Harry looked surprised and answered, "No, Captain. Not under the circumstances."
"Comment?" There was none. "Very well," Urqhardt continued. "I propose to shape course for Alpha Phoenicis. We will hold memorial services at nine tomorrow morning and boost at noon. Comment? Mr. O'Toole."
"Eh? Do you mean can we have the figures ready? I suppose so, if Janet and I get right on it."
"Do so, as soon as we adjourn. Mr. Regato?"
Regato was looking astounded. "I didn't expect this, Captain.
"It is short notice, but can your department be ready? I believe you have boost mass aboard."
"It isn't that,. Captain. Surely, the torch will be ready. But I thought we would make one long jump for Earth."
"What led you to assume that?"
"Why, uh..." The new Chief Engineer stuttered and almost slipped out of P-L lingo into Spanish. "The shape we are in, sir. The engineering department will have to go on watch-and-watch, heel and toe. I can't speak for other departments, but they can't be in much better shape."
"No, you can't and I am not asking you to. With respect to your own department, is it mechanically ready?"
Regato swallowed. "Yes, sir. But people break down as well as machinery."
"Wouldn't you have to stand watch-and-watch to shape course for Sol?" Urqhardt did not wait for the obvious answer, but went on, "I should not have to say this. We are not here for our own convenience; we are here on an assigned mission... as you all know. Earlier today, just before Captain Swanson left, he said to me, "Take charge of my ship, sir. Carry out her mission." I answered, 'Aye, aye, sir.' Let me remind you of that mission: we were sent out to conduct the survey we have been making, with orders to continue the search as long as we were in communication with Earth—when we fell out of communication, we were free to return to Earth, if possible. Gentlemen, we are still in touch with Earth; our next assigned survey point is Alpha Phoenicis. Could anything be clearer?"
My thoughts were boiling up so that I hardly heard him. I was thinking: who does this guy think he is? Columbus? Or the Flying Dutchman? There were only a little over thirty of us left alive-in a ship that had started with two hundred. The boats were gone, the heli's were—I almost missed his next remark.
"Bartlett?"
"Sir?"
"What about your department?"
It dawned on me that we were the key department—us freaks. When we fell out of touch, he had to turn back. I was tempted to say that we had all gone deaf, but I knew I couldn't get away with it. So I stalled.
"As you pointed out, sir, we are in touch with Earth."
"Very well." His eyes turned toward Dr. Pandit.
"Just a moment, Captain," I insisted. "There's more to it."
"Eh? State it."
"Well, this next jump is about thirty years, isn't it? Greenwich I mean."
"Of that order. Somewhat less."
" 'Of that order.' There are three special communicators left, myself, Unc—I mean Mr. McNeil—and Mei-Ling Travers. I think you ought to count Unc out."
"Why?"
"Because he has his original telepartner and she is now as old as he is. Do you think Unc will live another thirty years?"
"But it won't be thirty years for him—oh, sorry! I see your point. She would be well past a hundred if she lived at all. Possibly senile."
"Probably, sir. Or more likely dead."
"Very well, we won t count McNeil. That leaves two of you. Plenty for essential communication.
"I doubt it, sir. Mei-Ling is a poor bet. She has only a secondary linkage and her partner is over thirty, with no children. Based on other telepairs, I would say that it is most unlikely that they will stay in rapport through another peak ... not a thirty-year one."
"That still leaves yourself."
I thought suddenly that if I had the guts to jump over the side, they could all go home. But it was just a thought; when I die, it won't be suicide. "My own case isn't much better, sir. My telepartner is about—" I had to stop and count up, then the answer did not seem right. "—is about nineteen, sir. No kids. No chance of kids before we peak... and I couldn't link in with a brand-new baby anyhow. She'll be fiftyish when we come out. So far as I know, there hasn't been a case in the whole fleet of bridging that long a period out of rapport."
He waited several moments before be answered. "Have you any reason to believe that it is impossible?"
"Well... no, sir. But it is extremely unlikely."
"Hmm... do you consider yourself an authority in theory of telepathy?"
"Huh? No, sir. I am just a telepath, that's all."
"I think he is probably right," put in Dr. Pandit, "are you an authority, Doctor?"
"Me, sir? As you know, my specialty is exotic pathology. But—"
"In that case, we will consult authorities Earthside. Perhaps they can suggest some way to improve our chances. Very probably, under the circumstances, the Foundation will again authorize use of drugs to reduce the possibility that our special communicators might fall out of touch during peak. Or something."
I thought of telling him that Vicky wasn't going to risk dangerous habit-forming drags. Then I thought better of it. Pat bad-and Vicky might.
"That :is all, gentlemen. We will boost at noon tomorrow. Uh, one more thing... One of you implied that morale is not too high in the ship. That is correct and I am perhaps more aware of it than you are. But morale will shake down to normal and we will best be able to forget the losses we have suffered if we all get quickly back to work. I want only to add that you all, as senior officers of this ship, have most to do with morale by setting an example. I am sure that you will." He stood up.
I don't know how news travels in a ship but by the time I got down to the mess room everybody knew that we were boosting tomorrow... and not for home. It was buzz-buzz and yammer all over. I ducked out because I didn't want to discuss it; my thoughts were mixed. I thought the Captain was insisting on one more jump from which he couldn't possibly report his results, if any—and with a nice fat chance that none of us would ever get home. On the other hand I admired the firm way he faced us up to our obligations and brushed aside panic. He had guts.
So did the Flying Dutchman have guts—but at last report he was still trying to round the Cape and not succeeding.
The Captain-Captain Swenson, I corrected-would not have been that bullheaded.
Or would he? According to Urqhardt, the last thing the Captain had said had been to remind Urqhardt that it was up to him to carry out the mission. All of us had been very carefully chosen (except us freaks) and probably the skipper and the relief skipper of each ship were picked primarily for bulldog stubbornness, the very quality that had kept Columbus going on and on when he was running out of water and his crew was muttering mutiny. I remembered Uncle Steve had once suggested as much.
I decided to go talk to Uncle Steve... then I remembered I couldn't and I really felt bad. When my parents had died, two peaks back, I had felt bad because I didn't feel as bad as I knew I should have felt. When it happened—or rather, by the time I knew about it-they were long dead, people I had not seen in a long time and just faces in a photograph. But Uncle Steve I had seen every day—I had seen today.
And I had been in the habit of kicking my troubles around with him whenever they were too much for me.
I felt his loss then, the delayed shock you get when you are hit hard. The hurt doesn't come until you pull yourself together and realize you're hit.