“They just glow,” Talby was whispering as he stared out the dome, “just glow as they drift in a great grand circle around the whole universe. The Phoenix Asteroids.”
Doolittle considered what Talby had said for a long time, while neither man said anything. The only sounds were occasional ship groans and mechanical belches rumbling up through the open hatch.
Doolittle finally looked up, hands folded in front of him, and spoke to Talby. “You know what I think about, Talby? You’re always talking about yourself, and Boiler and Pinback let themselves go any old time—but I’m not like that. Yet up here…” and he gazed at the heavens above, “it’s easier to talk, I think. You know what I think about?”
The astronomer didn’t respond, but looked expectantly down at him. Thus encouraged, Doolittle talked on, his hands twisting and turning on themselves.
“It’s funny… I kinda sit around a lot on the ship, alone, trying to get a lotta time to myself. I can’t talk to the others, really. I’ve never been too good at talking to anybody in the program. I don’t know why. It bothers me, Talby. I didn’t have any trouble talking to people back home. I was positively gregarious, back home.”
“We’ve all gone through a change, Doolittle,” Talby said in a sepulchral voice.
“Yeah, I guess… Anyway, with time to myself, I can think about back… back home in Malibu. Do you know where Malibu is, Talby?”
The astronomer shook his head. Mere Terran geography held little interest for him. His cartographic concerns were cosmic in scope.
“It’s a little town north of Los Angeles Megalopolis. A beach town. I lived there before I got into the program. And I used to surf all the time, Talby. I used to be a great surfer.” He paused, glanced up at the silent astronomer. “What time do you think it is back home, Talby, back in the States?”
Talby stared out the dome. “In Los Angeles; it would be about eight-oh-five in the morning.”
“Yes, sure.” Doolittle tried to hide his smile. “But what time of year?”
Talby shook his head.
“I’ll bet it’s spring,” Doolittle mused, his smile spreading. “The waves at Malibu and Zuma—that’s a beach north of Malibu, Talby—are so fantastic in the spring. I can remember running down the beach in those early spring mornings in my wet suit, my board under my arm and the fog pricking my face…” He stopped. Talby wasn’t really listening. He was watching the stars again. But it was good to talk to someone else about it.
“The waves would really be peaking, you know… high and glassy.” He might have been describing a woman now—and in a sense, he was. “You’d hit that water, just smash into it, and before you could wake up you’re coming right off one of those walls and you just ride all the way in, perfect.”
“Perfect.” Talby echoed, looking back down at him suddenly. Maybe a part of him had been listening after all.
“You know,” the lieutenant continued sadly, “I guess I miss the waves and my board more than anything.”
Talby smiled. “Tell me more about it, Doolittle.”
“You really want to hear?”
Talby nodded, and Doolittle told him about the waves…
4
PINBACK SHIFTED AWKWARDLY in the beach lounge chair and adjusted his sunglasses. It was hot on the sand today. He squinted up at the brilliant sun directly overhead.
Judging by the position of Old Sol, it was just about noontime. He’d have to get ready for lunch—but not yet. The sun felt too good right now. He glanced at his watch. Have to be careful; another ten minutes on this side and then he’d turn over and bake the other half.
Leaning back, he squirmed into a comfortable position on the lounge, fiddling slightly with his swimsuit and tank top. Just another ten minutes.
He was slipping into a comfortable half-dreamworld when the scratching sound interrupted. He tried to ignore it, but it refused to go away. Not only that, but it was getting louder. Now what?
Must be some kid nearby digging with a shovel. Have to speak to his mother. Pinback raised his glasses, leaned out from under the glare of the big sunlamp, and glanced backup the narrow corridor.
Boiler’s backside hove into view, out of place and unwelcome, thoroughly shattering the idle illusion Pinback had so carefully constructed. The corporal was dragging something heavy in the artifical gravity, a large, square piece of metal with open hinges on one side.
Pinback thought he recognized it. He watched as Boiler dragged the weighty slab over to the far end of the corridor and turned it, leaning it at an angle up against the wall, facing back at them. Then he did recognize it.
“Hey, that’s the lid to the heating unit, isn’t it?”
Boiler ignored him. He examined the lid, then knelt and readjusted it so that it rested against the wall at a slightly sharper angle. Then he rubbed his hands in evident satisfaction and walked back past Pinback.
The sergeant watched him leave. He was as puzzled as he was awake, now. Boiler’s cryptic activities seemed to have no meaning. Pinback was enlightened moments later.
Boiler reappeared and now held a large, cumbersome object cradled tightly in both arms. Even though they had used this particular instrument only once before, and a long time ago at that, Pinback knew what it was immediately.
It was the portable laser—both lighter and deadlier than it looked. Its presence in Boiler’s hands suggested unpleasant possibilities.
For a moment Pinback thought of just leaving. When Boiler got some crazy idea fixed in his Neanderthal skull, nobody could talk him out of it. Not even Doolittle. And whatever he was up to now was bound to be crazier than most.
He took a step toward the exit, then stopped. This wasn’t something he could just walk away from. If Boiler wanted to try to mutilate his own hand with his collection of knives, that was one thing. But the laser was more than a toy.
“You’re… you’re not supposed to have that out except in an emergency,” he finally managed to stutter. His beach fantasy had long since been shattered. “That’s not for target practice.”
Boiler barely bothered to glance at him. Instead, he hefted the weapon and lined up an eye with the lens-sight. While Pinback watched and fretted, Boiler pulled the trigger.
There was a short burst of intolerably bright red light. The light beam contacted the center of the propped-up lid. A brief flare of flame erupted from the wounded area as the intense heat ignited the metal itself. It died out quickly, cooling.
A neat hole surrounded by molten metal had been drilled in the lid’s middle. Boiler looked back at Pinback and smiled with pleasure. Then he licked his thumb and touched it to the sight at the far end of the laser, a back woodsman’s gesture of centuries past.
“That’s dangerous,” Pinback insisted inanely as the corporal raised the laser again. “You might cut all the way through the lid and into the ship’s circuitry. You could cut through something vital.”
Boiler fired again. There was a puff of white from the lid this time as another hole spurted tiny flames and appeared alongside the first. Boiler frowned, lowered the weapon, and began adjusting some switches set into one side.
Pinback watched him nervously, wishing Powell, wishing even Doolittle were here. He really should go and get Doolittle, but what would Boiler do if left alone?
“Suppose you cut right through the lid and then through the hull of the ship? What about that, huh?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, it’s calibrated for distance, stupid,” Boiler growled.
“So what? You could still make a mistake. It wouldn’t take much. I’ll tell Doolittle.”
Boiler’s head jerked up, and he stared dangerously at the sergeant. Boiler was right on the edge, and something just might have happened except—