Chapter 5 Accident

Ted dreamed that night. The dream started with a screaming rocket that blazed a fiery trail across the blackness of his mind. The rocket tore up from Earth and disappeared into the clouds, its trail disintegrated into dead ashes among the stars.

And then the sky fell down.

It split open with a terrifying crack, tearing apart like a sheet of black paper. The stars seemed to loosen suddenly from the paper, and they tumbled recklessly toward the ship, closing on it like a giant trap with fiery teeth.

Someone screamed, “Acceleration!” and the stars converged on the metal skin of the ship, battering it in explosive fury. The ship tossed and pitched against the crumbling black paper. There was another terrifying sound, the sound of splintering metal, the grating rasp of the bulkheads ripping apart.

The ship snapped in half, a blinding red flash erupting from its torn skin. Someone shouted, “Acceleration!” again, and Ted sat up in his bunk, sweat covering his body, his pajamas sticking to his skin. He breathed harshly, staring into the darkness.

It was a little while before he realized he himself had been doing the screaming.

He thought about that dream all during the next day. He tried to interest himself in the various marvels of the Station. He visited the Communications Center and listened to the various messages coming from and going to Earth. He found the Celestial Viewing Room, and tried to lose himself in the unhampered vision of the heavens. It was no use.

The dream kept intruding into his conscious mind, and he was finally forced to think about what he knew the dream actually meant.

Jack.

Jack and his injured collarbone.

He wandered down to the mess hall and sat brooding over a glass of milk, his chin cupped in one hand while he traced a pattern on the table top with the other.

He knew that Jack shouldn’t go on the Moon trip. Jack’s sole value was as a spare for any injured member of the crew. Should anything happen to Jack on the trip, he would lose all value completely.

There remained the faint possibility that his collarbone injury was not a serious one. If such were the case, acceleration might not damage it further.

But on the other hand, there was the chance that acceleration would hurt it further, snap it in two perhaps — or perhaps worse.

All right, he asked himself, what are you going to do about it?

He didn’t know. He simply didn’t know.

If Jack were willing to gamble with his own body, or even with his own life, that should be Jack’s business, shouldn’t it? Who was he to interfere?

He nodded his head, mentally agreeing with himself.

A persistent idea shoved at the corners of his mind, though, and he knew he was trying to fool himself.

Jack wasn’t gambling with his own life alone. He was gambling with the safety of every man in the crew. And he was also increasing the odds against the success of the Moon trip.

So what? Ted asked himself. What am I supposed to do — run and tell on him? That would ruin him. Four years of study and hard work down the drain.

He sipped at his milk, put the glass down on the table again.

Supposing you’d seen Jack murder someone, a probing voice in his brain insisted, would you forget about it, or go to the authorities?

Ted passed his hand over his forehead, wiping away the sweat. This was different, of course. Jack hadn’t murdered anyone, so the comparison couldn’t really be drawn.

But if the Moon trip is a failure because of Jack, the probing voice continued, we can say he caused the death of every man in the crew. We can say...

Ted pressed his fist against his forehead, trying to shut out the conflict in his mind.

“Got a problem?” a voice asked. “Or just a headache?”

Ted looked up suddenly, almost afraid his thoughts had been read. Lieutenant Forbes pulled up a chair beside him, depositing a cup of coffee on the table.

“Oh,” Ted said. “Hello, sir.”

Forbes picked up a teaspoon and began stirring the coffee. “Which one is it?” he asked. “We can take care of a headache in Sick Bay. A problem, well, that’s another thing again.”

Ted smiled weakly. “I’m afraid we can’t cure this one with an aspirin, sir.”

Forbes smiled back. “Maybe I can help.”

“I don’t think so, sir.”

Forbes shrugged. “Okay.” He lifted his cup, sipped at the coffee, putting it down quickly. “Hot.”

Ted stared into his glass for a long while, not saying anything. Forbes picked up his cup again and took another sip, blowing at the brown surface first.

“Suppose,” Ted started, “suppose...”

Forbes looked up. “Uhm?”

“Well, suppose you knew you should do something. I mean, suppose you really wanted to do something.”

Forbes put down his cup and turned to face Ted, his gray eyes thoughtful. “Yes?”

“I mean...” Ted scratched his jaw. “Look, let’s suppose I wanted to do a certain thing — a thing that really should be done. That is, things would be better all around if I did this thing.”

Forbes continued to look thoughtful. “Go on.”

“But let’s suppose that someone would be hurt badly if I did what I should do.” He stopped, feeling the inadequacy of his words. “Do you understand?”

“No, not exactly.”

“This thing I want to do, let’s say, would make someone else very unhappy. But it would still be for the best. Everyone would be a lot happier if...”

“How do you know?” Forbes interrupted.

“How do I know what?”

“That everyone would be a lot happier.”

“Well, I just know, that’s all.”

“I see. Go on.”

“Would you do it?”

“Would I do what?” Forbes asked.

“The thing you felt you had to do,” Ted replied.

Forbes lifted his cup again, swallowed some coffee, and replaced it on the saucer. “It would all depend.”

“On what?”

“On how important the thing was. If it were more important than the personal feelings of the someone you’d be hurting, I’d say ‘Yes, do it.’”

“It’s pretty important,” Ted said.

“How important?”

“Well, very important.”

“That doesn’t tell me anything. A dime is important to a beggar, but a millionaire wouldn’t think it was so important.”

Ted hesitated. He bit his lip and then said, “Let’s say it’s as important as... as the Moon trip.”

Forbes paused in the process of lifting his cup and gently replaced it on his saucer. He turned to face Ted fully, and his eyes tightened a trifle. “Now that’s pretty important,” he said.

Ted nodded. “If this thing were as important as the Moon trip, and if you felt you had to do it, would you?”

Forbes considered this, his eyes studying Ted’s face. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “It’s something you’ll have to figure out for yourself.”

There was something strange in his voice, and Ted wondered if he’d made his meaning clear. He sighed heavily and said, “Yeah, I guess so.”

Forbes reached out, and his fingers tightened on Ted’s arm. “If it means so much, though, if it’s as important as the Moon trip...” He paused, giving added stress to the words. “...I’d give it a lot of thought, Baker.” He finished his coffee and then stood up. When he spoke again, his voice was curiously like a warning. “I’d give it an awful lot of careful thought, Baker.”

He turned his back to Ted and walked out of the mess hall, his heels clicking on the metal deck.

Ted stared after him, a puzzled frown on his forehead. He shrugged, drank his milk, and left the mess hall, the problem still heavy on his mind.

Merola was jubilant when Ted met him outside the pump room.

“Hiya, Baker,” he said, “how goes the happy senior?”

“Fine, sir,” Ted answered, his voice lacking enthusiasm.

“Good, good,” Merola replied. He rubbed his hands together, dry washing them. “Don’t mind my excitement,” he apologized. “We’re going to blast off in about a half-hour, and I’m starting to get a little jumpy.”

Ted’s eyes clouded. “For the Moon, sir?”

“Yes, yes, the Moon.” Merola shook his head in awe. “How do you like that? We’ll be shooting for the Moon in half an hour, Baker. The Moon!” He shook his head again.

“And everything is all right, sir?”

“Huh? Why, sure. What could be wrong? The rocket’s in tiptop shape, and so’s the crew. Supplies and fuel were sent up a while ago by pilotless rocket.”

“Fuel? For the return trip, sir?”

“That’s right. And supplies to last us while we’re dawdling around up there. Well just be carrying enough fuel to get us there, and enough supplies for a few weeks. Less weight to carry, you understand.” He paused and clapped Ted on the shoulder. “Hey, what am I telling all this to you for? You Academy guys are as sharp as tacks.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’ve no idea how glad I am that Jack will be along on this little junket. He can be darned valuable if anything goes wrong.”

Ted winced. “Yes, sir.”

“Anything wrong, Baker?” Merola’s voice was concerned. “Don’t you feel well?”

“Yes, sir. I mean, I feel fine.”

“Mmm. Well, got to get set. There are still a few last minute things to...”

“Sir,” Ted said suddenly. “I...”

He watched Merola, wondering if he should tell him. Sweat popped out on his forehead, and a solid lump rose to his throat. He swallowed and kept staring at the captain, wondering where he should begin, wondering if he should begin.

“What is it, Baker?”

“About Talbot, sir. Jack, I mean.”

“What about him?”

“I... he...”

No. No, this wasn’t the way at all.

“Well, what about him?”

“N-n-nothing, sir. Nothing.” Ted lowered his eyes. “I just wanted to say I... I hope he... I hope he does the Academy proud.”

Merola grinned and put his arm around Ted’s shoulders as they started off down the corridor. “I’m sure he will, Baker,” he said. “I’m sure he will.”

Ted crawled hand over hand down the landing-net leading to the “hub” of the Station. The hub contained the air lock and the landing berths, and had virtually no gravity. The “wheel’s” movement around the hub was what provided the centrifugal force which served as synthetic gravity in the rest of the Station. Without the landing net, Ted would have floated helplessly in the air as he made his way toward the lock.

Jack was in that lock now, getting into his space suit, making himself ready for the space taxi that would carry him to the Moon rocket.

Everything was set in Ted’s mind. He would ask Jack to do his own deciding. If Jack confessed his injury to the authorities, there would probably be no punishment. In fact, he would likely be commended for his honesty.

If, on the other hand, he insisted on jeopardizing Man’s first stab at the Moon, Ted would report him. There was no other way out. Friendship was one thing, but...

There was a faint shuffling sound at the end of the long passageway. Ted gulped hard and quickened his movements, reaching out ahead of him for space-eating grips on the heavy ropes.

He was at the end of the passageway before he realized it. He released his grip on the ropes and floated down into the lock, his face grim.

Jack was floating above the hatch leading to the landing berth below. He had already put on a space suit, and was lacking only a helmet to complete the costume. Behind him, firmly secured to the bulkheads with metal brackets, Ted saw the rows of neatly folded space suits. Above these, like so many empty heads, the corresponding helmets clung to their brackets.

Jack looked immense in the space suit. The heavy nylon added inches to his chest and arms, and his hands looked large and powerful in their bulky gloves. He looked up quickly as Ted floated into the lock.

“What are you doing here?” he said. His voice was harsh and strained. His red brows were pulled together tightly, angling upward from a deep line just above his nose.

“I want to talk to you,” Ted said. He shoved his hand against the bulkhead, floating over beside Jack.

Jack clenched his fists inside the thick gloves, and a scowl darkened his face. He stared at Ted for a long moment, and then said, “We’ve got nothing to talk about, Baker.”

“We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

“I’m busy,” Jack said. He pushed his gloved hand against the supply tube jutting up from the deck. The shove sent him floating to the helmets bracketed on the bulkhead. He clamped his big hands on one and pulled it toward him.

“You’re not too busy to hear this.”

The helmet refused to budge, and Jack tugged at it again. It came free this time, and the sudden release sent Jack hurtling back across the compartment again. He turned on Ted bitterly, the helmet clenched in his hands. “You going to read me a section of the Manual?”

“No.”

“What then?” Jack gave a short laugh.

“I want you to tell the doctor about your injury.”

“You’re crazy!”

“No, I’m just thinking of the Moon rocket.”

“So am I,” Jack answered quickly.

“I’m thinking of what acceleration may do to that bone.”

“Don’t worry about me, Baker. I can take care of myself.”

“I’m not worrying about you,” Ted shot back. “I’m worrying about the other men on the trip. And I’m worrying about the years of planning behind this, and the energy expended, and the money invested, and the hope of every man...”

“Cut it out, will you?” Jack said. “You’ll have me weeping.”

“Jack, if you don’t tell them about your injury, I will.”

Jack digested Ted’s ultimatum for a moment. He grinned then, floating on the air like a bloated specter.

“I’d break every bone in your body, Baker,” he said. The smile vanished from his face, and there was only a warning left; a warning in the slitted eyes and flaring nostrils, a warning in the razor-slit mouth.

“You don’t scare me, Jack,” Ted said. “If you think a beating will...”

They both looked up suddenly as the speaker on the bulkhead belched static. A man blew into the microphone somewhere on the Station, testing it, and then his voice sounded in the compartment.

“Moon rocket ready for firing. Jack Talbot report to Moon rocket on the double.”

“Hear that?” Jack asked.

“I heard it.”

“They’re waiting for me, Baker. I suggest you clear out.”

Ted shook his head. “You’re not going, Jack.”

“Look, hero,” Jack said, “don’t get me sore. I’ve listened to about enough of your half-baked ideas.”

Abruptly, Jack pushed his hand against the overhead and began drifting toward the hatch in the deck. Ted reached out quickly, his fingers closing around the toggle in the metal shoulder plate of the suit. Like two dancers in a seriocomic ballet, they floated down to the deck.

Ted quickly reached for the wheel in the hatch, wrapping his fingers tightly around it.

“Get away from that hatch,” Jack said. He dropped to the deck and wrapped one gloved hand around the wheel, clinging to the helmet with the other.

“You’re not getting into that taxi, Jack,” Ted said.

“Get out of my way!” Jack warned.

He relaxed his grip on the wheel for an instant and shoved at Ted with the open palm of his right hand. Ted tried to bring up his hands in time to ward off the blow. He realized with a sickening rush that he was too late. Jack’s palm collided against his chest and sent him careening back toward the bulkhead. He felt his back slam against the unyielding metal, knocking the breath out of him for an instant. Slowly he drifted up from the deck, a knife pain in his chest.

Jack was already twisting the hatch wheel.

Alarm raced along Ted’s spine. He gripped the supply tube with both hands, swinging around it like a circus performer, his legs out ahead of him. Jack ducked as he saw the legs coming toward him, releasing the wheel and immediately floating away from the hatch.

He held the helmet in his left hand, dangling there like a huge bell. His lips skinned back over his teeth, and his voice dropped to a low hiss. “I’m not kidding, Baker. I’m not kidding at all.”

“Neither am I, Jack.”

The sweat was standing out on Jack’s brow now, neat little globules that glistened in the light of the fluorescent tubes. His breath ripped into his chest, and his shoulders heaved beneath the heavy protection of the space suit.

“All right,” he said. “One more chance. I’m going through that hatch, Baker. I’m getting into that taxi down there, and it’s taking me to the Moon rocket. I don’t want any interference, understand? I don’t want any more of your clowning.”

“I’m not clowning, Ja...”

“Shut up! I’m doing the talking now. I’ve listened to enough of your juvenile garbage. If you take one step toward this hatch, I’ll...”

His voice trailed off as Ted pushed both legs against the supply tube, shoving his way across the lock.

“Why, you...” Jack shouted. He swung the helmet at the end of his left hand, bringing it up toward Ted’s head. Ted saw the glint of metal as the heavy helmet lunged for him. He stuck both hands out ahead of him, pushed his body away from the swinging metal.

Jack bounced on the deck, his legs bending. He sprang upright again, the helmet swinging back for another blow.

“I warned you, Baker. I told you...”

Ted saw the murderous glint of metal again as the helmet swung in its dizzy arc. He drew back his fist and pushed himself away from the bulkhead, uncorking the fist at the same time.

The forward momentum of Jack’s swing carried him right into Ted’s flashing fist, and it collided against his jaw with shattering force. His fingers opened wide, and the helmet drifted harmlessly across the compartment. His eyes went blank then as he flipped over on his back. He hung on the air like a swimmer floating without water.

“Jack!” Ted said, his voice shaking.

He pushed himself over to the floating figure, shook the shoulder inside the space suit. Together, they drifted down toward the hatch.

“Jack!”

And then, from the bulkhead speaker, like an echo of Ted’s words, the voice repeated, “Jack Talbot, report to Moon rocket immediately.” There was urgency in the voice now, urgency bordering on panic. “Now hear this. Now hear this. Jack Talbot, repeat, Jack Talbot, report to Moon rocket immediately!”

Ted looked around the compartment frantically. The rocket! If it left without a fifth man...

He felt his heart leap up into his throat, settle there like a flaming firebrand.

He had to stop them. They had to know about Jack. He had to stop blastoff.

His eyes hastily scanned the bulkheads, pausing on the neat rows of space suits and helmets. Without hesitation, he leaped against one of the bulkheads, jackknifing his legs and pushing off toward the suits. He yanked one free from the brackets, watched it unfold of its own volition.

With trembling fingers, he pulled the suit over his clothes. He was bathed in sweat now, and his tongue was a fuzzy caterpillar, swollen and dry in his mouth.

He had to stop blastoff. He had to stop that rocket before it was too late!

He ripped a helmet from the bulkhead, set it in place on his shoulders and fumbled with the toggles that would clasp it to the shoulder plate of the suit. He finally secured them, his free hand fumbling with the oxygen knob at his waist. He twisted the knob, adjusting the flow of oxygen into the suit. He took a gulp of the sweet air, then shoved his fist against the bulkhead, his hands feeling big and clumsy inside the thick gloves. He drifted to the deck and seized the hatch wheel, twisting it almost instantly. He heard the mechanism click, and then he swung the hatch up. His blood pounded in his ears.

He had to get to that rocket!

Quickly, he dropped through the hatch and shoved himself toward the waiting space taxi.