The Mile Long Spaceship (5 page)

Windlass cursed him once more and turned away, walking lightly for a man of his great bulk. Royle waited until he turned into one of the rooms before he buzzed the engine room. He faced the scanner and waited for the door to open.

Giroden held the door peering cautiously behind Royle before he allowed it to swing open fully.

"He came here!" Kara exclaimed. "Did you see him?"

"I saw him," Royle admitted shortly and studied the girl curiously. She was young, no more than nineteen, and as yet hadn't acquired the practiced patina of the large worlds' woman.

"Captain, maybe if I explain some things to you," she said hesitantly, "you won't be so willing to help me."

"Leave it alone, Kara," Giroden interrupted smoothly, but there was a strain in his voice that outweighed his banter. "The captain isn't interested in ladies, either as such, or as problems."

"No, let me talk," Kara insisted swiftly. "He should know before he gets into trouble with Harmon over me. Harmon is a dangerous man to have as an enemy." She turned to Royle then and watched his face anxiously as she rushed the words, "Dad is a mining engineer on Trannus. I was born there and Mother died there. He never seemed interested in leaving. But there was nothing but the mud and the work and filth. Dredging day and night with the sound of the sucking mud in my ears. It was all I knew until I was grown. I had to get off—now while I'm young and still attractive—or I'd die there old and ugly and alone. Harmon came. He was inspecting his mines personally and he stayed at our house and I practically forced him into marrying me. I don't think he realized it, but the minute I saw him, I knew he was my way out."

"Why didn't your father send you away?" Royle asked harshly.

"Where? A girl under age. He didn't know anyone away from Trannus after all those years," she answered simply.

"And now what? What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing, only don't make me go back to that room! Anything else. I can't keep facing him after what I did to him. He is so afraid, it changes him. He wasn't kind, but he was understandable. He has to be ahead of the rest, be bigger than anyone else. And now he's only afraid," she said. "If he could be able to lean on me, he'd hide his fear from everyone else, and that would save him. But he can't lean on anyone and he has to be what he is—afraid where everyone can see it. It's my fault. If I hadn't failed him, he wouldn't be making trouble for you now. It's all my fault!"

"Is that your only worry now? Aren't you more afraid of this disease we have?" Royle asked her angrily.

"Why should I be, Captain Royle? Harmon has worked so hard, has gained so much that he will lose. If we do live, he won't have me back after all this. I'll still be alone and poor. I lose nothing."

"Your life, child. Your life," Royle said, harshness creeping into his voice. He herded them toward the door. "You both leave. Kara, you can go with Giroden or you can let him help you find an empty room. Just close the door and press the stud to lock it and no one can get in. You can both reach me here if you want me. Let me know where you are so I can arrange for your meals."

He called DeBarge in the shielded hold. "Look, Debby, I don't know if it'll work, but we're going ahead with the plan I outlined."

"Thought you said next week, Captain," Debby said aggrievedly.

"I know, I know, but things are brewing too fast up here. Some of our guests are wanting off and the only way I can keep them from boiling over is to give them some action. Any action."

"Aye, aye, sir. I'll be watching the screen for you to say when. It won't be as fast as you wanted though. I've been over the computer again and I think it'll take three hours or better for the temperature drop you want after the power's gone."

"Okay, Debby, just means they'll shiver longer. I'll signal you after I get the stage set."

His hands were deft and sure as he made the various adjustments in the engine room, bringing in the auxiliary power, locking in the course he had set. He nodded noncommittally when Kara informed him she would be with Giroden. When his meal arrived, he ate mechanically, mentally checking off his steps of reasoning once more. He called Rawlins.

"Anything definite yet?"

"Nothing you could quote, but I think you're right," Rawlins said cheerfully.

"Does that mean you found it in the tapes?" Royle's voice was sarcastic and he waved aside the quick denials. "Drop it, Rawlins. We've got to go ahead without confirmation right away. Bring the vaccine dispenser and the serums."

"Aye, aye, sir!" Rawlins said enthusiastically.

It took Royle nearly an hour to convince the passengers he meant business when he ordered them—some at gun point—from their berths to the lounge, but they went. Civilization had trained them to respect the voice of authority. Windlass, clearly suspicious and belligerent, wanted to fight instead and only the gun in Royle's hand convinced him he would be making a barren gesture. Dr. Kscievitch pursed his lips tightly in disapproval but went without comment. Some of the women were weeping in fright. Giroden and Kara nodded silently and walked together, not touching actually, but giving the impression of closeness.

Royle checked them all off his list just to make sure and then signalled Rawlins. "Ladies and gentlemen," he started, pocketing the gun confidently, "I have a purpose in having you gather here at this time." He waited a moment before he continued, watching the defeat of their faces replaced momentarily with hope as they turned expectant eyes on him. Rawlins brought the struggling, bound Perez into the lounge. "Here," he ordered, "make him as comfortable as you can on the couch. But be sure he's secure." He turned from the wild-eyed man mouthing unintelligible gibberish and stated, "As you can see, Perez is, as far as we are concerned, hopelessly insane. This thing has driven him mad and with no chemiopsychologist, insanity is incurable, again, as far as we are concerned.

"Now for the plan I am going to outline. It will involve physical discomfort, but not of too serious a nature. This disease seems to show a predilection for warmth, apparently preferring the warmth of humanity, for it to continue to thrive." He felt the ceasing movement of the ship beneath him, but knew it was from thorough familiarity with her, and none of the others showed awareness as he continued. "Several days ago I had one of my men start going through the medical records kept by our doctor before he succumbed. In every instance there was no new illness until one of the prior cases died, suggesting this—thing—stays with a host until it no longer supports it and then seeks new warmth. I feel that by isolating the victims in the lifeboats and sending them out before they died, we may have ridded the ship of a lot of virulence. The decrease in the number of cases seems to confirm this."

No one else seemed to notice the sudden movement that brought Debby to the screen of the communicator, thumb and forefinger making a circle before his face. Royle nodded and kept talking without interrupting himself.

"Our doctor abandoned a virus as the causative agent, and the research men on Capella Four support this. We have been in communication," he said, putting a ring of truth behind his lies, "and we believe that an alien life form is aboard this ship." There were the explosive interruptions that he had expected and he waited several moments before he began silencing them. He continued, "We believe this alien form is invisible in its environment of air, that it can move about and that it has escaped detection by any of our instruments solely because it has no material body to detect. We know several things about it, and these data are our ammunition against it. First, it is a parasite on warm blooded creatures and leaves its host only when his temperature has fallen below that of the surrounding air. Apparently it does not multiply itself, or grow, or reproduce in any way—or we'd all be dead by now. It has mobility and can seek out a new host, not by intelligence, but by instinct, or, perhaps, in accordance with a law that governs a non-living thing—like magnetism." There was a dissent from one of the passengers and he said, "If it were intelligent life it would leave the victims before their entombment in the lifeboats." He waited and the man nodded slightly.

"So," he concluded, "the theory is that all this—thing—wants from us is heat, that it is not a life-form in any sense of the word, but that it is irresistibly drawn to heat-producing bodies. This heat in some way activates it. I intend to give it heat—human heat—and offer it no alternative to accepting that heat. In short, I intend to inoculate someone with every vaccine and serum that we had in the medical supplies. We have all taken these things all our lives with no ill effects, therefore I'll probably have to use all of them together to produce the required rise in temperature. I want someone to become so feverish that every heat-seeking entity aboard this ship will flock to him." He paused again and let them have their say. They all very clearly had something to say.

"Royle, this is nonsense! You're guessing and it sounds like a lot of stuff to me," Windlass got in.

"He's sick himself," Mrs. Clevers moaned over and over.

Giroden's drawl was quite serious as he said, "They could be all over the ship just waiting for someone to get close enough for contact. Why would they leave the warm ship for a feverish man? It would be contrary to the very characteristics you described."

"Because," Royle said clearly, "the ship will not be warm. It's going to be damned cold in fact. And the man is going to make a grand tour, giving them every opportunity to get on him away from the coldness of the ship. The very fact that they came aboard indicates they can get from cold to warm."

"Wait a minute!" Windlass boomed suddenly. "You say one of us will get the stuff. Then what? And who decides which one?"

"I decide," Royle said flatly. "And he will be put in one of the lifeboats and shot off into space after we've decided it's safe to assume he's captured them all."

"You decide! You mealy-mouthed hypocrite! Why not be democratic about it and draw lots with your name among the rest?"

"Because I know what I can do and will have to do if this does work. We're going to spend the next year in space before we can be absolutely certain of safety. Either that or until Capella Four tells us to come on in. Confirming research may take longer than a year. For that intervening period I am going to run this ship and every man and woman on her is going to be part of my crew. You might as well face it, Windlass, there is no democracy aboard a stellar cruiser; as long as you're on Criterion you are under my orders!"

Windlass turned to the rest of them huddled fearfully against their seats and shouted, "Are we going to let this man dictate to us? You heard him. He has no intention of submitting himself to any kind of danger, while we run all the risks for him. I say we draw lots for the one to take the dope!"

"Windlass, sit down or I shoot! Now!" Royle's voice was hard as he leveled his gun. "Now then," he said finally, "naturally Perez is the man." He handed the gun to Rawlins and began attaching the dispenser to Perez's arm.

"Captain Royle, I must protest. That man is helpless. He has no voice in any of this. You can't slaughter the helpless!" Dr. Kscievitch looked at him with horror and loathing in his eyes.

Royle said calmly, "Rawlins, if that man tries to interfere, stun him." To the minister he added, "Because he is helpless and hopeless he has to be the one. I said we'll be in open space for a year, and during that time I'm going to need a crew of able bodied men and women. There's no one available to nurse this man." He finished with Perez while the rest looked on in stunned disbelief. When he straightened again, his own face was a frozen mask of deep set lines. Quietly he said, "I think that he should show a reaction within an hour, and if you'll notice, it has grown perceptibly cooler in here and the ship's engines have long since stopped. Soon the auxiliary lights will be cut off and we'll be in complete, pitch blackness. I, and my men, have infra-red goggles that will permit us to see in the dark and I warn you all, any motion to leave your seats will bring stunning from my gun. This ship has to cool way down and you'll be uncomfortable and cold, but just remember you won't get as cold as you would if you were attacked by this—thing with us. Naturally when the auxiliary plant shuts off we'll be in free fall and there'll be no weight or gravity. I advise you to fasten your belts now."

DeBarge joined him and he nodded and motioned him and Rawlins to their seats. They made an almost solid line in front of the door when Royle joined them. The lights dimmed slightly, flicked several times and were gone. Someone gasped and one or two curses were heard and then they settled down to wait.

The tangible black increased their fear, relentlessly forcing their minds to dwell on it, to feel it closing in as the ship radiated its heat into space and their flesh protested, enacting its feeble gesture of defense by raising goose bumps. Royle sat unmoving, only his thoughts swirling in tumultuous eddies about him. Responsibility—to the ship—these people—his all but defunct crew—the rest of humanity. He had to destroy the Criterion. Couldn't risk losing control of her. If they joined together she could be theirs. Windlass was smart. He'd get them somewhere. Then what? They'd all run. And in their trail frozen corpses would stretch out forever in grotesque attitudes of death, horror, terror, incredible pain.

Perez moaned and whimpered several times and Royle put out his hand and touched his forehead gently. It felt warmer, but he couldn't really tell. At the touch of his hand Perez subsided and he kept it there, occasionally stroking the face with fingers that were tender. It had been a lie about the goggles, one he hoped no one had caught. As far as he knew, nothing would permit sight in total darkness, but he had memorized their positions thoroughly, so that when someone grunted or whispered he could identify immediately the source. Windlass made no sound apart from his stertorous breathing. The ventilator fan at times seemed to fill the room with its normally inaudible motion and Royle wished he'd been able to think of a way to keep the air fresh without the ventilating system operating. How much heat would it generate? Enough? It was a gamble and the odds against his stumbling on the solution kept presenting themselves to his mind. After this they couldn't go back to the rooms where fear awaited their return. Now or never. Windlass wouldn't keep still for another futile attempt if this one failed. If this failed, it meant open mutiny—and death to them all. The ship was rigged to go if he didn't disconnect certain wires, and if mutiny succeeded...