days out. Correction: twelve hundred hours out from Earth. Student, do your sums. Computer, electro-psychoanalyze my soul. Thrust your finger, First Mate Redleigh, in a computer socket. What would you find? John Redleigh, born 2050, Reedwater, Wisconsin. Father, a maker of outboard motors. Mother, a baker of children, a dozen in all, of which the plainest of plain bread is old John Redleigh. Old, I say. Old when I was ten, long gone in senility by thirteen. Married a fine plain woman at twenty-two; filled the nursery by twenty-five. Read occasional books, thought occasional thoughts. Ah, God, Redleigh, haven’t you more to put in this damn machine? Are you so stale, flat, unbumped, untouched, unscarred, unmoved? Have you no nightmare dreams, secret murders, drugs, or drink in your soul? Is your heart missing, the pulse spent? Did you give over when you were thirty, or were you ever more than a dry biscuit, an unbuttered bun, flat wine? Pleasantly sensual, but never passionate. A good husband, fair friend, far traveler, without worry, coming and going so quietly that God himself never noticed. And when you die, Redleigh, will even one horn sound? Will one hand flutter, one soul cry, one tear drop, one door slam? What’s your sum? Let’s finish it. There, there it is: zero. Did my secret self put those ciphers there? Feed zero, get zero? So I, John Redleigh, sum myself.
“You there,” said Redleigh, as I passed him outside the door to the captain’s cabin.
“Sir,” I said.
“Don’t jump. What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be on the quarterdeck?”
“Well, sir,” I said, nodding at the captain’s door. “Six days. Isn’t that a long time for the captain to be shut in? I can’t help but wonder…Is he all right? I have an urge to knock upon his door.”
Redleigh regarded me for a moment, then said, “Well, then…”
I stepped quietly to the door and rapped upon it lightly.
“No, no,” said Redleigh. “Let me show you.”
And he stepped up and knocked hard on the door with his fist.
He waited a moment, then knocked again.
I said, “Does he never answer, then?”
“If he knew that God Himself were out here, he might venture forth for a chat. But you or me? No.”
Suddenly there was the sound of a bell, a klaxon, and from the intercom a voice spoke: “Hear this! Captain’s inspection. All hands assemble, main deck. All hands, Captain’s inspection.”
And we turned and ran.
All gathered, five hundred strong, on the main deck.
“In line!” called Redleigh, from the head of the assembly. “He’s coming, the captain is coming. Tenshun!”
There was a faint hum, a touch of electrical sound, which wavered like a swarm of insects.
The door to the main deck hissed open, and the captain was there. He stepped forward three steady, slow paces and stopped.
He was tall, well proportioned, and his uniform was completely white. The great shock of his hair was almost white, with faint traces of gray.
Over his eyes he wore a set of opaque radar-vision glasses, in which danced small firefly electric traces.
To a man, we held our breath.
At last he spoke.
“At ease.”
And, as one, we let out our breath.
“Redleigh,” the captain said.
“All present, sir.”
The captain traced the air with his hands. “Yes, the temperature has gone up ten degrees. All present, indeed.”
He moved along the front line, then stopped, one hand out, hovering near my face.
“Ah, here’s one who runs the very furnace of youth. Your name?”
“Sir,” I said. “Ishmael Hunnicut Jones.”
“God, Redleigh,” said the captain, “isn’t that the sound of Blue Ridge wilderness or the scarred red hills of Jerusalem?”
Without waiting for a response, he continued, “Well, now, Ishmael. What do you see that I don’t?”
Staring at him, I pulled back, and from the far side of my mind, in a panic, I whispered, “Quell?”
Suddenly I knew that if I should seize the captain’s dark machine
“You there,” said Redleigh, as I passed him outside the door to the captain’s cabin.
“Sir,” I said.
“Don’t jump. What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be on the quarterdeck?”
“Well, sir,” I said, nodding at the captain’s door. “Six days. Isn’t that a long time for the captain to be shut in? I can’t help but wonder…Is he all right? I have an urge to knock upon his door.”
Redleigh regarded me for a moment, then said, “Well, then…”
I stepped quietly to the door and rapped upon it lightly.
“No, no,” said Redleigh. “Let me show you.”
And he stepped up and knocked hard on the door with his fist.
He waited a moment, then knocked again.
I said, “Does he never answer, then?”
“If he knew that God Himself were out here, he might venture forth for a chat. But you or me? No.”
Suddenly there was the sound of a bell, a klaxon, and from the intercom a voice spoke: “Hear this! Captain’s inspection. All hands assemble, main deck. All hands, Captain’s inspection.”
And we turned and ran.
All gathered, five hundred strong, on the main deck.
“In line!” called Redleigh, from the head of the assembly. “He’s coming, the captain is coming. Tenshun!”
There was a faint hum, a touch of electrical sound, which wavered like a swarm of insects.
The door to the main deck hissed open, and the captain was there. He stepped forward three steady, slow paces and stopped.
He was tall, well proportioned, and his uniform was completely white. The great shock of his hair was almost white, with faint traces of gray.
Over his eyes he wore a set of opaque radar-vision glasses, in which danced small firefly electric traces.
To a man, we held our breath.
At last he spoke.
“At ease.”
And, as one, we let out our breath.
“Redleigh,” the captain said.
“All present, sir.”
The captain traced the air with his hands. “Yes, the temperature has gone up ten degrees. All present, indeed.”
He moved along the front line, then stopped, one hand out, hovering near my face.
“Ah, here’s one who runs the very furnace of youth. Your name?”
“Sir,” I said. “Ishmael Hunnicut Jones.”
“God, Redleigh,” said the captain, “isn’t that the sound of Blue Ridge wilderness or the scarred red hills of Jerusalem?”
Without waiting for a response, he continued, “Well, now, Ishmael. What do you see that I don’t?”
Staring at him, I pulled back, and from the far side of my mind, in a panic, I whispered, “Quell?”
Suddenly I knew that if I should seize the captain’s dark machine
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