Гарри Гаррисон: Galactic Dreams

The student barracks of the CCC was well known for its “no frills” — or rather “no coddling” — decor and comforts. The beds were impervitium slabs, no spine-sapping mattresses here! and the sheets made of thin burlap. No blankets of course, not with the air kept at a healthy 4 degrees Centigrade. The rest of the comforts matched so that it was a great surprise to the graduates to find unaccustomed luxuries awaiting them upon their return from the ceremonies and training. There was a shade on each bare-bulbed reading light and a nice soft two centimeter-thick pillow on every bed. Already they were reaping the benefits of all the years of labor.

Now, among all the students, the top student by far was named M. There are some secrets that must not be told, names that are important to loved ones and neighbors. Therefore I shall draw the cloak of anonymity over the true identity of the man known as M. Suffice to call him “Steel,” for that was the nickname of someone who knew him best. “Steel,” or Steel as we can call him, had at this time a roommate by the name of L. Later, much later, he was to be called by certain people “Gentleman Jax,” so for the purpose of this narrative we shall call him “Gentleman Jax” as well, or perhaps just plain “Jax.”

Jax was second only to Steel in scholastic and sporting attainments, and the two were the best of chums. They had been roommates for the past year and now they were back in their room with their feet up, basking in the unexpected luxury of the new furnishings, sipping decaffeinated coffee, called koffee, and smoking deeply of the school’s own brand of denicotinized cigarettes, called Denikcig by the manufacturer but always referred to, humorously, by the CCC students as “gaspers” or “lungbusters.”

“Throw me over a gasper, will you Jax,” Steel said, from where he lolled on the bed, hands behind his head, dreaming of what was in store for him now that he would be having his own camel soon.

“Ouch!” he chuckled as the pack of gaspers caught him in the eye. He drew out one of the slim white forms and tapped it on the wall to ignite it, then drew in a lungful of refreshing smoke. “I still can’t believe it …”

He smoke ringed.

“Well it’s true enough, by Mrddl,” Jax smiled. “We’re graduates. Now throw back that pack of lungbusters so I can join you in a draw or two.”

Steel complied, but did it so enthusiastically that the pack hit the wall and instantly all the cigarettes ignited and the whole thing burst into flame. A glass of water doused the conflagration but, while it was still fizzling fitfully, a light flashed redly on the comscreen.

“High-priority message,” Steel bit out, slamming down the actuator button. Both youths snapped to rigid attention as the screen filled with the iron visage of Colonel von Thorax.

“M, L to my office on the triple.”

The words fell like leaden weights from his lips. What could it mean?

“What can it mean?” Jax asked as they hurtled down a dropchute at close to the speed of gravity.

“We’ll find out quickly enough,” Steel snapped as they drew up at the old man’s door and activated the announcer button.

Moved by some hidden mechanism, the door swung wide and, not without a certain amount of trepidation, they entered. But what was this? This! The Colonel was looking at them and smiling. Unbelievable for this expression had never before been known to cross his stern face at any time.

“Make yourselves comfortable, lads,” he indicated, pointing at comfortable chairs that rose out of the floor at the touch of a button. “You’ll find gaspers in the arms of these servochairs. As well as Valumian wine or Snaggian beer.”

“No koffee?” Jax open-mouthedly expostulated, and they all laughed.

“I don’t think you really want it,” the Colonel susurrated coyly through his artificial larynx. “Drink up, lads. You’re Space Rats of the CCC now, and your youth is behind you. Now look at that.”

That was a three-dimensional image that sprang into being in the air before them at the touch of a button, an image of a spacer like none ever seen before. She was as slender as a swordfish, fine-winged as a bird, solid as a whale, and as armed to the teeth as an alligator.

“Holy Kolon,” Steel sighed in open-mouthed awe. “Now that is what I call a hunk o’ rocket!”

“Some of us prefer to call it the Indefectible,” the Colonel said, not unhumorously.

“Is that her? We heard something ….”

“You heard very little for we have had this baby under wraps ever since the earliest stage. She has the largest engines ever built, new improved MacPhersons 1 of the most advanced design, Kelly drive 2 gear that has been improved to where you would not recognize it in a month of Thursdays, as well as double-strength Fitzroy projectors 3 that make the old ones look like a kid’s pop-gun. And I’ve saved the best for last ….”

“Nothing can be better than what you have already told us,” Steel broke in.

“That’s what you think!” The Colonel laughed, not unkindly, with a sound like tearing steel. “The best news is that M, you are going to be Captain of this spacegoing superdreadnought, while lucky L is Chief Engineer.”

(Note — The MacPherson engine was first mentioned in the author’s story “Rocket Rangers of the IRT” (Spicy-Weird Stories, 1933. Loyal readers first discovered the Kelly drive in the famous book Hell Hounds of the Coal Sack Cluster (Slimecreeper Press, Ltd., 1931), also published in German as Teufel Nach de Knockwurst Expres. Translated into Italian by Re Umberto, unpublished to date. A media breakthrough was made when the Fitzroy projector first appeared in “Female Space Zombies of Venus” in 1936 in True Story Confessions.)

“Lucky L would be a lot happier if he were Captain instead of king of the stokehold,” Jax muttered, and the other two laughed at what they thought was a joke.

“Everything is completely automated,” the Colonel continued, “so it can be flown by a crew of two. But I must warn you that it has experimental gear aboard so whoever flies her has to volunteer ….”

“I volunteer!” Steel shouted.

“I have to go to the terlet,” Jax said, rising, though he sat again instantly when the ugly blaster leaped from its holster to the Colonel’s hand. “Ha-ha, just a joke. I volunteer, sure.”

“I knew I could count on you lads. The CCC breeds men. Camels too, of course. So here is what you do. At 0304 hours tomorrow you two in the Indefectible will crack ether headed out Cygnus way. In the direction of a certain planet.”

“Let me guess, if I can, that is,” Steel said grimly through tight-clenched teeth. “You don’t mean to give us a crack at the larshnik-loaded world of Biru-2, do you?”

“I do. This is the larshniks’ prime base, the seat of operation of all their drug and gambling traffic, where the whiteslavers offload and the queer green is printed, site of the flnnx distilleries and lair of the pirate hordes.”

“If you want action that sounds like it!” Steel grimaced.

“You are not just whistling through your back teeth,” the Colonel agreed. “If I were younger and had a few less replaceable parts, this is the kind opportunity I would leap at ….”

“You can be Chief Engineer,” Jax hinted.

“Shut up,” the Colonel implied. “Good luck, gentlemen, for the honor of the C.C.C. rides with you.”

“But not the camels?” Steel asked.

“Maybe next time. There are, well, adjustment problems. We have lost four more graduates since we have been sitting here. Maybe we’ll even change animals. Make it the C.D.C.”

“With combat dogs?” Jax asked.

“Either that or donkeys. Or dugongs. But that is my worry, not yours. All that you guys have to do is get out there and crack Biru-2 wide open. I know you can do it.”