Rat was a native of Bellatrix VII, an Earth-size windswept world that orbited the bright star in the Orion constellation. He was a member of one of the three intelligent races that shared the planet with a small colony of Earthmen.
The Valhalla had made the long trip to Bellatrix, 215 light-years from Earth, shortly before Alan’s birth. Captain Donnell had won the friendship of the little creature and had brought him back to the ship when time came for the Valhalla to return to Earth for its next assignment.
Rat had been the Captain’s pet, and he had given Alan the small animal on his tenth birthday. Rat had never gotten along well with Steve, and more than once he had been the cause of jealous conflicts between Alan and his twin.
Rat was well named; he looked like nothing so much as a small bluish-purple rodent, with wise, beady little eyes and a scaly curling tail. But he spoke Terran clearly and well, and in every respect he was an intelligent, loyal, and likable creature.
They ate in silence. Alan was halfway through his bowl of protein mix when Art Kandin dropped down onto his bench facing him. The Valhalla’s First Officer was a big pudgy-faced man who had the difficult job of translating the concise, sometimes almost cryptic commands of Alan’s father into the actions that kept the great starship going.
“Good rising, Alan. And happy birthday.”
“Thanks, Art. But how come you’re loafing now? Seems to me you’d be busy as a Martian dustdigger today, of all days. Who’s setting up the landing orbit, if you’re here?”
“Oh, that’s all been done,” Kandin said lightly. “Your Dad and I were up all last night working out the whole landing procedure.” He reached out and took Rat from Alan’s shoulder, and began to tickle him with his forefinger. Rat responded with a playful nip of his sharp little teeth. “I’m taking the morning off,” Kandin continued. “You can’t imagine how nice it’s going to be to sit around doing nothing while everyone else is working, for a change.”
“What’s the landing hour?”
“Precisely 1753 tonight. It’s all been worked out. We actually are in the landing orbit now, though the ship’s gimbals keep you from feeling it. We’ll touch down tonight and move into the Enclave tomorrow.” Kandin eyed Alan with sudden suspicion. “You’re planning to stay in the Enclave, aren’t you?”
Alan put down his fork with a sharp tinny clang and stared levelly at the First Officer. “That’s a direct crack. You’re referring to my brother, aren’t you?”
“Who wouldn’t be?” Kandin asked quietly. “The captain’s son jumping ship? You don’t know how your father suffered when Steve went over the hill. He kept it all hidden and just didn’t say a thing, but I know it hit him hard. The whole affair was a direct reflection on his authority as a parent, of course, and that’s why he was so upset. He’s a man who isn’t used to being crossed.”
“I know. He’s been on top here so long, with everyone following his orders, that he can’t understand how someone could disobey and jump ship—especially his own son.”
“I hope you don’t have any ideas of—”
Alan clipped off Kandin’s sentence before it had gotten fully started. “I don’t need advice, Art. I know what’s right and wrong. Tell me the truth—did Dad send you to sound me out?”
Kandin flushed and looked down. “I’m sorry, Alan. I didn’t mean—well—”
They fell silent. Alan returned his attention to his breakfast, while Kandin stared moodily off into the distance.
“You know,” the First Officer said finally, “I’ve been thinking about Steve. It just struck me that you can’t call him your twin any more. That’s one of the strangest quirks of star travel that’s been recorded yet.”
“I thought of that. He’s twenty-six, I’m seventeen, and yet we used to be twins. But the Fitzgerald Contraction does funny things.”
“That’s for sure,” Kandin said. “Well, time for me to start relaxing.” He clapped Alan on the back, disentangled his long legs from the bench, and was gone.
The Fitzgerald Contraction does funny things, Alan repeated to himself, as he methodically chewed his way through the rest of his meal and got on line to bring the dishes to the yawning hopper that would carry them down to the molecular cleansers. Real funny things.
He tried to picture what Steve looked like now, nine years older. He couldn’t.
As velocity approaches that of light, time approaches zero.
That was the key to the universe. Time approaches zero. The crew of a spaceship travelling from Earth to Alpha Centauri at a speed close to that of light would hardly notice the passage of time on the journey.
It was, of course, impossible ever actually to reach the speed of light. But the great starships could come close. And the closer they came, the greater the contraction of time aboard ship.
It was all a matter of relativity. Time is relative to the observer.
Thus travel between the stars was possible. Without the Fitzgerald Contraction, the crew of a spaceship would age five years en route to Alpha C, eight to Sirius, ten to Procyon. More than two centuries would elapse in passage to a far-off star like Bellatrix.
Thanks to the contraction effect, Alpha C was three weeks away, Sirius a month and a half. Even Bellatrix was just a few years’ journey distant. Of course, when the crew returned to Earth they found things completely changed; years had passed on Earth, and life had moved on.
Now the Valhalla was back on Earth again for a short stay. On Earth, starmen congregated at the Enclaves, the cities-within-cities that grew up at each spaceport. There, starmen mingled in a society of their own, without attempting to enter the confusing world outside.
Sometimes a Spacer broke away. His ship left him behind, and he became an Earther. Steve Donnell had done that.
The Fitzgerald Contraction does funny things. Alan thought of the brother he had last seen just a few weeks ago, young, smiling, his own identical twin—and wondered what the nine extra years had done to him.
Chapter Two
Alan dumped his breakfast dishes into the hopper and walked briskly out of the mess hall. His destination was the Central Control Room, that long and broad chamber that was the nerve-center of the ship’s activities just as the Common Recreation Room was the center of off-duty socializing for the Crew.
He found the big board where the assignments for the day were chalked, and searched down the long lists for his own name.
“You’re working with me today, Alan,” a quiet voice said.
He turned at the sound of the voice and saw the short, wiry figure of Dan Kelleher, the cargo chief. He frowned. “I guess we’ll be crating from now till tonight without a stop,” he said unhappily.
Kelleher shook his head. “Wrong. There’s really not very much work. But it’s going to be cold going. All those chunks of dinosaur meat in the preserving hold are going to get packed up. It won’t be fun.”
Alan agreed.
He scanned the board, looking down the rows for the list of cargo crew. Sure enough, there was his name: Donnell, Alan, chalked in under the big double C. As an Unspecialized Crewman he was shifted from post to post, filling in wherever he was needed.
“I figure it’ll take four hours to get the whole batch crated,” Kelleher said. “You can take some time off now, if you want to. You’ll be working to make up for it soon enough.”
“I won’t debate the point. Suppose I report to you at 0900?”