And slowly the sense of motion and travel was lost, and this was the world, the known world.
It was then that he realized that he was still alone.
It was during that second week while Crispin sat at his usual table at the sidewalk cafe, that a man came over shyly and said, “Would you mind awfully if I sat with you?”
“Of course not, of course not!” Crispin said, trying to get into his tone the invitation and kindliness that he felt.
The stranger was apparently in his late forties, a sallow, rather undistinguished-looking man of small stature. His smile was warm, however. “Not much point in commenting on the weather, is there?” he said. “My name’s George Brown, Cabin seven thirty-three.”
“Why, you’re a neighbor of mine! I’m in seven thirty-two right across the corridor. Crispin Tyler.”
They shook hands. George frowned. “Not the Crispin Tyler from Intersystem! I thought you looked familiar.”
“Have I met you before?” Crispin asked, surprised.
“I attended the Merton auction a year and a half ago. You overbid me on that set of Arcturus covers.”
“Did I, now? You know, I paid too much for those. My wife, Florence, she thought I was crazy. I wanted ’em because they were carried on the last flight of the old Corsair. Had to have ’em.”
George nodded. “I know what you mean. I’m a slave too. Collecting is in my blood, I guess. Stamps, covers, uncut gem stones, original woodcuts.”
Crispin beamed with delight. “Say, that is a coincidence, Mr. Brown. I collect stones too. And you know? I brought a few of the really choice items along. Stones and covers. Couldn’t bear not to see ’em for six and a half years. Would you like a look at them?”
“I certainly would!”
“Come on then, Mr. Brown.”
“Make it George, will you?”
“If you’ll call me... uh... Cris.” Crispin had tried that before, with others. They would call him “Cris” once, or even twice, and then revert back to Crispin or all the way back to Mr. Tyler. But to his complete delight George called him Cris three times on the way down to the cabin, and did it with complete naturalness.
They had dinner together and afterward Crispin had three drinks in celebration of this new friendship. It was two over his usual limit. By Gad, this George Brown was a real fellow. Interesting, too. Going to Virginis System to set up a new population survey method for Central Census. Lonely. Had to leave his wife and kids behind too.
When Crispin awoke in the morning he realized that he had done a great deal of talking. Too much. George Brown would probably consider him a damn fool.
But to his delight George seemed glad to see him and they breakfasted together. In mid-morning George inspected the newest portfolio of watercolors and expressed his liking for them.
That evening they sat in the artificial darkness in the small park outside the theater and once again Crispin Tyler spoke aloud the thoughts and dreams that no one else had ever had time to listen to.
The happiest weeks of Crispin Tyler’s life fled by. Often he was hoarse from talking. Together they discussed philosophy, galactic law, women, the history of warfare, the responsibilities of interplanetary corporations, the probable future of science and invention, the cynicism of the younger generation — and Crispin found that they were in remarkable accord on all major points.
No man is an inexhaustible well. Crispin was proud of having at last found a friend. A great measure of the self-confidence of youth had returned to him. But after seven months spent exclusively in the eager company of George Brown, Crispin Tyler began to feel a shade oppressed. He longed for one day — one whole day — of being alone with his thoughts.
But try as he might, he could not manage it. George, though sensitive in other matters, seemed impervious to even the broadest hint. And Crispin could not quite bring himself to be blunt about it. He tried sneaking out of his cabin earlier. George would find him at breakfast, and sit down, jovial and smiling.
It almost seemed as though — Crispin shied away from the thought — as though George had to be with him. Odd! It was a strange sort of compulsion.
And in the eighth month of the trip the full implications of the ghastly suspicion began to dawn slowly and horribly on Crispin Tyler.
...Valentine McGuire’s odd look, and his chuckle. He had said, “I’m sure you’ll have a most enjoyable voyage.” And what had Florence said? “Believe me, Crispin, you will have a good voyage. I know you will. I promise it.”...
Conversation dried in his throat and he spent long hours looking obliquely at this George Brown. They would think they were doing the best thing. Damn their motives.
The purpose grew slowly within him. It was a month in growing, and after the purpose came the plan.
On the third day of the tenth month of the voyage, on Easter morning, to be exact, Crispin Tyler expressed a desire to examine George Brown’s collection of uncut gems for the third time. George Brown sat on the bed and laid out the stones. Crispin Tyler stood over him.
“Look at me, George,” Crispin said.
George looked up just as Crispin Tyler swung, with every fiber of his strength, the claw hammer he had filched from one of the hobby shops.
The membrane tore. George fell forward. The hot oil gouted onto the rug, and the eyes popped out and the little silver coils rolled across the rug, onto the metal floor, tinkle, jangle, against the wall.
Crispin Tyler walked woodenly into his cabin and shut the door and called the Service Section. He said, “This is Tyler in seven thirty-two. I’ve made a bit of a mess in seven thirty-three across the way. Would you mind cleaning it up for me? You may scrap the robot you find there. I... I have no further use for it.”
He hung up the speaker, sat on his bed, covered his face with his hands. The tears were hot on his wrists, cooling as they ran down into his sleeves. He made thin, damp noises.
Two weeks out from Virginis Port, Mallard Chang, the Starbelle’s Doctor of Recreational Therapy, worked on his trip report.
He sighed and started the next case history:
“As a further example of the benefits which can accrue from the program planned for this three-year voyage, I wish to cite the case of Mr. C.T. The subject is an executive for a large interplanetary corporation and when he boarded the Starbelle it was immediately obvious to me that here was a repressed, neurotic, shy individual capable of constituting a problem to the Recreational Staff. I found, however, that my hands were tied, as the subject had been supplied, without his knowledge, with an Android Companion, adjusted, by relatives and business associates, no doubt, to compensate for the subject’s emotional inadequacies. Since I strongly disapprove of this method of adjustment, it came as no surprise to me when I learned that, during month eleven, the subject attacked and seriously damaged the mechanism.
“Naturally, during months eleven, twelve and thirteen, many attempts were made to bring the subject out of his state of extreme depression.
“Let me point out again that the subject, though an important man in business life, had, when he boarded the Starbelle, an almost pathetic longing to be liked and appreciated.
“When, during the fourteenth month, the subject began to use the facilities of the gym and the pool, I knew that the period of gravest danger was over. He gradually increased his own exercise time until, by the end of the sixteenth month he was in exceedingly good physical condition for a man of his years, slim-waisted, with increased chest expansion, clear eyes, muscular arms and a deep tan. Toward the other passengers with whom he came in contact he was rude to the point of boorishness, having completely lost his great passion to be liked, and having become sufficient unto himself.