Robert Sheckley - Operating Instructions

A nice looking companion for a few months, Powell thought.

"Have a seat, Walker," Arriglio said, shaking Walker's hand enthusiastically.

''Sure. How's everything, boy?" Danton said.

Powell suppressed a smile. In order to function at all, a psi must feel at home, secure, wanted . The boys were making the best of the bargain. They knew what that extra push at takeoff could mean.

Walker sat down, eying them suspiciously.

"How do you like our ship?" Arriglio asked.

"It's O.K.," Walker said, with the air of a man who has seen bigger and better; despite the fact that this was the only completed spaceship, at present, in the United States.

"How do you feel about the trip?" Danton asked.

"Just another trip," Walker answered, leaning back in his chair.

"Shouldn't be too tough."

"Would you like to see the rest of the ship?" Powell asked hastily. He could see that Arriglio was smoldering, and Danton didn't look too happy.

"Naw," Walker said. "I'll get plenty of chance later."

There was an awkward silence, which didn't seem to bother Walker. Powell watched him out of the corner of his eye as he lighted a cigarette. Neuroticism he had expected. But Walker was plain arrogant.

Walker grunted, and thrust his hands in his pockets. Powell watched, and realized that the man was clenching and unclenching his fists.

He must be nervous, Powell thought, and tried to think of something pleasant to say.

"How fast you figure you'll shove the ship?" Arriglio asked. Walker looked at him scornfully. "Fast as she'll take," he said, and gulped convulsively.

Not nervous, Powell decided. Scared. Just plain scared, and trying to hide it.

"Well, you'll find this a nice little boat," Danton said inanely.

"Nice little boat," Arriglio repeated.

"I want a candy bar," Walker said.

"How about a cigarette?" Powell said, offering him one.

"I think I'll just step outside and get a candy bar. There's gotta be a hawker on the landing field."

"We're taking off soon," Powell said. "I'd like to run through the briefing—"

"Nuts," Walker said succinctly, and left.

"I'll kill that guy before we're through," Arriglio murmured when Walker was out of the room. Danton looked grim.

"We'll just have to bear him," Powell said. "He'll fit in."'

"He's insufferable," Danton said. They sat and glared at the doorway. Powell began to feel sorry for himself. What had Command talked him into?

"I decided I didn't want a candy bar," Walker said, coming back into the room. He looked from face to face. "You guys been talking about me?"

"Why should we?" Arriglio asked abruptly.

"You guys probably figure I can't push this crate," Walker said.

"Now look," Powell said sternly. "We don't think any such thing. Each of us will do his job, and that's all there is to it."

Walker just looked at him.

"Let's go through the briefing," Powell said. "Come with me, Walker."

He led Walker into the control room and showed him the line of force diagrams, explained the sequence of orders and told him what he was supposed to do. Walker listened carefully, still chewing his lower lip.

"Look, captain," he said. "I'll do my best."

"Fine," Powell said, rolling up his charts and laying them aside.

"Just don't count on me too much," the psi said, and hurried out of the room. Powell shook his head and checked his instruments.

Powell strapped himself in, and snapped on the intercom.

"Danton. Set?"

"Set, captain."

"Arriglio."

"Just a moment—set, captain."

"Walker?"

"Yeah."

"Right." Powell received his field clearance from the tower. He leaned back. "Ten seconds. Main drive on."

"On," Arriglio said. A roar shook the ship as the engines leaped into violent life.

"Get it up," Powell said, reading his dials. "Fine. Hold it there. Danton. Get set on auxiliary."

"I'm on."

"Six seconds. Walker, stand by."

"Yes, sir."

"Four seconds." Half a dozen fine adjustments, oxygen.

"Two seconds. One second."

"Blast! Come in, Walker!"

The ship started to rise, balancing on her jets. Then, a great force seized her. Powell was slammed back in his seat, knowing that Walker's telekinetic force was shoving now. He read the climb dial. As soon as they had reached five hundred feet, he cut a switch.

"Main drive off! Give it all you've got, Walker!"

The roar stopped, but the ship leaped forward faster. The ship performed an incredible wrench. Powell wondered what it was. Not acceleration, certainly…

The ship was wrenched again. Powell gasped and blacked out.

When he recovered, the ship was surrounded by the blackness of space. Acceleration was still a giant hand against his chest, but he struggled forward and looked out a port.

Stars, of course.

Powell grinned weakly and decided to buy Walker a drink when they got back. The erratic, powerful psi dynamo had functioned—with a vengeance. He wondered how far from Earth they were.

Touching the instrument panel, he got a screen-view behind him. He searched it for the blue-green globe of Earth.

Earth wasn't there.

Manipulating the view, he quickly found Sol. But why was it so small? Earth's sun looked about the size of a large pea.

Where were they?

Powell unstrapped himself. He could feel that the ship was beginning to lose its acceleration. He checked his instruments and calculated their velocity.

Fantastic!

"Danton!" he shouted into the intercom.

"Ouch," Danton said. "Brother!"

"Get up here and check our position. Arriglio?"

"Yes, Sam?"

"See how Walker is." Powell looked out at the stars again, then at the sun. Finally he frowned and rechecked his figures. He had to be wrong.

Half an hour later, Danton came up with an answer. "As near as I can figure out," he said, "We're somewhere between Saturn and Jupiter. Probably closer to Saturn."

"That's impossible," Powell said flatly.

"Sure," Danton agreed. "Try it yourself." Powell went over the navigator's figures, but could find no error in them. They were five hundred million miles from Mars, give or take ten million.

Powell shook his head. The figures had no real emotional impact on him. They couldn't, since no one could grasp what five hundred million miles really meant. He reduced it, automatically, to an understandable size.

Which was just as well, under the circumstances.

"So here we are," he said matter-of-factly. "Well," Arriglio came in, and he asked him, "how are we on fuel?"

"So-so," Arriglio said. "That psi-assisted takeoff saved us a lot, of course. But we still haven't got enough."

"Of course not," Powell agreed.

A ship powered for a Mars trip, with refueling on the planet, couldn't expect to get back from Saturn.

Saturn! He tried to think what that meant in terms of straight-line acceleration, but gave it up. The telekineticized ship must have skipped a portion of space, somehow.

Walker came into the room, his lips pallid and twitching. "Did you say we were around Saturn?" he asked.

"Saturn's orbit," Powell said, automatically forcing a grin. "Saturn is on the other side of the sun now." He widened the grin, and remembered rule two in the operating instructions. Praise must be afforded the psi at frequent intervals .

"Boy," he said, "you've really got something there. Magnificent!"

"I suppose… I suppose—" Walker looked at them, his face drawn into a pout. Then he started to cry.

"Take it easy," Powell said, feeling extremely uncomfortable. His machine didn't seem to be responding.

"I knew I'd louse it up," the psi dynamo blubbered. "I just knew it."

"Nothing's lost," Powell said, keeping his voice pleasant and even. "You just don't know your own strength. You'll bring us back."