“I would relinquish my post and duties except that my sense of loyalty to the program runs too high. Besides, it would endanger everyone on the ship, myself included. If this is selfish self-preservation, then so be it.”
That was the last speech. The tape froze and the in formation AWAITING TAPING flashed on the screen.
Pinback let out a deep sigh. He adjusted his tunic slightly, smoothed back some free-flying hairs, and brushed a little congealed liquid ham out of his beard. Sitting up straight and clearing his throat, he flicked another switch on the console and spoke toward the machine, staring straight ahead. His tone was even, well modulated, controlled—maybe a touch overcontrolled.
“I do not like the men on this spaceship. They are uncouth and fail to appreciate my better qualities. I have something of value to contribute to this mission, if they would only take a little of their so-precious time to recognize it.
“Today, over lunch, I attempted to improve morale and build a sense of camaraderie among the men by holding a humorous round-robin discussion of the early days of the mission. My overtures were brutally rejected.
“These men do not want a happy ship. They are deeply sick and try to compensate for their own mental misfortunes by making me feel miserable.”
He was dimly aware that he was sniffling and that this was wrong. Also unmilitary. It should not be going on the tape. But he couldn’t stop himself, and besides, it felt good. The words continued to flow.
“Last week was my birthday. Not only didn’t I get any presents but nobody ever said ‘happy birthday’ to me. And there was no cake, either. When I asked about it Boiler suggested I go stick my head in the reactor core and blow myself out.”
He sniffled again.
“Someday this tape will be played, and then they’ll be sorry.”
That seemed to be everything. Anyhow, he was sniffling too hard to make much sense, and there was no point in clogging up the tape with too much emotion, however honest or heartfelt. It wasn’t dignified.
Reaching out, he flipped down the activate switch and the Pinback on the screen disappeared. Pinback carefully removed the tape from the recorder and slipped it back into his tunic. Then he got up and headed for the sleeping area.
There were a few hours left in overdrive before they reached the target planet. Sitting down on his bunk, he methodically turned off the intercom, warning controls, everything. He didn’t want to be disturbed. He still had some time to sulk, and he didn’t want Doolittle, or Boiler, breaking in on him,
So he didn’t hear it. And Doolittle, deep into his makeshift organ, didn’t hear it either, because he turned off everything when he was playing. Everything except the plink and bang and clonk of crude hammers striking water jars and old metal containers and the rank on rank of huge pipes blasting out the Franck Grande Pièce Symphonique.
And Boiler, deep, deep in his fading girlie magazine, didn’t hear it either, not with the earmuffs on. Didn’t hear the insistent voice of the computer…
8
“ATTENTION, ATTENTION, ALL personnel. I have finally identified the malfunction.” This would have been of some import to Talby, but he was asleep. He shouldn’t have been, but no one could dictate sleep periods to Talby any longer. Besides, there would always be someone else awake if he chose to dose off at an odd moment.
They were awake, all right, but they weren’t listening.
“Communications laser number seventeen has been damaged,” the voice continued. “This damage was apparently incurred during the passage through the electromagnetic energy vortex we recently encountered.
“As you will note, this laser monitors the jettison primer on the bomb-drop mechanism. Communications laser number seventeen is located in the emergency airlock. It is crucial to attend to this malfunction before engaging primer for the next bomb-run sequence. Thank you for observing all safety precautions.”
And Boiler slept on innocently under his girlie mag and Pinback was asleep under his thoughts and Doolittle played on and on and on and Talby lay asleep thinking about tomorrow’s stars…
Talby was musing on his new sky. Waking up in the dome was the usual exhilarating experience. A beautiful morning.
What a joke that was. He hadn’t seen a morning in twenty years, except for the false tint of a sun coming up over a soon-to-be-destroyed unstable world. Morning, indeed.
And he had another job to do, as necessary as it was distasteful. That of repairing the broken communications laser. Still, it shouldn’t be too hard to fix.
As usual, he was awake before any of the others. After a quick check to make sure all ship’s systems were operating more or less normally, he made his way to the emergency airlock. No point in waking Doolittle. Be easier to tell him about the successful completion of the repair job from the comfort of the dome.
The four suits were untouched, neatly ranked side by side in the open locker. The sooner he got this job over with, the better.
He probably didn’t need the starsuit. But if for some reason the laser should backfire, the suit was just reflective enough to deflect the beam away. It wouldn’t stand up to a direct blast from the laser for even seconds, but there was no point in taking any more chances than he had to.
While he busied himself with preparations, Doolittle, Boiler, and Pinback had already risen and dressed. It was Doolittle who aborted breakfast. A quick check forward revealed that they were about to come within drop range of the target world. Pinback argued for breakfast—the planet wasn’t going anywhere, and they had a couple hundred thousand years before it grew dangerous.
But there was no restraining Doolittle. This was the last planet, the last run, the last bomb. Boiler didn’t care about that so much, but he was always ready to destroy. Eating could wait.
They moved forward, slipped into their respective seats, and began checking out instrumentation. Suddenly they were a team again, a tripartate, animate machine, all personalities forgotten.
Boiler activated the overhead screens.
“There she is.” The planet that occupied most of the telescopic finder was deep red in color, showing a surface seething with titanic volcanoes higher than three or four Everests. Spewing, vomiting the insides of the globe outward, collapsing into glowing canyons many miles in depth—an unstable world if ever they had encountered one.
“Ninety-nine-percent-plus probability,” reported Boiler, checking his gauges, “that this world will deviate from its normal orbit within another twelve thousand rotations. It’ll spiral in toward its sun and—”
“Eventual nova,” finished Pinback.
“And this system has a perfectly good Earth-type world.” He gestured at the red monster glittering on their screens. “Sounds good. Let’s vaporize it.”
Operating in perfect unison, the three men set timing devices, adjusted minute controls, prepared the Dark Star for the drop to come—a unified force operating to produce a momentary orgy of destruction.
An orgy of which this was to be the final, conclusive orgasm, and then… home.
Pinback was the first, by a split second, to lean back in his seat. “Bomb-bay systems operational.”
There was a familiar hum from deep in the bowels of the ship, and once more the white coffin labeled “20” slid smoothly out of the ventral hatch. Doolittle donned his headset, leaned forward, and worked his console.
“Lock fail-safe.”
Pinback plugged in the dual jump for the required connection overhead, smiling as he did so. Doolittle, Boiler, Pinback: the names meant nothing now. How significant… but he had no time to think about it,