Authors: James White
The Watch Below (8 page)
"Doctor," said Dickson angrily, "don't be so blasted optimistic!"
It seemed that there were to be no helpful ideas from either of them,
and Wallis knew suddenly that it had been a mistake to stop and talk
like this, that anything which gave them time to think too deeply about
their predicament was a mistake. As the superior officer his display of
indecision had not helped things, either.
"We have seven more faucets and a practically unlimited supply of acetylene,"
he said firmly. "We must keep trying."
Sometime later -- the doctor estimated it at between twenty and thirty hours,
but Dickson, who had had nothing much to occupy him in his litter except
holding torches and occasionally talking to Jenny, insisted that it was
more like three days -- they had to stop trying through sheer fatigue.
Despite recent practice each installation had begun to take more time.
Radford fumbled his job with the plugs and staggered around the place as
if he were half-drunk, and Wallis, through sheer carelessness, neglected
to cover his face with the sacking mask and cowl, the result being a
scalded forehead. It wasn't a very serious injury, but the cold made
it sting.
Back in the sick bay they found the two girls asleep and Dickson wide awake,
his teeth clenched tightly, sweating and staring into the darkness above him.
He did not look at them or reply when they spoke. Radford shook two tablets
out of a bottle, hesitated, then made it four. He said, "You need to go
to sleep, Mr. Dickson."
To Wallis he said, "One good thing about all this is that we've been working
so hard that we are going to go to sleep warm for a change."
But Wallis did not go to sleep at once or, at first, completely. They had
closed all taps and disconnected all the acetylene tanks before returning
to the sick bay, but there was still an awful lot of bubbling and gurgling
going on all over the ship. Wallis tried to tell himself that this was
a good sign, but then he would contrast the total air space within the
tanks with the relatively tiny amount by which they hoped to increase
it and he would wonder if it was enough. He would argue then that the
tanker had been drifting close to the surface for more than a week and if
it was sinking only now, it must be sinking very slowly and that surely
a minute increase in over-all buoyancy would tip the balance.
But he did not know for certain, and while his mind argued wearily to
itself it began to drift more and more frequently into sleep -- a sleep
composed of a series of brief, terrifying nightmares in which his fear
became reality and where the bubbling and gurgling noises became the
sounds of their hull breaking up and a solid mass of water crashed down
on them and they tore at the metal walls around them and at each other
with their bare hands and screamed and screamed. . . .
Eventually his body's weariness would not let him wake himself from these
nightmares and somewhere along the way they changed. Wallis dreamed that
he was on the bridge of a destroyer somewhere in the Med, to judge by
the weather. It was a very pleasant dream, sheer wish-fulfillment. The
sky was blue and cloudless, the sea calm with a slight swell, the sun
was hot even through his whites, and a patch of sunburn on his forehead
itched slightly just to remind him that this wasn't Heaven. Wallis would
have been content to stay in that dream forever, but for some reason it
began to change horribly, and fade.
The sky darkened suddenly, in patches, as if it were a jigsaw puzzle
and somebody was taking pieces away. It was much too cold, he realized,
to be wearing tropical whites. And all at once the rail of the bridge
felt like coarse sacking and the salt tang of the wind became a clammy,
almost unbreathable poison which stank of sweat. But the dream did not
fade completely.
His forehead still itched, and below him the deck moved gently with the
action of the waves.
VIII
In the Unthan flagship the problem, after twenty days of constant study
and twice-daily discussions, seemed no nearer solution. Now it was the
first discussion period of the twenty-first day and the engineer had
just asked permission to speak.
"Since two coolings will cause such mental degeneration as to make it
impossible for us to operate the ship," the engineer said, "my suggestion
is that we do not risk putting ourselves into Long Sleep until the process
has been made safe."
It was normal for their problem to be restated many times -- too many times
-- during the course of these discussions, but his idea was so glaringly
obvious that it must simply be a preface to a more important suggestion.
And there was something about the engineer's manner, a peculiar air of
tension which was foreign to him, which made Deslann listen carefully
to every word.
I have been wondering," the engineer went on, "if it is possible to correct
the malfunction in the Long Sleep equipment or, alternatively, evolve a
form of treatment or medication which would negate the equipment's effect
on our minds. I realize that this would necessitate the use of an
experimental, uh, subject of our species and that this subject might
expect to sustain mental or physical injury or perhaps even death.
At the same time the reputation and ability of Healer Hellahar, who is
a specialist in this particular field, is such that I feel confident
that if any harm befell me it would be necessary to the research and
therefore unavoidable."
There was a highly uncomfortable silence when the engineer finished speaking,
and Deslann wondered why it was that in this sophisticated and perhaps
degenerate age an act of bravery could give rise to as much embarrassment
as it did respect.
"Your confidence in me is flattering and perhaps misplaced," the healer said
awkwardly when the silence had begun to drag. "We do not have the resources
aboard ship to conduct such research, nor have I, in my opinion,
the ability."
"In any case," Gerrol said in a tone aimed at further dispelling the general
embarrassment, "we could not spare you. Every single member of the crew
will be required to guide in the main body of the fleet and to land this
ship -- "
"Then why not simply cool ourselves now," one of the computer team joined
in, "and set the warm-up time so that we waken, say, a year before the
calculated arrival date, putting everything on automatic. That way we
would -- "
"Get hopelessly lost," Gerrol finished for him. He went on, "We have
insufficient reaction mass for large-scale maneuvering should we arrive
wide of the target system. Our reserves are enough only for periodic
and minor course corrections."
Somewhere in the depths of Deslann's mind an idea stirred, stretched,
then went back to sleep again. Perhaps the idea would be a useless one,
but the captain thought that he should drag it out into the light and
look at it just to make sure. Meanwhile the conversation was rolling on,
drifting inexorably away from the subject which had almost given him
an idea. He had to get them back onto the subject, but he didn't know
which subject it was.
"Let's go back a little, Gerrol," Deslann said quickly. "You said that
everyone would be needed to land the ship and guide in the fleet. But
that is not strictly true. You could do without one of the captains."
Abruptly, he stopped. The answer was staring him in the face.
And from the other side of the control room Hellahar said softly,
"You could do without the healer, too, Gerrol. The captain might need
a little help."
Deslann knew then that Hellahar had seen the answer also, that the exchange
between Gerrol and the engineer had given him the same idea and started
his mind on the same train of thought as that followed by the captain.
They stared intently at each other while Gerrol registered disapproval
at his mentioning the other captain, and the rest of the crew talked and
pretended the lapse had never occurred. Deslann had often felt impatience
with the weird ideas and activities of the Board of Psychology, but one
of their members would have been very useful to him just now.
And in the years to come.
When he had dismissed the crew with the exception of Hellahar, Deslann
decided to test the healer's thinking. The truth was that his pride was a
little hurt because Hellahar had found the answer as quickly as he himself
had seen it, and while he realized this was sheer pettiness he couldn't
help himself. And besides, the test might show that the healer had arrived
at an entirely different, and perhaps easier, solution to their problem.
Deslann said, "Since this is the flagship, the crew is the best available.
Veritable geniuses of astrogators, engineers, computers, and communicators.
Not to mention healers and captains, of course. But they, and we, are going
to have to organize this highly specialized knowledge and break it down
into easily digestible pieces. It will be a long time before we are able
to cool them."
"That aspect does not worry me," Hellahar replied. "They will realize the
importance of what they have to do. The thing which concerns me is what
we will do after they have been finally cooled. Do we pick for physical
fitness, or heredity, or a combination of the two?"
As he talked on there could be no doubt in Deslann's mind that Hellahar
had arrived independently at the same answer. Briefly, it called for
the existing crew with the exception of Hellahar and himself taking
the Long Sleep once only, which would mean that the mental effects
would be negligible, and being warmed shortly before the target system
was reached. Before the cooling, however, they would have to prepare
a written and taped record of their training, duties, and knowledge,
this data to be broken down and simplified so that the basics would be
within the mental grasp of a child.
The children and the children's children, who in the generations to come
would stand watch in the flagship and keep the great fleet together
and on course, would be the responsibility of Hellahar, the captain,
and two unfortunate females whose identities were as yet unknown.
Even though the identities of the two were not known, Hellahar was already
outlining their personalities by the simple process of eliminating traits
which in his opinion were dangerous or otherwise undesirable. Not only
had Hellahar got the idea, he was -- perhaps because of his specialty --
way ahead of the captain in some respects.
Simply picking them at random was out for several reasons, Hellahar said.
The choice might be physically or mentally unsuitable. Or if capable of
withstanding the considerable shock of being told of the situation and
her position in it, the female in question might already be mated and
emotionally tied to another Long Sleeper and this would be a psychological
barrier too difficult to overcome. Even as it was, warming two females
and requesting that they mate with them because the safety of the fleet
and the continuance of the race demanded it was not going to be easy.
It was very rare to find a female whose thought processes were not colored
and to some extent guided by emotional considerations, and they would be
unlikely to find two of them who would be willing to accept logical argument
as a form of courtship. . . .
". . . Fortunately for us," the healer went on, "there is a medical profile
of each Long Sleeper attached to their tanks, and a great deal of
psychological data can be gathered from a purely medical case history --
especially when the history gives endocrinological details and an outline
of heredity factors. These data give, however, only a general idea of
the personalities concerned, which is going to make our final choice a
very uncertain business."
As he had been speaking Hellahar's initial excitement had dwindled until
now he sounded deadly serious, even afraid.
"First," he continued grimly, "they will have to be in good physical
condition. There must be no history of hereditary diseases. They must
be psychologically stable, intelligent, and adaptable. At the same
time there must be the widest possible difference in their generic
background, because from the third generation on there will be the
problem of inbreeding to consider -- "
"Where," Deslann broke in quietly, "does er, uh, beauty place on this list
of yours, Healer?"
Hellahar stammered, fell silent, and gave the captain a long, searching
look. Then he said, "With intelligence and stability and good health
on the list, the other goes without saying. A physically efficient
person is normally, uh, well-constructed -- it's a simple matter of
good design. And it could be argued that a beautiful female is much
more likely to be psychologically stable than an ugly one, so that we
are forced to choose the former type.
"Also," he went on, "since females are more susceptible to emotional
rather than logical arguments, and since for the best results the emotion
in question must be a two-way affair, in my opinion it is vital that we
choose the sort of person we can feel emotional about.
"There are many reasons," Hellahar concluded seriously, "why we should pick
the best-looking ones."
"I'm glad," said Deslann, just as seriously.
They both laughed then, loudly and long and at the same time a little
self-consciously because they both knew there was nothing at all to laugh
at in the situation. They were two children laughing in the dark to show
they weren't afraid of the Big Black Gobbler. It was a most uncomfortable,
unsatisfying laugh, and it was the last they were going to have for a
very long time.
For there was nothing in the least amusing about Deslann's explanation
of his idea to the rest of the crew, or the more detailed planning and
subsequent orders which followed it. There was nothing funny about the
responsibility he bore -- a little matter of the continued survival or the
extinction of his whole race -- or about the many second thoughts he had.
"Why can't we simply warm two couples?" he said to Hellahar some weeks
later during one of his periods of self-doubt. "That would relieve us
of the initial problem with the females."
"Wouldn't work," replied the healer, respectfully but definitely. "We must
teach the children, subject them to training and disciplines which will be
harsh at times. We could not do that without interference if the children
were not our own. Besides, there is still a lot to do before the problem
of how best to woo our future mates comes up. . . ."
It seemed that there were to be no helpful ideas from either of them,
and Wallis knew suddenly that it had been a mistake to stop and talk
like this, that anything which gave them time to think too deeply about
their predicament was a mistake. As the superior officer his display of
indecision had not helped things, either.
"We have seven more faucets and a practically unlimited supply of acetylene,"
he said firmly. "We must keep trying."
Sometime later -- the doctor estimated it at between twenty and thirty hours,
but Dickson, who had had nothing much to occupy him in his litter except
holding torches and occasionally talking to Jenny, insisted that it was
more like three days -- they had to stop trying through sheer fatigue.
Despite recent practice each installation had begun to take more time.
Radford fumbled his job with the plugs and staggered around the place as
if he were half-drunk, and Wallis, through sheer carelessness, neglected
to cover his face with the sacking mask and cowl, the result being a
scalded forehead. It wasn't a very serious injury, but the cold made
it sting.
Back in the sick bay they found the two girls asleep and Dickson wide awake,
his teeth clenched tightly, sweating and staring into the darkness above him.
He did not look at them or reply when they spoke. Radford shook two tablets
out of a bottle, hesitated, then made it four. He said, "You need to go
to sleep, Mr. Dickson."
To Wallis he said, "One good thing about all this is that we've been working
so hard that we are going to go to sleep warm for a change."
But Wallis did not go to sleep at once or, at first, completely. They had
closed all taps and disconnected all the acetylene tanks before returning
to the sick bay, but there was still an awful lot of bubbling and gurgling
going on all over the ship. Wallis tried to tell himself that this was
a good sign, but then he would contrast the total air space within the
tanks with the relatively tiny amount by which they hoped to increase
it and he would wonder if it was enough. He would argue then that the
tanker had been drifting close to the surface for more than a week and if
it was sinking only now, it must be sinking very slowly and that surely
a minute increase in over-all buoyancy would tip the balance.
But he did not know for certain, and while his mind argued wearily to
itself it began to drift more and more frequently into sleep -- a sleep
composed of a series of brief, terrifying nightmares in which his fear
became reality and where the bubbling and gurgling noises became the
sounds of their hull breaking up and a solid mass of water crashed down
on them and they tore at the metal walls around them and at each other
with their bare hands and screamed and screamed. . . .
Eventually his body's weariness would not let him wake himself from these
nightmares and somewhere along the way they changed. Wallis dreamed that
he was on the bridge of a destroyer somewhere in the Med, to judge by
the weather. It was a very pleasant dream, sheer wish-fulfillment. The
sky was blue and cloudless, the sea calm with a slight swell, the sun
was hot even through his whites, and a patch of sunburn on his forehead
itched slightly just to remind him that this wasn't Heaven. Wallis would
have been content to stay in that dream forever, but for some reason it
began to change horribly, and fade.
The sky darkened suddenly, in patches, as if it were a jigsaw puzzle
and somebody was taking pieces away. It was much too cold, he realized,
to be wearing tropical whites. And all at once the rail of the bridge
felt like coarse sacking and the salt tang of the wind became a clammy,
almost unbreathable poison which stank of sweat. But the dream did not
fade completely.
His forehead still itched, and below him the deck moved gently with the
action of the waves.
VIII
In the Unthan flagship the problem, after twenty days of constant study
and twice-daily discussions, seemed no nearer solution. Now it was the
first discussion period of the twenty-first day and the engineer had
just asked permission to speak.
"Since two coolings will cause such mental degeneration as to make it
impossible for us to operate the ship," the engineer said, "my suggestion
is that we do not risk putting ourselves into Long Sleep until the process
has been made safe."
It was normal for their problem to be restated many times -- too many times
-- during the course of these discussions, but his idea was so glaringly
obvious that it must simply be a preface to a more important suggestion.
And there was something about the engineer's manner, a peculiar air of
tension which was foreign to him, which made Deslann listen carefully
to every word.
I have been wondering," the engineer went on, "if it is possible to correct
the malfunction in the Long Sleep equipment or, alternatively, evolve a
form of treatment or medication which would negate the equipment's effect
on our minds. I realize that this would necessitate the use of an
experimental, uh, subject of our species and that this subject might
expect to sustain mental or physical injury or perhaps even death.
At the same time the reputation and ability of Healer Hellahar, who is
a specialist in this particular field, is such that I feel confident
that if any harm befell me it would be necessary to the research and
therefore unavoidable."
There was a highly uncomfortable silence when the engineer finished speaking,
and Deslann wondered why it was that in this sophisticated and perhaps
degenerate age an act of bravery could give rise to as much embarrassment
as it did respect.
"Your confidence in me is flattering and perhaps misplaced," the healer said
awkwardly when the silence had begun to drag. "We do not have the resources
aboard ship to conduct such research, nor have I, in my opinion,
the ability."
"In any case," Gerrol said in a tone aimed at further dispelling the general
embarrassment, "we could not spare you. Every single member of the crew
will be required to guide in the main body of the fleet and to land this
ship -- "
"Then why not simply cool ourselves now," one of the computer team joined
in, "and set the warm-up time so that we waken, say, a year before the
calculated arrival date, putting everything on automatic. That way we
would -- "
"Get hopelessly lost," Gerrol finished for him. He went on, "We have
insufficient reaction mass for large-scale maneuvering should we arrive
wide of the target system. Our reserves are enough only for periodic
and minor course corrections."
Somewhere in the depths of Deslann's mind an idea stirred, stretched,
then went back to sleep again. Perhaps the idea would be a useless one,
but the captain thought that he should drag it out into the light and
look at it just to make sure. Meanwhile the conversation was rolling on,
drifting inexorably away from the subject which had almost given him
an idea. He had to get them back onto the subject, but he didn't know
which subject it was.
"Let's go back a little, Gerrol," Deslann said quickly. "You said that
everyone would be needed to land the ship and guide in the fleet. But
that is not strictly true. You could do without one of the captains."
Abruptly, he stopped. The answer was staring him in the face.
And from the other side of the control room Hellahar said softly,
"You could do without the healer, too, Gerrol. The captain might need
a little help."
Deslann knew then that Hellahar had seen the answer also, that the exchange
between Gerrol and the engineer had given him the same idea and started
his mind on the same train of thought as that followed by the captain.
They stared intently at each other while Gerrol registered disapproval
at his mentioning the other captain, and the rest of the crew talked and
pretended the lapse had never occurred. Deslann had often felt impatience
with the weird ideas and activities of the Board of Psychology, but one
of their members would have been very useful to him just now.
And in the years to come.
When he had dismissed the crew with the exception of Hellahar, Deslann
decided to test the healer's thinking. The truth was that his pride was a
little hurt because Hellahar had found the answer as quickly as he himself
had seen it, and while he realized this was sheer pettiness he couldn't
help himself. And besides, the test might show that the healer had arrived
at an entirely different, and perhaps easier, solution to their problem.
Deslann said, "Since this is the flagship, the crew is the best available.
Veritable geniuses of astrogators, engineers, computers, and communicators.
Not to mention healers and captains, of course. But they, and we, are going
to have to organize this highly specialized knowledge and break it down
into easily digestible pieces. It will be a long time before we are able
to cool them."
"That aspect does not worry me," Hellahar replied. "They will realize the
importance of what they have to do. The thing which concerns me is what
we will do after they have been finally cooled. Do we pick for physical
fitness, or heredity, or a combination of the two?"
As he talked on there could be no doubt in Deslann's mind that Hellahar
had arrived independently at the same answer. Briefly, it called for
the existing crew with the exception of Hellahar and himself taking
the Long Sleep once only, which would mean that the mental effects
would be negligible, and being warmed shortly before the target system
was reached. Before the cooling, however, they would have to prepare
a written and taped record of their training, duties, and knowledge,
this data to be broken down and simplified so that the basics would be
within the mental grasp of a child.
The children and the children's children, who in the generations to come
would stand watch in the flagship and keep the great fleet together
and on course, would be the responsibility of Hellahar, the captain,
and two unfortunate females whose identities were as yet unknown.
Even though the identities of the two were not known, Hellahar was already
outlining their personalities by the simple process of eliminating traits
which in his opinion were dangerous or otherwise undesirable. Not only
had Hellahar got the idea, he was -- perhaps because of his specialty --
way ahead of the captain in some respects.
Simply picking them at random was out for several reasons, Hellahar said.
The choice might be physically or mentally unsuitable. Or if capable of
withstanding the considerable shock of being told of the situation and
her position in it, the female in question might already be mated and
emotionally tied to another Long Sleeper and this would be a psychological
barrier too difficult to overcome. Even as it was, warming two females
and requesting that they mate with them because the safety of the fleet
and the continuance of the race demanded it was not going to be easy.
It was very rare to find a female whose thought processes were not colored
and to some extent guided by emotional considerations, and they would be
unlikely to find two of them who would be willing to accept logical argument
as a form of courtship. . . .
". . . Fortunately for us," the healer went on, "there is a medical profile
of each Long Sleeper attached to their tanks, and a great deal of
psychological data can be gathered from a purely medical case history --
especially when the history gives endocrinological details and an outline
of heredity factors. These data give, however, only a general idea of
the personalities concerned, which is going to make our final choice a
very uncertain business."
As he had been speaking Hellahar's initial excitement had dwindled until
now he sounded deadly serious, even afraid.
"First," he continued grimly, "they will have to be in good physical
condition. There must be no history of hereditary diseases. They must
be psychologically stable, intelligent, and adaptable. At the same
time there must be the widest possible difference in their generic
background, because from the third generation on there will be the
problem of inbreeding to consider -- "
"Where," Deslann broke in quietly, "does er, uh, beauty place on this list
of yours, Healer?"
Hellahar stammered, fell silent, and gave the captain a long, searching
look. Then he said, "With intelligence and stability and good health
on the list, the other goes without saying. A physically efficient
person is normally, uh, well-constructed -- it's a simple matter of
good design. And it could be argued that a beautiful female is much
more likely to be psychologically stable than an ugly one, so that we
are forced to choose the former type.
"Also," he went on, "since females are more susceptible to emotional
rather than logical arguments, and since for the best results the emotion
in question must be a two-way affair, in my opinion it is vital that we
choose the sort of person we can feel emotional about.
"There are many reasons," Hellahar concluded seriously, "why we should pick
the best-looking ones."
"I'm glad," said Deslann, just as seriously.
They both laughed then, loudly and long and at the same time a little
self-consciously because they both knew there was nothing at all to laugh
at in the situation. They were two children laughing in the dark to show
they weren't afraid of the Big Black Gobbler. It was a most uncomfortable,
unsatisfying laugh, and it was the last they were going to have for a
very long time.
For there was nothing in the least amusing about Deslann's explanation
of his idea to the rest of the crew, or the more detailed planning and
subsequent orders which followed it. There was nothing funny about the
responsibility he bore -- a little matter of the continued survival or the
extinction of his whole race -- or about the many second thoughts he had.
"Why can't we simply warm two couples?" he said to Hellahar some weeks
later during one of his periods of self-doubt. "That would relieve us
of the initial problem with the females."
"Wouldn't work," replied the healer, respectfully but definitely. "We must
teach the children, subject them to training and disciplines which will be
harsh at times. We could not do that without interference if the children
were not our own. Besides, there is still a lot to do before the problem
of how best to woo our future mates comes up. . . ."
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