Читать книгу Galactic Destiny - E. C. Tubb - Страница 5

CHAPTER ONE

It was time for Completing the Log, the last Task of the arbitrary day. Jak reached for the thick volume, inscribed the date and time, then paused, stylo in hand, his eyes on First Mate Sar where she sat before the tell-tales.

“All well, Sar?”

“All well, Captain.”

He nodded, wrote the hieroglyphic which meant ‘Ship functioning at optimum level, morale high, nothing to report’, drew a thick line beneath the entry, closed the book, replaced it on its rack, and leaned back with a sense of completion.

It was always the same at the end of a day. Another segment of time and distance had been safely covered, a challenge met and conquered, and the smooth routine of the ship could commence another cycle. He glanced at his watch; it lacked a few minutes to the time of Captain’s Walk of Inspection. He decided not to waste them.

“Sar!”

“Captain?”

She turned from the tell-tales, the tiny lights throwing her strong-boned face into high relief. With her cropped hair and utilitarian uniform of sober grey, she could have been his brother. People had often fallen into that error, wondering, perhaps, why the youngest should have held the higher command.

“Sister,” he said deliberately. “You are troubled. Why?”

“I have no trouble, Jak.” Now that he had set the pattern, formality could be dropped. He smiled at her and shook his head.

“I said that you were troubled, not that you had trouble. Don’t argue like People.”

“No, Jak.”

“Is it Ric?”

“Ric is a good boy,” she said quickly, too quickly. “There is nothing wrong with him.”

She spoke in Ship-Talk, a language in which much could be said in a word, and because of this he sensed more than she told.

“He is a good boy,” he agreed. “But he is young.”

“Not too young to know the duties of the Folk.”

“True.”

Jak studied her for a moment, wondering whether to press the point, then decided against it. Ric was Sar’s only child, and it was natural for her to defend him. But there was trouble there, Jak could sense it. It would do no harm to keep an eye on the boy. It was a pity that he had no father.

He glanced at his watch again; time was getting short. He rose, straightened his uniform, then glanced expectantly towards the door at the sound of a knock. He frowned as the panel remained shut. The frown deepened as the knock was repeated. Folk would have knocked and entered. People would have knocked and waited, but People were not allowed in this part of the ship. Jak shouted a summons.

“Enter!”

First Engineer Lor entered the control room. He was followed by one of the People. Jak looked at the man, mentally hunting for his name and profession. Smith the Cleric from Earth. He stared at Lor.

“Trouble?”

“No, Captain.” The First Engineer was obviously ill at ease. “It is this man, sir. He has made a request that he be allowed to look over the ship.”

“I see.” It was an unusual request, and Jak could understand Lor’s attitude. People just didn’t want to examine the vessels in which they were passengers and, even if they did, Folk had no inclination to cater to their wishes. Not that it was against the ritual, not forbidden, that is, but it simply wasn’t done.

“I thought it best that he see you, sir.” Lor was apologetic

“Insistent?”

“Yes, sir. Very.”

Jak nodded. Only once before had he permitted a man of the People to see over his vessel. That had been a Sociologist, an old man who had later written a paper on the mores and customs of the Folk. He had sent Jak a copy, which he hadn’t bothered to read. But the Sociologist had had a reason. This man?

“Why do you want to see over the ship?” Jak dropped into Interspacial; few People could understand Talk.

“I am interested, sir.”

“I am the Captain,” said Jak. “Interested? Only that?”

“Yes, Captain. I realize that I am asking a great favour, but I hope that you will be able to see your way clear to grant it.”

“Curiosity,” snorted Lor in Talk. “Can you beat it?”

Jak didn’t answer. He stared at Smith and was intrigued by what he saw.

Smith was an old, small wisp of a man. He wore peculiar clothing of black, and affected a band of white around his throat. He was, so his papers proclaimed, a Cleric, but just what that was Jak had no idea. He was a quiet man and utterly nondescript but for his eyes. He had wide eyes, eyes which were alive with seeing and not just looking. The rest of him was nothing, a mere shadow, but his eyes were like two sponges absorbing everything they saw.

“Please, Captain.” His voice held a note of pleading. Jak made his decision.

“You may accompany me,” he said. “Walk not less and not more than two feet at my side. Touch nothing.”

“Yes, Captain.” Smith was pathetically grateful.

He had never seen anything quite like it before. He had seen a part of the ship, of course—the cabins, the lounge, the dining room—but the inner workings of the vessel had remained a mystery. He walked discreetly beside Jak, not knowing that he was accompanying him on Captain’s Walk of Inspection, not realizing just how great was the favour extended to him. And, as he walked, his eyes drank in what they saw.

“Hydroponics.” Jak waved a hand. “Algae plant which reprocesses the air and provides food if necessary.” He halted as a uniformed technician came up to him; the sound of Talk vibrated with a clean, crisp precision.

Smith looked about the compartment. It was big and clean and terribly bright. Tanks of green algae swirled to the impact of hidden pumps, and artificial sunlight blazed down on the seething contents. Pipes snaked from the ceiling, and the whirr of blowers, the sighing whine of fans, filled the place with murmuring vibration. The technician glanced at Smith.

“Interested,” said Jak, anticipating the question. “Such curiosity among People is rare.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“You don’t approve, Vin?”

“It is not for me to approve or disapprove, Captain.”

“All well, Vin?”

“Yes, Captain.”

Jak continued his Walk. Through the kitchens, the Folk recreation room, the Folk quarters, the tiny sick bay with its conglomeration of instruments for electro-medtherapy. He unsealed the double doors of the hold and passed within. He checked and sealed the doors behind him. He was hardly conscious of Smith’s presence.

Smith didn’t mind. He followed the Captain like a dog, eyes everywhere. He touched nothing, but the caress of his eyes was as if he fondled everything he saw. He burned with a hundred questions but, aside from a too-brief word of explanation, Jak volunteered nothing. He was not, Smith knew, being rude. It was just that he was so familiar with every part of the vessel that it never occurred to him that anyone could feel at a loss.

“Engine room.” Jak paused at the door. Lor had returned to duty, and he glanced at his mate, eyebrows lifted in resignation.

“Watch it,” he said to Con. “You know what curiosity did?”

“What?”

“You mean that you don’t know?” Con winked lecherously

“Well, I was curious about you, remember?”

Con flushed. She was heavy with child. Jak had heard the byplay but chose to ignore it. It was impolite to use Talk before People, but in this case he was glad of it. Smith didn’t look the type of man who would appreciate Lor’s humour. Jak could hardly appreciate it himself. Married couples, he assumed, had their own language just as the Folk did. Maybe one day he would learn it for himself

“You know how the drive works, of course,” he said to Smith.

“No, Captain.”

“No?” Jak could hardly believe it. Such ignorance! Even the youngest of the Folk knew the basic principles of the Vortiski drive.

“I’m afraid not.” Smith gave his gentle smile.

“Well, you know that ships don’t travel in normal space. If they did, they would be restricted to the speed of light. It would take at least one year to travel one light-year. Objective time, that is, not subjective. Subjective time would be much less.” He looked hard at the Cleric. “You understand me?”

“A little. You mean that to a person waiting on a planet it would take, say, four years for a ship to travel four light-years.”

“At least. To the crew, of course, it wouldn’t seem that long. They would be living on subjective time—relative time.” Jak made an impatient gesture. “Surely you can follow that?”

“I think so. Yes, I think I can.”

“Right. So we can’t use normal space. For one thing, it would be hopeless for business.”

For a moment he was afraid that he would even have to explain that, but Smith came to his rescue.

“I follow. Even though the crew would be under subjective time, the ship would still take years, a lifetime even, to make a journey. To a person on a planet, that is.”

“Exactly. If you sent a cargo to a star twenty-light years distant, it would take forty years for the double journey. You can’t make a profit that way.”

“No. I see that.”

“So we use the Vortiski drive. We don’t stay in normal space at all. We lift from a planet, engage the Vortiski drive, and enter No-Space. We travel until we arrive where we want to go and then emerge in normal space again. The journey, apparently, has taken no time at all. To a person on a planet, that is.”

“But not to us in the ship?”

“Of course not. We take about a hundred hours to cover one parsec. You know what a parsec is?”

“About three light-years, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Now tell him some of the other facts of life.” Lor turned a grinning face from where he stood checking the power flux of the engine room. “Quick! Before he asks you if bigger ships are faster.”

He had used Interspacial. Smith had understood.

“All ships travel at the same velocity in No-Space,” explained Jak resignedly. “Extra drive units do not affect that. The Vortiski drive gets you into No-Space. it doesn’t push you through it.”

Detachedly he wondered what his old instructor would have had to say about his explanation. He would probably have burst a blood vessel. Old Captain Ku had believed in cold science and the purity of mathematics.

“I follow.” Smith seemed uncertain. “At least I think I understand.”

Jak doubted it.

“But it would seem logical that with larger engines the speed would be increased.”

“The velocity is the same,” assured Jak.

“I see.”

He wasn’t convinced, Jak knew that, but then he would never be convinced. He was bound by planetary usages; larger, bigger, faster things which had an entirely different meaning in space. Jak sought for an analogy and couldn’t find one. He could have likened travelling in No-Space to scraps of driftwood riding a mighty ocean current, the speed of the current being the same for anything that rode it. Perhaps Smith would have grasped the analogy, but Jak was unable to use it. He had no concept of an ocean current and, even it he had, he would never have likened ships in space to anything planetary. His entire being would have revolted against it.

Jak glanced at his watch as they left the engine room, and lengthened his stride a little, quashing a momentary irritation that this particular Walk of Inspection should be taking so long. Despite his haste, he did not relax his vigilance. His eyes, ears, nostrils, the soles of his feet, his very skin quivered in tune to the vessel around him. Had anything been amiss, he would have known it, sensing it no matter how minor the fault, aware of wrongness before his trained skill could have determined what it was.

Nothing was wrong. This Walk of Inspection was as the one before and the one before that, and others as far back as he could remember. He had a good ship and a good crew, and perfection was only to be expected. Then be remembered Smith and realized that, in one particular at least, this Walk was different from others.

“Almost over,” he said. He had neglected the man, yet Jak hated to be considered impolite.

“It has been most enjoyable.” Smith’s eyes seemed even larger than normal as he stared about him. His black clothing and the stupid band of white were incongruous against the shining metal and utilitarian furnishings of the ship. Why did he wear them?

“It is because of my profession,” he said in reply to Jak’s cautiously worded question. “It is a very old uniform.”

“You do not consider me impolite?”

“How can you say that, Captain?” Smith gave his gentle smile. “Can I blame you for being curious when I have so much curiosity myself? Please do not hesitate to ask whatever may be in your mind.”

“Your profession. Cleric. What is a Cleric?”

“One who teaches Christianity.”

“So?” Jak frowned. “I have never heard of it.”

“It is a very old profession,” said Smith. “I am not surprised.” He sensed the other’s frustration. “The Brotherhood of Man?”

“No.” Jak hadn’t heard of that either, but it had a disturbing sound. “Is that what you teach?”

“In a way, yes. It is a very old teaching, and a man died because he originated it. My profession is named after that man.”

“Cleric?”

“No. Christianity. A man who believes in certain concepts, among them the Brotherhood of Man, is a Christian.”

“And you teach these ethics?”

“Humbly, yes.”

“Why humbly?”

“Because a Christian is humble. He recognizes the existence of a far greater power than himself. He believes in the existence of God.”

“I too believe in powers greater than myself,” said Jak. “Electricity for one. Atomic flux for another. Is that God?”

“No. What you speak of is but a part of the universe. God is greater than the universe.”

“The universe is infinite. Can you have something greater than infinity?” Jak was being ironic. Smith, to his surprise took him seriously.

“Yes.”

“God?”

“Yes.”

“I would like to see this God,” said Jak dryly. Smith made a gesture with his hands.

“You are confusing material things with things of the spirit. No one, no human, is capable of grasping the concept of something so great. The best we can do is to try and understand a part. It is this knowledge of inadequacy which makes us humble.”

Jak did not like to feel humble. He was Captain, master of the ship and a leader among the Folk, and there was no cause to feel humble in that. Proud, yes, but not humble. Why, if he felt humble it would almost be the same as feeling ashamed!

And this Brotherhood of Man. Jak pondered it as he strode along. Smith meant, he supposed, that everyone was equal and technically brothers. But any fool could see that it just wasn’t so. Planets had their rulers and their serfs were they equal? Were they brothers? Folk were different, of course. Folk, despite Captains and First Officers, were truly brothers under the skin. But Smith was saying that Star-Folk and Planet-People were the same.

He was, Jak thought, a little insane. He hoped that he wouldn’t let his mania get out of hand.