Originally published in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, January 1953.
His wife said soothingly, “I could make some onion soup. I read some place that onion soup is good for—for a hangover.”
John said, “Thanks, no, dear.” Why did her voice always seem to grate in the morning?
“Tomato juice?”
“Just black coffee, dear.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call me ‘dear,’” she said quietly.
He stared at her, startled for the moment from contemplation of his own misery. Finally, “And—why not?”
“Because you don’t really mean it. I’m your wife, but I’m not ‘dear’ to you and you know it. We don’t need to pretend, John.”
He continued to stare at her, wondering why she didn’t stir him, even in his present mood. Fair-haired, slim, lovely and composed, an attractive and completely feminine woman. They’d been married seven years.
He said, “Let’s not talk about that, now.”
“All right.” She poured his coffee. “Do you want to—talk about last night?”
He sipped his coffee. “I wish I could. I was on a spaceship, a job with more power than I ever thought any rocket would achieve. I saw some things you wouldn’t believe.”
“You really saw them? Or…” She stopped.
“Or was I so pie-eyed I thought I saw them—is that what you were going to ask?”
“More or less.”
“I wasn’t that drunk. I couldn’t have been that drunk and handled a ship off the Inter-Planet Beam.”
“Off the Beam…?” Her voice was a whisper.
He tilted his chin. “Off the Beam. I was off the beam, too.” Something stabbed at the back of his neck, and he swallowed another gulp of coffee. “I saw a planetesimal. I met the people. Happy people. Very happy people. They call the place Joy.”
“Place…?”
“The planetesimal. Has an enveloping anti-grav field, so it’s not drawn into this planet. Understand?”
“No.”
He opened his mouth to explain, and closed it.
She said, “Try not to be so insufferably patient. Try to pretend we’re living in sin, or something. I’m not that unattractive.” She took a deep breath. “And don’t talk about anything as absurd as an anti-gravity field. That’s one of those myths.”
His voice was grittily calm. “All right. Try to remember I’m—sick this morning.” He stared at her evenly. “This planetesimal, this Joy, has gravity for humans but the gravity is blocked at a three mile limit, so it will not be attracted to other bodies. It has no orbit; it is directed by the scientific clique who govern it. Am I boring you?”
“Hardly. You’re incredible.”
“To go on, it was off the Beam, so it’s not a story you’ll repeat, I hope. Anyway, this clique not only runs everything; they supply everything. Which leaves nothing for the citizens to do, but—” He shrugged.
“But drink?”
He shrugged again.
She shook her head, looking at him thoughtfully. “No wonder it’s off the beam. John—were you, did you—? Oh, never mind. If you did, I don’t want to know it.”
“I was drunk,” he said smugly, and sipped his coffee.
“And dreaming,” she added. “I’ll settle for that. I won’t accept the— You were dreaming.”
“Maybe.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe.”
Her voice was sharper. “You’re quite a pilot, aren’t you?”
“Good enough. Forty missions against Venus. I guess that’s pretty fair. The Venusians must have thought I was. They had a standing offer of—”
“I know,” she interrupted. “I’ve heard the story before. Nineteen times before we were married and 63 times since.”
“I would have to marry a mathematician,” he said sourly. “With physicians and physicists to choose from, with chemists and biochemists, with—”
“But you’re not that good,” she interrupted again.
His head throbbed. “I’m not how good?”
“Good enough to handle a ship off the beam. Not a standard ship.”
“Look, it wasn’t a standard ship, as I said before. It was a—” He paused, his mouth still open. And in his intelligent, now blood-shot eyes, horror took the place of indignation.
Her apprehension matched his. “John—it was a dream, it has to be. You didn’t steal a government— Oh, John!”
“Oh, Lord,” he said.
Only government ships could travel off the Inter-Planet Beam. The penalty for stealing a government ship was death. And he hadn’t— In this morning’s fuzzy stupidity, he hadn’t even realized what.…
He stared. She stared.
Then mutely, like one of the lower robots, she reached over to snap on the news-screen.
The voice came on before the face: “—is the first instance of its kind since the death penalty was instituted for this crime. The ship was found out near Gower Gulley this morning, by Regional Space Officer Helmuth Klump, who immediately reported his find to Earth Headquarters. All the planets have been informed—”
John didn’t hear the rest; what he’d heard had been too much. He saw the beefy, pompous face of the announcer and was aware of the words without actually connecting them.
Sally asked, “Where and how would you get your hot little hands on a government vehicle?”
“I don’t know.” He rubbed his forehead, felt the sweat running down his wrists. “Sally, I’d better—” He closed his eyes.
“Run? Run away? And arouse suspicion? And where would you run to, John?”
He shrugged.
“I’ve no idea,” he said.
But he did have; he had a very good idea. He looked up and squared his shoulders. “You’re right. There’s no place to run to. Unless things get hotter, I’d better just stick tight.”
He had decided that things were going to get hotter. At least, Sally was going to think so.…
* * * *
At the airport, where John was publicity director, Pete Furlo was waiting in his office. Pete was young and full of ideas, and John’s assistant.
This morning he said, “I’ve got the Mars problem licked, I’m sure, John.”
Mars had proven to be no tourist attraction at all. Despite the planting of oxygaling which had resulted in sufficient oxygen supply, despite the irrigation which the pioneers had established from the polar caps, Mars was strictly a colonist’s haven. And colonists are one-trip passengers.
Now John said, “You’ve got the problem licked?” He smiled. “No bugs in the idea, I’m sure.”
“I’ll give it to you in a word,” Pete said. “Gambling.”
John was quiet, studying his assistant. Finally, “That would do it. But—” He was silent. “Yes, that would really do it. It’s not heavily enough colonized to run into local opposition, but it would still be a lobbyist’s miracle to get it through the Galactic Assembly.”
“That can be done,” Pete said flatly. “I’ve been talking to some of the assemblymen.”
“Politics?” John shook his head. “Pete, politicians are bad lads to tangle with.”
“They’re people, like anybody else, John.”
“Technically, they’re people, but not like anybody else—unless you include Venusians.”
Pete’s young face took on a stubborn cast. “The ones I met were swell guys.”
“They were on your side,” John pointed out patiently. “It’s the ones on the other side who’ll make you wish you were never born. There isn’t a single vice you have they won’t exaggerate, nor any mistake you ever made they won’t dig up.”
“I’m a man of no vices and few mistakes,” Pete said smilingly. “You sound frightened, John.”
“Frightened? Me? A man who completed 40 missions against Venus?”
“Not me,” Pete answered. “I risk my all for Stellar Airlines, the pathway to the stars. Forty missions against Venus, and you’re afraid of a lousy politician or two. Oh, John—” He shook his head.
“I am not afraid. I don’t know where you got such a screwball idea.” Silence. Outside a Jupiter saucer was landing, and they both watched it. Then, on John’s desk, a light winked and his secretary’s nasal voice said, “Mr. Resin to see you, John.”
R. J. Resin was the Chairman of the Board. R.J. Resin wouldn’t come down to see John unless something was sadly amiss, unless he was on the warpath.
Quick perspiration beaded John’s forehead, and he looked at Pete beseechingly. “What could he—I—”
Pete said, “I’d better duck out.”
“No,” John said hoarsely. “Please, Pete, no—”
“Okay,” Pete said, and now there was a strange smile on his face. Perhaps it was meant to be comforting, but it looked smug.
R. J. Resin wasn’t a man to waste words. He was a big man and a direct one, without sentiment.
He stood a moment in the office doorway, glaring at John, and then he said, “You stole that government ship, last night.”
John opened his mouth, and closed it.
“You admit it?”
John opened his mouth—and Pete said, “It was all innocent fun, Mr. Resin. There was nothing—criminal about it. You see, General Tankard lent us that ship.”
“Us—?” John said, and “Us?” R.J. said, and both of them were staring at Pete.
Poise, the assistant had. Assurance, he had, and his voice was smoothly ingratiating. “I was along. John probably doesn’t remember it; he was a bit drunker than I was. But there was no harm done.”
R. J. looked between them, and settled on John. “He was along?”
“I—er—uh, I—” John said.
“He doesn’t remember,” Pete put in smilingly. “Poor John isn’t much of a drinking man. He was rather incoherent, last night. But I drove him home from Gower Gully, this morning, after we deserted the ship.” He paused. “And I’m sure nothing will come of the incident, despite the current hysteria. General Tankard will see that nothing comes of it, not the slightest repercussion.”
Silence. Pete was facing R.J. squarely, and there was complete command in his attitude.
“Tankard,” R.J. said. “General Tankard. Hmmmmm. You boys do associate with important people, don’t you? Glad to see that, very glad. Stellar can use the—influence, you know.” His smile was brief. “Well, boys will be boys.”
He departed.
John looked at Pete. “You don’t know General Tankard from a bale of Plutonian hay.”
Pete shrugged. “Don’t I?” His voice was indifferent.
“And you weren’t with me.”
“All right, I wasn’t. You’re the boss.”
“That’s right. What’s the angle, Pete? What’s the pitch?”
Pete took a deep breath. “John—did I get you out of a tight spot?”
Silence, for seconds. A nerve twitched in John’s forehead. Then he said wearily, “I’m sorry. Yes, you did. I’m sorry, Pete, and—thanks.” He looked out at the busy field. “Loyalty seems to be an outmoded virtue. I appreciate your—lying for me.”
“Call it a lie if you want, John.” A pause. “I had a date, here, with Assemblyman Andrews, at 10:30. It’s 10:20 now.” Another pause. “He’s anxious to get your reaction.”
“I’ll be here,” John said. “He’ll get it.”
When Pete left, to check the Mars file, John sat for a moment behind his huge desk, thinking back on the incident just passed.
Pete had been quickly loyal, sticking his own neck out there along with John’s. Why, why, why—?
In the casualty compartment of his news-sifter, he found a few reports of accidents on rival space lines and he spent a few minutes fashioning these into news accounts that would point up the Stellar record. It was a tricky business; newscasters were suspicious of publicity handouts and he had to avoid direct mention of Stellar.
He shoved the mass of wordage into Pete’s scan-typer, and glanced at his watch. He had time for a quick one.
In the flight deck bar, he sat nursing a bourbon and soda and trying to remember last night. The girl he remembered, a red-headed, slim and ready lass with beautiful long legs and lovely shoulders. He’d met her at—let’s see—Ecstasy Inn, that was it.
And what a spot. The dance floor big enough to review a division in, the promenade overlooking the green plains of Vesta. Even tiny Vesta had dwarfed Joy; the planetesimal must not be much larger than Oahu.
But that was last night. Where was it now? Within the void between Minus and Fantasar, between Aronda and Velier. It couldn’t possibly travel any more than that in a few hours. That would be a cinch to find in—in a government ship.
The thought came to the front, born at the breakfast table, nourished by the minutes since. If he should leave Sally, which was a serious offense since passage of the Jones-Goerke Act, he would be safe only on Joy. The Galactic Assembly had no control over Joy.
He swallowed the rest of his drink and looked up to see Pete and Assemblyman Andrews coming across from the lobby.
A thin man, Assemblyman Andrews, and intense. Definitely on his way up in government service.
He shook John’s hand cordially, and said, “This is as good a place as any, unless you’d prefer your office?”
“This will do,” John said.
They sat down, and Andrews’ voice was genial. “Great idea you’ve got John.”
“Pete’s idea,” John corrected him. As though Andrews didn’t know. Andrews’ glance was steady. “You’ve some objections, though?”
John didn’t answer.
Pete said casually, “He’s concerned about—political attack.”
“Oh,” Andrews said. “That would be my cross, John. How would you come into it?”
John fought for poise. “I suppose I wouldn’t. Unless Stellar’s backing leaked out, which could very well happen. There’s the moral issue too, you know.”
Andrews’ smile was deprecating. “Oh, come, that would hardly bother you, John.”
John tried to read the mind behind that smiling face. “Just what did you mean by that?”
Andrews added a shrug to the smile. “Well, none of us are—deacons, I suppose.”
John continued to stare at Andrews and Andrews continued to smile. Pete coughed. There was a threat in Andrews’ smile.
John looked away first. He asked, “Why all the heat? You holding some Martian realty options, Andrews?”
The politician shook his head. “Stellar is. They’ve even got some they’re thinking of selling. Or using as payment.”
John looked at Pete, and back at the politician. “You boys have been working, haven’t you? I see what you mean about not being deacons.” He looked back at Pete. “You didn’t, by any chance, go over my head on this, did you?”
Pete colored. “I’ve—talked about it with R.J.” His chin lifted. “Casually.”
John saw the why, now, of Pete’s loyalty. He didn’t want R.J.’s wrath to gimmick any deals of his own. And now, with his lie, he thought he had a sword to hold over John.
He sat there quietly, the blood pounding in his temples. Then, “Considering all that, I don’t understand why you’re wasting your time with me. Out for my job, are you, Pete?”
Pete’s face changed from red to white. “You know better than that. I’ll resign, as of now, if that’ll prove anything to you.”
John said quietly, “I’ll accept the resignation, as of now. I guess, gentlemen, we have nothing further to discuss.”
They both stood up then. Pete looked sick, Andrews calculating.
Andrews seemed to be picking his words very carefully. “I’m sure you’ll find you’ve made a serious mistake, John. Good day.”
They walked out together.
John went back to his office after another drink. They thought they had him; they didn’t know about Joy. That was his haven, that was his ace. And the red-head would be waiting.
They must have thought him a deluded lush, ready for the axe. He worked steadily at Pete’s old job, feeding the copy into the publicity channel for system coverage At 3:30, Sally phoned. Her voice was quiet. “Andrews was here, John. He knows about last night.”
“He—couldn’t.”
“He does. And he wants you to hire Pete again. Why did you fire him, John?”
“That doesn’t matter. You’re sure about Andrews?”
“He said he can prove it. He wants Pete back and he wants to go ahead with the Mars project, whatever that is.” A pulse. “He said you should call him when you came to your senses.”
“All right. I may or may not be home for dinner. Don’t plan on it.”
“John, you’re not going to—to run—”
He hung up without answering. He was a man with a single loyalty, and that was to himself. He’d come into the Stellar job as a Venusian war veteran, and been given complete freedom so far as the publicity went. He wasn’t a man who had learned to compromise.
And now that punk Furlo kid and Andrews were out to get him. He stood by the massive windows on the port side, watching the huge ships take off and land. What did a man want. Not responsibility nor labor nor the restricting corrosion of marriage.
All a man wanted was happiness. All a man wanted, to pun it, was Joy. And here was a Joy which was no illusion, despite the disbelief of them all. Waiting, was a concrete Joy. Between Minus and Fantasar, between Aronda and Velier…
A X-14L7 came spinning in from the west. Government ship, and a short range job, but adequate for the trip. Fast, a pursuit ship, and Joy would be well beyond its point of no return. But who would ever want to return from Joy?
And the X-14L7 had no beam control. It was a government ship; he couldn’t return from Joy—if he stole that.
How had that thought come? Well, where were his loyalties? A veteran; he owed nothing to this world. This world owed him happiness. Which he meant to have.
In the subterranean locker room, now, the pilot would be taking off his geneskul uniform. He had an hour to kill, on Earth, and he’d want to get out of that bulky suit.
That bulky—all-enveloping suit. That perfect disguise.
But the pilot—? Yes, John, the pilot, what about him? He’d fight—to the death. Pilots were notoriously loyal. They were constantly on guard. They slept in guarded domes and carried an atomic pistol off duty and on.
John opened the drawer of his desk and looked at his own personal weapon, relic of the Venusian war, of 40 missions in which he had killed and killed and killed.…
It was a Fostgern ray semi-automatic. It killed silently and immediately and there were a lot of empty lockers in the pilots’ room.…
He was a fair youth, and tall. He turned from his ablutions at the rinse stand, and smiled at John. He was so damnably young.
He said, “Quite time, isn’t it? All the other pilots have taken off?”
“All,” John said. “Just the two of us.” He brought out the Fostgern and saw the youth’s eyes grow wide.
“Say,” the lad said, “that’s not to play with, Mr.—”
A flash, burned flesh, a noiseless, quite horrible quivering of the young body and a soft thump on the marcasite floor.
The stench of the burned flesh seemed to hang in John’s nostrils long after he had stowed the blackened body in a locker way over near the heating room.
The memory of the lad’s startled glance seemed to burn into his brain, and the smell of his own perspiration penetrated the burned flesh scent.
John forced his mind from that, buckling himself into the huge pressure-resistant geneskul space suit.
Behind the plastic visor, he looked at himself in the mirror and saw the reflection of his own eyes. Some apprehension was mirrored there, but that was only a part of the picture. There was no horror, no remorse. There was the faint tinge of apprehension and the dominating cast of anticipation. He had crossed the line, now; no indecision fretted him.
Ahead was nothing but Joy.
He’d been drunk then, but he knew. Where it was and how to get there. He took a deep breath. And how to live, once he got there.
At the huge lead barrier, the guard smiled and gave him the thumb-up signal for “happy flight.” John nodded and went on purposefully toward the X-14L7.
As the door closed behind him, as the hydraulic pressure arm swung it tight, he seemed to come home at last. He knew the ship, an advanced model of his own Venus experiences. It was a cinch.
He set the rada-coordinator, checked the field chart above the blast-buttons. Ready to go, fueled and checked and he had the all-clear signal in the guide-panel.
A hum, a blast, the belt of his safety harness digging into the non-flexible plastic of the suit. A sharp, stabbing pain behind his eyes, and peace.
Free flight. Only the clicks of the rada-coordinator as the course was set, as the glistening saucer went spinning out toward the stars.
The moon and Mars and the black void of Gestara’s further side, and the silent, effortless travel through the Barclay asteroids.
And now, ahead, he could see the gleam of Fantasar, growing at an unbelievable rate. He set the electronic scope for all-angle coverage as the glitter of Fantasar went by to his right.
Overhead the buzz of his coordinator told him he was nearing his destination.
Ahead was Minus, clear as a harvest moon, and to his right was Aronda, to his left Velier.
Far behind him was the world and its responsibilities, the wife who grated on him, the job that kept him going, going, going, all the time, chiseling and conniving, fixing this and angling for that. Behind him was the world he couldn’t adjust to, and wouldn’t need to, now.
Another buzz from the coordinator told him he was beyond his point of no return.
John scarcely heard it as he searched the scope. There was no place in infinity where it could be, but here. There was no place in infinity, now, for him but the destination he sought avidly in the scope. His landmarks were perfectly framed, behind, before and to all sides.
But in all that void, where it had to be, there was nothing. In all that cold and desolate space there was not a sign of Joy.…