Alan E. Nourse (19 page)

Ned
turned to the Colonel, a desperate light in his eyes. "If you mean the
promises you've made to Anson,
then
prove your faith.
Give us permission to go."

Colonel
Benedict stared at the man. "Why, to allow you to take that ship would be
to violate every principle of the Earth Security Commission. I'd be liable to
a general court-martial. It's unthinkable—" He stood up, a strange light
in his eyes. "It would be the biggest scandal Security has had on its
hands for a hundred years—Anson, do you realize what it could mean? It would
bring a wholesale, total investigation of the whole Earth-Titan
relationship!" He stared at the colony leader, excitedly. "It would
bring this colony under the spotlight like never before. People could
see
what's been happening out here; they could see the truth about the colony,
instead of the lies they've been hearing! Why, Security would be turned inside
out with investigation, and in a court-martial I could tell the truth, and
there would be no brushing my report aside—they'd
have
to listen!"

"Then
you'll let us go?" Ned Miller's voice was eager.

"Let you? You have my full, official
permission— I'll give it to you in writing, with an Earth Security seal!"

Ned
turned to Anson
Torm
. "We have Security's
permission, Anson," he said. "We want our leader's permission."

Torm
sighed. "Make me a listing of
passengers," he said. "We'll help you finish supplying the ship and
make it ready. And as for us who remain—" He looked proudly at Colonel
Benedict. "We've got a fight on our hands. The sooner we make our plans,
the better—'"

Chapter
is
"
When Two Strong Men
—"

ffi
next
days were exhausting. The list of the colonists
who were leaving on the star-ship was long; the men studied it carefully, and
the weariness grew in Anson
Torm's
eyes as he checked
name after name—friends of many years, men and women he had known and loved and
fought for. Yet he knew that for them, their decision was the right one. The
years of hatred and bitterness had left its mark on the colony, a mark that
nothing could erase, a mark so deep that no human decision could now change it.
And behind that mark was the knowledge that a hundred years of work and sorrow
lay behind their decision.

The
boys pitched in with the rest in the tremendous task of making the ship ready
for its final journey. With only a hundred and forty people aboard, the chances
for a successful voyage were far greater than they ever could have been with
the whole colony. But the boys saw something that their fathers perhaps did not
see— they could see the greatness of the adventure, they could feel the call of
the unknown challenge that lay before the ship. They worked in bright-eyed
eager-

ness
as they saw the supplies rolling up the
ramp, the few personal belongings of the embarking colonists installed in the
tiers of small lockers in the huge sleeping quarters of the ship. Here was the
call of the stars—one small ship, manned by men who had no place in the land
they were leaving. The ship sat still and proud as the work progressed, its
silver nose pointed toward the dark sky, and as the boys worked, their
excitement grew.

At
dinners, and in the evenings, they could talk of nothing else. The Colonel and
Anson
Torm
watched them, feeling the excitement stir
in their own minds, even as they listened. But then, finally, the work was
done, and the ship was ready.
Torm
and the Colonel
had agreed to wait until then before settling down to the plans that lay ahead
for the colony; there was too much work to be done, too much excitement to talk
and think of anything else. But finally the night before the leave-taking
arrived, and
Torm
walked out of the cabin and found
Tuck Benedict and David sitting quietly in front of the cabin, watching the
yellow rings of Saturn as it rode high in the sky, talking a little, but mostly
sitting in silence, watching.

The
old man sat down beside them. They hardly noticed him, so he sat and watched,
too. And then, finally, he said, "It's a great adventure. We'll never know
if they get to their destination, or when, or how many. We'll never live to
know." He raised a finger, pointed to a tiny spot of brightness in the
cloud of stars. "Those are the
Centauris
there—where they're heading. Even they will never know if those to come will
get there, or whether they will find anything when they do."

The boys sat mutely watching, and Anson
Torm's
eyes were on his son's face as he stared up. There
were so many things he wanted to say to his son, so many, many things—and yet
he knew that he and David were a million miles apart, that he could never
understand the longing that had been in his son since he had first toddled out
of the cabin and pointed toward the bright stars, and said, "I want that,
Daddy—" He saw David's broad shoulders, the unruly shock of blond hair,
the brightness in his eyes. He sat looking at David for a long time. Then he
said, "You can go with the ship if you want to, son. If that's where you
belong—if you really believe that—I'll not try to stop you—" The old man's
voice trembled.

David
turned wide, wondering eyes to his father. "It's what I've always dreamed of—going
there—"

"I know. That's why
I'd never stop you."

Tuck
watched the two, his heart suddenly beating wildly. He realized that David had
taken the words from his mouth, stated in one short, simple sentence all the
excitement and longing and adventure he felt in his own heart. David was silent
for a long time. Then he said, "I should be the leader here, after you go—
isn't that right, Dad?"

Anson
Torm's
eyes
were grave.
"
Torms
have been
elected to lead the Titan colony for generations, son.
Your father, your
grandfather, his father before him . . . they've been good leaders."

"And there's work to be done—here at
home. You and the Colonel will be able to make a start—but what about twenty
years from now? Who will do the work then?" He looked at the stars again,
and then his eyes caught his father's. "We've been talking, Tuck and
I," he said softly. "We been thinking about things a good bit
lately—the whole history of the Titan colony, and what there is to look forward
to here. And Tuck is going back to study, and
help
his
father fight for the colony, back on Earth. Last night the Colonel told me that
he had friends who would help me arrange to take admission exams for the
Polytechnic Institute, if I wanted to—" He glanced at Tuck, then dropped
his eyes. "I'm not going to do it. And I'm not going with the ship. I
think I belong here—on Titan. With me here, and Tuck back on Earth—we'll finish
what you two have started."

Anson
Torm
looked at the boys, first one, then the other,
and his voice didn't seem to work right when he tried to speak. "That's
your decision—the two of you?"

"The two of us.
That's our decision. Oh, Tuck will come out
here when he has a chance. We've got great plans, Dad—we want to see some of
Saturn's moons that haven't been mapped yet, maybe even go in to Saturn
herself, someday. And
Japetus
—we'll land there one of
these days,
Geigers
or no
Geigers
.
And I'll go back to Earth to visit, too. But that's just play, in the long run.
The real work is here."

Fo
-
n
long
moment
Torm
sat,
staring at the stars, his heart crying things he could never find words to say.
And then, finally, he rose and walked back to the cabin. At the door he paused,
his face happier than David had seen it in years. "We'll be seeing the
ship off in the morning," he said. "Better get some sleep."

a
    
a
    
&
    
#
    
p

It was early, with the light just rising
above the horizon when the last man walked up the ramp, and turned to wave to
the group gathered below, then closed the port behind him, slowly, until it
locked with a final clang. The group moved away, walking back from the crevice
where the ship stood. Far back there were sandbag barriers to protect the
remaining colonists from the blast. The people found their places, and waited
in the still Titan morning. There were many tears, and much sadness on many
faces. They waited, and it seemed that the minutes that ticked by were an
eternity long—and then they heard the rumble, a whining groan which rose to a
roar, shaking the ground with its power.

A
billow of powdery white rose around the silver nose of the star-ship,
enveloping it in an iridescent cloud, and then slowly and majestically the nose
of the ship began to rise through the cloud. The jets bellowed yellow flame,
and the roar echoed and reechoed down the gorges and canyons of the planet.
The ship rose, higher and higher, faster and faster, like a silver
arrow in the sky, leaving its streamer of white behind it.
Slowly it
turned, slowly it dwindled, and the roar faded away in their ears, and with a
last glint of silver the ship shrank to a tiny dot, blinked, and was lost from
view.

The
people were silent as they made their way back to the colony, silent with an
emptiness that they could neither explain nor express. The boys walked side by
side, saying nothing, and a few yards behind them, Colonel Benedict and Anson
Torm
walked, almost surprised that they needed no words to
communicate their feelings. In a few moments they would be seated at a table,
an Earthman and a colonist working in trust and confidence for the peace and
prosperity, of both Earth and Titan, for the first time in generations. It
would be a hard job—they both knew that. A court-martial might ruin the
Colonel's career. But if it would bring the truth to the attention of Earth
lawmakers, if it would expose the cruelty and tyranny of the Security
Commission's policy toward Titan, it would be worth the fight. And both men
knew in their hearts that it would succeed.

As they walked, Colonel Benedict smiled, and
pointed ahead to David and Tuck. "Thick as thieves," he said quietly.
"I wonder why they could see so much more clearly than we
could?
Two boys from the ends of the Solar
System!"

"Boys?" said Anson
Torm
. "I wonder. They were boys a week ago, that's
true. But they were talking like men last night." He
smiled,
his eyes misty. "There was an old Earth ballad my grandfather used to
recite to me when I was young." His eyes rested on the boys as they walked
along. "Kipling, I think:

"But there is
neither
East
nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,

When two strong men stand face to face, though they come from the ends
of the earth!"

The two men glanced at each other,
then
back to the boys. And the sun shone brightly on the
Titan colony.