Robert Silverberg - Starman's Quest

“Is that the truth?” Steve asked. “ Would he like to see me? Or wouldn’t he just prefer to think I never was born at all?”

“No.”

“I know the Captain—Dad—pretty well. Even though I haven’t seen him in nine years. He’d never forgive me for jumping ship. I don’t want to pay any visits to the Valhalla , Alan.”

“Who said anything about visiting?”

“Then what were you talking about?”

“I was talking about going back into the Crew,” Alan said quietly.

The words seemed to strike Steve like physical blows. He shuddered a little and gulped down the drink he held clutched in tobacco-stained fingers. He looked up at Alan, finally.

“I can’t. It’s impossible. Flatly impossible.”

“But—”

Alan felt Hawkes’ foot kick him sharply under the table. He caught the hint, and changed the subject. There was time to return to it later.

“Okay, let’s skip it for now. Why don’t you tell me about your life on Earth these last nine years?”

Steve smiled sardonically. “There’s not much to tell, and what there is is a pretty dull story. I came across the bridge from the Enclave last time the Valhalla was in town, and came over into York City all set to conquer the world, become rich and famous, and live happily ever after. Five minutes after I set foot on the Earther side of the river I was beaten up and robbed by a gang of roving kids. It was a real fine start.”

He signalled the waiter for another drink. “I guess I must have drifted around the city for two weeks or more before the police found me and picked me up for vagrancy. By that time the Valhalla had long since hoisted for Alpha C—and didn’t I wish I was on it! Every night I used to dream I had gone back on the ship. But when I woke up I always found out I hadn’t.

“The police gave me an education in the ways of Earther life, complete with rubber hoses and stingrays, and when they were through with me I knew all about the system of work cards and free status. I didn’t have a credit to my name. So I drifted some more. Then I got sick of drifting and tried to find a job, but of course I couldn’t buy my way in to any of the hereditary guilds. Earth has enough people of her own; she’s not interested in finding jobs for kid spacemen who jump ship.

“So I starved a little. Then I got tired of starving. So about a year after I first jumped ship I borrowed a thousand credits from somebody foolish enough to lend them, and set myself up as a professional gambler on Free Status. It was the only trade I could find that didn’t have any entrance requirements.”

“Did you do well?”

“Yeah. Very well. At the end of my first six months I was fifteen hundred credits in debt. Then my luck changed; I won three thousand credits in a single month and got shifted up to Class B.” Steve laughed bitterly. “That was beautiful, up there. Inside of two more months I’d not only lost my three thousand, I was two thousand more in hock. And that’s the way it’s been going ever since. I borrow here, win a little to pay him back, or lose a little and borrow from someone else, win a little, lose a little—round and round and round. A swell life, Alan. And I still dream about the Valhalla once or twice a week.”

Steve’s voice was leaden, dreary. Alan felt a surge of pity. The swashbuckling, energetic Steve he had known might still be there, inside this man somewhere, but surrounding him were the scars of nine bitter years on Earth.

Nine years. It was a tremendous gulf.

Alan caught his breath a moment. “If you had the chance to go back into the Crew, no strings attached, no recriminations—would you take it?”

For an instant the old brightness returned to Steve’s eyes. “Of course I would! But—”

“But what?”

“I owe seven thousand credits,” Steve said. “And it keeps getting worse. That pot I won today, just before you came over to me, that was the first take I’d had in three days. Nine years and I’m still a Class C gambler. We can’t all be as good as Hawkes here. I’m lousy—but what other profession could I go into, on an overcrowded and hostile world like this one?”

Seven thousand credits, Alan thought. It was a week’s earnings for Hawkes—but Steve would probably be in debt the rest of his life.

“Who do you owe this money to?” Hawkes asked suddenly.

Steve looked at him. “The Bryson syndicate, mostly. And Lorne Hollis. The Bryson people keep a good eye on me, too. There’s a Bryson man three booths up who follows me around. If they ever saw me going near the spacefield they’d be pretty sure to cut me off and ask for their money. You can’t welsh on Bryson.”

“Suppose it was arranged that your debts be cancelled,” Hawkes said speculatively.

Steve shook his head. “No. I don’t want charity. I know you’re a Class A and seven thousand credits comes easy to you, but I couldn’t take it. Skip it. I’m stuck here on Earth for keeps, and I’m resigned to it. I made my choice, and this is what I got.”

“Listen to reason,” Alan urged. “Hawkes will take care of the money you owe. And Dad will be so happy to see you come back to the ship again—”

“Like Mars he’ll be happy! See me come back, beaten up and ragged, a washed-out old man at twenty-six? No, sir. The Captain blotted me out of his mind a long time ago, and he and I don’t have any further business together.”

“You’re wrong, Steve. He sent me into the Earther city deliberately to find you. He said to me, ‘Find Steve and urge him to come back to the ship.’ He’s forgiven you completely,” Alan lied. “Everyone’s anxious to have you come back on board.”

For a moment Steve sat silent, indecisive, frowning deeply. Then he made up his mind. He shook his head. “No—both of you. Thanks, but I don’t want any. Keep your seven thousand, Hawkes. And you, Alan—go back to the ship and forget all about me. I don’t even deserve a second chance.”

“You’re wrong!” Alan started to protest, but a second time Hawkes kicked him hard, and he shut up. He stared curiously at the gambler.

“I guess that about settles it,” Hawkes observed. “If the man wants to stay, we can’t force him.”

Steve nodded. “I have to stay on Earth. And now I’d better get back to the games parlor—I can’t waste any time, you know. Not with a seven thousand credit backlog to make up.”

“Naturally. But there’s time for one more drink, isn’t there? On me. Maybe you don’t want my money, but let me buy you a drink.”

Steve grinned. “Fair enough.”

He started to wave to the bartender, but Hawkes shot out an arm quickly and blocked off the gesture. “He’s an old man and he’s tired. I’ll go to the bar and order.” And before Steve could protest, Hawkes had slipped smoothly out of the booth and was on his way forward to the bar.

Alan sat facing his brother. He felt pity. Steve had been through a lot; the freedom he had longed for aboard ship had had a heavy price. And was it freedom, to sit in a crowded games parlor on a dirty little planet and struggle to get out of debt?

There was nothing further he could say to Steve. He had tried, and he had failed, and Steve would remain on Earth. But it seemed wrong. Steve did deserve a second chance. He had jumped ship and it had been a mistake, but there was no reason why he could not return to his old life, wiser for the experience. Still, if he refused—

Hawkes came back bearing two drinks—another beer for himself and a whiskey for Steve. He set them out on the table and said, “Well, drink up. Here’s hoping you make Class A and stay there.”

“Thanks,” Steve said, and drained his drink in a single loud gulp. His eyes widened; he started to say something, but never got the words out. He slumped down in his seat and his chin thumped ringingly against the table.