He pointed to an envelope. "There it is. Thanking them for their hospitality. I told them we were criminals and couldn't risk returning to Earth. It's thin but it's the best I could do,"
A hint of fire returned to Betty's voice. "Don't worry, they'll believe it."
Sullenly she tucked a few trinkets into a pouch. "It's a long way to the ship you know," she warned him.
"We'll take Clay's car. I've watched him and I know how to drive it"
She jerked in a small bitter spasm of laughter. "We're even car thieves."
"Got to be," said Welstead stonily. He went to the door, listened. The utter silence of honest sleep held the rest of the house. He returned to where Betty stood waiting, watching him coldly with an air of dissociation.
"This way," said Welstead. "Out through the terrace."
They passed out into the moonless night of Haven and the only sound was the glassy tinkle of the little stream that ran in its natural bed through the terrace.
Welstead took Betty's hand. "Easy now, don't walk into that bamboo." He clutched and they froze to a halt. Through a window had come a sound-a gasp-and then the relieved mutter a person makes on waking from a bad dream.
Slowly, like glass melting under heat, the two came to life, stole across the terrace, out upon the turf beside the house. They circled the vegetable garden and the loom of the car bulked before them.
"Get in," whispered Welstead. 'I'll push till we're down around the bend."
Betty climbed into the seat and her foot scraped against the metal. Welstead stiffened, listened, pierced the darkness like an eagle. Quiet from the house, the quiet of relaxation, of trust. ... He pushed at the car and it floated easily across the ground, resisting his hand only through inertia.
It jerked to a sudden halt. And Welstead froze in his tracks again. A burglar alarm of some sort. No, there were no thieves on Haven-except two recently-landed people from Earth. A trap?
"The anchor," whispered Betty.
Of course-Welstead almost groaned with relief. Every car had an anchor to prevent the wind from blowing it away. He found it, hooked it into place on the car's frame and now the car floated without hindrance down the leafy tunnel that was Clay's driveway. Around a bend he ran to the door, jumped in, pressed his foot on the power pedal, and the car slid away with the easy grace of a canoe. Out on the main road he switched on the lights and they rushed off through the night.
"And we still use wheels on Earth," said Welstead. "If we only had a tenth of the guts these people have-"
Cars passed them from the other direction. The lights glowed briefly into their faces and they cringed low behind the windscreen.
They came to the park where their ship lay. "If anyone stops us," Welstead said in Betty's ear, "we've just driven down to get some personal effects. After all we're not prisoners."
But he circled the ship warily before stopping beside it and then he waited a few seconds, straining his eyes through the darkness. But there was no sound, no light, no sign of any guard or human presence.
Welstead jumped from the car. "Fast now. Run over, climb inside. I'll be right behind you."
They dashed through the dark, up the rungs welded to the hull, and the cold steel felt like a caress to Welstead's hot hands. Into the cabin; he thudded the port shut, slammed home the dogs.
Welstead vaulted to the controls, powered the reactors. Dangerous business-but once clear of the atmosphere they could take time to let them warm properly. The ship rose; the darkness and lights of Mytilene fell below. Welstead sighed, suddenly tired, but warm and relaxed.
Up, up-and the planet became a ball, and Eridanus two thousand nine hundred and thirty-two peered around the edge and suddenly, without any noticeable sense of boundary passed, they were out in space.
Welstead sighed. "Lord, what a relief! I never knew how good empty space could look."
"It looks beautiful to me also," said Alexander Clay. "I've never seen it before."
Welstead whirled, jumped to his feet.
Clay came forward from the reaction chamber, watching with a peculiar expression Welstead took to be deadly fury. Betty stood by the bulkhead, looking from one to the other, her face blank as a mirror.
Welstead came slowly down from the controls. "Well- you've caught us in the act. I suppose you think we're treating you pretty rough. Maybe we are. But my conscience is clear. And we're not going back. Looks like you asked for a ride, and you're going to get one. If necessary-" He paused meaningfully.
Then, "How'd you get aboard?" and after an instant of narrow-eyed speculation, "And why? Why tonight?"
Clay shook his head slowly. "Ralph-you don't give us any credit for ordinary intelligence, let alone ordinary courage."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that I understand your motives-and I admire you for them. Although I think you've been bull-headed putting them into action without discussing it with the people most directly concerned."
Welstead lowered his head, stared with hard eyes. "It's basically my responsibility. I don't like it but I'm not afraid of it."
"It does you credit," said Clay mildly. "On Haven we're used to sharing responsibility. Not diluting it, you understand, but putting a dozen-a hundred-a thousand minds on a problem that might be too much for one. You don't appreciate us, Ralph. You think we're soft, spiritless."
"No," said Welstead. "Not exactly-"
"Our civilization is built on adaptability, on growth, on flexibility," continued Clay. "We-"
"You don't understand just what you'd have to adapt to," said Welstead harshly. "It's nothing nice. It's graft, scheming sharp-shooters, tourists by the million, who'll leave your planet the way a platoon of invading soldiers leaves the first pretty girl they find."
"There'll be problems," said Clay. His voice took on power. "But that's what we want, Ralph-problems. We're hungry for them, for the problems of ordinary human existence. We want to get back into the stream of life. And if it means grunting and sweating we want it We're flesh and blood, just like you are.
"We don't want Nirvana-we want to test our strength. We want to fight along with the rest of decent humanity. Don't you fight what you think is unjust?"
Welstead slowly shook his head. "Not any more. It's too big for me. I tried when I was young, then I gave up. Maybe that's why Betty and I roam around the outer edges."
"No," said Betty. "That's not it at all, Ralph, and you know it. You explore because you like exploring. You like the rough and tumble of human contact just as much as anyone else."
"Rough and rumble," said Clay, savoring the words. "That's what we need on Haven. They had it in the old days. They gave themselves to it, beating the new world into submission. It's ours now. Another hundred years of nowhere to go and we'd be drugged, lethargic, decadent"
Welstead was silent
"The thing to remember, Ralph," said Clay, "is that we're part of humanity. If there's good going, fine. But if there are problems we want to help lick them. You said you'd given up because it was too big for you. Do you think it would be too big for a whole planet? Three hundred million hard honest brains?"
Welstead stared, his imagination kindled. "I don't see how-"
Clay smiled. "I don't either. It's a problem for three hundred million minds. Thinking about it that way it doesn't seem so big. If it takes three hundred brains three days to figure out a dodecahedron of quartz-" Welstead jerked, looked accusingly at his wife. "Betty!" She shook her head. "I told Clay about our conversation, our argument. We discussed it all around. I told him everything-and I told him I'd give a signal whenever we started to leave. But I never mentioned spacedrive. If they discovered it they did it by themselves."