And in the corridor outside sleeping quarters, muffled voices, saying, “Fox doesn’t care what happens to the ship or the men. It’s the glory for himself he wants.”
Or, “—couldn’t get a crew to sign up the regular way, that’s what it means.”
Or, “Sure he’s Commander, but he’s beyond his rights, I tell you! No court on Earth would back him up if the facts were known.”
And behind it all, always present here or there, was Peter Brigham, never saying much, only a word here, a malicious
grin there, a question at the right moment in another place.
And Tom Lorry, worry heavy on his quizzical face as he went about the ship, showing the strain and trying to hide it, trying to grasp the full meaning of the tension that built up, and not quite succeeding.
And Paul Morehouse, navigator, his usually affable expression gone, lines of worry on his face too as he checked the bearings and recalculated the course, underscored the day’s progress for his report to the skipper.
And Walter Fox, his pale blue eyes alert, but always firm, always confident as he moved about the ship, checking preparations, a nod here, a smile there, oblivious to the cold looks, the short answers, the whispers.
Another day, more whispers, new complaints. Peter Brigham carefully avoiding Lars now, rising before Lars awoke, never in the bunkroom, always in a group in the lounge, never alone.
Lars found him at last, just turning in as another sleep period began. He snapped the light off quickly as Lars pushed open the hatch, but Lars snapped it on again, and walked slowly to his locker. He started to undress.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked suddenly, turning on Peter. “Come on, you’re not asleep. Answer me! What do you think you’re doing?”
Peter looked up at him lazily. “Old Eagle-eye! Been watching me, have you?”
“You bet I have.”
“All right, then you tell me. What am I doing?”
“Look, this is no joke,” Lars said. “You’ve got the men on this ship ready to fly apart any minute. Don’t you know what’s happening? Can’t you see what comes next?”
Peter sat up suddenly, and he wasn’t smiling. His eyes were intent on Lars’ face. “No, tell me what comes next.”
“Mutiny comes next. And you know it as well as I do.
You’ve been doing everything in your power to turn this crew against Commander Fox. You’ve put the words in their mouths, the ideas in their heads. And^if you play your cards just right, you’re going to succeed, too.”
Peter roared with laughter, his arms gripping his sides as he rolled on the bunk. “And you’re just getting the idea now? Where have you been?” He caught his breath, his laughter dying as suddenly as it started. “But that’s all right, that’s all right. It it’s soaked through to your level, it must be working!”
“Working!”
“Yes, working. I told you Fox had some questions to answer, didn’t I? Well, I meant it. He hasn’t even started answering yet.”
“But mutiny—”
“It’ll make this one thing certain,” said Peter Brigham through his teeth, “that Walter Fox will never lift another Star Ship off Earth, ever. Even if it takes a mutiny to stop him.”
Chapter Five
For a long moment there was silence as Lars stared at Peter. Then, slowly, he sank down on the bench along the bulkhead. “So it’s Fox you’re after,” he said. “Not the place the ship is going, or what we may find there. You’re not concerned about that at all, just about getting Walter Fox.” “Now you’re getting the idea,” said Peter. Lars shook his head. “I don’t get it. Peter, it just doesn’t make sense, what you’re doing. You’re taking the greatest planet-breaker that Earth ever sent to space, and you’re trying to mutiny his crew and break him. Why? Whom could we have in command better than Fox? He’s led crews into unknown territory before, and they’ve trusted him, and he’s brought them back, too. Don’t you know what Fox has done?”
“Oh, yes, I know all right. You’re the one who doesn’t.” Peter gave Lars a scornful glance. “You’re so sick with hero-worship you wouldn’t recognize the truth about Walter Fox if it walked up and kicked you in the teeth. I don’t know why I even bother talking to you.”
“I know that Fox is a great man, if that’s what you mean, and I’m proud to be aboard his ship.”
“I know, I know,” Peter sighed. “You’ve read his books, and all the nice newspaper reports of his voyages, all singularly favorable to Walter Fox. Big press releases, fancy live 3-V broadcasts, everything. That’s your idea of the man.”
“And your idea?”
“That he’s a fanatic and a fool,” Peter snapped. “Why do you think this ship was ever commissioned on this trip in the first place? Because Fox knew about the Planetfall and screamed to high heaven until they gave him a ship and men to go hunt her down. Why was he so eager? Because of the Planetfall, do you think? Fox didn’t care two beans about the Planetfall. But he smelled aliens, and that meant he had to come, no matter how he managed it or whom he brought along. Handing him a ship and sending him to Wolf IV was like handing a knife to a homicidal maniac and turning him loose on the town.”
“I don’t believe it,” Lars said slowly.
“How could you? You’ve only looked at one side of the nickel. The news broadcasts don’t tell you the other side: that Fox is so obsessed with this idea of first contact with aliens that he runs his crews into the ground in order to satisfy it. He’s lost more crewmen than any other major explorer, and do you know why? Because he isn’t satisfied with finding good colony sites and then bringing his ship home again to let the ground-breakers take over. He’s got to scour every planet for evidence of intelligent life. If he kills half his crew doing it, that’s just too bad.”
Lars stared, horrified at the virulence in Peter’s voice. “You really hate him, don’t you?”
Peter’s mouth twisted. “I hate everything he stands for.”
“But it’s more than that,” said Lars. “It’s wrong, it doesn’t fit you, somehow. I can remember you back in school, always putting on this show of sarcasm, acting as if you hated everybody and everything, and yet you nearly flunked your finals last year because you spent all cram-week coaching little Barnes, who was on probation and flunking out.”
Peter shrugged impatiently. “He’d have flunked for sure if he hadn’t had help.”
“Yes, but you gave him help. All that sarcasm and bitterness was just a phoney act when the chips were down with Barnes, weren’t they, Peter?”
“All right, so I’m an angel in disguise.”
“Not by a long way, but now you’re putting this whole crew in jeopardy just to cut Walter Fox’s throat for him. It doesn’t add up, Peter. I’m slow, but I’m not blind. And all these stories about Fox and his crews on exploratories.”
Peter was on his feet, his eyes blazing. “They’re true!” he cried. “They’re true. You just don’t know. You think he’s great, but he’s cruel and stupid and bad.** Suddenly his voice was different; the sarcasm and arrogance were gone, and he was sincere, almost pleading. “Look. Just listen to me for a minute. There was a landing on Arcturus IV ten years ago, maybe eleven, do you remember? That was the first time a ship had landed there, the prelims had warned against it, but Fox went down. He could have flown the surface in an observation craft, but he was afraid they might miss something on the surface. He thought he had found evidence of an alien on that planet, so he led his crew through a hundred miles of dust storms and desert without proper protection from the sun, without adequate food or water.