on a trouble light. Alerted, he punched the scan and was relieved to find that the problem was with nothing more important than the venting system in the hold. It wouldn’t hurt to lose a few tons of Jupiter into space. He activated the self-examination system. The problem was in the control-room panel. He lifted a section and smelled burning insulation. It was nothing serious. All important systems were redundant. Even the venting system had backup. Down in the atmosphere, the venting system was all-important. He punched a complete check and got a second trouble light. Strange, but still not serious. When a third system went red in the stern section, a system designed for manual venting in the unlikely event that both venting systems went haywire, he got suspicious. The odds against two systems going out together were astronomical, but it had happened in space. For three to go without help was a little weird. He was not overly concerned yet, as he went toward the stern with the double purpose of finding Jensen and of checking to see what the hell had happened to the venting system. It was not a critical malfunction, or he would have alerted the crew. The shorted circuits in the central control room could be repaired easily, and the other malfunctions could be repaired at leisure, since the venting system would not be needed until they had reached the moon and received word to dump the useless cargo into space. He would merely check back in the stern; gather up Jensen, and then return to the lounge to allow J. J. to tell his pathetic story.

His deck shoes made his progress silent in the long corridor alongside the hold. The safety doors leading into the aft compartments were closed. He went into the lock, opened the last set of doors, and stepped into the forward engine compartment. Jensen was facing him, a spatter gun pointing its flared muzzle at his chest. Behind Jensen his board showed the venting system in red. Now Dom knew that if he could look out, he’d see the contents of the hold spewing out under great pressure into space.

“What the hell, Paul?” he asked, halting in mid-stride, careful not to make a sudden move. It was the second time in recent days he’d been in front of a spatter gun.

“You’re supposed to be in the lounge,” Paul said.

“Paul, isn’t one nut on board enough?” He smiled disarmingly. “What’s your problem?”

“I rather liked you, Dom,” Jensen said, and Dom saw the preliminary tightening of Jensen’s finger as he threw himself aside, hit the floor rolling as a spatter load smacked deck and bulkhead. He took a pellet on the ankle as the gun fired a second time, and he was still moving, no pain yet to indicate a hit, as he lifted a cleaning robot and, falling away behind a console, threw the heavy robot at Jensen. Jensen lifted his gun hand to try to block the robot. It struck him a glancing blow. Dom was diving toward him, moving up and under the gun, as the robot clanged off the deck and Jensen started lowering the gun to take aim. Dom had his hand on the wrist of the gun hand as they went down.