A Scatter of Stardust by E. C. Tubb Page A

disturbed by your visits?”
    “No.” Fromach busied himself with his papers. “I’m here to offer you a choice. You can stay in this cell for the remainder of your term — or you can leave here within ten days.”
    “Leave!” Ward’s face hardened as he fought the sudden almost overpowering blaze of hope. “Is this your idea of a joke?”
    “It’s no joke,” said Fromach, and now he was no longer smiling. “I’m perfectly serious. The choice is yours.”
    “All right,” said Ward flatly. “I believe you. What’s the catch?”
    *
    The spaceship cabin was, if anything, worse than the cell, but Ward didn’t mind. He lay on the bunk and looked at the curved segment of the hull beyond his feet and listened to all the little, manmade sounds which filtered through from the other parts of the ship. Footsteps, the hum of conversation, a cough, an occasional laugh. Mingled with the manmade sounds were others — mechanical clickings, the soft purr of the air-conditioners, the almost inaudible vibration of the engines.
    The door clicked open and Fromach entered the cabin. He locked the door behind him, looking apologetically at Ward.
    “Sorry, but you are still a prisoner and the regulations have to be obeyed.”
    “You’ll have to start trusting me soon,” reminded Ward. “Why not now?”
    “I know,” said Fromach. “There’s no logic in it, but when has officialdom ever been logical?” He sat on the edge of the bunk. “No regrets?”
    “No.” Ward stared at the metal of the hull. “Some questions, though.”
    “Such as?”
    “You explained why I was chosen. I’ve lived for two years in solitary confinement and remained sane. That’s the sort of test you couldn’t give to normal volunteers. But why not use more than one man at a station?”
    “Two men are out,” said Fromach. “The psychological tensions would be too great, and they’d be murdering each other before the first year. Three men are better but the tensions would still exist — with complications. Two of them would gang up on the third, or one of them would think the other two were against him. It comes to the same thing. Four men? Five? Seven? Seven would work, but then we run into the supply factor. The watch stations aren’t big and a multiple of seven times essential supplies is out of the question.”
    “Is that the only reason?”
    “No. There are two other reasons. One is that it costs a lot of money to staff a watch station. A man expects to finish his five-year term rich. The pay has to be high in order to attract volunteers and even then they demand a watertight contract. Free medical attention, free entertainment, free this and free that. And no matter what happens, we have to pay for the full term.”
    Ward grunted. “And you said that officialdom wasn’t logical! What could be more logical than offering a prisoner the chance to work out his sentence on a watch station? No arguments about pay, no extreme demands, no trouble finding a source of volunteers. Simply offer to exchange a cell on Earth for a larger one somewhere in space. Throw in a few luxuries and who would refuse? Simple.”
    “Not so simple,” corrected Fromach. “We have to find the right man, someone with a basic understanding of engineering and electronics, someone who has proved that he can stand being on his own for a long period and who still has many years to go before release. There aren’t too many of them.”
    “I should have asked for more money,” said Ward. “A credit a day isn’t much.”
    “A hundredth of what a normal volunteer would expect,” admitted Fromach. “But better than nothing.”
    “Better than I was getting.” Ward frowned up at the ceiling. “What happens to the volunteers when they break? They do break, don’t they?”
    “Yes.”
    “All the time?”
    “Yes.” Fromach was casual. “The average volunteer lasts just under two years. We pick them up, provide a relief, fetch them back for