John Thomas Stuart IV was killed on the first trip to the Moon.
John Thomas V had emigrated to Mars; his son, the famous name in the family, Johnnie skipped over quickly; he had long since grown tired of being reminded that he bore the same name as General Stuart, first governor of the Martian Commonwealth after the revolution. Johnnie wondered what would have happened to his great great great grandfather if the revolution had failed? Would they have hanged him?... instead of putting up statues of him?
Much of the book was devoted to an attempt by Johnnie's grandfather to clear the name of his own grandfather-for the son of General Stuart was no public hero; instead he had sweated out his last fifteen years of life in the Triton penal colony. His wife had returned to her family on Earth and taken back her maiden name, for herself and her son.
But her son had gone proudly into court the day he was of age and had had his name changed from "Carlton Gimmidge" to "John Thomas Stuart VIII" It was he who had fetched Lummox back and he had used his bonus money from the second trip of the Trail Blazer to buy back the old homestead. He had apparently impressed on his own son that his son's grandfather had gotten a dirty deal; the son had made a great point of it in this record.
Johnnie's grandfather could himself have used an advocate to defend his name. The record stated simply that John Thomas Stuart IX had resigned from the service and had never gone into space again, but Johnnie knew that it had been a choice of that or a court martial; his own father had told him ... but he had told him also that his grandfather could have got off scotfree had he been willing to testify. His father had added, "Johnnie, I'd rather see you loyal to your friends than with your chest decked out in medals."
The old man had still been living at the time Johnnie's father told him this. On a later occasion, while Johnnie's father was out on patrol, Johnnie had tried to let him know that he knew.
Granddad had been furious. "Poppycock!" he had shouted. "They had me dead to rights."
"But Dad said your skipper was actually the one who..."
"Your Dad wasn't there. Captain Dominic was the finest skipper that ever trod steel... may his soul rest in peace. Set up the checkers, son. I'm going to beat you."
Johnnie had tried to get the straight of it after his grandfather died, but his father's answer was not direct. "Your grandfather was a romantic sentimentalist, Johnnie. It's the flaw in our make-up. Hardly sense enough in the whole line to balance a check book." He had puffed his pipe and added, "But we do have fun."
Johnnie put the books and papers away, feeling dully that it had not done him much good to read about his forebears; Lummox was still on his mind. He guessed he ought to go down and try to get some sleep.
He was turning away as the phone flashed; he grabbed it before the light could change to sound signal; he did not want his mother to wake. "Yes?"
"That you, Johnnie?"
"Yeah. I can't see you, Betty; I'm up in the attic."
"That isn't the only reason you can't. I haven't got my face on, so I've got the video switched off. Besides it's pitch dark in this hallway, since I'm not allowed to phone this time o' night. Uh, the Duchess isn't listening, is she?"
Johnnie glanced at his warning signal. "No."
"I'll make this brief. My spies report that Deacon Dreiser got the okay to go ahead."
"No!"
"Yes. Point is, what do we do about it? We can't sit still and let him."
"Uh, I've done something."
"What? Nothing silly, I hope. I shouldn't have been away today."
"Well, a Mr. Perkins..."
"Perkins? The chap who went to see Judge O'Farrell tonight?"
"Yes. How did you know?"
"Look, don't waste time. I always know. Tell me your end."
"Well ..." John Thomas gave a confused report. Betty listened without comment, which made him defensive; he found himself expounding the viewpoints of his mother and of Mr. Perkins, rather than his own. "So that's how it was," he finished lamely.
"So you told them to go climb-a tree? Good, Now here is our next move. If the Museum. can do it, we can do it. It's just a case of getting Grandpa O'Farrell to..."
"Betty, you don't understand. I sold Lummox."
"What? You sold Lummox?"
"Yes. I had to. If I didn't..."
"You sold Lummox."
"Betty, I couldn't help my..."
But she had switched off on him.
He tried to call back, got a recorded voice that said, "This instrument is out of direct service until tomorrow morning at eight. If you wish to record a message stand by for..." He switched off.
He sat holding his head and wishing he were dead. The worst of it was, Betty was right. He had let himself be badgered into doing something he knew was wrong, just because it had seemed that there was nothing else he could do.
Betty had not been fooled. Maybe what she wanted to try wasn't any good either... but she had known a wrong answer when she heard it.
He sat there, flailing himself but not knowing what to do. The more he thought, the angrier he got. He had let himself be talked into something that wasn't right... just because it was reasonable... just because it was logical... just because it was common sense.
The deuce with common sense! His ancestors hadn't used common sense, any of 'em! 'Who was he to start such a practice?
None of them had ever done the sensible thing. Why, take his great great great grandfather ... he'd found a situation he hadn't liked and he had turned a whole planet upside down through seven bloody years. Sure, they called him a hero... but does starting a revolution come under the head of common sense?
Or take... Oh, shucks, take any of 'em! There hadn't been a "good" boy in the bunch. Would granddad have sold Lummox? Why, granddad would have torn down the courthouse with his bare hands. If granddad was here, he'd be standing guard over Lummox with a gun and daring the world to touch one spine.
He certainly wasn't going to take any of Perkins' dirty money; he knew that.
But what could he do?
He could go to Mars. Under the Lafayette Law he was a citizen and could claim land. But how could he get there? Worse, how could he get Lummox there?
The trouble with that, he told himself savagely, is that it almost makes sense. And sense is no use to me.
At last he hit on a plan. It had the one virtue of having no sense to it at all; it was compounded of equal parts of folly and of risk. He felt that granddad would have liked it.
IX Customs and an Ugly Duckling
He went down to the upper hallway and listened at his mother's door. He did not expect to hear anything as her bedroom was sound-proofed; the action was instinctive. Then he returned to his own room and made rapid preparations, starting by dressing in camping clothes and mountain boots. His sleeping bag he kept in a drawer of his desk; he got it out, tucked it in a side pocket of his coat and shoved its power pack in a breast pocket. Other items of hiking and camping gear he distributed among other pockets and he was almost ready to go.
He counted his cash and swore softly; his other assets were in a savings account and now he would have no chance to draw from it. Well, it couldn't be helped... he started downstairs, then remembered an important matter. He went back to his desk.
"Dear Mum," he wrote. "Please tell Mr. Perkins that the deal is off. You can use my college money to pay back the insurance people. Lummie and I are going away and it won't do any good to try to find us. I'm sorry but we have to." He looked at the note, decided that there was no more to be said, added "Love," and signed it.
He started a note to Betty, tore it up, tried again, and finally told himself that he would send her a letter when he had more to say. He went downstairs, left the note on the dining table, then went to the pantry and picked out supplies. A few minutes later, carrying a large sack crammed with tins and packages, he went out to Lummox's house.