Robert Sheckley - Operating Instructions

"Here's the score," Danton said, in the Main Room. He showed Powell a graph. "Here's course and speed, here's destination." He pointed out the lines. "We run out of food here— " The line fell far short of their destination. "And we run out of water here." That line was still shorter.

"How about if we accelerate?" Powell asked.

"Too far to go," Danton said. "I've tried juggling it every way around, and it still comes out no good. We couldn't even make it if we ate each other, and drank the blood."

"That's a pleasant thought, you gory pig," Arriglio said from the other side of the room.

"Don't you like it?" Danton asked.

" Not a bit." Arriglio pushed himself off a wall and floated forward, moving easily in the weightless ship.

"Then do something about it," Danton said, pushing himself forward to meet Arriglio.

"Hey, stop it," Powell said. "Come on, break it up." The two men parted suddenly.

"The guy I'd like to get is that—"

"Stop it," Powell said sharply. He heard a noise. Walker floated in. Powell hoped he hadn't heard the conversation.

"Come on in," Powell said.

"Sure, pull up a chair," Danton said, with an effort at friendliness.

Powell knew that they would love to cut Walker into little pieces; but the requirements of the situation forced them to be pleasant to him. It was an added strain, having to cater to the man who had put them in this spot.

"I wanted to say— " Walker began.

"Go on," Arriglio encouraged, determined not to be outdone by Danton. "Go on, boy." His tone was friendly, but his bleak eyes contradicted it.

"I wanted to say I'm sorry," Walker said. "I wouldn't have even gone on this trip, only Mr. Waverley thought I should."

"We understand," Danton said, his fingers clenching into fists.

"Sure, it's all right," Arriglio said.

"You all hate me," Walker said, and floated out.

"Haven't you guys any control over yourselves?" Powell asked when Walker was gone. "Rule 3, remember? Understanding and sympathy must be used at all times —"

"I was understanding," Arriglio said angrily. Danton nodded.

"Understanding! The way you looked at him!"

"I'm sorry, captain," Arriglio said formally. " I'm no actor. If I don't like a guy, I don't like him." He glared at Danton. Danton glared back.

"I told you to think of him as a machine," Powell said. "Arriglio, I've seen you pamper those engines of yours outrageously."

"Sure," Arriglio said, "but I can swear at them, too, and kick 'em if I want to."

That was the trouble, Powell thought, with working with a sentient machine. You couldn't take out your frustrations on it.

"Well, don't start anything, you two," Powell said.

Arriglio pushed himself to the opposite side of the room, found the cards and started to deal himself a hand of solitaire.

Powell went to the control room to think things out.

Outside the port the stars glittered. Dead space lay, a grave five hundred million miles long.

There had to be a solution. Start from there.

A way out, Powell thought. Their psi dynamo had functioned on the way out. Why wasn't he functioning now?

He took out the instructions Waverley had given him and studied them.

These empirically derived operating rules are given —

Those rules were a long way from the truth, Powell thought. Waverley still had a long way to go.

Certain maintenance and operating rules must be observed —

They had observed them, to the best of their ability. Theoretically, there should be nothing wrong with the psi. But still, the delicate intricate dynamo in Walker's mind refused to function.

Powell slapped a hand against his thigh. It was so frustrating, to have all that power bottled there. Enough to take them home with ease—enough, probably, to take them to Alpha Cen-tauri, or the galactic center. And they couldn't tap it.

Because they didn't know how to operate the machinery.

Operating instructions. He was no psychiatrist. He couldn't hope to cure Walker of his neuroticisms. All he could do was relieve them enough to get him to work.

What had he left out?

He read back over the instructions, and an idea began forming in his mind. There was something else. He almost had it now—

"Captain!"

"What do you want?" Powell asked, angry for the first time on the trip. He had been so close! He glared at Danton.

"It's Walker, Sam. He's locked himself in one of the rooms. I think he's going to kill himself!"

Powell pushed himself against a wall and shot down a corridor, Danton following. Arriglio was at the door, hammering on it and shouting. Powell pushed him aside and floated up.

"Walker. Can you hear me?"

Silence.

"Bring something to get this open," Powell whispered. "Walker!" he shouted again. "Don't do anything foolish."

"I'm doing it," Walker's voice came through.

"Don't! As captain of this ship I order you—"

Walker's gurgle cut him short.

Arriglio hurried back with a blowtorch. They melted the lock, and Powell swore he would never ride another ship with as much as a door in it. If he ever rode another ship.

They burst the door open and floated in. Then Arriglio burst into laughter.

Their unhappy, overloaded dynamo was floating in midair, his arms and legs jerking grotesquely. Around his neck was a rope, the other end attached to a stanchion in the ceiling. The amazing fool had tried to hang himself—in weightless free-fall.

But then, suddenly, it wasn't so funny. Walker was strangling, and they were unable to loosen the rope.

Frantically they worked on it, trying to get some purchase in the weightless air. Finally, Danton had the foresight to burn the rope loose with the torch.

Walker had knotted the rope to the ceiling, tying the other end around his neck. But to make it really effective, he had tied a constrictor knot in it. This knot would tighten easily, and stay tight. It could be loosened only by yanking both ends in a certain way.

Walker had tied the ends around the back of his neck in a square knot, out of reach. He had braced himself against the ceiling, and kicked off hard. The knot had tightened—

It was a close thing, and an adequate measure of Walker's desperation.

"Pull him up," Powell said. He glared at the gasping, red-faced Walker, and tried to think.

He had coaxed him and kidded him, followed the rules and added the oil of sympathy and the fuel of praise. And what had he gotten?

His precious machine had almost ruined itself.

That's no way to run anything, he told himself. If I want an engine to turn over, I turn it over. I don't stand around patting its case. To hell with the rules!

"We're through playing games," Powell said, and he was addressing all of them now. "Take your positions. We're blasting off."

He silenced their questions with a glare, and pushed himself off.

In the control room he said a silent prayer. Then he snapped on the intercom.

"Danton. Set?"

"Set, captain."

"Arriglio?"

"All set."

"Walker?"

"Yes, sir."

"Ten seconds. Main drive on." The engines thundered into life. "Get it up there," Powell said. "I want max plus."

"Right, captain."

"Danton, get set on auxiliary."

"Set, captain."

"Six seconds. Walker, stand by."

"Yes, sir," the frightened voice of Walker said.

"Four seconds," Powell said, hoping that Walker wouldn't have time to tell himself he couldn't do it.

"Two seconds." Come on, he told himself. This had better be it. Let it be it.

One second.

"Blast! Come in, Walker!"

The ship surged forward, but he could feel no response from Walker. The ship was operating on her engines alone.

"Fine, Walker," Powell said coolly. "Give her some more."