Kenneth Gantz - Not in Solitude

“Nothing is forgiven,” Heileman said sternly. “Never come home again. Meantime we leave in an hour for the doubloons. By the way,” he added, “one is supposed to get permission to leave the ship these days. You’ll have to get Noel’s okay.”

Major Noel was doubtful. He swiveled his chair around to face Dane and then swiveled back square against the command desk. He reached for the daily log and thumbed back a page. He picked up a sheaf of papers and flipped through the top half dozen sheets. Finally he grunted his dissatisfaction with purposeless risk-taking. If nothing else, it interfered with orderly operations. “Actually we don’t know if there is any risk.” he admitted. “We’ve been sending more than a few men out for scouting or for scientific purposes. Just for the sake of curiosity, it doesn’t seem wise to take a chance on our people. We’ve already lost five men. Maybe two more. Beemis and Jackson are still unconscious and getting weaker.”

“You don’t want to forget that I’m the accredited correspondent on this little junket,” Dane told him. “My business requires firsthand knowledge of whatever we find here.”

Noel went on nosing through his stack of papers. He thought it should be just as newsworthy to go down and talk with Beloit and Vining instead. They were very near the end of a complete overhaul of the drive. “We may be able to try a take-off in two or three days.”

He didn’t sound very optimistic about it, Dane thought “Why? They found anything?”

Noel shook his head. “Vining thinks we’re trapped in some sort of magnetic zone, or maybe a force storm, that’s upsetting the reactions. He’s got the idea now that it could be only a temporary phenomenon. Sort of comes and goes. Anyway, they’re assembling the reactors and generators, and we’re going to try again. Even if we blow ourselves out of existence, we don’t have any choice. The radiation is still below what we’ve been calling the critical level, but that’s mainly guesswork, based on cosmic-ray penetration data. We don’t even know what this local stuff is. Maybe it’s cumulative in some way we don’t understand. Anyway, we’re not going to take it an hour longer than we have to. Colonel Cragg laid the law down on that last night.”

“Cragg!” Dane exclaimed. “I might as well be back on Earth for all you let me know what’s going on! When did he take over? I thought he was still half in drowsy land.”

“The commander’s condition has been improving steadily since yesterday morning,” Noel said sententiously. “However he has not been able to take over yet.”

“Look,” Dane said. “Put me down for a trip to the mine this morning, but first I want to talk to Colonel Cragg. If he’s able.”

Noel smiled sardonically. “He’s able all right. In fact he’s already made quite a point that he wants you to see him ‘at you convenience.’ This morning, that is.”

Dane said, “That’s one way to put it, I suppose.”

“Yes,” Noel agreed, “it is.”

The nurse on duty sat meticulously straight at his small desk. When he put his paperback book down, Dane saw it was Romany Rye . In collarless white duck jacket and pants the young man looked only partly dressed.

He spoke up briskly, like a clerk tending store. “May I help you?”

Dane told him he could. And how he could.

The young man picked up his book. “No visitors. Maybe tomorrow. Colonel Cragg is still on the quiet list.”

Dane explained that he was not exactly a visitor.

The young man put his book back down. “What’s your first name and middle initial, Mr. Dane?” He fished a small card out of the desk and wrote the information upon it, noting also the time from his watch and setting it down. Then he wrote, “States purpose of visit to comply with patient’s invitation.” He thought a moment and lined out the last two words, writing above them, “Commander’s (as patient) order.” Still not satisfied, he struck out this substitution and wrote, “patient’s (the Commander) order, as stated by Mr. Dane, for Mr. Dane to report to him before 1200.”

Dane said, “You ought to put ‘apostrophe s’ on the word ‘Commander.’”

The young man considered the card. He shook his head doubtfully. “The appositive should agree in case with the word ‘Patient’s,’ but it wouldn’t look right to make it. I think we ought to leave it the way it is.”

Dane said, “You may be right. After all, it is your record card. I withdraw the suggestion. Now where do I go?”

The young man closed his book on his pencil to save his place. “Just have a seat here and I’ll see if Colonel Cragg is awake.” He disappeared around the angle in the corridor.

Dane looked at the book, memories stirring of George Borrow’s gypsies and of his own sophomore year. Odd choice for a library destined to visit the surface of Mars. Maybe not so odd, he decided, thinking he would like to read Romany Rye again when young mister cross-the-t’s returned it to the shelves.

The young man in white came back and reported that Dane could go in, if he would just please follow him. This, Dane was pleased to do, until they came to a guard standing at a door. Evidently Noel was taking no chances.

The head of the bed had been cranked up to a forty-five-degree angle, but weakness darkened the colonel’s eyes against his blanched face and weighted his head back against its supporting pillow.

“They tell me not to talk,” he said. His harsh, strong voice had lost some of its bass timbre. “But there’s nothing wrong with my ears. I want the complete story on the messages we’ve been getting. They tell me you’re the star performer on them. I want to know firsthand from you what you’ve done and exactly how you did it.” He pointed at a sheaf of papers on the bedside table. “I’ve been over the reports. Now I want to hear it from you. I want to hear you answer two questions. One, what makes you so sure these signals are coming from outside the Far Venture? Second, if they are, how are you sure they are not of human origin?”

Down but not out, and no nonsense. The technique of command. Or more like it, the habit. How certain of himself and demanding did the man have to be to satisfy his neurosis for the throne? Dane seated himself deliberately in the unoffered chair. “I see, Colonel, that your recovery has progressed so far that you can be your normal self. Attack. Always push. Shove the other man off balance. Keep him on the defensive. Make him mad. Do you suspect me of concealing something from my reports?”

Cragg gazed at him sourly, his cheek scar reddening. “Never mind that. Haven’t you stopped yet to think that some person or persons on board this spacecraft might have an interest in convincing us of the existence of Martians?”

“No,” Dane said. “It would appear to me to be a complicated and useless effort. There’s no way or means for anyone to do it. Even if there were, there wouldn’t be any point I hardly think we have any jokers of that caliber along.”

“Tong Asia Pact,” Cragg snapped. “Use your head.”

The silence extended. Finally Dane said, “It doesn’t figure. It’s too farfetched. We wouldn’t scare that easily. The United States would eventually send more spacecraft. Even if this one doesn’t return. All the more likely to send them then.”

“Suppose we reported that Mars not only was a barren, useless planet but also was inhabited by some kind of hostile, highly intelligent beings. The government might not send another expedition for years. Meantime, while we’re on the sidelines, Tong Asia solves the secret of the drive and takes over here.”

“Why?” Dane demanded. “What would they want with it? Assuming that a scheme like that would work, what would they want here?”