Short Stories by Robert A. Heinlein Vol 2 Part 104

Mr. Vaughn said, "Well, son?"

Charlie stood mute, in an agony of indecision. At last Mr. Vaughn said-sharply, "Chuck, we've got just twenty minutes before we must check in with Emigration. Well? What's your answer?"

Charlie did not seem to hear. Timidly. he put out one hand, barely touched the still form with the staring, unseeing eyes. Then he s.n.a.t.c.hed his hand back and squeaked, "No! We're going to Venus-both of us!"- turned and ran out of the room.

The veterinary spread his hands helplessly. "I tried."

"I know you - did, Doctor," Mr. Vaughn answered gravely. "Thank you."

The Vaughns took the usual emigrant routing: winged shuttle rocket to the inner satellite station, ugly wingless ferry rocket to the outer station, transs.h.i.+pment there to the great globular cargo liner Hesperus. The jumps and changes took two days; they stayed in the deeps.p.a.ce s.h.i.+p for twenty-one tedious weeks, falling in half-elliptical orbit from Earth down to Venus. The time was fixed, an inescapable consequence of the law of gravity and the sizes and shapes of the two planetary orbits.

At first Charlie was terribly excited. The terrific highgravity boost to break away from Earth's mighty grasp was as much of a shocker as he had hoped; six gravities is shocking, even to those used to it. When the shuttle rocket went into free fall a few minutes later, utter weightlessness was as distressing, confusing-and exciting-as he had hoped. It was so upsetting that he would have lost his lunch had he not been injected with anti-nausea drug.

Earth, seen from s.p.a.ce, looked as it had looked in color-stereo pictures, but he found that the real thing is as vastly more satisfying as a hamburger.is better than a picture of one. In the outer satellite station, someone pointed out to him the famous Captain Nordhoff, just back from Pluto. Charlie recognized those stern, lined features, familiar from TV and news pictures, and realized with odd surprise that the hero was a man, like everyone else. He decided to be a s.p.a.ceman and famous explorer himself.

S.S. Hesperus was a disappointment. It "blasted" away from the outer station with a gentle shove, onetenth gravity, instead of the soul-satisfying, bonegrinding, ear-shattering blast with which the shuttle had left Earth. Also, despite its enormous size, it was terribly crowded. After the Captain had his s.h.i.+p in orbit to intercept Venus five months later, he- placed spin on his s.h.i.+p to give his pa.s.sengers artificial weight-which took from Charlie the pleasant neW feeling of weightlessness which he had come to enjoy.

He was bored silly in five days-and there were five months of it ahead. He shared a cramped room with his father and mother and slept in a hammock swung "nightly" (the s.h.i.+p used Greenwich time) between their bunks. Hammock in place, there was no room in the cubicle; even with it stowed, only one person could dress at a time. The only recreation s.p.a.ce was the messrooms and they were always crowded. There was one view port in his part of the s.h.i.+p. At first it was popular, but after a few days even the kids didn't bother, for the view was always the same: stars, and more stars.

By order of the Captain, pa.s.sengers could sign up Tor a "sightseeing tour." Charlie's chance came when they were two weeks out-a climb through accessible parts of the s.h.i.+p, a quick look into the power room, a longer look at the hydroponics gardens which provided fresh air and part of their food, and a ten-second glimpse through the door of the Holy of Holies, the control room, all accompanied by a lecture from a bored junior officer. It was over in two hours and Charlie was again limited to his own, very crowded part of the s.h.i.+p.

Up forward there were privileged pa.s.sengers, who had staterooms as roomy as those of the officers and who enjoyed the luxury of the officers' lounge~ Charlie did not find out that they were aboard for almost a month, but when he did, he was righteously indignant.

His father set him straight. "They paid for it."

"Huh? But we paid, too. Why should they get-"

"They paid for luxury. Those first-cla.s.s pa.s.sengers each paid~ about three times what your ticket cost, or mine. We got the emigrant rate-transportation and food and a place to sleep." -

"I don't think it's fair."

Mr. Vaughn shrugged. "Why should we have something we haven't paid for'~"

"Uh, . . . well, Dad, why should they be able to pay for luxuries we can't afford?"

"A good question. Philosophers ever since Aristotle have struggled with that one. Maybe you'll tell me, someday."

"Huh? What do you mean, Dad?"

"Don't say 'Huh.' Chuck, I'm taking you to a brandnew planet. If you try, you can probably get rich. Then maybe you can tell me why a man with money can command luxuries that poor people can't."

"But we aren't poor!"

"No, we are not. But we aren't rich either. Maybe you've got the drive to get rich. One thing is sure: on Venus the opportunities are all around you. Never mind-how about a game before dinner?"

Charlie still resented being shut out of the nicest parts of the s.h.i.+p-he had -never felt like a second-cla.s.s anything (citizen, or pa.s.senger) before in his life; the feeling was not pleasant. He decided to get rich on Venus. He would make the biggest uranium strike in history; then he would ride first cla.s.s between Venus and Earth whenever he felt like it-that would teach those stuck-up sn.o.bs!

He then remembered he had already decided to be a famous s.p.a.ceman. Well, he would do both. Someday he would own a s.p.a.ce line.. . and one of the s.h.i.+ps would be his private yacht. But by the time the Hesperus reached the halfway point he no longer thought about it.

The emigrants saw little of the s.h.i.+p's crew, but Charlie got acquainted with Slim, the emigrants' cook. Slim was called so for the reason that cooks usually are; he sampled his own wares all day long and was pear shaped.

Like all s.p.a.ce s.h.i.+ps, the Hesperus was undermanned except for astrogators and engineers-why hire a cook's helper when the s.p.a.ce can be sold to a pa.s.senger? It was cheaper to pay high wages to a cook who could perform production-line miracles without a helper. And Slim could.

But he could use a helper. Charlie's merit badge in cooking plus a willingness to do as he was told made him Slim's favorite volunteer a.s.sistant. Charlie got from it something to do with his time, sandwiches and snacks whenever he wanted them, and lots of knowledgeable conversation. Slim had not been to college but his curiosity had never dried up; he had read everything worth reading in several s.h.i.+p's libraries and had kept his eyes open dirtside on every inhabited planet in the Solar System.

"Slim, what's it like on Venus?"

"Mmm. . . pretty much like the books say. Rainy. Hot. Not too bad at Borealis, where you'll land."

"Yes-but what's it like?"

"Why not wait and see? Give that stew a stir. . . and switch on the shortwaver. Did you know that they used to figure that Venus couldn't be lived on?"

"Huh? No, I didn't."

"struth. Back in the days when we didn't have s.p.a.ce flight, scientists were certain that Venus didn't have either oxygen nor water. They figured it was a desert, with sand storms and no air you could breathe. Proved it, all by scientific logic."

"But how could they make such a mistake? I mean, obviously, with clouds all over it and-"

"The clouds didn't show water vapor, not through a spectroscope they didn't. Showed lots of carbon dioxide, though, and by the science of the last century they figured they had proved that Venus couldn't support life."

"Funny sort of science! I guess they were pretty ignorant in those days."

"Don't go running down our~grandfathers. If it weren't for them, you and I would be squatting in a cave, scratching fleas. No, Bub, they were pretty sharp; they just didn't have all the facts. We've got more facts, but that doesn't make us smarter. Put them biscuits over here. The way I see it, it just goes to show that the only way to tell what's in a stew is to eat it. . . and even then you aren't always sure. Venus turned out to be a very nice place. For ducks. If there were any ducks there. Which there ain't."

"Do you like Venus?"

"I like any place I don't have to stay in too long. Okay, let's feed the hungry mob."

The food in the Hesperus was as good as the living accommodations were bad. This was partly Slim's genius, but was also the fact that food in a s.p.a.ce s.h.i.+p costs by its weight; what it had cost Earthside matters little compared with the expense of lifting it off Earth. The choicest steaks cost the s.p.a.celine owners little more than the same weight of rice-and any steaks left over could be sold at high prices to colQnists weary .for a taste of Earth food. So the emigrants ate as well as the first cla.s.s pa.s.sengers, even though not with fine service and fancy surroundings. When Slim was ready he opened a shutter in the galley part.i.tion and Charlie dealt out the wonderful viands like chow in a Scout camp to pa.s.sengers queued up with plates. Charlie enjoyed this ch.o.r.e. It made him feel like a member of the crew, a s.p.a.ceman himself.

Charlie almost managed not to worry about Nixie, having told himself that there was nothing to worry about. They were a month past midpoint, with Venus only six weeks away before he discussed it with Slim. "Look, Slim, you know a lot about such things. Nixie'll make it all right. . . won't he?"

"Hand me that paddle; Mmm. . . don't know as I ever ran across a dog in s.p.a.ce before. Cats now. . . cats belong in s.p.a.ce. They're clean and neat and help to keep down mice and rats." -

"I don't like cats."

"Ever lived with a cat? No, I see you haven't. How can you have the gall not to like something you don't know anything about? Wait till you've lived with a cat, then tell me what you think. Until then. . . well, who told you were ent.i.tled to an opinion?"

"Huh? Why, everybody is ent.i.tled to his own opinion!"

"Nonsense, Bub. n.o.body is ent.i.tled to an opinion about something he is ignorant of. If the Captain told me how to bake a cake, I would politely suggest that he not stick his nose into my trade . . . contrariwise, I never tell him how to plot an orbit to Mars."

"Slim, you're changing the subject. How about Nixie? He's going to be all right . . . isn't he?"

"As I was saying, I don't have opinions about things I don't know. Happens I don't know dogs. Never had one as a kid; I was raised in a big city. Since then I've been in s.p.a.ce. No dogs."

"Darn it, Slim!-you're being evasive: You know about sleep-freeze. I know you do."