While it was moving in to touch down, Chet Travers hurried up the ladder. He looked around, saw me and said, "Tom, where's the Captain?"
"In the chopper."
"Oh." He frowned. "Well, give him this. Urgent. I've got to get back down." He shoved a paper at me and disappeared. I glanced at it, saw that it was a message form, saw who it was from, and grabbed the Captain's arm as he stepped out of the heli.
He shrugged me off. "Out of my way!"
"Captain, you've got to—it's a message from the island—from Major Lucas."
He stopped then and took it from me, then fumbled for his reading glasses, which I could see sticking out of a pocket. He shoved the dispatch form back at me before I could help him and said, "Read it to me, boy."
So I did. " 'From: Commander Ship's Guard—To: Commanding Officer Lewis and Clark—Oh nine three one—at oh nine oh five survey camp was attacked by hostile natives, believed to be amphibious. After suffering initial heavy losses the attack was beaten off and I have withdrawn with seven survivors to the hilltop north of the camp. We were forced to abandon survey craft number two. At time of attack, exchange party was waiting on beach; we are cut off from them and their situation is not known but must be presumed to be desperate.
" 'Discussion: The attack was intelligently organized and was armed. Their principal weapon appears to be a jet of sea water at very high pressure but they use also a personal weapon for stabbing and cutting. It must be assumed that they have other weapons. It must be conditionally assumed that they are as intelligent as we are, as well disciplined, and possibly as well armed for the conditions Their superior numbers give them a present advantage even if they had no better weapons.
""Recommendations: My surviving command can hold out where it is against weapons thus far encountered. It is therefore urgently recommended that immediate measures be limited to rescuing beach party. Ship should then be placed in orbit until a plan can be worked out and weapons improvised to relieve my command without hazard to the ship.—S. Lucas, Commandant, oh nine three six.""
The Captain took the message and turned toward the hatch without speaking. Nobody said anything although there were at least twenty of us crowded up there. I hesitated, then when I saw that others were going down, I pushed in and followed the Captain.
He stopped two decks down and went into the communications office. I didn't follow him, but he left the door open. Chet Travers was in there, bent over the gear he used to talk with the camp, and Commander Frick was leaning over him with a worried look on his face: The Captain said, "Get me Major Lucas."
Commander Frick looked up. "We're trying to, Captain. Transmission cut off while they were sending us a list of casualties."
The Captain chewed his lip and looked frustrated, then he said "Keep trying," and turned. He saw me.
"Bartlett!"
"Yes, sir!"
"You have one of your people over there. Raise him."
I thought rapidly, trying to remember the Greenwich even as I was calling Vicky—if Vicky was home, she could get through on the direct line to LRF and they could hook her with Sam Rojas's telepartner and thence to Sam, and the Captain could talk to Uncle Steve on a four-link relay almost as fast as he could by radio. ("Vicky! Come in, Vicky! Urgent!")
"Yes; Uncle Tom? What is it? I was asleep."
Commander Frick said, "I don't think that will work, Captain. Rojas isn't on the list of survivors. He was scheduled for rotation; he must have been down at the beach."
Of course, of course! Sam would have been down at the beach—I had stood by and must have watched him being herded into the water!
"What is it, Uncle Tom?"
("Just wait, hon. Stay linked.")
"Then get me somebody else," the Captain snapped, "there isn't anyone else, Captain," Frick answered. "Here's the list of survivors. Rojas was the only fr—the only special communicator we had ashore."
The Captain glanced at the list, said, "Pass the word for all hands not on watch to assemble in the mess room on the double." He turned and walked right through me. I jumped out of the way.
"What's the matter, Uncle Tom? You sound worried."
I tried to control my voice. ("It was a mistake, hon. Just forget it and try to get back to sleep. I'm sorry.")
"All right. But you still sound worried."
I hurried after the Captain. Commander Frick's voice was calling out the order over the ship's system as we hurried down the ladders, yet he was only a moment or two behind me in reaching the mess room. In a matter of seconds we were all there... just a handful of those who had left Earth—about forty. The Captain looked around and said to Cas Warner, "Is this all?"
"I think so, Captain, aside from the engineering watch."
"I left Travers on watch," added Frick.
"Very well" The Captain turned and faced us. "We are about to rescue the survivors ashore. Volunteers step forward."
We didn't step, we surged, all together. I would like to say that I was a split second ahead, because of Uncle Steve, but it wouldn't be true. Mrs. Gates was carrying young Harry in her arms and she was as fast as I was.
"Thank you," the Captain said stiffly. "Now will the women please go over there by the pantry so that I can pick the men who will go."
"Captain?"
"Yes, Captain Urqhardt?"
"I will lead the party."
"You'll do nothing of the sort, sir. I will lead: You will now take some women and go down and fetch what we need."
Urqhardt barely hesitated, then said, "Aye, aye, sir."
"That rule—our standing rule for risk—will apply to all of you. In doubly-manned jobs the older man will go. In other jobs, if the job can be dispensed with, the man will go; if it cannot be, the man will stay." He looked around.
"Dr. Babcock!"
"Righto, Skipper!"
Mr. O'Toole said, "Just a moment, Captain. I am a widower and Dr. Babcock is much more-"
"Shut up."
"But—"
"Confound it, sir, must I debate every decision with every one of you? Must I remind you that every second counts? Get over there with the women."
Red-faced and angry Mr. O'Toole did as he was told. The Captain went on, "Mr. Warner. Mr. Bach. Dr. Severin—" Quickly he picked those he wanted, then waved the rest of us over toward the pantry.
Uncle Alfred McNeil tried to straighten his stooped shoulders. "Captain, you forgot me. I'm the oldest in my department."
The Captain's face softened just a hair. "No, Mr. McNeil, I didn't forget," he said quietly, "but the capacity of the chopper is limited-and we have seven to bring back. So I must omit you."
Unc's shoulders sagged and I thought he was going to cry, than he shuffled over away from the selected few. Dusty Rhodes caught my eye and looked smug and proud; he was one of the chosen. He still did not look more than sixteen and I don't think he had ever shaved; this was probably the first time in his life that he had ever been treated in all respects as a man.
In spite of the way the others had been shut off short I couldn't let it stand. I stepped forward again and touched the Captain's sleeve. "Captain... you've got to let me go! My uncle is over there."
I thought he was going to explode, but he caught himself.
"I see your point. But you arc a special communicator and we haven't any spare. I'll tell Major Lucas that you tried."