Robert Heinlein - Starman Jones

Kelly seemed relieved at his decision. After that they both gave all their time to an attempt to lay out a "groove" to the unmarked point in the heavens where their photosights said that they had come out--in order that they might eventually scoot down that groove, arriving at the locus just below the speed of light, then kick her over and hope.

A similar maneuver on a planet's surface would be easy--but there is no true parallel with the situation in the sky. The "fixed" stars move at high speeds and there are no other landmarks; to decide what piece of featureless space corresponds with where one was at another time requires a complicated series of calculations having no "elegant" theoretical solutions. For each charted congruency an astrogator has handed to him a table of precalculated solutions--the "Critical Tables for Charted Anomalies." Max and Kelly had to fudge up their own.

Max spent so much time in the control room that the First Officer finally suggested that passenger morale would be better if he could show himself in the lounge occasionally. Walther did not add that Max should wear a smile and a look of quiet confidence, but he implied it. Thereafter Max endeavored to dine with his officers and passengers.

He had of course seen very little of Eldreth. When he saw her at the first dinner after Walther's gentle suggestion she seemed friendly but distant. He decided that she was treating him with respect, which made him wonder if she were ill. He recalled that she had originally come aboard in a stretcher, perhaps she was not as rugged as she pretended to be. He made a mental note to ask the Surgeon--indirectly, of course!

They were dawdling over coffee and Max was beginning to fidget with a desire to get back to the Worry Hole. He reminded himself sharply that Walther expected him not to show anxiety--then looked around and said loudly, "This place is like a morgue. Doesn't anyone dance here these days? Dumont!"

"Yes, Captain?"

"Let's have some dance music. Mrs. Mendoza, would you honor me?"

Mrs. Mendoza tittered and accepted. She turned out to be a disgrace to Argentina, no sense of rhythm. But he piloted her around with only minor collisions and got her back to her chair, so timed that he could bow out gracefully. He then exercised the privilege of rank by cutting in on Mrs. Daigler. Maggie's hair was still short but her splendor otherwise restored.

"We've missed you, Captain."

"I've been working. Short-handed, you know."

"I suppose so. Er ... Captain, is it pretty soon now?'

"Before we transit? Not long. It has taken this long because we have had to do an enormous number of fiddlin' calculations--to be safe, you know."

"Are we _really_ going home?"

He gave what he hoped was a confident smile. "Absolutely. Don't start any long book from the ship's library; the Purser won't let you take it dirtside."

She sighed. "I feel better."

He thanked her for the waltz, looked around, saw Mrs. Montefiore and decided that his obligation to maintain morale did not extend that far. Eldreth was seated, so he went to her. "Feet still bothering you, Ellie?"

"No, Captain. Thank you for asking."

"Then will you dance with me?"

She opened her eyes wide. "You mean the Captain has time for po' li'l ole me?"

He leaned closer. "One more crack like that, dirty face, and you'll be tossed into irons."

She giggled and wrinkled her nose. "Aye aye, Captain, sir."

For a while they danced without talking, with Max a little overpowered by her nearness and wondering why he had not done this sooner. Finally she said, "Max? Have you given up three-dee permanently?"

"Huh? Not at all. After we make this transit I'll have time to play--if you'll spot me two starships."

"I'm sorry I ever told you about that. But I do wish you would say hello to Chipsie sometimes. She was asking this morning, 'Where Maxie?'"

"Oh, I _am_ sorry. I'd take her up to the control room with me occasionally, except that she might push a button and lose us a month's work. Go fetch her."

"The crowd would make her nervous. We'll go see her."

He shook his head. "Not to your room."

"Huh? Don't be silly. I've got no reputation left anyhow, and a captain can do as he pleases."

"That shows you've never been a captain. See that vulture watching us?" He indicated Mrs. Montefiore with his eyes. "Now go get Chipsie and no more of your back talk."

"Aye aye, Captain."

He scratched Chipsie's chin, fed her sugar cubes, and assured her that she was the finest spider puppy in that part of the sky. He then excused himself.

He was feeling exhilarated and oddly reassured. Seeing Mr. Walther disappearing into his room, he paused at the companionway and on impulse followed him. A matter had been worrying him, this was as good a time as any.

"Dutch? Are you busy?"

The First Officer turned. "Oh. No, Captain. Come in."

Max waited during the ceremonial coffee, then broached it. "Something on my mind, Mr. Walther--a personal matter."

"Anything I can do?"

"I don't think so. But you're a lot more experienced than I am; I'd like to tell you about it."

"If the Captain wishes."

"Look, Dutch, this is a 'Max' matter, not a 'Captain' matter."

Walther smiled. "All right. But don't ask me to change my form of address. I might pick up a bad habit."

"Okay, okay." Max had intended to sound out Walther about his phony record: had Dr. Hendrix reported it? Or hadn't he?

But he found it impossible to follow that line; being a captain had forced him into a different mold. "I want to tell you how I got into this ship." He told it all, not suppressing Sam's part now that it no longer could hurt Sam. Walther listened gravely.

"I've been waiting for you to mention this, Captain," he said at last. "Dr. Hendrix reported it to me, in less detail, when he put you up for apprentice astrogator. We agreed that it was a matter that need not be raised inside the ship."

"It's what happens after we get back that frets me. If we get back."

"When we get back. Are you asking for advice? Or help? Or what?"

"I don't know. I just wanted to tell you."

"Mmmm ... there are two alternatives. One we could handle here, by altering a not very important report. In which ..."

"No, Dutch. I won't have phony reports going out of the _Asgard_."

"I was fairly certain you would say that. I feel the same way, except that I would feel obligated for-- well, various reasons--to cover up for you if you asked it."

"I once intended to arrange a phony on it. I even felt justified. But I can't do it now."

"I understand. The remaining alternative is to report it and face the music. In which case I'll see it through with you--and so will the Chief Engineer and the Purser, I feel sure."

Max sat back, feeling warm and happy. "Thanks, Dutch. I don't care what they do to me ... just as long as it doesn't keep me out of space."

"I don't think they'll try to do that, not if you bring this ship in. But if they do--well, they'll know they've been in a fight. Meantime try to forget it."

"I'll try." Max frowned. "Dutch? Tell me the truth, what do _you_ think about the stunt I pulled?"

"That's a hard question, Captain. More important is, how do you feel about it?"

"Me? I don't know. I know how I used to feel--I felt belligerent."

"Eh?"

"I was always explaining--in my mind of course-- why I did it, justifying myself, pointing out that the system was at fault, not me. Now I don't want to justify myself. Not that I regret it, not when I think what I would have missed. But I don't want to duck out of paying for it, either."

Walther nodded. "That sounds like a healthy attitude. Captain, no code is perfect. A man must conform with judgment and common-sense, not with blind obedience. I've broken rules; some violations I paid for, some I didn't. This mistake you made could have turned you into a moralistic prig, a 'Regulation Charlie' determined to walk the straight and narrow and to see that everyone else obeyed the letter of the law. Or it could have made you a permanent infant who thinks rules are for everyone but him. It doesn't seem to have had either effect; I think it has matured you."