Tau zero (14 page)

Reymont said, spacing his words: "The regulation limiting use wasn't written for fun, Dr. Williams. Too much is worse than none. It becomes addictive. The end result is insanity."

"Listen." The chemist made an obvious effort to curb his wrath. "People aren't identical. You may think we can be stretched and trimmed to fit your pattern—you and your dragooning us into calisthenics, your arranging work details that a baby could see aren't for anything except to keep us busy a few hours a day, your smashing the still that Pedro Barrios built—your whole petty dictatorship, ever since we veered off on this Flying Dutchman chase—" He lowered his volume. "Listen," he said. "Those regulations. Like here. They're written to make sure nobody gets an overdose. Of course. But how do you know that some of us are getting enough? We've all got to spend time in the boxes. You too, Constable Iron Man. You too."

"Certainly—" Reymont was interrupted:

"How can you tell how much another guy may need? You don't

have the sensitivity God gave a cockroach. Do you know one mucking thing about Emma? I do. I know she's a fine, courageous woman . . . perfectly well able to judge her own necessities and guide herself . . . she doesn't need you to run her life for her." Williams pointed. "There's the door. Use it."

"Norbert, don't." Glassgold climbed from the casket and tried to go between the men. Reymont eased her aside and answered Williams:

"If exceptions are to be made, the ship's physician is the person to determine them. Not you. She has to see Dr. Latvala anyway, after this. She can ask him for a medical authorization."

"I know how far she'll get with him. That louse won't even issue tranquilizers."

"We've years ahead of us. Unforeseeable troubles to outlive. If we start getting dependent on pacifiers—"

"Did you ever think without some such help, we'll go crazy and die? We'll decide for ourselves, thank you. Get out, I said!"

Glassgold sought again to intervene. Reymont had to seize her by the arms to move her.

"Take your hands off her, you swine!" Williams charged with both fists flailing.

Reymont released Glassgold and drifted back, into the hall where room for maneuvering was available. Williams yelped and followed. Reymont guarded himself against the inexpert blows until, after a minute, he sprang. A karate flurry and two strokes sent Williams to the deck. He huddled, retching. Blood dripped from his nose.

Glassgold wailed and ran to him. She knelt, pulled him close, glared up at Reymont. "Aren't you brave?" she spat.

The constable spread his palms. "Was I supposed to let him hit me?"

"You c-c-could have left."

"Impossible. My duty is to maintain order on board. Until Captain Telander relieves me, I'll continue to do so."

"Very well," Glassgold said between her teeth. "We are going to him. I am lodging a formal complaint."

Reymont shook his head. "It was explained and agreed on when this situation developed, the skipper mustn't be bothered with our bickerings. He has to think of the ship."

Williams groaned his way back toward full consciousness.

"We will see First Officer Lindgren," Reymont said. "I have to file charges against both of you."

Glassgold compressed her lips. "As you wish."

"Not Lin'gren," Williams mouthed. "Lin'gren an' him, they was—"

"No longer," Glassgold said. "She couldn't stand any more of him, even before the accident. She will be fair." With her help, Williams got dressed and limped to the command deck.

Several people saw the group pass and started to ask what had happened. Reymont snapped them into silence. The looks they returned were sullen. At the first intercom call box, he dialed Lindgren and requested her to be in the interview room.

It was minuscule but soundproof, a place for confidential hearings and necessary humiliations. Lindgren sat behind the desk. She had donned a uniform. The fluoropanel spilled light onto her frost-blond hair; the voice in which she bade Reymont commence, after they were all seated, was equally cold.

He gave a terse account of the incident. "I charge Dr. Glassgold with violation of a hygienic rule," he finished, "and Dr. Williams with assault on a peace officer."

"Mutiny?" Lindgren inquired. Dismay sprang forth on Williams.

"No, madame. Assault will suffice," Reymont said. To the chemist: "Consider yourself lucky. We can't psychologically afford a trial, which a charge of mutiny would bring. Not unless you persist in this kind of behavior."

"That will do, Constable," Lindgren clipped. "Dr. Glassgold, will you give me your version?"

Anger still upbore the biologist. "I plead guilty to the violation as alleged," she declared firmly, "but I am asking for a review of my case—of everybody's case—as provided by the articles. Not Dr. Latvala's sole judgment; a board of officers and my colleagues. As for the fight, Norbert was intolerably provoked, and he was made the victim of sheer viciousness."

"Your statement, Dr. Williams?"

"I don't know how I stand under your fool reg—" The American checked himself. "Pardon me, ma'm," he said, a trifle thickly through his puffed lips. "I never did memorize space law. I thought common sense and good will would see us through. Reymont may be technically in the right, but I've had about my limit of his brass-headed interference."

"Then, Dr. Glassgold, Dr. Williams, are you willing to abide by my sentence? You are entitled to a trial if you desire it."

Williams achieved a lopsided smile. "Matters are bad enough already, ma'm. I suppose this has to go in the log, but maybe it doesn't have to go in the whole crew's ears."

"Oh yes," Glassgold breathed. She caught Williams' hand.

Reymont opened his mouth. "You are under my authority, Consta-

ble," Lindgren intercepted him. "You may, of course, appeal to the captain."

"No, madame," Reymont answered.

"Well, then." Lindgren leaned back. Her countenance thawed. "I order accusations on every side of this case dropped—or, rather, never be filed. This is not to be entered on any record. Let us talk the problem out as among human beings who are all in, shall I say, the same boat."

"Him too?" Williams jerked a thumb at Reymont.

"We must have law and discipline, you know," Lindgren said mildly. "Without them, we die. Perhaps Constable Reymont gets overzealous. Or perhaps not. In any event, he is the single police and military specialist we have. If you dissent from him . . . that's what I'm here for. Do relax. I'll send for coffee."

"If the first officer pleases," Reymont said, "I'll excuse myself."

"No, we have things to say to you," Glassgold snapped.

Reymont kept his eyes on Lindgren's. It was as if sparks flew between. "As you explained, madame," he said, "my job is to preserve the rules of the ship. No more, no less. This has become something else: a personal counseling session. I'm sure the lady and gentleman will talk easier without me."

"I believe you are right, Constable." She nodded. "Dismissed."

He rose, saluted, and left. On his way upstairs he encountered Freiwald, who greeted him. He had kept some approximation of cordiality with his half dozen deputies.

He entered his cabin. The beds were down, joined into one. Chi-Yuen sat on it. She wore a light, frilly peignoir which made her resemble a little girl, a sad one. "Hello," she said tonelessly. "You have thunder in your face. What happened?"

Reymont settled beside her and related it.

"Well," she asked, "can you blame them very much?"

"No. I suppose not. Though—I don't know. This band was intended to be the best Earth could offer. Intelligence, education, stable personality, health, dedication. And they knew they'd likely never come home again. At a minimum, they'd return to countries older than the ones they left by the better part of a century." Reymont ran fingers through his wire-brush hair. "So things have changed," he sighed. "We're off to an unknown destiny, maybe to death, certainly to complete isolation. But is it that different from what we were planning on from the start? Should it make us go to pieces?"

"It does," Chi-Yuen said.

"You too. I've been meaning to take that up with you." He gave her

a ferocious look. "You were busy at first, your amusements, your theoretical work, your programming the studies you wanted to carry out in the Beta Vee System. And when the trouble hit us, you responded well."

A ghostly smile crossed her. She patted his cheek. "You inspired me.

"Since then, however . . . more and more, you sit doing nothing. We had the beginnings of something real, you and I; but you don't often make meaningful contact with me of late. You're seldom interested in talk or sex or anything, including other people. No more work. No more big daydreams. Not even crying into your pillow after lights out . . . oh yes, I'd lie awake and hear you. Why, Ai-Ling? What's happening to you? To them?"

"I imagine we have not quite your raw will to survive at any cost," she said, almost inaudibly.

"I'd consider some prices for life too high myself. Here, though— We have what we need. A certain amount of comfort to boot. An adventure like nothing ever before. What's wrong?"

"Do you know what the year is on Earth?" she countered.

"No. I was the one who got Captain Telander to order that particular clock removed. Too morbid an attitude was developing around it."

"Most of us can make our own estimates anyway." She spoke in a level, indifferent voice. "At present, I believe it is about anno Domini 10,000 at home. Give or take several centuries. And yes, I learned in school about the concept of simultaneity breaking down under relativists conditions. And I remember that the century mark was expected to be the great psychological hurdle. In spite of that, these mounting dates have meaning. They make us absolute exiles. Already. Irrevocably. No longer simply our kinfolk must be extinct. Our civilization must be. What has happened on Earth? Throughout the galaxy? What have men done? What have they become? We will never share in it. We cannot."

He tried to break her apathy with sharpness: "What of that? On Beta Three, the maser would have brought us words a generation old. Nothing else. And our individual deaths would have closed us off from the universe. The common fate of man. Why should we whine if ours takes an unexpected shape?"

She regarded him gravely before she told him, "You don't really want an answer for yourself. You want to pull one out of me."

Startled, he said, "Well . . . yes."

"You understand people better than you let on. Your business, no doubt. You tell me what our trouble is."

"Loss of control over life," he replied at once. "The crew aren't in such bad condition yet. They have their jobs. But the scientists, like you, had vowed themselves to Beta Virginis. They had heroic, exciting work to look forward to, and meanwhile their preparations to make. Now they've no idea what will happen. They know just that it'll be something altogether unpredictable. That it may be death—because we are taking frightful risks—and they can do nothing to help, only sit passive and be carried. Of course their morale cracks."

"What do you think we should do, Charles?"

"Well, in your case, for instance, why not continue your work? Eventually we'll be searching for a world to settle on. Planetology will be vital to us."

"You're aware what the odds are against that. We are going to keep on this devil's hunt until we die."

"Damnation, we can improve the odds!"

"How?"

"That's one of the things you ought to be working on."

She smiled again, a little more alive. "Charles, you make me want to. If for no other reason than to make you stop flogging at me. Is that why you are so tough with the others?"

He considered her. "You've borne up better than most thus far," he said. "It might help you get back your purpose if I share what I'm doing with you. Can you keep a trade secret?"

Her glance actually danced. "You should know me that well by now." One bare foot rubbed across his thigh.

He patted it and chuckled. "An old principle," he said. "Works in military and paramilitary organizations. I've been applying it here. The human animal wants a father-mother image but, at the same time, resents being disciplined. You can get stability like this: The ultimate authority-source is kept remote, godlike, practically unapproachable. Your immediate superior is a mean son of a bitch who makes you toe the mark and whom you therefore detest. But his own superior is as kind and sympathetic as rank allows. Do you follow me?"

She laid a finger to her temple. "Not really."

"Take our present situation. You'd never guess how I juggled, those first few months after we hit the nebulina. I don't claim credit for the whole development. A lot of it was natural, almost inevitable. The logic of our problem brought it about, given some nursing by me. The end result is that Captain Telander's been isolated. His infallibility doesn't have to cope with essentially unfixable human messes like the one today."

"Poor man." Chi-Yuen looked closely at Reymont. "Lindgren is his surrogate for those?"

He nodded. "I'm the traditional top sergeant. Hard, harsh, demanding, overbearing, inconsiderate, brutal. Not so bad as to start a petition for my removal. But enough to irritate, to be disliked, although respected. That's good for the troops. It's healthier to be mad at me than to dwell on personal woes ... as you, my love, have been doing.

"Lindgren smooths things out. As first officer, she sustains my power. But she overrules me from time to time. She exercises her rank to bend regulations in favor of mercy. Therefore she adds benignity to the attributes of Ultimate Authority."

Reymont frowned. "The system's carried us this far," he finished. "It's beginning to fail. We'll have to add a new factor."

Chi-Yuen went on gazing at him until he shifted uncomfortably on the mattress. At last she asked, "Did you plan this with Ingrid?"

"Eh? Oh no. Her role demands she not be a Machiavelli type who'd play a part deliberately."

"You understand her so well . . . from past acquaintance?"

"Yes." He reddened. "What of it? These days we keep it purely formal. For obvious reasons."