Rocket to Limbo

Lars knew there was no alienness there, only a distortion of space and time, wrenched out of normal shape by the energy of the Koenig drive. What he was seeing was only the reflection of twisted, tortured energy-channels altered violently by the Koenig field. Not until the drive was finally shut off would the familiar pattern of black space and brilliant stars return to view. But then it would be a new star system, a new region of the galaxy with unfamiliar patterns of brightness to see.

He shut his eyes, dizzily. You could only watch for a few moments before the hypnotic luminosity became too dazzling. Lambert snapped the opacifier on again and activated the lights in the chamber. “Surprise you?”

Lars nodded, grinning sheepishly. “I didn’t expect that.”

“That’s all right,” Lambert said. “You’re due for a few more surprises before this day-period is over, I think. Let’s get down for that meeting.”

It was an uneasy meeting.

Lars knew the moment he stepped into the small, compact lounge that he was by no means the only member of the crew who had sensed that everything was not right. The men were waiting in small groups, talking among themselves in low voices, casting sidelong glances at the forward hatchway leading to the control room section of the ship. Lars could see Peter Brigham across the room, talking rapidly to a thin, hungry-looking man with pale cheeks and prominent eyes, who blinked and nodded from time to time as he listened. Other men, coming past them, stopped to listen, bending nearer to Peter. From all the groups a hum of uneasiness arose, not angry, but not quite peaceful either.

Lambert raised his eyebrows, taking the room in at a glance, and Lars could see a shadow of worry cross his face. They took seats near the rear of the room. “Your young friend seems to be doing a lot of talking,” Lambert said.

“So it seems. Who’s that he’s talking to?”

“The skinny one? That’s Jeff Salter. Assistant navigator. Morehouse over there is the navigator.”

Lambert pointed to a cheerful-faced young man perspiring over a tape projector he was busy preparing for use.

“Films?”

“Looks like it,” Lambert nodded. Another group of men came in and gradually settled in the bucket seats around the room. The lounge was well appointed for men with occasional lengthy periods of free time and very cramped living quarters. Tables tipped out from slotted storage racks along one wall; several cabinets were filled with playing cards and games. The far wall was packed with reader-tapes and several reading machines. In the corner a 3-V was flickering, poorly transmitted through the Koenig drive, but clearly discernible, a man and two girls building pyramids and spires with gaily colored teleblocks, teetering one unit up on top of another with a great show of difficulty as the structures built up crazily.

The forward hatchway opened and Tom Lorry, the startled-looking second officer came in, followed by a tall, heavily built man dressed in Colonial gray. Lars’ heart jumped. It was the first time he had seen Commander Walter Fox, although the explorer’s heavy features, severe jaw and shock of gray hair above pale blue eyes were as familiar to Lars as his own face in the mirror. Lars probably knew Walter Fox from tapes and films better than anyone on the ship did, for Lars had read every account of every expedition that Walter Fox had ever headed. Yet it was still a shock to see the man himself walk in, a commanding figure, firm and precise in his movements as he smiled and nodded to the men and sat down on the edge of a table in the front part of the room.

Not a man to tangle with, Lars thought to himself. Not a man to have angry at you, indeed, but a good man to have leading the ship any place the ship might be going.

Tom Lorry pounded on the table for order, and counted the men present. There were twenty-two, including Lars and Peter, a full complement for a first class explorer in the Colonial Service. Lorry nodded to Fox, and took a seat near the projector, handing a spool of tape to Morehouse. “Everyone’s here, Commander.”

“Fine, then we can begin.” Fox looked slowly around the room, his eyes stopping for a fraction of a second as they met Lars’ eyes, and again when they rested on Peter. “There’s been a lot of talk going around the ship that there’s something funny about this trip, that we’ve blasted under phoney orders, that we’re not hitting Vega at all but someplace else, that we’re heading for a plague spot someplace where we’ll be quarantined for six months, and so on, and so on. So I think we’d better clear the air before we get into our normal in-transit routines.” He glanced at Lambert. “Anybody have any trouble with reaction this time, by the way?”

“Not to speak of,” said Lambert.