But the astronauts had all asked that before, and the reply was always the same: It was wasteful. Crumbs always got lost. Bones were sheer space-takers, as were skin and fat and gristle—except in proper liquid portions. On the other hand, the concentrated liquids were neat, there was virtually no waste except for occasional spilled drops—and even these were recoverable—and they could be rapidly and easily recycled. Furthermore, they were exceedingly simple to prepare.
All of which Doolittle recognized and none of which he agreed with. Had there actually been a time when he had felt that the overflavored concentrates tasted good? Or had that, too, been another lie to get him on the mission?
Now more than ever he regretted the explosion which had cost them Boiler’s supply of real food. “Swiss cheese and knockwurst and thick gooey peanut butter,” Boiler had said, and more. Doolittle suddenly, surprisingly, found his mouth watering.
That was it—think about Boiler’s lost cache while slurping down this oily mess. Think about rye bread and onion rolls, and hot corned beef with mustard.
He tore the corner off one of the plastic tubes, dropped it in the proper recycling receptacle (inorganic), and began sucking at the liquified vegetable inside.
The thoughts seemed to help a little… split pea soup and crab gumbo and turkey gravy… though he would have traded his next week’s rations for a single thick, greasy salami.
“Hey, Doolittle.” Pinback was sucking on a tube of blue fluid.
“Yeah?”
“Think we’ll ever find any real intelligent life out there? I mean, the Beachball had something, but it wasn’t real intelligence.” At least I don’t think it was… I hope it wasn’t, he thought silently.
“Out where?” Doolittle didn’t look up.
“Oh, you know… where we’re heading now. The Veil Nebula region.”
The frustration and boredom and reality of twenty long years in empty space found expression in Doolittle’s terse reply. If someone back at Earth Base had told him he would have felt this way, been capable of voicing such words at any time during the mission, Doolittle would have laughed at him.
But the sentiment came easily now, with a casual bitterness he barely noted.
“Who cares…”
7
TALBY STEPPED CAREFULLY down the ladder and headed purposefully toward the seldom-used corridor deep in the center of the Dark Star. The green glow of the lights set in the walls and ceiling marked the way to central computer.
He could have gone forward to the control room-bridge and used the annex there, but he wanted to check out something on the main computer itself. Besides, the central computer room was actually closer to the dome than the bridge. And he didn’t see the need to alarm the others. Besides, they were enjoying their dinners now. No point in disturbing them unless the problem turned out to require their help. He was uncomfortable down here. Odd how nervous he became these days, away from the friendly stars. There had been a time when he’d felt perfectly at home within the ship. A long time ago.
“Back, Talby,” the heavens whispered. “Come back.”
“It’s just for a couple of minutes, that’s all,” he murmured to himself, “Only a couple of minutes. But if there’s a possibility of a serious malfunction, then I have to check it out. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Come back, Talby…”
“I have to… because I don’t think Doolittle or the others will. They don’t care anymore.”
“Back, Talby,” a red giant whispered, a titantic voice roaring in his brain. “Back to us, Talby,” replied a mild sun not unlike old Sol.
A ghostly quartet moaned at him with a combined voice like rising wind over a lake—a remarkable quaternary system of four stars circling about one another.
He had to check out the indicated malfunction. A switch, and the double-shielded door slid aside.
“Hey,” said Pinback, pausing in the middle of a tube of dessert, “did I ever tell you guys how I got on this mission? Did I ever tell you?”
Doolittle indicated the tiny bottle on the table, and Boiler passed it to him. It consisted of auxiliary flavoring, and the meals computer changed its contents daily. He tried it in one tube. Vanilla today—interesting, even with the potatoes.
“Yes, you did, Pinback,” he replied.
But the sergeant was off, and nothing short of catastrophe could stop him.
“It’s very strange, you know, how it happened, but—”
Boiler groaned softly. “There he goes again.”
“Don’t get excited, Boiler,” Doolittle advised. “It won’t do any good and it won’t shut him up. He’s got to finish.”
Boiler turned away.
“I wasn’t an astronaut to begin with, see.”
Wait a minute—what was he saying? Of course he had been an astronaut! Then Pinback smiled inside. Might as well get the crazy story out. It was only a dream, of course. Just a weird dream that had been repeating itself over the years. It seemed very real, but naturally most dreams did.
Still, it was peculiar that he should find himself repeating so many times. At least it was amusing. And he seemed to be having it less and less now.
“See, to qualify for astronaut rating, you had to score at least seven hundred on the Officer’s Corps SARE’s,” he explained. “And I made fifty-eight… but I wanted to stay in the program. So they put me into liquid-fuel maintenance on the launch pad, working with the boosters for the starship.
“The boosters were liquid fueled, of course, since the Dark Star couldn’t use its overdrive field within the Earth’s gravitational influence. It was an important job and—”
Boiler glared back at him, but this time it failed to intimidate Pinback, just as Doolittle had indicated.
“Ah, naturally I was…” Pinback was aware of Boiler’s unpleasant scrutiny and strove not to look at him, “… ah, really disappointed. I wanted to be an astronaut in the worst way, and I don’t think those tests ever really measure your capability…”
“He told us this,” Boiler mused while Pinback rambled on, “four years ago last, didn’t he?”
“I mean, you know, I’d always had this urge to help push back the frontiers of space, get habitable systems ready for the colony ships. Anyway, I was on duty on the pad when they were getting ready to launch the ship… the Dark Star.”
Doolittle sipped at the last of his dinner. “No, I think it was four years ago.”
“… I was checking out the fuel lines on the big KG tanks at the time…”
“That’s what I said,” a puzzled Boiler commented. Doolittle looked over at him and frowned slightly.
“… And this astronaut came running out from behind the crew-isolation shed. He was stark naked, and he had his starsuit in one hand and, well, I evaluated the situation and immediately surmised that he was insane.
“He threw his starsuit on the ground. Then he saw me and gave me this really funny look, you know, and then I was sure he was insane, which really bothered me, because those guys are supposed to be about the stablest people there are. Then he opened the lid on the KG tank and jumped in.” Pinback’s tone turned earnest. “He was holding his nose, but I was sure that wouldn’t make much difference, guys, because as you probably know, liquid KG is kept at about minus two hundred and twenty degrees Centigrade and is pretty corrosive stuff besides.