Tunnel in the Sky (13 page)

   
“Huh? We're a team, aren't we?”

   
“Take it easy. Look, Rod, everything you said is logical, but-”

   
“No 'buts' about it.”

   
“It's logical . . . but it's all wrong!”

   
“Huh? Now, listen, Jack-”

   
“You listen. You've done all the talking so far.”

   
“But- Well, all right, say your say.”

   
“You said that the sky would give it away, so they threw an overcast over the area.

   
“Yes. That's what they must have done, nights at least. They wouldn't risk natural weather; it might give the show away.

   
“What I'm trying to tell you is that it did give the show away. It hasn't been overcast every night, though maybe you were in deep forest and missed the few times it has been clear. But I've seen the night sky, Rod. I've seen stars.

   
“So? Well?”

   
“They aren't our stars, Rod. I'm sorry.”

   
Rod chewed his lip. “You probably don't know southern constellations very well?” he suggested.

   
“I knew the Southern Cross before I could read. These aren't our stars, Rod; I know. There is a pentagon of bright stars above where the sun sets; there is nothing like that to be seen from Earth. And besides, anybody would recognise Luna, if it was there.”

   
Rod tried to remember what phase the Moon should be in. He gave up, as he had only a vague notion of elapsed time. “Maybe the Moon was down?”

   
“Not a chance. I didn't see our Moon, Rod, but I saw moons . .
 
two of them, little ones and moving fast, like the moons of Mars.”

   
“You don't mean this is Mars?” Rod said scornfully.

   
“Think I'm crazy? Anyhow, the stars from Mars are exactly like the stars from Earth. Rod, what are we jawing about? It was beginning to clear when the sun went down; let's crawl out and have a look. Maybe you'll believe your eyes.

   
Rod shut up and followed Jack. From inside nothing was visible but dark trees across the stream, but from the edge of the shelf part of the sky could be seen. Rod lookedup and blinked.

   
“Mind the edge,” Jack warned softly.

   
Rod did not answer. Framed by the ledge above him and by tree tops across the stream was a pattern of six stars, a lopsided pentagon with a star in its center. The six stars were as bright and unmistakable as the seven stars of Earth's Big Dipper . . . nor did it take a degree in astrography to know that this constellation had never been seen from Terra.

   
Rod stared while the hard convictions he had formed fell in ruins. He felt lost and alone. The trees across the way seemed frightening. He turned to Jack, his cocky sophistication gone. “You've convinced me,” he said dully. “What do we do now?”

   
Jack did not answer.

 
  
“Well?” Rod insisted. “No good standing here.”

   
“Rod,” Jack answered, “that star in the middle of the Pentagon-it wasn't there before.”

   
“Huh? You probably don't remember.”

   
“No, no, I'm sure! Rod, you know what? We're seeing a nova.”

   
Rod was unable to arouse the pure joy of scientific discovery; his mind was muddled with reorganizing his personal universe. A mere stellar explosion meant nothing. “Probably one of your moonlets.”

   
“Not a chance. The moons are big enough to show disks. It's a nova; it has to be. What amazing luck to see one!”

   
“I don't see anything lucky about it,” Rod answered moodily. “It doesn't mean anything to us. It's probably a hundred light-years away, maybe more.”

   
“Yes, but doesn't it thrill you?”

   
“No.” He stooped down and went inside. Jack took another look, then followed.

   
There was silence, moody on Rod's part. At last Jack said, “Think I'll turn in.”

   
“I just can't see,” Rod answered irrelevantly, “how I could be so wrong. It was a logical certainty.”

   
“Forget it,” Jack advised. “My analytics instructor says that all logic is mere tautology. She says it is impossible to learn anything through logic that you did not already know.”

   
“Then what use is logic?” Rod demanded.

   
“Ask me an easy one. Look, partner, I'm dead for sleep; I want to turn in.”

   
“All right. But, Jack, if this isn't Africa- and I've got to admit it isn't- what do we do? They've gone off and left us.”

   
“Do? We do what we've been doing. Eat, sleep, stay alive. This is a listed planet; if we just keep breathing, someday somebody will show up. It might be just a power breakdown; they may pick us tomorrow.”

   
“In that case, then-”

   
“In that case, let's shut up and go to sleep.”

   
Rod was awakened by heavenly odors. he rolled over, blinked at light streaming under the overhang, managed by great effort to put himself back into the matrix of the day before. Jack, he saw, was squatting by a tiny fire on the edge of the shelf; the wonderful fragrance came from toasting liver.

   
Rod got to his knees, discovering that he was slightly stiff from having fought dream stobor in his sleep. These nightmare stobor were bug-eyed monsters fit for a planet suddenly strange and threatening. Nevertheless he had had a fine night's sleep and his spirits could not be daunted in the presence of the tantalizing aroma drifting in.

   
Jack looked up. “I thought you were going to sleep all day. Brush your teeth, comb your hair, take a quick shower, and get on out here. Breakfast is ready.” Jack looked him over again. “Better shave, too.”

   
Rod grinned and ran his hand over his chin. “You're jealous of my manly beard, youngster. Wait a year or two and you'll find out what a nuisance it is. Shaving, the common cold, and taxes . . . my old man says those are the three eternal problems the race is never going to lick.” Rod felt a twinge at the thought of his parents, a stirring of conscience that he had not thought of them in he could not remember how long. “Can I help, pal?”

   
“Sit down and grab the salt. This piece is for you.”

   
“Let's split it.”

   
“Eat and don't argue. I'll fix me some.” Rod accepted the charred and smoky chunk, tossed it in his hands and blew on it. He looked around for salt. Jack Was slicing a second piece; Rod's eyes passed over the operation then whipped back.

   
The knife Jack was using was “Colonel Bowie.”

   
The realization was accompanied by action; Rod's hand darted out and caught Jack's wrist in an anger-hard grip. “You stole my knife!”

   
Jack did not move. “Rod. . . have you gone crazy?”

   
“You slugged me and stole my knife.”

   
Jack made no attempt to fight, nor even to struggle. “You aren't awake yet, Rod. Your knife is on your belt. This is another knife . . . mine.

   
Rod did not bother to look down. “The one I'm wearing is Lady Macbeth. I mean the knife you're using, Colonel Bowie- my knife.”

   
“Let go my wrist.”

   
“Drop it!”

   
“Rod.. . you can probably make me drop this knife. You're bigger and you've got the jump on me. But yesterday you teamed with me. You're busting that team right now. If you don't let go right away, the team is broken. Then you'll have to kill me . . . because if you don't, I'll trail you. I'll keep on trailing you until I find you asleep. Then you've had it.”

   
They faced each other across the little fire, eyes locked. Rod breathed hard and tried to think. The evidence was against Jack. But had this little runt tracked him, slugged him, stolen everything he had? It looked like it.

   
Yet it did not feel like it. He told himself that he could handle the kid if his story did not ring true. He let go Jack's wrist. “All right,” he said angrily, “tell me how you got my knife.”

   
Jack went on slicing liver. “It's not much of a story and I don't know that it is your knife. But it was not mine to start with- you've seen mine. I use this one as a kitchen knife. Its balance is wrong.

   
“Colonel Bowie! Balanced wrong? That's the best throwing knife you ever saw!”

   
“Do you want to hear this? I ran across this hombre in the bush, just as the jackals were getting to him. I don't know what got him-stobor, maybe; he was pretty well clawed and half eaten. He wasn't one of my class, for his face wasn't marked and I could tell. He was carrying a Thunderbolt and-”

   
“Wait a minute. A Thunderbolt gun?”

   
“I said so, didn't I? I guess he tried to use it and had no luck. Anyhow, I took what I could use- this knife and a couple of other things; I'll show you. I left the Thunderbolt; the power pack was exhausted and it was junk.”

   
“Jack, look at me. You're not lying?”

   
Jack shrugged. “I can take you to the spot. There might not be anything left of him, but the Thunderbolt ought to be there.”

   
Rod stuck out his hand. “I'm sorry. I jumped to conclusions.”

   
Jack looked at his hand, did not shake it. “I don't think you are much of a team mate. We had better call it quits.” The knife flipped over, landed at Rod's toes. “Take your toadsticker and be on your way.”

   
Rod did not pick up the knife. “Don't get sore, Jack. I made an honest mistake.”

   
“It was a mistake, all right. You didn't trust me and I'm not likely to trust you again. You can't build a team on that.” Jack hesitated. “Finish your breakfast and shove off. It's better that way.”

   
“Jack, I truly am sorry. I apologize. But it was a mistake anybody could make- you haven't heard my side of the story.”

   
“You didn't wait to hear my story!”

   
“So I was wrong, I said I was wrong.” Rod hurriedly told how he had been stripped of his survival gear. “-so naturally, when I saw Colonel Bowie, I assumed that you must have jumped me. That's logical, isn't it?” Jack did not answer; Rod persisted: “Well? Isn't it?”

   
Jack said slowly, “You used 'logic' again. What you call 'logic.' Rod, you use the stuff the way some people use dope. Why don't you use your head, instead?”

   
Rod flushed and kept still. Jack went on, “If I had swiped your knife, would I have let you see it? For that matter, would I have teamed with you?”

   
“No, I guess not. Jack, I jumped at a conclusion and lost my temper.”

   
“Commander Benboe says,” Jack answered bleakly, “that losing your temper and jumping at conclusions is a one-way ticket to the cemetery.”

   
Rod looked sheepish. ''Deacon Matson talks the same way.”

   
“Maybe they're right. So let's not do it again, huh? Every dog gets one bite, but only one.”

   
Rod looked up, saw Jack's dirty paw stuck out at him. “You mean we're partners again?”

   
“Shake. I think we had better be; we don't have much choice.” They solemnly shook hands. Then Rod picked up Colonel Bowie, looked at it longingly, and handed it hilt first to Jack.

   
“I guess it's yours, after all.”

   
“Huh? Oh, no. I'm glad you've got it back.”

   
“No,” Rod insisted. “You came by it fair and square.

   
“Don't be silly, Rod. I've got 'Bluebeard'; that's the knife for me.”

   
“It's yours. I've got Lady Macbeth.”

   
Jack frowned. “We're partners, right?”

   
“Huh? Sure.”

   
“So We share everything. Bluebeard belongs just as much to you as to me. And Colonel Bowie belongs to both of us. But you are used to it, so it's best for the team for you to wear it. Does that appeal to your lopsided sense of logic?”

   
“Well. . .”

   
“So shut up and eat your breakfast. Shall I toast you another slice? That one is cold.”