Robert Heinlein - Starman Jones

IN MEMORY OF

SERGEANT SAM ANDERSON

LATE OF THE

IMPERIAL MARINES

"_He ate what was set before him_."

Walther saw the marker for the first time. "So that's how it was? Somehow I thought so."

"Yes. I never did know his right name. Richards. Or maybe Roberts."

"Oh." Walther thought over the implication. "We could get him reinstated, sir, posthumously. His prints will identify him."

"I think Sam would like that."

"I'll see to it, sir, when we get back."

"_If_ we get back."

"If you please, Captain--_when_ we get back."

Max went straight to the control room. He had been up the evening before and had gotten the first shock of being treated as captain in the Worry Hole over with. When Kelly greeted him with, "Good morning, Captain," he was able to be almost casual.

"Morning, Chief. Morning, Lundy."

"Coffee, sir?"

"Thanks. About that parking orbit--is it set up?"

"Not yet, sir."

"Then forget it. I've decided to head straight back. We can plan it as we go. Got the films?"

"I picked them up earlier." They referred to the films cached in Max's stateroom. Simes had managed to do away with the first set at the time of Captain Blaine's death; the reserve set was the only record of when and where the _Asgard_ had emerged into this space, including records of routine sights taken immediately after transition.

"Okay. Let's get busy. Kovak can punch for me."

The others were drifting in, well ahead of time, as was customary in Kelly's gang. "If you wish, sir. I'd be glad to compute for the Captain."

"Kovak can do it. You might help Noguchi and Lundy with the films."

"Aye aye, sir." Data flowed to him presently. He had awakened twice in the night in cold fright that he had lost his unique memory. But when the data started coming, he programmed without effort, appropriate pages opening in his mind. The problem was a short departure to rid themselves of the planet's influence, an adjustment of position to leave the local sun "behind" for simpler treatment of its field, then a long, straight boost for the neighborhood in which they had first appeared in this space. It need not be precise, for transition would not be attempted on the first pass; they must explore the area, taking many more photographic sights and computing from them, to establish a survey that had never been made.

Departure was computed and impressed on tape for the autopilot and the tape placed in the console long before noon. The ship had been keeping house on local time, about fifty-five standard minutes to the hour; now the ship would return to Greenwich, the time always kept in the control room--dinner would be late and some of the "beasts" would as usual reset their watches the wrong way and blame it on the government.

They synchronized with the power room, the tape started running, there remained nothing to do but press the button a few seconds before preset time and thereby allow the autopilot to raise ship. The phone rang, Smythe took it and looked at Max. "For you, Captain. The Purser."

"Captain?" Samuels sounded worried. "I dislike to disturb you in the control room."

"No matter. What is it?"

"Mrs. Montefiore. She wants to be landed on Aphrodite."

Max thought a moment. "Anybody else change his mind?"

"No, sir."

"They were all notified to turn in their names last night."

"I pointed that out to her, sir. Her answers were not entirely logical."

"Nothing would please me more than to dump her there. But after all, we are responsible for her. Tell her no.

"Aye aye, sir. May I have a little leeway in how I express it?"

"Certainly. Just keep her out of my hair."

Max flipped off the phone, found Kelly at his elbow. "Getting close, sir. Perhaps you will take the console now and check the set up? Before you raise?"

"Eh? No, you take her up, Chief. You'll have the first watch."

"Aye aye, Captain." Kelly sat down at the console, Max took the Captain's seat, feeling self-conscious. He wished that he had learned to smoke a pipe--it looked right to have the Captain sit back, relaxed and smoking his pipe, while the ship maneuvered.

He felt a slight pulsation and was pressed more firmly into the chair cushions; the _Asgard_ was again on her own private gravity, independent of true accelerations. Moments later the ship raised, but with nothing to show it but the change out the astrodome from blue sky to star-studded ebony of space.

Max got up and found that he was still holding an imaginary pipe, he hastily dropped it. "I'm going below, Chief. Call me when the departure sights are ready to compute. By the way, what rotation of watches do you plan on?"

Kelly locked the board, got up and joined him. "Well, Captain. I had figured on Kovak and me heel-and-toe, with the boys on one in three. We'll double up later."

Max shook his head. "No. You and me and Kovak. And we'll stay on one in three as long as possible. No telling how long we'll fiddle around out there before we take a stab at it."

Kelly lowered his voice. "Captain, may I express an opinion?"

"Kelly, any time you stop being frank with me, I won't have a chance of swinging this. You know that."

"Thank you, sir. The Captain should not wear himself out. You have to do all the computing as it is." Kelly added quietly, "The safety of your ship is more important than--well, perhaps 'pride' is the word."

Max took a long time to reply. He was learning, without the benefit of indoctrination, that a commanding officer is not permitted foibles commonplace in any other role; he himself is ruled more strongly by the powers vested in him than is anyone else. The Captain's privileges--such as chucking a tiresome female from his table--were minor, while the penalties of the inhuman job had unexpected ramifications.

"Chief," he said slowly, "is there room to move the coffee mess over behind the computer?"

Kelly measured the space with his eye. "Yes, sir. Why?"

"I was thinking that would leave room over here to install a cot."

"You intend to sleep up here, sir?"

"Sometimes. But I was thinking of all of us--you shave up here half the time, as it is. The watches for the next few weeks do not actually require the O.W. to be awake most of the time, so we'll all doss off when we can. What do you think?"

"It's against regulations, sir. A bad precedent ... and a bad example." He glanced over at Noguchi and Smythe.

"You would write it up formal and proper, for my signature, citing the regulation and suspending it on an emergency basis 'for the safety of the ship.'"

"If you say so, sir."

"You don't sound convinced, so maybe I'm wrong. Think it over and let me know."

The cot appeared and the order was posted, but Max never saw either Kelly or Kovak stretched out on the cot. As for himself, had he not used it, he would have had little sleep.

He usually ate in the control room as well. Although there was little to do on their way out to rendezvous with nothingness but take sights to determine the relations of that nothingness with surrounding sky, Max found that when he was not computing he was worrying, or discussing his worries with Kelly.

How did a survey ship find its way back through a newly calculated congruency? And what had gone wrong with those that failed to come back? Perhaps Dr. Hendrix could have figured the other side of an uncharted congruency using only standard ship's equipment--or perhaps not. Max decided that Dr. Hendrix could have done it; the man had been a fanatic about his profession, with a wide knowledge of the theoretical physics behind the routine numerical computations--much wider, Max was sure, than most astrogators.

Max knew that survey ships calculated congruencies from both sides, applying to gravitational field theory data gathered on the previously unknown side. He made attempts to rough out such a calculation, then gave up, having no confidence in his results--he was sure of his mathematical operations but unsure of theory and acutely aware of the roughness of his data. There was simply no way to measure accurately the masses of stars light-years away with the instruments in the _Asgard_.