Even then they were not outside the Solar System, but between them and the stars lay nothing but the winter homes of Sol’s comets and hiding places of hypothetical trans-Plutonian planets-space in which the Sun holds options but can hardly be said to own in fee simple. But even the nearest stars were still lightyears away. New Frontiers was headed for them at a pace which crowded the heels of light-weather cold, track fast.
Out, out, and still farther out … out to the lonely depths where world lines are almost straight, undistorted by gravitation. Each day, each month … each year … their headlong flight took them farther from all humanity.
Part two
Chapter 1
The ship lunged on, alone in the desert of night, each lightyear as empty as the last. The Families built up a way of life in her.
The New Frontiers was approximately cylindrical. When not under acceleration, she was spun on her axis to give pseudo-weight to passengers near the outer skin of the ship; the outer or “lower” compartments were living quarters while the innermost or “upper” compartments were storerooms and so forth. Between compartments were shops, hydroponic farms and such. Along the axis, fore to aft, were the control room, the converter, and the main drive.
The design will be recognized as similar to that of the larger free-flight interplanetary ships in use today, but it is necessary to bear in mind her enormous size. She was a city, with ample room for a colony of twenty thousand, which would have allowed the planned complement of ten thousand to double their numbers during the long voyage to Proxima Centauri.
Thus, big as she was, the hundred thousand and more of the Families found themselves overcrowded fivefold.
They put up with it only long enough to rig for cold-sleep. By converting some recreation space on the lower levels to storage, room was squeezed out for the purpose. Somnolents require about one per cent the living room needed by active, functioning humans; in time the ship was roomy enough for those still awake. Volunteers for cold-sleep were not numerous at first-these people were more than commonly aware of death because of their unique heritage; cold-sleep seemed too much like the Last Sleep. But the great discomfort of extreme overcrowding combined with the equally extreme monotony of the endless voyage changed their minds rapidly enough to provide a steady supply for the little death as fast as they could be accommodated.
Those who remained awake were kept humping simply to get the work done-the ship’s houskeeping, tending the hydroponic farms and the ship’s auxiliary machinery and, most especially, caring for the somnolents themselves. Biomechanicians have worked out complex empirical formulas describing body deterioration and the measures which must be taken to offset it under various conditions of impressed acceleration, ambient temperature, the drugs used, and other factors such as metabolic age, body mass, sex, and so forth. By using the upper, low-weight compartments, deterioration caused by acceleration (that is to say, the simple weight of body tissues on themselves, the wear that leads to flat feet or bed sores) could be held to a minimum. But all the care of the somnolents had to be done by hand-turning them, massaging them, checking on blood sugar, testing the slow-motion heart actions, all the tests and services necessary to make sure that extremely reduced metabolism does not
slide over into death. Aside from a dozen stalls in the ship’s infirmary she had not been designed for cold-sleep passengers; no automatic machinery had been provided. All this tedious care of tens of thousands of somnolents had to be done by hand.
Eleanor Johnson ran across her friend, Nancy Weatheral, in Refectory 9-D—called “The Club” by its habitues, less flattering things by those who avoided it. Most of its frequenters were young and noisy. Lazarus was the only elder who ate there often. He did not mind noise, he enjoyed it.
Eleanor swooped down on her friend and kissed the back of her neck. “Nancy! So you are awake again! My, I’m glad to see you!”
Nancy disentangled herself. “H’lo, b~e. Don’t spill my coffee.”
“Well! Aren’t you glad to see me?”
“Of course I am. But you forget that while it’s been a year to you, it’s only yesterday to me. And I’m still sleepy.”
“How long have you been awake, Nancy?”
“A couple of hours. How’s that kid of yours?”
“Oh, he’s fine!” Eleanor Johnson’s face brightened. “You wouldn’t know him-he’s shot up fast this past year. Almost up to my shoulder and looking more like his father every day.”
Nancy changed the subject. Eleanor’s friends made a point of keeping Eleanor’s deceased husband out of the conversation. “What have you been doing while I was snoozing? Still teaching primary?” -
“Yes. Or rather ‘No.’ I stay with the age group my Hubert is in. He’s in junior secondary now.”
“Why don’t you catch a few months’ sleep and skip some of that drudgery, Eleanor? You’ll make an old woman out of yourself if you keep it up;” - -
“No,” Eleanor refused, “not until Hubert is old enough not to need me.”
“Don’t be sentimental. Half the female volunteers are women with young children. I don’t blame ‘em a bit. Look at me-from my point of view the trip so far has lasted only seven months. I could do the rest of it standing on my head.”
Eleanor looked stubborn. “No, thank you. That may be all right for you, but I am doing very nicely as I am.”
Lazarus had been sitting at the same counter doing drastic damage to a sirloin steak surrogate. “She’s afraid she’ll miss something,” he explained. “I don’t blame her. So am I.”
Nancy changed her tack. “Then have another child, Eleanor. That’ll get you relieved from routine duties.”
“It takes two to arrange that,” Eleanor pointed out.
“That’s no hazard. Here’s Lazarus, for example. He’d make a A plus father.”
Eleanor dimpled. Lazarus blushed under his permanent tan. “As a matter of fact,” Eleanor stated evenly, “I proposed to him and was turned down.”
Nancy sputtered into her coffee and looked quickly from Lazarus to Eleanor. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”
“No harm,” answered Eleanor. “It’s simply because I am one of his granddaughters, four times removed.”
“But …” Nancy fought a losing fight with the custom of privacy. “Well, goodness me, that’s well within the limits of permissible consanguinity. What’s the hitch? Or should I shut up?”
“You should,” Eleanor agreed.
Lazarus shifted uncomfortably. “I know I’m oldfashioned,” he admitted, “but I soaked up some of my ideas a long time ago. Genetics or no genetics, I just wouldn’t feel right marrying one of my own grandchildren.”
Nancy looked amazed. “I’ll say you’re oldfashioned!” She added, “Or maybe you’re just shy. I’m tempted to propose to you myself and find out.”
Lazarus glared at her. “Go ahead and see what a surprise you get!”
Nancy looked him over coolly. “Mmn …” she meditated.
Lazarus tried to outstare her, finally dropped his eyes: “I’ll have to ask you ladies to excuse me,” he said nervously. “Work to do.”
Eleanor laid a gentle hand on his arm. “Don’t go, Lazarus. Nancy is a cat and can’t help it. Tell her about the plans for landing.”