The Captain puffed strongly at Ms cigar. (It was a special grade manufactured for use in space and on enclosed space objects. It had an oxidant included so that atmospheric oxygen was not consumed.)
He said cautiously, “That so? Never heard of it. What is it?” Mark said indignantly, ”It's the Mnemonic Service, that's all!. It's my job to look at anything I want to and to ask anything I want to. And I've got a right to do it.”
“Can't look at the log if I don't want you to.”
“You've got no say in it, you-you nomcompos.”
The Captain's coolness evaporated. He threw his cigar down violently and stamped at it, then picked it up and poked it carefully into the ash vent.
“What the Galactic drift is this?” he demanded. “Who are you, anyway? Security agent? What's up? Let's have it straight. Right now.”
“I've told you all I have to.”
“Nothing to hide,” said the Captain, “but I've got rights.”
“Nothing to hide?” squeaked Mark. “Then why is this ship called the Triple G?”
“That's its name.”
“Go on. No such ship with an Earth registry. I knew that before I got on. I've been waiting to ask you.”
The Captain blinked. He said, “Official name is George G-Grundy. Triple G. is what everyone calls it.”
Mark laughed. “All right, then. And after I see the logbook, I want to talk to the crew. I have the right. You ask Dr. Sheffield.”
“The crew, too, eh?” The Captain seethed. “Let's talk to Dr. Sheffield, and then let's keep you in quarters till we land. Sprout!”
He snatched at the intercom box.
Four
The scientific complement of the Triple G. were few in number for the job they had to do, and, as individuals, young. Not as young as Mark Annuncio, perhaps, who was in a class by himself, but even the oldest of them, Emmanuel George Cimon (astrophysicist), was not quite thirty-nine. And with his dark, unthinned hair and large, brilliant eyes, he looked still younger. To be sure, the optic brilliance was partly due to the wearing of contact lenses.
Cimon, who was perhaps overconscious of his relative age, and of the fact that he was the titular head of the expedition (a fact most of the others were inclined to ignore) usually affected an undramatic view of the mission. He ran the dotted tape through his fingers, then let it snake silently back into its spool.
“Run of the mill,” he sighed, seating himself in the softest chair in the small passengers' lounge. “Nothing.”
He looked at the latest color photographs of the Lagrange binary and was impervious to their beauty, Lagrange I, smaller and hotter than Earth's own sun, was a brilliant green blue, with a pearly green-yellow corona surrounding it like the gold settling of an emerald. It appeared to be the size of a lentil or of a ball bearing out of a Lenser ratchet A short distance away! (as distances go on a photograph) was Lagrange II. It appeared twice the size of Lagrange I, due to its position in space. (Actually, it was only four fifths the diameter of Lagrange I, half its volume, and two thirds its mass.) Its orange red, toward which the film was less sensitive, comparatively, than was the human retina, seemed dimmer than ever against the glory of its sister sun.
Surrounding both, undrowned by the near-by suns, as the result of the differentially polarized lens specifically used for the purpose, was the unbelievable brilliance of the Hercules cluster. It was diamond dust, scattered thickly, yellow, white, blue, and red.
“Nothing,'” said Cimon.
“Looks good to me,” said the other man in the lounge. He was Groot Knoevenaagle (physician; short, plump, and known to man by no name other than Novee).
He went on to ask, “Where's Junior?” then bent over Cimon's shoulder, peering out of slightly myopic eyes.
Cimon looked up and shuddered. “Its name is not Junior. You can't see the planet, Troas, if that’s what you mean, in this damned wilderness of stars. This picture is Scientific Earthman material It isn’t particularly useful.”
“Oh, space and back!” Novee was disappointed.
“What difference is it to you, anyway?” demanded Cimon. ”Suppose I said one of those dots was Troas. Any one of them.
You wouldn't know the difference and what good would it do you?”
“Now wait, Cimon. Don't be so damned superior. It's legitimate sentiment. We’ll be living on Junior for a While. For all we know, we’ll be dying on it.”
“There's no audience, Novee, no orchestra, no mikes, no trumpets, so why be dramatic? We won't be dying on it. If we do, it'll be our own fault, and probably as a result of overeating.” He said it with the peculiar emphasis men of small appetite use when speaking to men of hearty appetite, as though a poor digestion were something that came only of rigid virtue and superior intellect.
“A thousand people did die,” said Novee softly.
“Sure. About a billion men a day die all over the Galaxy.”
“Not this way.”
“Not what way?”
With an effort, Novee kept to his usual drawl. “No discussions except at official meetings. That was the decision.”
“I'll have nothing to discuss,” said Cimon gloomily. “They're just two ordinary stars. Damned if I know why I volunteered. I suppose it was just the chance of seeing an abnormally large Trojan system from close up. It was the thought of looking at a habitable planet with a double sun. I don't know why I should have thought there'd be anything amazing about it.”
“Because you thought of a thousand dead men and women,” said Novee, then went on hastily, “Listen, tell me something, will you? What's a Trojan planet, anyway?”
The physician bore the other's look of contempt for a moment, then said, “All right. All right. So I don't know. You don't know everything either. What do you know about ultrasonic incisions?”
Cimon said, “Nothing, and I think that's fine. It's my opinion that information outside a professional man's specialty is useless and a waste of psycho-potential. Sheffield's point of view leaves me cold.”
“I still want to know. That is if you can explain it.”
“I can explain it. As a matter of fact, it was mentioned in the original briefing, if you were listening. Most multiple stars, and that means one third of all stars, have planets of a sort. The trouble, is that the planets are never habitable. If they're far enough away from the center of gravity of the stellar system to have a fairly circular orbit, they're cold enough to have helium oceans. If they're close enough to get heat, their orbit is so erratic that at least once in each revolution, they get close enough to one or another of the stars to melt iron.
“Here in the Lagrange System, however, we have an unusual case. The two stars, Lagrange I and Lagrange II, and the planet, Troas (along with its satellite, Ilium), are at die corners of an imaginary equilateral triangle. Got that? Such an arrangement happens to be a stable one, and for the sake of anything you like, don't ask me to tell you why. Just take it as my professional opinion.”
Novee muttered under his breath, “I wouldn't dream of doubting it.”
Cimon looked displeased and continued, “The system revolves as a unit. Troas is always a hundred million miles from each sun, and the suns are always a hundred million miles from one another.”
Novee rubbed his ear and looked dissatisfied. ”I know all that. I was listening at the briefing. But why is it a Trojan planet? Why Trojan?”
Cimon's thin lips compressed for a moment as though holding back a nasty word by force. He said. “We have an arrangement like that in the Solar System. The Sun, Jupiter, and a group of small asteroids form a stable equilateral triangle. It so happens that the asteroids had been given such names as Hector, Achilles, Ajax, and other heroes of the Trojan War, hence-Or do I have to finish?”