Sverdlov paused in the doorway. уI donтt,ф he said. уI wouldnтt be alive now if I did.ф
V.
THE Authority booked first-class passages for all expeditionary personnel, which in the case of a hop up to the
Moon meant a direct ferry traveling at one gee all the way. Standing by the observation window, an untasted drink in his
hand, David Ryerson remarked: уYou know, this is only the third time Iтve been off Earth. And the other two, we transshipped at Satellite and went free-fall most of the way.ф
уSounds like fun,ф said Maclaren. уI must try it sometime.ф
уYou . . . in your line of work . . . you must go to the Moon quite often,ф said Ryerson shyly.
Maclaren nodded. уMount Ambarzumian Observatory, on Farside. Still a little dust and gas to bother us, of course, but Iтll let the purists go out to Plato Satellite and bring me back their plates.ф
уAndўNo. Forgive me.ф Ryerson shook his blond head.
уGo on.ф Maclaren, seated in a voluptuous formfit lounger, offered a box of cigarettes. He thought he knew Ryersonтs type, serious, gifted, ambitious, but awe-smitten at the gimcrack fact of someoneтs hereditary technic rank. уGo ahead,ф he invited. уI donтt embarrass easy.ф
уI was only wondering . . . who paid for all your trips . the observatory orўф
уGreat ancestors! The observatory?ф Maclaren threw back his head and laughed with the heartiness of a man who had never had to be very cautious. It rang above the low music and cultivated chatter; even the ecdysiast paused an instant on her stage.
уMy dear old colleague,ф said Maclaren, уI not only pay my own freight, I am expected to contribute generously toward the expenses of the institution. At least,ф he added, уmy father is. But where else would money for pure research come from? You canтt tax it out of the lower commons, yт know. They havenтt got it. The upper commons are already taxed to the limit, short of pushing them back down into the hand-tomouth masses. And the Protectorate rests on a technic class serving but not paying. Thatтs the theory, anyhow: in practice, of course, a lot of ╬em do neither. But how else would you support abstract science, except by patronage? Thank the Powers for the human snob instinct, it keeps both research and art alive.ф
Ryerson looked alarmed; glanced about as if expecting momentary arrest, finally lowered himself to the edge of a chair and almost whispered: уYes, sir, yes, I know, naturally. I was
just not so . . . so familiar with the details of . . . financing.ф
уEh? But how could you have ~missed leariiing? You trained to be a scientist, didnтt you?ф
Ryerson stared out at Earth, sprawling splendor across the constellations. уI set out to be a spaceman,ф he said, blushing. уBut in the last couple of years I got more interested in gravitics, had to concentrate too much on catching up in that field to
well . . . also, I was planning to emigrate, so I wasnтt interested inўThe colonies need trained men. The opportunitiesўф
Pioneering is an unlimited chance to become the biggest frog, provided the puddle is small enough, thought Maclaren. But he asked aloud, politely, уWhere to?ф
уRama. The third planet of Washington 5584.ф
уHm-m-m? Oh, yes. The new one, the GO dwarf. Uh, how far from here?ф
уNinety-seven light-years. Rama has just passed the fiveyear survey test.ф Ryerson leaned forward, losing shyness in his enthusiasm. уActually, sir, Rama is the most nearly terrestroid planet they have yet found. The biochemistry is so similar to Earthтs that one can even eat some of the native plants andў Oh, and there are climatic zones, oceans, forests, mountains, a single big moonўф
уAnd thirty years of isolation,ф said Maclaren. уNothing connecting you to the universe but a voice.ф
Ryerson reddened again. уDoes that matter so much?ф he asked aggressively. уAre we losing a great deal by that?ф
уI suppose not,ф said Maclaren.
Your lives, perhaps, he thought. Remember the Shadow Plague on New Kashmir? Or your childrenўthere was the mutation virus on Gondwana. Five years is not long enough to learn a planet; the thirty-year quarantine is an arbitrary minimum. And, of course, there are the more obvious and spectacular things, which merely kill colonists without threatening the human race. Storms, quakes, morasses, volcanoes, meteorites. Cumulative poisoning. Wild animals. Unsuspected half-intelligent aborigines. Strangeness, loneliness, madness. Itтs no wonder the colonies which survive develop their own cultures. Itтs no wonder they come to think of Earth as a parasite on their
own tedious heroisms. Of course, with ten billion people, and a great deal of once arable country sterilized by radiation, Earth has little choice.
What I would like to know is, why does anyone emigrate in the first place? The lessons are ghastly enough; why do otherwise sensible people, like this boy, refuse to learn them?
уOh, well,ф he said aloud. He signaled the waiter. уRefuel us, chop-chop.ф
Ryerson looked in some awe at the chit which the other man thumbprinted. He could not suppress it: уDo you always travel first-class to the Moon?ф
Maclaren put a fresh cigarette between his lips and touched his lighter-ring to the end. His smile cocked it at a wry angle.
уI suppose,ф he answered, уI have always traveled first-class through life.ф
THE ferry made turnover without spilling a drink or a passenger and backed down onto Tycho Port. Maclaren adjusted without a thought to Lunar gravity, Ryerson turned a little green and swallowed a pill. But even in his momentary distress, Ryerson was bewildered at merely walking through a tube to a monorail station. Third-class passengers must submit to interminable official bullying: safety regulations, queues, assignment to hostel. Now, within minutes, he was again on soft cushions, staring through crystalline panes at the saw-toothed magnificence of mountains.
When the train got under way, he gripped his hands together, irrationally afraid. It took him a while to hunt down the reason: the ghost of his fatherтs God, ranting at pride and sloth from the tomb which the son had erected.
уLetтs eat,ф said Maclaren. уI chose this train with malice aforethought. Itтs slow enough so we can enjoy our meal en route, and the chef puts his heart into the oysters won-ton.ф
уIтm not . . . not hungry,ф stammered Ryerson.
Maclarenтs dark, hooked face flashed a grin. уThatтs what cocktails and hors dтoeuvres are for, lad. Stuff yourself. If itтs true what Iтve heard of deep-space rations, weтre in for a dreary month or two.ф
уYou mean youтve never been on an interstellar ship?ф
уOf course not. Never been beyond the Moon in my life. Why should I do any such ridiculous thing?ф
Maclarenтs cloak swirled like fire as he Thd the way toward the diner. Beneath an iridescent white tunic, his legs showed muscular and hairless, down to the tooled-leather buskins; the slant of the beret on his head was pure insolence. Ryerson, trailing drably behind in spacemanтs gray coveralls, felt bitterness. What have I been dragged away from Tamara for? Does this peacock know a mass from a hole in the ground? Heтs hired himself a toy, is all, because for a while heтs bored with wine and women . . . and Tamara is locked away on a rock with a self-righteous old beast who hates the sound of her name!
As they sat down at their table, Maclaren went on, уBut this is too good a chance to pass up. I found me a tame mathematician last year and sicced him onto the Schrddinger equationў Sugimotoтs relativistic version, I mean; Yuen postulates too bloody much for my tasteўanyhow, he worked it out for the quantities involved in a dark star, mass and gravitational intensities and cetera. His results make us both wonder if such a body doesnтt go over to an entirely new stage of degeneracy at the core. One gigantic neutron? Well, maybe thatтs too fantastic. But considerўф
And while the monorail ran on toward Farside, Maclaren left the Interhuman language quite behind him. Ryerson could follow tensors, even when scribbled on a menu, but Maclaren had some new function, symbolized by a pneumatic female outline, that reduced to a generalized tensor under certain conditions. Ryerson stepped out on Farside, two hours later, with his brain rotating.
He had heard of the cyclopean installations which fill the whole of Yukawa Crater and spread out onto the plains beyond. Who has not? But all he saw on his first visit was a gigantic concourse, a long slideway tunnel, and a good many uniformed technicians. He made some timid mention of his disappointment to Maclaren. The New Zealander nodded: уExactly. Thereтs more romance, more sense of distance covered, and a devil of a lot better scenery, in an afternoon on the bay, than in a fifty light-year leap. I say space travel is overrated. And itтs a fact, Iтve heard, that spacemen themselves prefer
the interplanetary runs. They take the dull interstellar watches as a matter of duty, by turns.ф
Here and there the tunnel branched off, signs indicating the way to Alpha Centauri Jump, Tau Ceti Jump, Epsilon Eridani Jump, all the long-colonized systems. Those were for passengers; freight went by other beams. There was no great bustle along any of the tubes. Comparatively few Earthlings had occasion to visit outsystem on business; still fewer could afford it for pleasure, and of course no colonial came here without a grudging O.K. The Protector had trouble enough; he was not going to expose the mother planet and its restless billions to new ideas born under new skies, nor let any more colonials than he could help see first-hand what an inferior position they held. That was the real reason for the ban, every educated Terrestrial knew as much. The masses, being illiterate, swallowed a vague official excuse about trade policy.
The branches leading to Sirius Jump, Procyon Jump, and the other attained but uncolonizable systems, were almost deserted. Little came from such placesўperhaps an occasional gem or exotic chemical. But relay stations had been established there, for ╬casting to more useful planets.
Ryersonтs heart leaped when he passed a newly activated sign: an arrow and WASHINGTON 5584 JUMP burning above. That tunnel would be filled, come next week!
