Space Cadet (28 page)

Oscar looked this situation over stonily. “I wish the
Gary
had been chemically powered,” he finally commented.

“What of it?” Matt answered. “We couldn’t raise ship if we had all the juice this side of Jupiter.”

The mother-of-many had to be shown before she was convinced that there was anything wrong with the ship. Even then, she seemed only half convinced and somehow vexed with the cadets for being unsatisfied with the gift of their ship back. Oscar spent much of the return journey trying to repair his political fences with her.

Oscar ate no dinner that night. Even Tex only picked at his food and did not touch his harmonica afterwards. Matt spent the evening silently sitting out a watch in Thurlow’s room.

The mother-of-many sent for all three of them the next morning. After formal exchange of greetings she commenced, “
Little mother, is it true that thy Gary is indeed dead, like the other Gary?
”

“
It is true, gracious mother
.”

“
Is it true that without a Gary thou canst not find thy way back to thine own people?
”

“
It is true, wise mother of many; the jungle would destroy us
.”

She stopped and gestured to one of her court. The “daughter” trotted to her with a bundle half as big as the bearer. The city mother took it and invited, or commanded, the cadets to join her on the dais. She commenced unwrapping. The object inside seemed to have more bandages than a mummy. At long last she had it uncovered and held out to them. “
Is this thine?
”

It was a large book. On the cover, in large ornate letters, was:

LOG
of
the
Astarte

Tex looked at it and said, “Great leaping ball of fire! It can’t be.”

Matt stared and whispered, “It must be. The lost first expedition. They didn’t fail—
they got here
.”

Oscar stared and said nothing at all until the city mother repeated her question impatiently. “
Is this thine?
”

“Huh? What? Oh, sure!
Wise and gracious mother, this thing belonged to my ‘mother’s mother’s mother.’ We are her ‘daughters’
”

“
Then it is thine
.”

Oscar took it from, her and gingerly opened the brittle pages. They stared at the original entry for “raise ship”—but most especially at the year entry in the date column—“1971.” “Holy Moses!” breathed Tex. “Look at that—just look at it. More than a hundred years ago.”

They thumbed through it. There was page after page of one line entries of “free fall, position according to plan” which they skipped over rapidly, except for one: “Christmas day. Carols were sung after the mid-day meal.”

It was the entries after grounding they were after. They were forced to skim them as the mother-of-many was beginning to show impatience: “—climate no worse than the most extreme terrestrial tropics in the rainy season. The dominant life form seems to be a large amphibian. This planet is definitely possible of colonization.”

“—the amphibians have considerable intelligence and seem to talk with each other. They are friendly and an attempt is being made to bridge the semantic gap.”

“—Hargraves has contracted an infection, apparently fungoid, which is unpleasantly reminiscent of leprosy. The surgeon is treating it experimentally.”

“—after the funeral muster, Hargraves’ room was sterilized at 400°.”

The handwriting changed shortly thereafter. The city mother was growing so obviously discontented that they glanced only at the last two entries: “—Johnson continues to fail, but the natives are very helpful—”

“—my left hand is now useless. I have made up my mind to decommission the ship and take my chances in the hands of the natives. I shall take this log with me and add to it, if possible.”

The handwriting was firm and clear; it was their own eyes that blurred it.

The mother-of-many immediately ordered up the party used to ferry the humans in and out of the city. She was not disposed to stop to talk and, once the journey began, there was no opportunity to until they reached dry land.

“Look here, Oz,” Tex started in, as soon as he had shaken off the water, “do you really think she’s taking us to the
Astarte
?”

“Could be. Probably is.”

“Do you think there is a chance that we will find the ship intact?” asked Matt.

“Not a chance. Not a chance in this world. On one point alone, she couldn’t possibly have any fuel left in her tanks. You saw what happened to the jeep. What do you think a century has done to the
Astarte
?” He paused and looked thoughtful. “Anyhow, I’m not going to get my hopes up, not again. I couldn’t stand it, three times. That’s too many.”

“I guess you’re right,” agreed Matt. “It won’t do to get excited. She’s probably a mound of rust under a covering of vines.”

“Who said anything about not getting excited?” Oscar answered. “I’m so excited I can hardly talk. But don’t think of the
Astarte
as a possible way to get back; think of her historically.”

“
You
think of it that way,” said Tex. “I’m a believer and a hoper. I want to get out of this dump.”

“Oh, you’ll get out! They’ll come find us some day—and then they’ll finish the mission we flubbed.”

“Look,” answered Tex, “couldn’t we go off duty and not think about the mission just for the next quarter of a mile? These insects are something fierce—you think about Oscar and I’ll think about Mother Jarman’s favorite son. I wish I was back in the good old
Triplex
.”

“You were the guy that was always beefing that the
Triplex
was a madhouse.”

“So I was wrong. I can be big about it.”

They came to one of the rare rises in the level of the ground, all of ten feet above water level. The natives started to whisper and lisp excitedly among themselves. Matt caught the Venerian word for “
tabu
.” “Did you get that, Oz?” he said in Basic. “Tabu.”

“Yes. I don’t think she told them where she was taking, them.”

The column stopped and spread out; the three cadets moved forward, pushing rank growth aside and stepped in a clearing.

In front of them, her rakish wings festooned in vines and her entire hull sheathed in some translucent substance, was the Patrol Rocket Ship
Astarte
.

The city mother was standing near the door of
Astarte
, underneath the starboard wing. Two of her people were working at the door, using bladders to squirt some liquid around the edges. The translucent layer over the hull melted away wherever the liquid touched it. They grasped a free edge of the skin stuff and began to peel it away. “Look at that,” said Tex. “Do you see what they’ve done? The ship is
Venusized
.”

His use of the term was loose; an item that has been “planetized” is one that has been rendered stable against certain typical conditions of the planet concerned, as defined by tests of the Bureau of Standards—for example, an item listed in the colonial edition of the Sears & Montgomery catalog as “Venusized” is thereby warranted to resist the excessive humidity, the exotic fungi, and certain of the planet’s pests. The
Astarte
was merely encased in a sheath.

“Looks like it,” agreed Oscar, his voice carefully restrained. “Sort of a spray-gun job.”

“Five gets you ten it never saw a spray gun. The Venerians did it” Tex slapped at an insect. “You know what this means, Oz?”

“I’m way ahead of you. Don’t get your hopes up. And don’t try to get mine up, either. A hundred years is a long time.”

“Oz, you don’t get any fun out of life.”

The little workers were having difficulties. The top of the door was much higher than they could reach; they were now trying to form two-high pyramids, but, having no shoulders to speak of, they were hardly built for the job. Matt said to Oscar, “Couldn’t we give them a hand with that?”

“I’ll see.” Oscar went forward and suggested that the cadets take over the job of squirting on the solvent. The mother person looked at him.

“
Canst thou grow a new hand, if needed?
”

Oscar admitted that he could not.

“
Then do not tamper with that which thou dost not understand
.”

Using their own methods the natives soon had the door cleared. It was latched but not locked; the door refused to open for a moment, then gave suddenly. They scrambled up into the airlock. “Wait a minute,” Matt whispered. “Hadn’t we better go easy? We don’t know that the infection that got them is necessarily dead.”

“Don’t be silly,” Tex whispered back. “If your immunizations hadn’t worked, you’d have been a sick chicken long ago.”

“Tex is right, Matt. And there’s no need to whisper. Ghosts can’t hear.”

“How do you know?” objected Tex. “Are you a doctor of ghostology?”

“I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“
I
do. Once my Uncle Bodie stayed overnight—”

“Let’s get on inside,” Matt insisted.

The passageway beyond the inner door was dark, save for the light that filtered in through the lock. The air had a strange odor, not precisely foul but lifeless—old.

The control room beyond was dimly but adequately lighted; the light from outside filtered softly through the sheathing that still covered the quartz pilot’s port. The room was very cramped. The cadets were used to roomy modern ships; the
Astarte
’s wings gave her a false impression of great size. Inside she was smaller than the jeep.

Tex began humming something about “—stout-hearted men—,” then broke off suddenly. “Look at the darned thing!” he said. “Just look at it. To think they actually made an interplanetary jump in it. Look at that control board. Why, she’s as primitive as a rowboat. And yet they took the chance. Puts you in mind of Columbus and the
Santa Maria
.”

“Or the Viking ships,” suggested Matt.

“There were men in those days,” agreed Oscar, not very originally but with great sincerity.

“You can say that louder,” commented Tex. “There’s no getting around it, fellows; we were born too late for the age of adventure. Why, they weren’t even heading for a listed port; they just blasted off into the dark and trusted to luck that they could get back.”

“They didn’t get back,” Oscar said softly.

“Let’s talk about something else,” Matt requested. “I’m covered with goose pimples as it is.”

“Okay,” Oscar concurred, “I’d better get back and see what her royal nibs is doing anyway.” He left, to return almost at once, accompanied by the city mother. “She was just waiting to be invited,” he called out ahead of them, in Basic, “and huffy at being forgotten. Help me butter her up.”

The native official turned out to be helpful; except for the control room the other spaces were dark, even to her. She stepped to the door, made known her wants, and returned with one of the glowing orange spheres they used for lighting. It was a poor excuse for a flashlight, but about as effective as a candle.

Everywhere the ship was orderly and clean, save for a faint film of dust. “Say what you like, Oscar,” commented Matt, “I’m beginning to get my hopes up. I don’t believe there is anything wrong with her. It looks as if the crew had just gone out for a walk. We may be able to put her in commission.”

“I’m ready to throw in with Oscar,” Tex objected. “I’ve lost my enthusiasm—I’d rather go over Niagara Falls in a barrel.”

“
They
flew her,” Matt pointed out.

“Sure they did—and my hat’s off to them. But it takes heroes to fly a box as primitive as this and I’m not the hero type.”

The mother-of-many lost interest presently and went outside. Tex borrowed the orange sphere and continued to look around while Matt and Oscar gave the control room a careful going over. Tex found a locker containing small, sealed packages marked “Personal effects of Roland Hargraves,” “Personal effects of Rupert H. Schreiber,” and other names. He put them back carefully.

Oscar shouted for him presently. “I think we had better get going. Her nibs hinted that when she left.”

“Come see what I’ve found. Food!”

Matt and Oscar came to the door of the galley storeroom. “Do you suppose any of it is any good?” asked Matt.

“Why not? It’s all canned. Jigger for me and we’ll find out.” Tex operated with a can opener. “Phewey!” he said presently. “Anybody want to sample some embalmed corned beef hash? Throw it outside, Matt, before it stinks up the place.”

“It already has.”

“But look at this!” Tex held up a can marked:
Old Plantation Hotcake Flour
. “This won’t be spoiled—hotcakes for breakfast, troops. I can hardly wait.”

“What good are flapjacks without syrup?”

“All the comforts of home—half a dozen cans of it.” He produced one marked:
Genuine Vermont Maple Syrup, unadulterated
.

Tex wanted to take some back with them. Oscar vetoed it, on both practical and diplomatic grounds. Tex suggested that they remain in the ship, not go back. “Presently, Tex, presently,” Oscar agreed. “You forgot about Lieutenant Thurlow.”

“So I did. Close my big mouth.”

“Speaking of Mr. Thurlow,” put in Matt, “you’ve given me an idea. He won’t touch much of that native hash, even when he seems to come pretty far out of it. How about that sugar syrup? I could feed it to him from a drinking bladder.”