Donald A. Wollheim (ed) (6 page)

The children grew until they were no longer children.

The robot humanoids began to fade into the
background, as they aged before the children's eyes. The first of them was
scheduled to die in less than a year.

Earth
seemed very far away.

And then, fourteen years after he had first seen the village of
Halaja
, Keith heard the sound he had been dreading.

There was a sudden jagged scream that split
the clouds above his head, a sharp roar that clattered through the gray rain of
a long, lazy afternoon. Keith could not see the thing, but he knew what it was.

A spaceship.

And not a Foundation ship, either.

The world government still had a few
spacecraft on operational status—a few lonely skeletons left from the
half-forgotten fleet that had long ago explored the solar system and pronounced
it useless.

A few ships used for infrequent investigations, a few ships to back up
the slogan:

DON'T
ROCK THE BOAT.

Keith Ortega stood in the rain and swore.

"Camel You look after things—tell Bill
I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Be careful, Keith." She stood in
the doorway of their home, small and fragile in her shirt and shorts.

Little Keith—who was not so little any more—and Bobby listened curiously
to the echoes of the decelerating ship and wondered what their father was
worried about.

"What's
up, Dad?" asked Keith.

"Can
we go with you? We can help," Bobby assured him. Keith looked at them with
what he hoped was a stem expression. "You're not children now," he
said. "You're young

men
,
and you have responsibilities. Have you forgotten about the ceremonies
tonight?"

"Sorry, Dad.
We just thought—"

"I'll
attend to this. It's nothing important."

"Well, gee, what was that funny noise?"

"That's what I want to find out,"
Keith said. "Some sort of storm up above the clouds, I think."

"O.K., Dad."

He left them in the rain and sprinted out of
the village and along the pathway that led to the Smoke River. He swam the
river, which was hardly wetter than the pelting rain in the air, and hurried
along a concealed path through the jungle. By the time he reached his hidden
emergency copter he was breathing hard.

If those kids ever
saw
that spaceship, there would be hell to pay.

He took the copter up into the sea of gray
rain, gunned it to full power, and headed for the dome-shaped station house far
to the east. Undoubtedly, they had tracked a Foundation ship from Earth. Since
those ships were carefully shielded from the native colonies, they always
landed at the station clearing, where Keith himself had landed fourteen years
before.

Keith
stared into the rain and clenched his fists.

If that ship was a government ship—and it had
to be—then there was going to be trouble.

He could not bear the thought of failure now.

Somehow,
that ship had to be
stopped.

In eight hours, he landed at the station clearing.

The rain had stopped and he saw the ship as
soon as he came over the dripping wall of the gray-green jungle. It was a big
one, and it had the blue symbol of the world government on its nose. He set
the copter down next to it, his heart thumping like a hammer in his chest.

The ship loomed silently over his head,
its
very hugeness impressing upon him the absurdity of his
own plans. What could he do—attack the thing with a club and a handful of
rocks?

It was still daylight, but he saw a
glearn
of yellow light inside the dome of the station
house. He didn't know what he was going to do, but he
did
know that he was going to do something.

He walked across the field, acutely aware of
the vast ship beyond him. Could that ship be destroyed? Would he do it if he
could? And if he did, wouldn't that just confirm the suspicions on
Earth—wouldn't they send more ships, more men?

He shook his head. He wasn't thinking straight.

The
cold knot in his stomach drew tighter.

There were no windows in the round station
house, so there was no way for him to sneak a look inside. He simply walked up
to the door, knocked, and went in.

A large central room, stacked with supplies.
A door to his right, where babies were received.
Two humanoid robots conversing in low tones against one wall.
A bright yellow light in the ceiling.

Toward the back, another door, partly open.

Voices.

Keith picked his way through the piles of
supplies and knocked on the half-open door. "Who is it?"
Mark's voice.
"Keith." "Come on in I"

He went inside. There, at
the table where he and Carrie and Mark had shared their coffee so many years
ago, there was more coffee.

And a man in a uniform.

"Keith, this is Captain
Nostrand
—Space Security. Captain, this is Keith
Ortega."

They shook hands.

"I've heard of you, sir," Captain
Nostrand
said. "I never expected to meet you under
these . . . unusual . . . circumstances."

Keith sized up the captain. After the mental
image he had built up in his mind of a veritable ogre sent out from Earth to
crush his dream, Captain
Nostrand
was a pleasant surprise.
He was middle-aged, relaxed, with graying hair. He had quiet brown eyes and an
easy smile.

He
looked
like a nice guy—if that helped any.

"Mark, what's the deal?"

Mark
Kamoto
shrugged and poured Keith a cup of coffee. "I guess you've about figured
it," he said.

"I heard the ship. I knew it wasn't one of ours."

Captain
Nostrand
sat down and crossed his long legs. "The government has been getting
reports off and on of unexplained spaceship take-offs," he said.
"They finally decided to find out what was going on. They tracked one ship
here, and sent me up to have a look-see.
Simple enough."

"How many men are with you?"

Nostrand
smiled quizzically. "
You
planning
on starting a fracas, Dr. Ortega? I'm unarmed, of course."

Keith felt the hot blood in his cheeks.
"Sorry," he said. "I'm upset—to put it mildly. Look, what are
you going to do?"

Nostrand
sipped his coffee. "What do you
think?" "You can't go back and tell them, captain. This is too big.
You don't understand. You can't tell them." "Want to bet?"

"Easy, now," Mark said. "Drink
your coffee, Keith. It won't do any good to go off half-cocked."

Keith
downed his coffee at one searing gulp.

"You're mighty nervous," Captain
Nostrand
grinned. "What have you got out in that jungle anyhow?
A
swamp full of monsters?"

Keith managed to laugh, not too successfully.
"Hasn't Mark told you?"

"I haven't said anything," Mark cut
in. "But the captain has sharp eyes."

"Has
he got a cigarette?"

"Sure," said
Nostrand
.
He fished out a pack and handed one to Keith. The smoke tasted good.

"Look, Captain
Nostrand
.
I'm sorry I came busting in here like a fugitive from a nightmare. It's just
that this thing is terribly important—more important than you can imagine. One
word from you now will destroy two decades of work. You and your crew have got
to be made to see—"

"The crew's robot,"
Nostrand
said. "I'm the only one you've got to deal
with."

"Then
look-"

"You listen to me a minute,"
Captain
Nostrand
said slowly. "I wasn't sent out
here to pass judgment on whatever it is you're doing. That's not my job. I was
just sent out to see
if
you're doing anything up here. You are
,
that's clear. I'll go back and tell them there's an
unreported settlement here, and that's the end of it as far as I'm concerned.
Nothing personal, understand?"

Keith
slammed his fist down on the table. "It
is
personal!" he said, amazed at his own vehemence. If he had needed
any proof that the Keith Ortega who had come out here from Earth fourteen years
ago was dead, he had it now.

Outside, the rain started up again, swishing
down the sides of the station dome.

Desperately, Keith leaned across the table,
staring at the man in the old uniform of Space Security. There was one chance,
a long one—

"
Nostrand
," he said carefully, "how many men
besides
yourself
are still in the space service?"

The captain poured himself another cup of
coffee. "You already know that, Dr. Ortega."
"A
hundred?
Two hundred?"
"A
hundred and twenty."
"Mostly maintenance
men?"
"Yes."

The rain came down harder, rushing like a
river over the slick bulge of the station house.

"What made you stay in the space service, captain? What made you
stay when space was dead?"

Captain
Nostrand
shrugged, but his brown eyes narrowed.

"How many flights have you made,
captain?
How many in the last thirty years?"

"Four," he said slowly. "Three
were runs to Luna."

"What made you stick it out,
captain?"

Nostrand
stood up. "That's none of your
business."

Keith faced him. "It
is
my business. I know you,
Nostrand
. I know why
you went out into space when other men stayed at home."

Captain
Nostrand
shrugged again.

"Captain, listen. I'm asking you to wait
one Earth-month before you go back. Let me show you what we're doing here—all
of it, every bit of it. If you still think it's your duty to tell them after
that, O.K. If you don't, then you can report that the rocket they tracked was
just a private ship out on a lark—some crazy back-to-the-good-old-days enthusiast.
Vandervort can fix it up—yes, 111 tell you all about him, too. Captain, you've
got
to stay now—it's your duty to find out everything they want to know.
Radio back and tell them it will take you a little time to investigate. Will
you do that,
Nostrand
?"

"What's in it for you?"

Keith kept his voice even. "If you understand what Venus means,
you'll never tell them. You know and I know that Earth may never go back into
space
on her own
—it's too late. I can't put this into
words, captain. But I know what made you go into space even when space was
almost forgotten. I know. Have
you
forgotten?"

"I
haven't forgotten."

"O.K.
I'm
asking for a month."

Captain
Nostrand
sat down and sipped his coffee. He listened to the rain roaring down outside.
He looked at Mark
Kamoto
, who remained silent.

"You make a mean speech, friend,"
Nostrand
said finally, "I can see your month. It had
better be good."