19

   'Are you going to hold an election?' Tellier asked.
   The big ship, under Lesbee's command, had turned back and had picked up his friends. The lifeboat itself, with the remaining Karn still aboard, was put into orbit around Alta III and abandoned.
   The two young men were sitting now in the captain's cabin.
   After the question had been asked, Lesbee leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He didn't need to examine his total resistance to the suggestion. He had already savored the feeling that command brought.
   Almost from the moment of Browne's death, he had observed himself having the same thoughts that Browne had voiced – among many others, the reasons why elections were not advisable aboard a spaceship. He waited now while Ilsa, one of his three wives – she being the younger of the two widows of Browne – poured wine for them and went softly out. Then he laughed grimly.
   'My good friend,' he said, 'we're all lucky that time is so compressed at the speed of light. At a time ratio of five hundred to one, any further exploration we do will require only a few months or years at most. And so, I don't think we can afford to take the chance of defeating at an election the only person who understands the details of the new acceleration method. Till I decide exactly how much exploration we shall do, I shall keep our speed capabilities a secret. But I did, and do, think one other person should know where I have this information documented. Naturally, I am selecting First Officer Armand Tellier.'
   He raised his glass. 'As soon as I have the full account written, you shall have a copy.'
   'Thank you, Captain,' the young man said. But he was thoughtful as he sipped his wine. He went on finally, 'Captain, I think you'd feel a lot better if you held an election. I'm sure you could win it.'
   Lesbee laughed tolerantly, shook his head. 'I'm afraid you don't understand the dynamics of government,' he said. 'There's no record in history of a person, who actually had control, handing it over.'
   He finished with the casual confidence of absolute power: 'I'm not going to be presumptuous enough to fight a precedent like that.'
   He was sitting there, smiling cynically, when the buzzer of the front door of the captain's cabin sounded in the adjoining room. Lesbee was aware of one of his wives going to the door and opening it. Surprisingly, then, there was not another sound. No greeting, no acknowledgment; total silence.
   Lesbee thought, 'Whoever it is, has handed her a note.'
   The instant analysis ended a feeling of uneasiness. He was about to settle back in his chair, when a man's rough voice came quietly from behind him.
   'All right, Mr. Lesbee, your take-over is ended and ours is beginning.'
   Lesbee froze. Then, turning, stared with an awful sinking sensation at the armed men who were crowding in behind the man who had spoken. He didn't know any of the men but he saw that they were laborers, garden men, and kitchen help. People of whose existence he had never been more than vaguely aware.
   The leader of the group spoke again.
   'Gourdy is my name, Mr. Lesbee, and we're taking over -these men and I – because we want to go home, back to Earth... Be careful, and you and your friends won't be hurt -'
   Lesbee sighed with relief as those final words were spoken. All was not lost.

20

   Gourdy was thirty-four when he led the revolt that overthrew Lesbee V. He was a thick-built, small man with very black eyes, and he had been brought up with the daily memory that his father had led an abortive rebellion. Long ago, he had determined that he would carry out his father's ideals to the death, if necessary. He had a courage that derived from hatred and a shrewdness that had gradually developed from his skeptical attitude toward any and every bit of information that had ever come down to the lower decks from above. He had instantly spotted as false the apparent friendship of Browne and Lesbee, and recognized it as a struggle and not a collaboration. Far more important, he had seen that this was the opportunity for which he himself had been waiting.
   He moved into the captain's cabin, and because it was all new to him he took nothing for granted. What was visible to his keen, wondering gaze merely served as an inducement to explore what was not visible. Thus, in raising the metal floor to make sure there was nothing under it that could be used against him, he discovered the detectaphone system by which it was possible to listen in to every room of the big ship. And when he had some of the walls broken open, he found the labyrinth of passageways by which technicians like Lesbee had kept track of tens of thousands of miles of wiring.
   For the first time, he was able to reconstruct how his father had been killed – from such a passageway – while apparently safe behind the barred doors of a storeroom. The finding of these and other hidden chambers took some of the magic out of the scientific realities of the ship. Gourdy reasoned that a leader need not himself be a scientist to run the ship, but he had a strong feeling that he would probably have to kill a few people, before the scientific community would accept him and his untrained helpers.
   From the beginning, his extreme suspicion and rage motivated him to act with the exact rationality required for a people's revolution to be successful. He had every doubtful person put down in the laboring quarters and barred from the upper floors till further notice. He reasoned that all decisions relating to key men would have far-reaching consequences. Although a large number of persons was involved, he personally interviewed each man.
   Most of the scientists seemed resigned to working with him. Many of them expressed relief that someone was finally in command of the ship who really would set course for Earth. All of these Gourdy listed to return to their regular duties under the system he had worked out, whereby never more than one third of any staff would be admitted to the laboratories at one time.
   About a score of men made him uneasy in some way: their manner, something they said, the kind of work they did. These he classified in a special category. It would be some time before they were allowed to the upper levels, for any reason.
   All of Browne's and Lesbee's officers he told bluntly that he planned to make use of their knowledge but that, until further notice, they would not be admitted 'upstairs,' except one at a time and then under guard.
   Of the entire group of nearly two hundred persons, only one technician and two minor scientists proved resistant. They were openly contemptuous of the new government of the Hope of Man. All three offered Gourdy direct insults as he questioned them. They sneered at his clothes, at his way of speaking, and swore at him.
   Gourdy parried the invective thoughtfully. He was not suspicious or afraid that the three were part of a conspiracy; they were too obvious. He surmised extreme unawareness, but he had a hardness of purpose that rejected sympathy or understanding. He saw with grim satisfaction that here were his examples.
   He killed all three men and announced the killings over the public-address system, about an hour before the next sleep period.
   That done – all the preliminaries done – he ordered Lesbee to be brought up to him. And so, a few minutes later, for the first time since the take-over, the two men faced each other. In a cool, incisive voice, Gourdy told his prisoner, 'I thought I'd keep you to the last -'
   He didn't explain why, and for Lesbee, now that the executions had taken place, it didn't matter. It was too late. Sitting there, with the other's intense black eyes staring at him, Lesbee silently cursed himself. He had actually had the fleeting thought earlier that this man might do something drastic, had actually thought of sending a message to Gourdy asking him not to do anything irrevocable without a discussion. But the new captain might have insisted on knowing why, and so he had held back.
   The sad truth was, he had welcomed the delay over his own interrogation, wanted the time to make up his own mind. In the end he had decided that no one, least of all himself, had anything to gain from a prolonged voyage with Gourdy in command. And so he had planned to tell about the light-speed effect.
   The murder of the three men changed that purpose. Now, he dared not tell, for, obviously, Gourdy would be unwilling to return to Earth, where a court might take a dim view of the killings.
   As a cover-up for his genuine state of shock, Lesbee adopted the scientific pose. Complete control by non-scientists was a terrible mistake; that was his argument. He thereupon proposed that his forces and Gourdy's work together to achieve the journey to Earth. He suggested a captain's board consisting of Gourdy, two of Gourdy's henchmen, Tellier, and himself.
   'That,' he said, 'will give you a three-to-two voting majority, but will provide a stable communication line with two persons who know how the ship works and who were also victims of the previous hierarchy.'
   Lesbee had no real expectation that Gourdy would accept such a compromise. He did hope it would create a softening attitude in the man.
   If so, there was no immediate sign of it. Gourdy did not believe in boards, or councils, or split commands, and he proceeded to make this clear. The ship had one commander, himself. All persons aboard would either co-operate with him to the best of their ability or they would be punished according to their dereliction. Death would be the penalty for any kind of severe disloyalty or sabotage.
   The statement of policy was so harshly uttered that Lesbee felt abrupt fear for his own safety. Recovering, he quietly promised to obey Gourdy's orders.
   The small man stared at him for many seconds after he had spoken. Then his manner changed to a kind of surly cordiality. 'Let's drink on that, hey!' he said.
   He poured wine into two glasses, handed one to Lesbee, and raised the other in a toast. What he said was, 'Mr. Lesbee, I kept your interview to the last because the fact is you're probably the only expert aboard I can trust – in spite of you being the one I took over from.'
   They sipped the wine, Lesbee uneasy but as convinced as ever that he couldn't tell the other man about the nearness of Earth, Gourdy a little puzzled by something in Lesbee's manner but satisfied that his selection of Lesbee was logical.
   He grew expansive, said slyly, 'In a couple of weeks, if you behave, I'll bring you up to a cabin and send your real wife to live with you.' He added, 'Although I haven't done anything about it yet, I'm probably gonna have to keep those other two women. My own wife – believe it or not – insists on it. Startled me, because she used to be so damned jealous down below. Not here. I guess' – he frowned – 'being on a ship like this is not good for a woman. Makes her feel empty inside. She's already blasted me with a kind of crazy hysteria about it. I think she has some kind of feeling that I won't really be captain till I take over the captain's wives. But don't worry, it won't include yours.'
   Lesbee remained silent. He sat considering the possibilities that the emotional instability of the women aboard might be due to voyage conditions. Then he realized it was of little consequence.
   Gourdy was continuing unhappily: 'Makes it kind of awkward. Down below, we were against all this multiple-wife stuff. We'll sure look like phonies if we just grab for women the moment we're in control.' Once more, he frowned. Then he straightened, raised his glass. 'I'll think about the other ladies later. Here's to your wife.'
   After they had drunk the wine, his manner changed again. He put his glass down. He said curtly, 'Let's get this ship headed for home.'
   He led the way to the auxiliary control room. 'No bridge yet for you,' he said, then warned, 'don't try any tricks now.'
   Lesbee walked over to the control board in a deliberate fashion. The question in his mind was: If he simply set the two dials and threw two switches, would Gourdy get the idea that he could handle this himself? On the other hand, if he made it seem too complex, the man might have someone else -Miller or Mindel – check on everything he did.
   In the end he did only two unnecessary things. Since Gourdy wanted to know the meaning of his moves, he explained in double-talk what he had done and why. A few minutes later he had the acceleration at twelve g's, and the artificial gravity at eleven, thus leaving a gap of one gravity, exactly the same as on Earth.
   The programming completed, Lesbee stood by while Gourdy announced the action over the public-address system, ending with, 'We're going home. Yes, my friends, our destination is Earth itself.'
   He instructed: '... sleep in your acceleration belts, since we plan to increase acceleration during the night.'
   Lesbee listened, ashamed and embarrassed. Such an 'increase' in acceleration merely meant that he would widen the gap between the drive thrust and the artificial gravity, which was unnecessary. Since Dzing had 'adjusted' the coils in the engines and the synchronizers in the artificial gravity system, they could be stepped up simultaneously to maintain a steady one gravity, no matter what the rate of increase.
   However, this had not hitherto been true; so he would not let it be true now. It was to his advantage to immobilize people.
   Listening to the man, Lesbee thought with gloomy cynicism: 'The ridiculous truth is, the moment he discovers how near to Earth we actually are, with this new engine control, he'll kill me out of hand.'

21

   As the days and the weeks passed, he realized he was the only technical person who was being permitted to go into the two control rooms and in the engine room. It became apparent that whatever was finally done would be up to him.
   His brain seethed with schemes. And yet the only possible thing he could actually do occurred to him the first day. He kept rejecting it, saw too many flaws in it, felt its danger. But on the twenty-sixth day he told the idea to Tellier. It was one of those rare moments when he was certain he was not being spied on: Gourdy had left the lower floors only moments before and was obviously en route somewhere and not listening in, and so Lesbee could speak freely.
   He grew aware of his friend's dismay. 'Exceed the speed of light!' Tellier echoed. 'Are you serious?'
   Lesbee said defensively, 'We won't actually do it. But I've got to get it programmed for and in reserve. He's a killer -don't ever forget that.'
   Tellier groaned. 'If this is the best you can think of, we're in trouble.'
   Lesbee explained earnestly: 'At our present rate of acceleration, we'll come to 99.999998 per cent of light-speed in about three days. When that happens, it will require only two ship hours to jump many light-years, all the way to the solar system. So we've got to stop accelerating or we'll zoom right out of the galaxy. Now, how do I do all this without letting on to Gourdy who expects the journey to Earth to take thirty years?'
   A strange look came into Tellier's thin, intellectual face. He grabbed Lesbee's arm, said hoarsely, 'John – during these three days, why don't you just fix up one of the lifeboats, shut off our engines, scramble the light system, and in the confusion you and me get off?'
   Lesbee was taken aback. Leave the ship! Although he considered that the idea was not practicable, he was astonished that such a thought had never occurred to him. But he realized why it hadn't. The ship was a part of his life and not a separate thing at all.
   He said finally, thinking out loud, 'There would have to be some fix-up on that lifeboat. It takes a long time to slow down. What I figure is, when we get close to light-speed, I'll juggle the gravity and the acceleration, and then get permission to cut off.'
   He stood, scowling, considering. Tellier wanted to know what was bothering him.
   Lesbee realized he couldn't explain to any other person the difficulty of dealing with Gourdy. Haltingly, he tried to describe the paranoic suspiciousness of the man. He said, 'He knows enough about the controls to know when they're in operation. Teaching him was my only method of preventing him from having someone check on the engines. If I go to him-' He stopped again, picturing the possibilities, then said, 'It's so vital I can't take the chance that he won't do it now.'
   'So?' Tellier wanted to know.
   It seemed to Lesbee that he must inform Captain Gourdy that the engines were not functioning properly and get permission to cut off the drives before the ship attained light-speed. He argued the point earnestly. 'But I'll program it so that if he gets suspicious and bars me from upstairs, then, in due course, the engines will start again and take us across the light-speed barrier, and since it will look as if I had predicted trouble, Gourdy will trust me again.'
   He grew aware that Tellier was gazing at him admiringly. 'You really do have a mind for intrigue, don't you?' He added anxiously, 'But if he's not suspicious, you'll keep us on this side of light?'
   'Of course. Do you think I'm crazy! As an emergency precaution, believe it or not, I've already activated the old sensor equipment for zeroing in, first on the solar system, then on Earth.'
   The conversation ended with an agreement as to which airlock they would use for their escape and under what circumstances they would rendezvous there.
   Later that afternoon, Lesbee programmed for the additional patterned acceleration, using electromagnetic controls exclusively. It had occurred to him that it would be unwise to trust any mere mechanical device at near light-speed.
   The action taken, he went to Gourdy and brazenly made his statement about the drives, that he would have to shut them off to see what was wrong.
   Gourdy was instantly anxious. 'But we'll keep coasting along while you're checking them?' he asked.
   'Of course,' said Lesbee. 'We'd come to this condition presently anyway, where we have to shut off the engines to conserve fuel, and coast. But that's still months away.'
   Lesbee had once toyed with the idea of using that natural sequence. But it had seemed to him that the longer he remained at the mercy of Gourdy, the more impossible his plan would be. Even now, at the stepped-up rate that he had used, simply coasting would require a disconcertingly high number of years to make the journey. It was unfortunate but only within light yards and light feet per second of light-speed were the enormous relative speeds attainable.
   They were standing on the bridge. Against the backdrop of unending, star-dotted night. Gourdy's eyes were narrowed. He was evidently having those second thoughts of his. Lesbee felt the tension mounting in his stomach.
   Gourdy said, 'Does this trouble have an emergency look?'
   'Captain, the sooner I check on what's wrong, the better. But it could wait till the sleep period.'
   'Well– ' Gourdy seemed to be coming to a decision. 'I guess it's all right. What about the gravity?'
   'It'll have to go off,' Lesbee lied.
   'Then wait till after dinner. If you haven't heard from me in an hour before the sleep period, program for engine shut-off during the night. I'll announce it and tell people to sleep in their safety belts. How long do you figure it will take?'
   'A couple of days.'
   Gourdy was silent, frowning. He said at last: 'It'll be a nuisance, though I guess we'll do it. But wait, like I said. O.K.?'
   'O.K.'
   Lesbee dared not say one extra word. He went down the steps, heart in mouth, and he was greatly relieved, while he was in the commissary, to hear Gourdy announce the forthcoming slowdown over the public-address system.
   Unfortunately for Lesbee's peace of mind, as Gourdy turned away from the microphone, he found himself remembering that Lesbee had been trained as a technician and not as an engineer. He doubted if Lesbee were really qualified to repair or evaluate the need for repair of the atomic drive.
   The question did not include any suspicion of Lesbee's motives. He simply asked himself: Was it wise to trust a technician with something so vital to the future of the ship?
   After these thoughts had matured for a few minutes, Gourdy ordered the late Captain Browne's former first officer, Miller, to be brought to the auxiliary control room.
   He said to Miller quite simply, 'I have reason to believe the engines are not operating properly. Would you check and give me your opinion?'
   For Miller it was a moment of dilemma. He had been an officer his enure adult Lifetime. He despised Gourdy and he disliked Lesbee but, most of all, he hated living on the lower decks. During the incident with the robot at Alta, he had been unconscious while Lesbee and Browne had had their discussion about the speed of light. Accordingly, he had not understood those later snatches of conversation in which those two angry men had referred to the Lorentz-Fitzgerald theory. At no time, then or since, had he been aware that the ship was traveling faster than its best previous speed.
   And this was his first time near the controls since Lesbee's take-over. He studied the dials on the big board with genuine interest. It did not take him long to decide that the engines were operating perfectly. In fact, remembering some old manuals that showed theoretical optimums, he had the feeling that on the whole, for a reason that was not clear, the drive was working more smoothly than at any previous time that he had seen it.
   Realizing this, he deduced with the contempt of the engineer for the technician that Lesbee had somehow misread the data. His dilemma was: how could he utilize his superior knowledge to get back into a position of greater importance? Should he back Lesbee and get in on the unnecessary repair job? Or should he here and now begin a struggle for position with that individual?
   He decided on the struggle. 'After all,' he thought, 'this is every man for himself.',
   At the precise moment that he made this decision, his roving glance lighted on the velocity indicators, which were on a separate instrument board to one side. The needles showed an extreme configuration that he had never seen before. Frowning, Miller walked over, mentally calculating a rough approximation of what the figures meant. His puffy face quivered. He turned.
   'Captain Gourdy,' he said, 'a lot of things are suddenly beginning to make sense to me.'
   Afterward, when he had explained to Gourdy what he meant, and after he had finally been returned below, Miller sought out the unsuspecting Lesbee, and said cockily, 'Captain Gourdy just had me look at the engines.'
   Lesbee silently absorbed the terrible shock of that and, being acutely conscious of being spied on, said in a steady voice, 'I was thinking of asking the captain to have you verify my findings.'
   Miller's response was rough-toned. 'O.K., if you want to pretend. Let me tell you, all kinds of things fell into place when I saw those velocity indicators. I never did understand, when Browne was killed.' He smiled knowingly. 'Pretty smart, getting almost up to the speed of light, never letting on.'
   It seemed to Lesbee that his face must be the color of lead. He could have hit the other man, standing there with his round brown eyes full of foolish triumph. He stepped close to Miller, said in a low, vicious voice. 'You stupid fool! Don't you realize that Gourdy can't go to Earth? We're all dead men!'
   There was brief satisfaction, then, in seeing the expression of horrible awareness take form on Miller's face. Lesbee turned away, sick at heart. And he was not surprised a few minutes later when he received a call to report to the captain's cabin.
   As it developed, he didn't get all the way there. En route he was arrested and placed in one of the ship's prison cages. It was there that Gourdy came to him. His coal-black eyes stared at Lesbee through the bars. He said grimly, 'All right, Mr. Lesbee, tell me all about the speed of this ship.'
   Lesbee took the chance that his conversation with Miller had not been monitored – and pretended to be totally unaware of what Gourdy was talking about. It seemed to him that his only hope was to convince this terrible little man that he was absolutely innocent.
   Gourdy was taken aback. And because the entire situation was so fantastic, he was half-inclined to believe Lesbee. He could imagine that a technician had simply not grasped what had happened.
   But he also found himself inexorably analyzing the other possibility: that Lesbee had known the facts and had planned to stop the ship, get off, and leave those who remained aboard to solve the mystery for themselves. The mere contemplation of it enraged him.
   'O.K. for you!' he said balefully. 'If you won't talk, I have no alternative but to treat you like a liar and a saboteur.'
   But he returned to his cabin, shocked and unhappy, no longer a well and confident man, conscious that the new development threatened him only and that he must act quickly.
   With his strong sense of personal danger, Gourdy let his feelings guide him. The need to take all necessary precautions – that was first. And so, as the sleep period began, he led an expedition down to the lower decks and arrested eighteen persons, including Miller and Tellier. All eighteen were placed under separate lock and key.
   Gourdy spent the second hour of the sleep period in a sleepless soul-searching, and there was presently no doubt in his mind that his actions – particularly the executions – had been geared to a thirty-year journey.
   'I might as well face the truth,' he thought. 'I can't take the chance of returning to Earth.'
   As he planned it then, he would have Lesbee slow the ship to a point where it would require thirty years to get to the solar system. Then, when he had worked out a good propaganda reason for doing so, he would execute Lesbee, Miller, Mindel, and the other real suspects. The reason, of course, would be basically that they were plotting to take over the ship, but the details needed to be carefully thought about so that people would either believe the story or at least be half-inclined to believe it.
   He was still lying there an hour later, considering exactly what he would do and say when, under him, the ship jumped as if it had been struck. There followed the unmistakable sensation of acceleration.
   Lesbee had been tensely awake as the fateful hour approached. On the dot the forward surge caught him and pressed him back against the belt that partly encased his body. According to his programming, the preliminary gap between acceleration and artificial gravity would be three g's, enough to hold everyone down until they crossed light-speed.
   He felt a sickening fear as he realized that at this very instant time and space must already be telescoping at an astronomical rate.
   'Hurry, hurry!' he thought weakly.
   Although there was no way of sensing it that he knew of, since both acceleration and artificial gravity were increasing together, he braced himself for the fantastically compressed period light-inches before and beyond light-speed. His hope was that it would pass by in a tiny fraction of an instant.
   The bracing action was like a signal. As he lay there, expecting agony, he had a fantasy that was gone so quickly that he forgot what it was. Then another fantasy, a face – never seen before – instantly gone. Then he began to see images. They were all going backward: himself and other people aboard, actually walking backward as on a film in reverse. The scenes were fleeting; thousands streamed by and, presently, there were images from his childhood.
   The pictures faded into confusion. He was aware of a floating sensation, not pleasant, but not the agony he had expected. And then -
   He must have blacked out.

22

   Averill Hewitt hung up the phone, and repeated aloud the message he had just been given: 'Your spaceship, Hope of Man, is entering the atmosphere of Earth.'
   The words echoed and re-echoed in his mind, a discordant repetition. He staggered to a couch and lay down.
   Other words began to join the whirlpool of meaning and implication that was the original message: After six years... the Hope of Man... after six years, when by even his minimum estimates he had pictured it a good fifth of the way to the Centaurus suns... re-entering the atmosphere of Earth...
   Lying there Hewitt thought: 'And for ten years I've accepted Astronomer John Lesbee's theory that our sun is due to show some of the characteristics of a Cepheid Variable – within months now!'
   Worse, he had spent the greater part of his huge, inherited fortune to build the giant vessel. The world had ridiculed the West's richest sucker; Joan had left him, taking the children; and only the vast, interstellar colonizing plan had finally won him government support for the journey itself -
   All that was now totally nullified by the return of the Hope of Man, on the eve of the very disaster it had been built to avoid.
   Hewitt thought hopelessly, 'What could have made John Lesbee turn back-?'
   His bitter reverie ended, as the phone began to ring. He climbed off the couch, and as he went to answer, he thought, 'I'll have to go aboard and try to persuade them. As soon as they land, I'll-'
   This time, his caller was an official of the Space Patrol. Hewitt listened, trying to grasp the picture the other was presenting. It had proved impossible to communicate with those aboard.
   'We've had men in space suits at all the observation ports, Mr. Hewitt, and on the bridge. Naturally, they couldn't see in, since it's one-way-vision material. But they pounded on the metal for well over an hour, and received no response.'
   Hewitt hesitated. He had no real comment to make, but said finally, 'How fast is the ship going?'
   'It's overtaking the earth at about a thousand miles an hour.'
   Hewitt scarcely heard the reply. His mind was working faster now. He said, 'I authorize all expense necessary to get inside. I'll be there myself in an hour.'
   As he headed for his private ship, he was thinking, 'If I can get inside, I'll talk to them. I'll convince them. I'll force them to go back.'
   He felt remorseless. It seemed to him that for the first time in the history of the human race, any means of compulsion was justified.
   Two hours later, he said, 'You mean, the airlock won't open?'
   He said it incredulously, while standing inside the rescue ship, Molly D, watching a huge magnet try to unscrew one of the hatches of the Hope of Man. Reluctantly, Hewitt drew his restless mind from his own private purposes.
   He felt impatient, unwilling to accept the need to adjust to the possibility that there had been trouble aboard. He said urgently, 'Keep trying! It's obviously stuck. That lock was made to open easily and quickly.'
   He was aware that the others had let him take control of rescue operations. In a way, it was natural enough. The Molly D was a commercial salvage vessel, which had been commandeered by the Space Patrol. Now that Hewitt was aboard, the representative of the patrol, Lieutenant Commander Mardonell, had assumed the role of observer. And the permanent captain of the vessel took instructions, as a matter of course, from the man paying the bills.
   More than an hour later, the giant magnet had turned the round lock-door just a little over one foot. Pale, tense, and astounded, Hewitt held counsel with the two officers.
   The altimeter of the Molly D showed ninety-one miles. Lieutenant Commander Mardonell made the decisive comment about that: 'We've come down about nine miles in sixty-eighty minutes. Since we're going forward as well as down, we'll strike the surface on a slant in ten hours.'
   It was evident that it would take much longer than that to unscrew the thirty-five feet of thread on the lock-door, at one foot per hour.
   Hewitt considered the situation angrily. He still thought of this whole boarding problem as a minor affair, as an irritation. 'We'll have to burn in or use a big drill,' he said. 'Cut through the wall.'
   He radioed for one to be sent ahead. But even with the full authority of the Space Patrol behind him, two and a half hours went by before it was in position, Hewitt gave the order to start the powerful drill motor. He left instructions: 'Call me when we're about to penetrate.'
   He had been progressively aware of exhaustion, as much mental as physical. He retreated to one of the ship's bunks and lay down.
   He slept tensely, expecting to be called any moment. He turned and twisted, and, during his wakeful periods, his mind was wholly on the problem of what he would do when he got inside the ship.
   He awoke suddenly and saw by his watch that more than five hours had gone by. He dressed with a sense of disaster. He was met by Mardonell. The Space Patrol officer said, 'I didn't call you, Mr. Hewitt, because when it became apparent that we weren't going to get in, I contacted my headquarters. As a result we've been getting advice from some of the world's greatest scientists.' The man was quite pale, as he finished. 'I'm afraid it's no use. All the advice in the world hasn't helped that drill, and cutting torches did no good.'
   'What do you mean?'
   'Better go take a look.'
   The drill was still turning as Hewitt approached. He ordered it shut off, and examined the metal wall of the Hope of Man. It had been penetrated – he measured it – to a depth of three quarters of a millimeter.
   'But that's ridiculous,' Hewitt protested. 'That metal drilled easily enough six years ago when the ship was built.'
   Mardonell said, 'We've had two extra drills brought up. Diamonds don't mean a thing to that metal.' He added, 'It's been calculated that she'll crash somewhere in the higher foothills of the Rockies. We've been able to pin it down pretty accurately, and people have been warned.'
   Hewitt said, 'What about those aboard? What about-' He stopped. He had been intending to ask, 'What about the human race?' He didn't say it. That was a special madness of his own, which would only irritate other people.
   Trembling, he walked over to a porthole of the rescue ship. He guessed they were about fifteen miles above the surface of Earth. Less than two hours before crashing.
   When that time limit had dwindled to twenty minutes, Hewitt gave the order to cast off. The rescue ship withdrew slowly from the bigger host, climbing as she went. A little later, Hewitt stood watching with an awful, empty feeling, as the huge round ship made its first contact with Earth below, the side of a hill.
   At just under a thousand miles an hour, horizontal velocity, it plowed through the soil, creating a cloud of dust. From where Hewitt and his men watched, no sound was audible, but the impact must have been terrific.
   'That did it,' said Hewitt, swallowing. 'If anybody was alive aboard, they died at that moment.'
   It needed no imagination to picture the colossal concussion. All human beings inside would now be bloody splotches against a floor, ceiling, or wall.
   A moment later, the sound of the impact reached him. It arrived with all the power and sharpness of a sonic boom, and the salvage vessel itself shuddered with its blow. The noise was louder by far than he had anticipated.
   Somebody shouted, 'She's through the hill!'
   Hewitt said, 'My God!'
   The small mountain, made of rock and packed soil, thicker than a score of ships like the Hope of Man, was sheared in two. Through a cloud of dust, Hewitt made out the round ship skimming the high valley beyond. She struck the valley floor, and once again, there was dust. The machine did not slow; showed no reaction to the impact.
   It continued at undiminished speed on into the earth.
   The dust cleared slowly. There was a hole, over twelve hundred feet in diameter, slanting into the far hillside. The hole began to collapse. Tons of rock crashed down from the upper lip of the cave.
   The rescue ship had sunk to a point nearer the ground, and Hewitt heard plainly the thunder of the falling debris.
   Rock and soil were still falling when a radio report arrived. A mountain had collapsed fifty miles away. There was a new valley, and somebody had been killed. Three small earthquakes had shaken the neighborhood.
   For twenty minutes, the reports piled up. The land was uneasy. Fourteen more earthquakes were recorded. Two of them were the most violent ever recorded in the affected areas. Great fissures had appeared. The ground jumped and trembled. The last temblor had occurred four hundred miles from the first; and they all lined up with the course of the Hope of Man.
   Abruptly, there came an electrifying message. The round ship had emerged in the desert, and was beginning to climb upward on a long, swift shallow slant.
   Less than three hours later, the salvage ship was again clinging to the side of the larger machine. Its huge magnets twisted stubbornly at the great lock-door. To the half-dozen government scientists who had come aboard, Hewitt said, 'It took an hour to turn it one foot. It shouldn't take more than thirty-five hours to turn it thirty-five feet. Then, of course, we have the inner door, but that's a different problem.' He broke off. 'Gentlemen, shall we discuss the fantastic thing that has happened?'
   The discussion that followed arrived at no conclusion.
   Hewitt said, 'That does it!' The outer door had been open for some while, and now, through the thick asbesglas, they watched the huge magnet make its final turn on the inner door. As they waited behind the transparent barrier, a thick metal arm was poked into the airlock, and shoved at the door. After straining with it for several seconds, its operator turned and glanced at Hewitt. The latter turned on his walkie-talkie.
   'Come on back inside the ship. We'll put some air pressure in there. That'll open the door.'
   He had to fight to keep his anger out of his voice. The outer door had opened without trouble, once all the turns had been made. There seemed no reason why the inner door should not respond in the same way. The Hope of Man was persisting in being recalcitrant.
   The captain of the salvage vessel looked doubtful when Hewitt transmitted the order to him. 'If she's stuck,' he objected, 'you never can tell just how much pressure it'll take to open her. Don't forget we're holding the two ships together with magnets. It wouldn't take much to push them apart.'
   Hewitt frowned over that. He said finally, 'Maybe it won't take a great deal. And if we do get pushed apart, well, we'll just have to add more magnets.' He added swiftly, 'Or maybe we can build a bulkhead into the lock itself, join the two ships with a steel framework.'
   It was decided to try a gradual increase in air pressure. Presently, Hewitt watched the pressure gauge as it slowly crept up. It registered in pounds and atmospheres. At a fraction over ninety-one atmospheres, the pressure started rapidly down. It went down to eighty-six in a few seconds, then steadied, and began to creep up again. The captain barked an order to the engine room, and the gauge stopped rising. The man turned to Hewitt.
   'Well, that's it. At ninety-one atmospheres, the rubber lining began to lose air, and didn't seal up again till the pressure went down.'
   Hewitt shook his head in bewilderment. 'I don't understand it,' he said. 'That's over twelve hundred pounds to the square inch.'
   Reluctantly, he radioed for the equipment that would be needed to brace the two ships together. While they waited, they tried several methods of using machinery to push open the door. None of the methods worked. It was evident that far higher pressures would be needed to force an entrance.
   It required a pressure of nine hundred and seventy-four atmospheres.
   The door swung open grudgingly. Hewitt watched the air gauge, and waited for the needle to race downward. The air should be rushing through the open door, on into the ship, dissipating its terrific pressure in the enormous cubic area of the bigger machine. It could sweep through like a tornado, destroying everything in its path.
   The pressure went down to nine hundred and seventy-three. There it stopped. There it stayed. Beside Hewitt, a government scientist said in a strangled tone, 'But what's happened? It seems to be equalized at an impossible level. How can that be? That's over thirteen thousand pounds to the square inch.'
   Hewitt drew away from the asbesglas barrier. 'I'll have to get a specially designed suit,' he said. 'Nothing we have would hold that pressure for an instant.'
   It meant going down to Earth. Not that it would take a great deal of time. There were firms capable of building such a suit in a few days. But he would have to be present in person to supervise its construction. As he headed for a landing craft, Hewitt thought: 'All I've got to do is to get aboard, and start the ship back to Centaurus. I'll probably have to go along. But that's immaterial now.' It was too late to build more colonizing ships.
   He was suddenly confident that the entire unusual affair would be resolved swiftly. He had no premonition.
   It was morning at the steel city when he landed. The news of his coming had preceded him; and when he emerged from the space-suit factory shortly after noon, a group of reporters were waiting for him. Hewitt told them what he knew, but left them dissatisfied.
   Back at his office, he made a mistake. He called Joan. It was years since they had talked and evidently she was no longer so tense, for she actually came to the phone. Her manner was light. 'And what's on your mind?' she asked.
   'Reconciliation.'
   'For Pete's sake!' she said, and laughed.
   Her voice sounded more strident than when he had last seen her. It struck Hewitt with a pang that the vague reports he had heard, that she was associating not only with one man – which would be normal and to be expected – but with many, were true.
   The realization stopped him a little but only a little. He said soberly, 'I don't know why that amuses you. What's happened to the profound and undying love which you used to swear would last for all eternity?'
   There was a pause, then: 'You know,' she said, 'I really do believe you are simpleton enough, and that you are calling for a reconciliation. But I'm smart these days, and so I'll just put two and two together and guess that the return of your silly ship is probably connected with this call. Do you want me to get the family together and we all go back with you to Centaurus?'
   Hewitt had the feeling that, after such an unfruitful beginning, it would be a mistake to continue the conversation. But he persisted anyway. 'Why not let me have the children?' he urged. 'The trip won't hurt them and at least they'll be out of the way when -'
   Joan cut him off at that point. 'You see,' she laughed, 'I figured the whole crazy thing correctly.'
   With that, she banged the receiver in his ear.
   The evening papers phoned him about it, and then carried a garbled account of her version of his proposal to her. In print, the reference to himself as the 'baby Nova man' made him cringe. Hewitt hid from reporters who thereafter maintained a twenty-four-hour vigil in the lobby of the hotel where he lived.
   Two days later, he needed a police escort to take him to the factory to pick up the specially built tank suit, and then on to the field, where he took off once more for the Molly D.
   Once there, more than an hour was spent in testing. But at last a magnet drew shut the inner door of the Hope of Man. Then the air pressure in the connecting bulkhead was reduced to one atmosphere. Hewitt, arrayed in his new, motor-driven capsule on wheels, was then lifted out of the salvage ship into the bulkhead by a crane. The door locked tight behind him. Air was again pumped into the space. Hewitt watched the suit's air-pressure gauges carefully as the outside pressure was gradually increased to nine hundred and seventy-three atmospheres. When, after many minutes, the tank suit still showed no signs of buckling, he edged it forward in low gear and gently pushed open the door of the big ship.
   A few moments later he was inside the Hope of Man.

23

   DARKNESS!
   The change had come at the instant he rolled into the ship. The difference was startling. From outside, the corridor had looked bright and normal. He was in a ghastly gray-dark world. Several seconds went by as he peered into the gloom. His eyes became accustomed to the dim lighting effect. Although years had gone by since he had last been aboard, he was now instantly struck by a sense of smallness.
   He was in a corridor which he knew pointed into the heart of the ship. It was narrower than he remembered it. Not only a little narrower; a lot. It had been a broad arterial channel, especially constructed for the passage of large equipment. It was not broad any more.
   Precisely how long it was, he couldn't see. Originally, it had run the width of the ship, over a thousand feet. He couldn't see that far. Ahead, the corridor faded into impenetrable shadow.
   It seemed not to have shrunk in height. It had been thirty feet high and it still looked thirty.
   But it was five feet wide instead of forty. And it didn't look as if it had been torn down and rebuilt. It seemed solid and, besides, rebuilding was all but impossible. The steel framework behind the facade of wall was an integral part of the skeleton of the ship.
   He had to make up his mind, then, whether he would continue into the ship. And there was no doubt of that. With his purpose he had to.
   He paused to close the airlock door. And there he -received another shock. The door distorted as it moved. No such effect had been visible from outside. As he swung it shut, its normal width of twelve feet narrowed to four.
   The change was so monstrous that perspiration broke out on his face. And the first tremendous realization was in his mind: 'But that's the Lorentz-Fitzgerald Contraction Theory effect.'
   His mind leaped on to an even more staggering thought: 'Why, that would mean this ship is traveling at near the speed of light.'
   He rejected the notion utterly. It seemed a meaningless concept. There must be some other explanation.
   Cautiously, he started his machine forward on its rubber wheels. The captain's cabin was his first destination. As he moved ahead, the shadows opened up reluctantly before him. Not till he was ten feet from it was he able to see the ramp that led up to the next level.
   The reappearance of things remembered relieved him. What was more important, they seemed to be at about the right distance. First, the airlock, then the ramp, and then many workshops. The corridor opened out at the ramp, then narrowed again. Everything looked eerily cramped because of the abnormal narrowing effect. But the length seemed to be right.
   He expected the door of the captain's cabin to be too narrow for his space suit to get into. However, as he came up to it, he saw that its width was as he remembered it. Hewitt nodded to himself, thought, 'Of course, even by the Lorentz-Fitzgerald theory, that would be true. Contraction would be in the direction of flight.' Since the door was at right angles to the flight line, the size of the doorway was not affected. The doorjamb, however, would probably be narrower.
   The jamb was narrower. Hewitt had stopped his suit to stare at it. Now, he felt himself pale with tension. 'It doesn't fit,' he told himself. 'Like the hall, it's narrower only by a factor of eight, whereas the air pressure varies 973 to one.
   Once more he assured himself that the explanation could not possibly include the famous contradiction theory. Speed was, after all, not an aspect of this situation. The Hope of Man was practically at rest, whatever its velocity might have been in the past.
   He stopped that thought with: 'I'm wasting time! I've got to get going!'
   Acutely conscious that this was supposed to be a quick, exploratory journey, he shifted the softly spinning motor into gear, and moved forward through the doorway.
   The outer room of the captain's apartment was empty. Hewitt rolled forward into the beautiful suite and headed for the master bedroom. Its door was closed but it opened at the touch of one of his power-driven appendages. He entered with embarrassed hesitation; he had a typical attitude about intruding on people in bed. The room held twin beds. A woman lay in the nearer one, but she was covered by a thin sheet and so he could see only a part of one arm and shoulder and her head. She was turned away from him. At first glance, she seemed normal enough and one glance was all he gave her, for at that instant his gaze was caught by the man.
   He was curled up against the headboard in a twisted position – the position a man might be in who had been flung out of control by a sudden stop or start. Parts of his body were narrow and other parts were not, an anomaly that seemed to derive from the curled-up state. Hewitt rolled around the bed for another view. Seen from the front, the man looked normal.
   But, from the side, his head and body looked like a caricature of a human being, such as might be seen in a badly distorted circus mirror.
   Hewitt could not recall ever having seen the fellow before. Certainly, he bore no resemblance to Captain John Lesbee, who had commanded the great vessel on its departure six years earlier.
   Then and there, Hewitt suspended his judgment. Some of the phenomena suggested the Lorentz-Fitzgerald effect. But most of what he had seen could only be explained if the ship were traveling simultaneously at several different speeds. Impossible.
   Hewitt began his retreat from the captain's cabin. His mind was almost blank but he paused long enough to glance in to the other bedroom. There were three beds, each with a young woman in it. They also were covered by thin bedding, but what he could see of them was distorted. He drew back, shuddering. Physiological caricature looked worse on a woman, or so it seemed.
   As he emerged onto the corridor again, Hewitt consciously braced himself, consciously accepted the abnormality of his environment. As he raced along in his thick, tank-like suit, he grew more observant and more thoughtful, more willing to see what there was to look at. He began to peer into the apartments that had been built for the ship's officers and for the scientists. In almost every instance the master bedroom was occupied by a woman and the lesser bedrooms by children.
   When he saw his first teen-ager, Hewitt lifted the bedsheet from him entirely – it required a very considerable power to do so – and stared down at the distorted body. He wanted to make sure that it was actually a youth. It was. Despite the caricature, there was no doubt. He saw several more after that, and girls as well as boys, some of whom seemed as much as eighteen years old.
   But where were the men?
   He found, first, three rather rough-looking fellows in apartments along a second corridor, near the captain's cabin. They also were in bed, and since they did not all face in the direction of flight, they presented an amazing assortment. When he lifted the bedsheets from the first man, Hewitt saw a body that was, literally, as thin as a post, gaunt and incredible. The second man was foreshortened. He simply looked crippled, stunted. The third one was narrow through the thickness of the body, a mere sliver of a man, like a silhouette.
   Except for these three, he saw no other men until he came to the large semidormitories on the lower decks. Here, in the small bedrooms that led off the large lounges he found what he estimated were several hundred men. No women were among them, which was puzzling. There seemed to be no reason for having the men down here and the women and children on the upper floors.
   Hewitt was bemused now. As he headed for the engine room, it was apparent to him that this ship had aboard it men, women, and children of all ages, and that he knew not a single one of them. He who had met all of the colonists, technical people, scientists, women, however fleetingly in some instances, recognized not one person.
   Hewitt reached the engine room. His first glance at the line of meters shocked him.
   The pile was as hot as a hundred hells. The transformer output meter needle was amazingly steady for the colossal load it was bearing. And the resistance to acceleration must be tremendous, for the accelerometer essentially registered zero. As he studied the instruments, Hewitt found himself remembering his conversation with Tellier about attempting to reach the speed of light. Suddenly, he frowned. The figure he was getting from the velocity integrator was surely wrong: 198,700... Faster than light!
   Hewitt thought, 'But surely that doesn't mean it still-'
   His mind refused to hold the thought. Right there he began his retreat, back to the airlock and the Molly D.

24

   During Hewitt's absence from the salvage vessel, a great man had come aboard. He listened with the others to Hewitt's account, and then remained silent and thoughtful through most of the discussion that followed. His presence had a subduing effect on the younger government scientists aboard. No one had very much to say. The attitude seemed to be: 'You stick your neck out first!'
   As a result, the conversation remained 'close to the ground.' Phrases like 'a natural explanation' abounded. When he had listened to all he could stand, Hewitt said impatiently, 'After all, these things have happened. What do we mean by natural?'
   He was about to say more, when the great man cleared his throat and spoke for the first time since he had been introduced. 'Gentlemen, I should like to try to clear away the debris that has accumulated at the beginning of this obstacle course.'
   He turned to Hewitt. 'I want to congratulate you, sir. For the first time in history, the mythical observer – that mathematical oddity – has come to life. You have seen phenomena that, till now, have never been more than a set of equations.'
   Without any further preliminary, he launched into an explanation for what had happened, in which he accepted that 'aspects of speed of light are involved.' He continued, 'At this stage we need not concern ourselves with how this can possibly be, though speculations are unquestionably in order. I toss in one of my own. Mr. Hewitt saw that the velocitors showed a speed of more than light-speed. Is it possible that in attaining such a speed, the ship is confronting us with a true condition of space and matter which has hitherto been hidden from us? I speculate that the ship is traveling at more than light-speed in its own zone of existence, in a sort of parallel time to now, this minute, this second.'
   Further knowledge of the event was of course needed. But it could wait. He went on, 'The time has come for a practical solution. I offer the following.'
   Copies of a carefully written letter must be placed in the hands of various key personnel on the ship, for them to read when they awakened.
   In the letter the circumstances would be described, and those in charge would be urged to cut off both the drive and the robot pilot. If this were not done within a certain period -taking into account the difference in time rate – it would be assumed that the letter had been misunderstood. At this point Hewitt would go aboard, attempt to shut off the robot, and reverse the drive personally.
   However, before leaving the ship after delivering the letter, Hewitt should set off a general alarm aboard to ensure that the awakening took place quickly.
   Hewitt frowned over the suggestion. He could think of no logical reason why it shouldn't work. And yet, having been aboard that foreshortened, eerie vessel, with its nuclear piles operating to the very limit of safety and its lopsided passengers moveless as in death, he had a feeling that some factor was being neglected.
   He found himself remembering, the man crumpled against the headboard of the bed in the captain's cabin. Such an incongruity needed to be explained. But the older man's words had also brought several thoughts of a practical nature. His tank suit needed to be modified and equipped with power tools to set off the alarm, and to perform labors that would be necessary within the frame of such a time difference. And, as for making a third trip later on, he said slowly, 'If it turns out that I have to shut off the drives also, then I'll have to take along food and water. The time difference could make such a task very involved.'
   It had required thirty-five hours to open an airlock, which normally took five minutes. By comparison, reversing the drive might involve weeks of not necessarily hard but certainly persistent labor. It would be better if those aboard could do it.
   Another scientist suggested that the suit might also be fitted with instruments for detecting and observing and recording the drive states connected with light-speed phenomena.
   This thought unleashed a tornado of excited, creative ideas, which Hewitt finally stopped with the statement: 'Now, look, gentlemen, only so much additional equipment can be added to this suit. So why don't a couple of you come down with me to the factory, and you can work with them to add the possible modifications? Meanwhile, the letter can be written and copies made. We should be back here reasonably soon, and then I'll go aboard again.'
   This was agreed on, and they took the suit back to the factory. Hewitt left the scientists there to see that the job was done right and he went outside.
   He had estimated that it would require a week to do all that had to be done. He proposed to spend the first few hours of that time in sleep.
   He headed straight for his hotel room.

25

   Aboard the ship, Lesbee V awakened.
   He lay quite still, momentarily not remembering what had happened, simply lying there in the darkness like a child, not thinking.
   Then memory rushed in on him. He thought, 'Oh, my God!'
   For many seconds he felt scared, but suddenly relief came. For he was still alive. Translight-speed was not lethal. The feared instant when the ship was traveling exactly at the speed of light had arrived, been experienced, and was behind them.
   Lying there, he wondered how long he had been blacked out. That thought brought a new sense of urgency, the realization that he should be down in the engine room, testing, checking, preparing for the slowdown.
   He thought of Gourdy. 'Can he be dead?' he wondered hopefully.
   He reached up and turned on the light beside the bunk. It was an automatic action, and it was only as the light flooded his little prison cell that he realized that electric impulses and light waves and antigravity seemed to be functioning as normally as ever.
   ...Wonder came. Yet that fitted the theory that at light-speed, light still traveled at the speed of light.
   Lesbee freed himself from his acceleration belt and sat up.
   He heard a noise outside his cell. A key sounded in a lock. The door beyond the metal bars swung open. Gourdy, wearing a bandage on his head, peered in at him. Behind the captain, loomed the larger figure of a former kitchen worker named Harcourt.
   As he saw Gourdy, instant disappointment hit Lesbee. He had expected it; his analysis about it was correct; but somehow the reality – that Gourdy had not been fatally injured -violated a basic hope that he had cherished... As quickly as it had come, the disappointment faded.
   He remembered that Gourdy's coming here was victory.
   Lesbee's spirit lifted. It was true. This was why he had programmed the drives: to force this shrewd, murderous little man to come to him for help.
   He spoke quickly, to get in the first word, to guide the thought. 'I was knocked unconscious. I just came to. What happened? Is everybody safe?'
   He saw that Gourdy was staring at him with a baffled expression. 'You were caught, too!' the man said.
   Lesbee merely stared at him. He had a fear of overdramatizing, was convinced that even a single repetition might be a giveaway.
   'Lesbee, you're sure this is not part of some scheme?'
   Lesbee was able to say that there was no scheme, and it was true, in that his plan had not carried him beyond this moment. Therefore, the scheme such as it was, was already a thing of the past. From this instant, he and everyone aboard confronted a situation new to man: the phenomena related to supralight-speed.
   The denial must have reassured Gourdy. He hesitated, but only for a moment. Then, roughly: 'I'm going to take one more chance on you, Lesbee, so you get down to the engine room! Harcourt'll go with you – and take care! No funny stuff!'
   Gourdy must have realized the futility of threats. 'Look, Lesbee,' he pleaded, 'find out what happened, straighten it out and we'll talk. O.K.?'
   Lesbee did not trust him; could not. He recognized that Gourdy's situation had not changed, that the new captain still must not go to Earth. But aloud he said, 'O.K. Of course.'
   Gourdy managed a facial contortion that was meant to be a friendly smile. 'I'll see you later,' he said.
   He departed to interrogate the other prisoners. At this moment, having cleared Lesbee – in his own mind – his suspicion had turned on Miller. Who else could have done it but the only other man who had been in the engine room? He recalled how Miller had examined some of the dials, touched them. That was when it must have happened, Gourdy decided savagely. 'Right there in front of my eyes!' The mere thought enraged him.
   Lesbee, with Harcourt trailing him, reached the alternate control room. A quick glance into the viewplates indicated that there was plenty of black space ahead. Quickly, trembling a little in his haste, he programmed the drives for reverse on a twelve g plus eleven artificial-gravity basis. The programming done, he reached for the master switch, grasped it -
   And then he stopped.
   It seemed to him, in this moment of ultimate decision, that he had several vital things to consider.
   The acceleration to translight-speeds had achieved the purpose that he had vaguely anticipated. It had freed him from prison. But it had changed nothing basic in his situation.
   No matter what he did, if he failed, or even if he merely failed to act, he was slated to be murdered. That was his certainty, and it must govern what he did now.
   ...Get Harcourt's gun, and incapacitate the man, somehow, in the process; bind him, hold him, even kill him – if absolutely necessary. But, whatever, put him out of action.
   Then rescue Tellier... and the two of them get off the ship exactly as they had planned it.
   The decisions made, once more he started to reach for the switch.
   But this time he drew back without touching it. There was another factor to consider, less personal, perhaps even more important. He thought, 'Why did I black out at the transition point? That should be explained.'
   People were hard to knock out. That had been discovered many times aboard the big ship. Short of being given an anesthetic, people clung to consciousness under conditions of extreme shock and pain with a tenacity that was almost incredible.
   Lesbee half-turned to the big man, asked, 'Did you become unconscious, Harcourt?'
   'Yeah.'
   'Do you remember anything about it?'
   'Nope. Just conked out. Came to. Thought to myself: "Boy, I'd better get up to Gourdy!" Found him piled up against the headboard of his bed and -'
   Lesbee interrupted. 'No thoughts?' he asked. 'No pictures, no dreams, no odd memories? Just before consciousness, I mean.'
   He himself had had only some vague fantasies and memory images in reverse.
   'Well– l-l!' Harcourt sounded doubtful. 'Come to think of it, I did have a dream. Kind of vague now.'
   Lesbee waited. The expression on the man's fleshy face indicated that he seemed to be straining for the memory, and so there was no point in urging him.
   Harcourt said, 'You know, Mr. Lesbee, when it comes right down to it, I guess we human beings have really got truth in us.'
   Lesbee groaned inwardly. This man was too slow in thought and tongue. He said hurriedly, 'I'd better reverse the engine, Harcourt. We can talk later.'
   Once more he took hold of the relay. This time he gently closed the switch. The job done, Lesbee seated himself in the master chair, picked up an attached microphone, and spoke into the ship's loud-speaker system, announcing that deceleration would begin in less than a minute. Having done this, Lesbee was about to strap himself into his chair when he glanced at Harcourt and saw that the man had already fastened his belt.
   The observation electrified him. Should he attack the other man now?
   Breathless, Lesbee sank back into his own chair. 'Not now!' he thought. There were too many unknowns. Now, if there was a struggle, it could be interrupted by the deceleration. 'Wait!' Lesbee thought. With trembling fingers, he fastened his own belt.
   Uneasily, a little wide-eyed, he watched the dials on the control board.
   Abruptly, the needles surged.
   Involuntarily, he braced himself. But nothing special happened. He had set up a gap of one g between deceleration thrust and artificial gravity, and that was what it was.
   He thought, 'Can we depend on that, even at speeds above light?'
   The needles continued to show response as before.
   Harcourt spoke. 'You know, Mr. Lesbee, that dream was sure funny. I actually had the picture of every part of my body doing some kind of a flip-flop. I was as big as all space and I could see my insides and all those little, funny, spinning flecks of light, only they weren't small any more, and every single one of 'em stopped spinning and started up in the opposite direction. There was a funny feeling of going backwards. I guess right there is where I blacked out.'
   Lesbee had turned as the man was describing his subjective experience. Listening, it seemed to him that he was hearing what a simple, uncluttered mind had observed with a pure inner vision.
   '... flip– flop...' What else?
   '...as big as all space... ' That was the theory: at light-speed, mass became infinite, though size reduced to zero.
   '... fuzzy flecks... ' Electrons, for heaven's sake, whirling in their orbits, suddenly reversing -
   Of course. Fantastic, but of course.
   And, naturally, that was where the blackout would occur. Exactly at the moment of reversal. The very structure of life and matter must have been wrenched. He felt a sudden awe, thought, 'While we were having these petty squabbles, could it be that the ship was breaking the barriers of time and space?'
   He visualized fantasia: the colossal night out there conquered by discovery and utilization of the rules inherent in its structure. Distance defeated totally, even time probably distorted.
   Tensely, Lesbee sat, waiting for the ship to cross light-speed, slowing down. Waited for the shock of return to normalcy-
   The swift seconds sped by. The needles continued their surging.
   Nothing.

26

   On Earth, three weeks had gone by.
   A disconcerted Hewitt had tried to speed up the various things that had to be accomplished. What money could do, he was able to do. But the human factor would not move a single hour or day faster than its normal rate.
   The letter was one of the holdups. Hewitt had it written quickly, and then he dispatched copies of it by special messenger to the various persons who must approve it and sign it.
   What with suggested changes and unexplained delays, and the final version being 'lost' for a week in the office of the Minister of State, the time dragged on.
   But finally, the twelve copies of the letter were in Hewitt's possession, needing only his signature. In its final version, the letter read:


Attention: Aboard the Hope of Man
Your ship, the Hope of Man , has arrived in the solar system in what seems to be a unique matter-state. The proof of this is the fact that Averill Hewitt, the ship's owner, has twice been aboard and passed among you unseen. In relation to him, all of you aboard the ship had the appearance of suspended animation. The effect is as if the ship is traveling at, or even beyond, the speed of light.
The explanation for this remarkable complexity of behavior is a matter of controversy among Earth scientists, but there is complete agreement on the solution.
Decelerate immediately and as rapidly as possible to minimize the translight-speed effects.
Then attempt radio contact with Earth!
Since the Lorentz-Fitzgerald Contraction Theory may be applicable, it is possible there has been a time as well as a space distortion. Be advised therefore that, on Earth, six years have gone by since the Hope of Man set out for Centaurus. This will give you the relevant data by which to evaluate your situation.
Please act at once, since your vessel seems to be homed-in on Earth and may strike the planet head on if it continues on its present course.
Most urgently...


   The first signature space was for Hewitt. The other signatories had graciously left the top line for him. The Minister of State of the Combined Western Powers had signed immediately below. And below that was the name of the Officer Commanding Space Fleets (OFCOMSPAF). Then came the signatures of three scientists: the 'great man' physicist – Peter Linden – a leading astronomer, and the head of the government science bureau.
   A variety of officials and professional observers accompanied Hewitt aboard the Molly D : Space Patrol officers, a doctor, a member of the cabinet, a representative from the Asiatic Powers, and several space physicists...
   The Hope of Man, as was to be expected, had outdistanced Earth, in the course of the three weeks, by over five hundred thousand miles. But, more important, since it was not affected by the sun's gravity, the solar system's over-all twelve-miles-per-second motion, in the direction of Aries, had caused the ship to have an apparent drift at that speed diagonally past the sun, a total of ten million miles. Twice during this time, the big ship had been observed to adjust course in such a manner that it would intercept Earth's orbit at some later time.
   This was believed to be an indication that the ship's sensor-guidance equipment was still programmed to zero in on Earth.
   Urgently, Hewitt ordered the takeoff.
   Eight days later, the salvage vessel again attached itself to the huge ship. That was nearly a month, Earth time, since its previous journey... But it would be about half an hour on the Hope of Man -
   As soon as the airlock was open and connected, Hewitt guided his tank suit into it. He went straight to the captain's cabin – and ran into his first problem. The black-haired man who had been so dramatically crumpled against the headboard of one of the beds in the master bedroom – was gone. The woman was still in the next bed.
   Hewitt peered uncertainly into the gloom of the adjoining bedroom, and there also – each in a separate bed – were the three other women. But the person with whom he had planned to leave one of the letters, was nowhere to be found in the apartment.
   Not that it mattered. It had been generally agreed by the experts on the Molly D that a total of twelve letters placed with different persons throughout the ship would effectively spread the news.
   Hewitt left a copy on the man's unmade bed, several copies with women in the officers' cabins, four copies with men selected at random from the two hundred in the dormitory in the lower section of the ship, and a copy each with two men whom he found seated in adjoining chairs in the engine room, strapped in by safety belts.
   Hewitt had come to the engine room last because he had photographic equipment attached to his suit, with which he had been requested to take a series of pictures showing the positions of all the dials. The physicists on the Molly D were particularly anxious for an opportunity to make a complete correlation.
   He took the pictures. It was when he pressed the button that automatically folded the camera back into its protective case that Hewitt had a sudden thought. Those speed dials! They were different from what they had been on his previous visit.
   His gaze flashed over to the velocity meters again. There was a red line on the meter, indicating light-speed, and the needle which last time had been far over the line, now hovered on the red.
   Hewitt felt an intense, horrifying shock of fear.
   The ship was already programmed for slowing down. And, in slowing, it had already reduced speed to within a few miles above the speed of light.
   He took it for granted that the moment of transition would be dangerous for him. He was heading frantically out of the engine room by the time that thought was completed. The people aboard had survived crossing the line in the other direction. But they were a part of the speed process. How would the changeover, in reverse, affect someone who was not involved in the contraction? One thing seemed certain: Even at 973 to one, in his favor, there was not enough time to cover the distance he had to go.
   It was as he was turning a corner, from which he could actually see – dimly – the distant airlock, that he felt his first nausea. He had no idea what might happen. But it occurred to him that he should slow down.
   He applied the brake. He was aware of the tank suit rolling to a stop. And then -
   Something grabbed his body from behind and squeezed it mercilessly. The sensation of being caught by a giant hand was so realistic that he squirmed to release himself from its clutch.
   The great hand began to slip. He had the feeling then of being squirted from a space that was too small for him, into something – vast.
   That was the last thing he remembered as blackness closed over him.

27

   Something hit Lesbee.
   It hit him deep inside first, then not so deep, then all over.
   The progression from impact to anguish to agony to unbearable pain was rapid. But he felt every excruciating moment of it.
   He must have been in a dreamlike state – though this time he had no fantasies – because he came to suddenly, with the realization that the ship had made the transition. And from the feel of deceleration, they were continuing to slow down.
   Trembling, Lesbee thought, 'We made it!'
   ...Beyond light-speed and back again! Out of normal space time and return.
   Without looking down, Lesbee unfastened his belt and stood up. He was so intent on the bank of instruments, that Hewitt's letter fell from his lap, unnoticed. Utterly fascinated by the drama of the dials, he walked slowly forward.
   Behind him, Harcourt said, 'Hey, what's this?'
   Lesbee glanced around. What he saw made no sense. Harcourt was reading what looked like a letter.
   Once more, Lesbee faced about and studied the instrument board.

28

   When Hewitt opened his eyes after his blackout, he saw that his tank suit had tilted over against one wall. Exactly how that had come about was not clear.
   He had an impression that something else was different -but there was no time to notice what it was.
   There was a fear in him that his vehicle might tip. He grabbed hastily at the controls, put on the power, and slowly eased off the brake. The suit rolled closer to the wall, then settled back on all four wheels.
   Hewitt breathed easier, thought, 'We must have crossed light-speed without too much problem. It was pretty painful, but it apparently didn't do me any harm.'
   The thought ended. He felt his eyes grow large and round. He gazed wildly at the corridor. It was brightly lighted. The dim, eerie, shadowy effect was gone as if it had never been. He noticed something else. The corridor was not narrow any more. He couldn't tell exactly, but he estimated that it was back to its full width, as it had originally been constructed. Then and there the truth dawned on Hewitt.
   He was no longer an observer of this scene. He was part of it. He also would now appear lopsided to another person coming aboard from the Molly D. To himself, and to those aboard the ship, he would be quite normal. People affected by the Lorentz-Fitzgerald phenomenon were not aware of any difference in themselves. The contraction affected their bodies as well as their frame of reference. Nothing was actually distorted with respect to it.
   Hewitt remembered the sensation of being squeezed. Readjustments within his body, he analyzed, were unevenly distributed during the change. His front changing faster than his back.
   The memory of the pain was suddenly sharper. He shuddered.
   Then he thought: 'I wonder where we are.'
   A minute or two had gone by on the Hope of Man, since his return to consciousness. On the Molly D, that alone was sixteen to thirty hours. But Hewitt knew that the contraction phenomenon at light-speed might have a few more surprises for him.
   Years may have whisked by outside.
   If that were true, then the Hope of Man might, by this time, have proceeded light-years from the solar system.
   Hewitt grew calm and cool and grim. It occurred to him that he had accidentally achieved the position he had wanted to be in ever since he was first informed of the ship's return.
   From the beginning, his purpose had been to get aboard and persuade a shipload of people to start again on the long journey to the Centaurus suns.
   Or, if persuasion failed, to force them. Or trick them -
   It felt a little odd; he had a peculiar empty sense that he did not have enough control of this situation. But here he was.
   On the wall beside Hewitt, a man's voice said from a loudspeaker: 'Attention, everyone! This is Captain Gourdy. I have just been informed by Mr. Lesbee from the engine room, that deceleration will continue at one g until further notice. You may remove your safety belts.'
   Incredibly, tears started to Hewitt's eyes. He realized almost immediately what it was. After all the strangeness, now suddenly there was the sound of a human voice. More important, it gave a normal message and it mentioned a familiar name.
   '... Mr. Lesbee from the engine room... '
   Lesbee!... Hewitt recalled the two men who had been in the engine room – each had looked at least thirty. It provided another perspective on the time that had elapsed since the round ship's original departure from Earth.
   What was more important, the words identified, and located, a specific person to whom he might talk. Hewitt felt an intense excitement. Eagerly, he turned his machine around and headed back toward the engine room, from which he had fled only – minutes – ago.
   A few moments later, he rounded a corner – and brought his mobile suit to an abrupt halt.
   For a man was in the act of emerging from one of the middle-level cabins. He stepped out into the corridor, closed the door behind him, and then turned. He saw Hewitt.
   It must have been an instantaneous strange sight for him. He stiffened. Hewitt rolled his machine forward, and said through his speaker, 'Don't be afraid!'
   The man simply stood there, a blank look on his face.
   Hewitt said, 'While your ship was traveling faster than light, it passed through the solar system. I was put aboard from an Earth warship. I'm the owner of the Hope of Man. My name is Averill Hewitt.'
   His statement was not factual in all details. But it was what he would have liked to be true, particularly the part about the warship, with its implication of powerful forces standing by.
   If the man heard him, it did not show. There was a blank look in his eyes, a paleness in his thin cheeks.
   Hewitt said gently, 'What's your name?'
   No answer.
   Hewitt recognized shock when he saw it. 'Hey,' he said sharply. 'Snap out of it! What's your name?'
   The sharp, penetrating tones did the job. 'Earth,' the man croaked. 'You're from Earth!'
   'I was put aboard from an Earth battleship,' said Hewitt. 'Now, tell me – what's been going on aboard the Hope of Man? What is going on?'
   It was hard to get the information. The man seemed not to grasp how little Hewitt knew. But his name was Lee Winance, and Hewitt learned from him a part of the ship's history. About how much time had elapsed. About Lesbee's and then Gourdy's seizure of power. These were recent realities to Winance.
   Hewitt was even able to piece together something of the social conditions aboard: the multiwife situation among the officers and – until Gourdy's rebellion – the permanent caste system.
   The information made the problem so much more complex that presently Hewitt sat and stared at the man helplessly.
   He thought: 'Five generations!'
   These people were complete strangers to Earth.
   As Hewitt sat there, bemused, Winance abruptly darted past him and raced off around the corner and along the corridor from which he had come a few minutes before. Hewitt rolled his machine back and called after the fleeing figure.
   'Tell Captain Gourdy I want to see him but that I'm going to the engine room first.'
   The man did not slow in his headlong flight. And a few moments later, he disappeared around another corner.
   In the engine room, Harcourt had already called Gourdy -who had meanwhile returned to the captain's cabin. Gourdy listened to the account with a frown, and stared at the letter that the big man held up for him to see. It seemed to be part of a conspiracy, but its meaning was obscure enough so that he presently said uneasily, 'Bring that letter up here right away.'
   He had not yet gone into his own bedroom and so had not found the copy that had been left for him.
   Hewitt, who had resumed his journey to the engine room, arrived there without further incident, and found John Lesbee V alone.
   Lesbee caught a glimpse of the intruder from the corner of one eye, and he turned -
   After the initial amazement, and wonder, and dawning understanding, the result of that conversation was – Lesbee's normal sense of caution was briefly penetrated, and suspended.
   Later he could only remember one response he made to Hewitt's statements, during those few minutes of excited blurting of his true feelings: '... Go back out into space! Never!'
   What sobered him finally was the sight of a light flashing on one of the boards. It was a warning-signal device that he had set up. It meant a detector system was spying on him.
   Gourdy!
   Exactly how long the light had been flickering, Lesbee had no idea. He groaned inwardly with the realization that the one earlier statement he could remember making, would stand against him in the mind of that suspicious little man.
   All in an instant, Lesbee was his old self again: the man whose mind could go one step beyond what other devious minds were thinking. Standing there, he made his first attempt to fit Hewitt and Hewitt's background into the cosmos that was the ship.
   He thought: 'He can't possibly adjust rapidly enough to the murder that's here. So he'll be a pawn.'
   The question was, how could he use such a powerful pawn for his own purposes?
   Lesbee decided that the man was actually, at this stage, a source of information and a foil in the subtle job of defeating Gourdy.
   Hewitt had had his own sobering thoughts. If time slippage into the future had actually occurred, then the disaster to Sol either had or had not happened. They could go to Earth and see if it were damaged and to what extent. Then – and not till then – would it be necessary to decide what to do next.
   Whether to land or return to space was not a problem if the decision could be made on the basis of truth.
   Greatly relieved, he said firmly, 'As owner of the Hope of Man, I command you to set course for the solar system and do everything necessary for us to determine the real situation on Earth.'
   Lesbee said, 'I'm sorry, Mr. Hewitt, I'll have to have that as an order from Captain Gourdy. He is in sole command of this ship.'
   Lesbee felt greatly relieved at having had the chance to say those exact words. Temporarily, at least, they ought to reassure Gourdy.
   The objection startled Hewitt. He recognized it as a reasonable statement. But it brought home to him something he had literally not thought of until this instant. Suddenly, he saw that his ownership rights depended on Earth power.
   But, according to the dire prediction of which he was a principal advocate, there would by now be no Earth power.
   Sitting there, he could feel himself sinking, shrinking, his importance dwindling, his special position becoming meaningless.
   Almost as an echo to his thought came Lesbee's voice: 'Why don't you go and talk to Captain Gourdy?'
   ...Talk to... Gourdy. Try to persuade the powers that be... And be careful...! For it was already obvious that Gourdy had the decision of life or death -
   Hewitt was vaguely aware that he had turned his machine and was heading for the door. Outside, in the corridor, he did not turn toward the captain's cabin, but, instead, hurriedly guided his machine to a down ramp, emerging presently on a floor where there were storerooms.
   He entered one where there were many pieces of equipment stacked close to the ceiling. Each segment was locked in a cradle or compartment. Hewitt rolled into the shadowy space between two stacks and manipulated the release mechanism of the tank suit.
   The rubber separated with a wheezing sound. The two sections of the apparatus were driven apart to the limit of the two bolts that connected them. Hewitt crawled out between the bolts, and a moment later stood on the floor on his own two feet.
   He was trembling a little and he felt weak from the very real fear that was in him. But he was, he discovered, strong enough to climb to the top of a compartment near the ceiling. He sank breathlessly down onto the shadowed surface.
   He lay there watching the little spy light blinking on the dashboard of his capsule machine. As soon as it ceased, as it did suddenly, he climbed down quickly and drove off as fast as the machine could carry him.