Alan E. Nourse (6 page)

Tuck just looked at him. "So let it
chew," he said dryly. "Then maybe
my
father and I can go home."

David
Torm's
face lighted up. "So it's your father
he's talking to! Then tell my father I'm here."

Tuck
looked him straight in the eye. "If I thought you'd been telling a word of
truth since you got here, I'd do so gladly. Tell me what the trouble is, and
I'll tell him."

David
threw his hands up in despair.
"You Earth people!
You're all alike!
Stubborn, like mules."
He
stared at Tuck for a moment,
then
started to bolt on
his helmet again. "If it wouldn't kill you," he said sarcastically,
"perhaps you'd tell my father to get back to the colony without losing a
minute, as soon as he's through talking. I can't
wait,
I've got to get back." He started for the lock. "Tell him that
Cortell
is organizing his group—can you tell him
that?" Without waiting for an answer, he clamped down the faceplate of
the helmet, still muttering under his breath. Tuck stood watching as the lock
door clanged shut, thoroughly confused. Maybe the boy had been serious! There
had been something about those pale blue eyes that had demanded trust. But
then, he was a colonist, and nothing he said could be trusted. Tuck turned
angrily away from the lock. Probably he had come aboard simply to look
around—or maybe he had his pockets stuffed with
Murexide
plates. There was no way of telling. And certainly, it wasn't worth taking a
chance.

Impatiently Tuck paced the corridor outside
the room where the men were conferring. They had been talking almost two hours
now, and as the minutes passed, Tuck became more and more uneasy. Perhaps he
should have trusted the boy, accepted his word. Who was
Cortell
?
And what sort of a group was he organizing? Probably Anson
Torm
would know the significance of that. But surely the conference was more
important than anything else. If the mines were to shut down, there would be
real trouble, and soon.

Tuck's
mind drifted back to the blond-haired youth. So Anson
Torm
was his father. That meant he must have been born and grown up in the colony.
For an instant a thousand questions flooded Tuck's mind, questions he would
like to ask. And the jet plane—could David possibly have rebuilt it himself? It
would be wonderful to have such a ship, to come and go with as he pleased, just
big enough to use for exploratory jaunts—and especially if he lived on such a
place as Titan, with so much of the surface still a barren, uncharted jungle of
rocks and gorges and black-faced cliffs. But he jerked his thoughts away from
such channels; probably he would never even talk to the fellow again, and
certainly he'd have no chance to try out his plane. There were more important
things to do—

And
then the door to the room flew open, and Colonel Benedict stalked out, his face
white and drawn with anger. He was followed by the tall colony leader. Anson
Torm's
face looked very tired, and his jaw was set in a
grim line. Tuck stared at the two men, and his heart sank.

The first conference was
over.

_{Chapter
5
Amu,*}

n
the
course
of
his eighteen years Tuck Benedict had seen the Colonel in many moods, but he had
never before seen such a combination of anger and distrust on his father's
face. The Colonel stalked into the room, barely nodding to
Tuck
,
and slapped a sheaf of papers down on the desk furiously. Then he snatched up
the intercom speaker, his hand trembling barely within the limits of
control/'Better get up here, Jim," he snapped to the pilot. "We're
going to the colony."

Tuck
stared at his father, and then at the tall colony leader, his heart sinking.
What could have happened? His father was furious, and
Torm
was controlling himself with difficulty, his face white, lips in a tight, grim
line.
Neither man spoke;
Torm
was
struggling into his pressure suit again, the tired wrinkles deeper around his
eyes, an expression of bitterness and disappointment on his face.

Finally
the Colonel turned to the tall colony leader. "You have accommodations for
us at the colony,
I
presume?" he said coldly.

Torm
shrugged.
"If you
desire them.
You and your son will have to stay in my quarters—there's
no place for guests in the colony. But your crew will have to stay here."

The
Colonel snorted. "They will, all right." He turned sharply to the
pilot who had just come in. "We're leaving for the colony," he said,
his voice regaining some semblance of control. "We'll have a hand radio
with us, of course, and I'd like a man here on the receiver all the time."

The pilot nodded.
"Any idea how long—?"

"None in the least.
Maybe a day, maybe six weeks.
I couldn't even guess, at this point." He shot a venomous glance at Anson
Torm
.

Tuck
watched the men miserably. The conference had been a failure—obviously. He knew
the Colonel had counted on establishing some sort of liaison on the first
meeting, some grounds for understanding— and it appeared that he had failed
utterly. And
Torm
had said that unless an
understanding was reached, there wouldn't be any mines left to work! Tuck felt
a chill run down his spine. What could he have meant? The colonists wouldn't
dare
to stop work, to close down the mines—and yet the colonists were violent
—rebels and traitors. They might dare anything. Tuck's heart skipped a beat as
he thought of David
Torm's
visit to the ship, and his
message suddenly took on a horrible significance. If there had been some plan
made, back at the colony, to start a violent outbreak if the conference was
not successful—Tuck turned to Anson
Torm
in alarm.
"Your son was here—"

The colony leader lowered his hands from the
suit slowly, staring at Tuck, his pale blue eyes widening. "David? You
mean he came here to the ship?"

Tuck
nodded.
"Half an hour ago.
He wanted to see you,
but we told him you'd left orders not to be disturbed."

There
was alarm on Anson
Torm's
face now, and he blinked at
Tuck, and then shot a glance at the Colonel. "What did he want?"

"He
wouldn't tell me. Said there was trouble of some sort back at the colony—"

"
Cortell
!"
The word was like a curse.

Tuck
nodded excitedly. "That's right. He said
Cortell
was organizing his group, or something like that, and that you should get back
as soon as possible."

Anson
Torm
scowled, his fist clenching at his side.
"Did he say anything else?"

"Nothing
else.
He
just left in a hurry."

Torm
half-turned to the Colonel, worried lines
furrowing his broad forehead. "This is a horse of a different
color," he said sharply. "I think you'd better let me go in
alone—before you come."

The
Colonel's eyebrows lifted. "Not on your life," he growled. "Not
after the story you've been telling me for the last two hours—"

Anson
Torm's
eyes flashed. "Colonel,
you've got to trust me.
For the sake of the mines,
and for the sake of your own neck.
This is something I've got to handle
alone—"

"I'd
say you've handled it rather badly alone." The Colonel's voice lashed angrily.
"Who is this
Cortell
?"

"I told you about John
Cortell
. He's a troublemaker, and he's dangerous."

The
Colonel regarded
Torm
for a long moment. Then he said
coldly, "I thought
you
were
supposed to be the leader of the colony people."

Torm's
mouth tightened. "I am."

"Then
why don't you keep your troublemakers in confinement where they belong?"

"Colonel,
you simply don't understand the situation at the colony—"

"That's
for dead sure!" The Colonel cut him off with a wave of the hand. "I
don't understand a thing you've said all afternoon. And that is precisely why
I'm not going to stay here now. All I've heard is double talk and threats. You
want to keep the mines working, but you don't want to keep the mines working.
You've gotten extra supplies, but you haven't gotten extra supplies. You're the
colony leader, but you can't lead the colony! Bah!" The Colonel's face was
red with anger. "I want to know what's going on out here, and I've had
nothing but nonsense handed to me. Now I want the facts. If there's trouble in
the colony that you can't control, we'll see what the trouble is, and we'll see
if
we
can't control it."

"You're determined to
go in with me?"

"I am indeed."

Torm
shrugged his shoulders, angrily. "Then
you'd better hurry, because I'm going in as fast as I can get there." He
turned back to the pressure suit, and Tuck was almost startled to see the
whiteness of his face.

The
Colonel turned to Tuck, his voice quieter. "Maybe you'd better stay, if
there's likely to be trouble—"

"If
there's trouble, you'll need help," Tuck protested. "Anyway, they
won't dare harm us—not with the crew as close as it
is,
and you with Security credentials—"

The Colonel frowned for a moment,
then
nodded.
"All right.
But
you'd better be quick about it—"

A
few moments later they were standing in the lock, waiting as atmosphere hissed
out of the exhaust pumps until the outer door sprang open. The crane grated
shrilly as they descended, and Tuck felt his blood stir as they approached the
ground. Now, at last, he would be seeing this strange colony for himself. The
people who lived in a bubble! He shook his head, still puzzled that people
would choose to live in such a time-forgotten outpost. What could be driving
them? And yet, he knew, they seldom came back to Earth, once they had worked on
Titan. Occasionally they came back, looking for work, applying to the schools,
or just vacationing, but almost invariably a Titan colonist who came back to
Earth for any reason was back on the next ship out to Titan again. Of course,
everyone knew that they were poor workmen, shifty and lazy and treacherous,
and nobody on Earth wanted to hire a man who knew nothing but how to keep
methane out of a mining tunnel, and there probably wasn't a person in the
colony who could qualify for entrance requirements at an
Earthside
University—and with their long history of treachery and violence, who wanted
them back on Earth anyway? They couldn't even run their own tiny colony
without constant fighting and revolutionary outbreaks —what place could they
find in the civilized society back on Earth?

The
three of them reached the floor of the crater, and stepped off the crane,
clambering into the cockpit of the half-track. The motor started, and the vehicle
gave a lurch, and rolled in a wide arc, crawling over the ragged terrain like a
short, stubby worm, absorbing the bumps and
declevities
with the pillow tires and the caterpillar treads that gave the thing its
driving power. Tuck caught a brief glimpse of the tall, slender ship, and then
it disappeared as the halftrack made a complete circle and started up toward
the first ridge of crags. Tuck felt a sudden pang of uneasiness pass through
him. At least in the ship there had been a certain degree of safety. But beyond
that ridge of rocks—who could say? It was no use fooling
himself
.
They were leaving their safety behind.

He
heard his father's voice in the earphones, a startling sound, as though the
Colonel were speaking directly into his ear. "Did the boy say what
Cortell
was trying to organize?"

"Not
a word. He clammed up the minute I asked. Maybe you should ask Mr.
Torm
. He seems to know what his son was talking
about."

Anson
Torm
threw a
glance at
Tuck,
then met the Colonel's cold eyes.
"I think you'll want to find out for yourself," he said coolly. "John
Cortell
is powerful—and he's getting more powerful
every day. He
has a lot of the colonists on his side, and he wants open revolt with Earth.
I
've been trying to tell you for the past two hours that the colonists
have reached the end of their tether out here. They want some changes made, and
they're going to have those changes. And if they find out that you've come here
without any idea of making changes,
I
can't
vouch for what will happen."

The
Colonel raised his eyebrows in exasperation. "And as
I
told you, Security can't consider making changes unless we know exactly
what is going on in this colony. All the Earth asks is the colonists' cooperation—nothing
more."

Torm
snorted.
"Co-operation!
The Earth doesn't want
co-operation, the Earth wants slaves! We've cooperated to the limit, and we've
been slapped in the face every time. We've dealt squarely with Earth, and
they've cheated us and betrayed us and degraded us—"

"And
I
suppose that these smuggled supplies are part
of your policy of dealing squarely with Earth?"

Torm's
face was white. "You've been given the wrong information about our
supplies. That's all
I
can say." He swung the wheel of the
half-track sharply to avoid a huge rock, and the car shook as if every bolt
were about to fall loose.

The
Colonel's eyes were dark.
"I
'm
afraid that answer won't do this time,
Torm
.
Security made the investigation this time, in duplicate—two separate groups
working independently, checking shipping orders, receipts, invoices; checking
rocket schedules and loading lists and everything else. They both came
up
with
the
same
results.
Oh,
the
shipping
was
well concealed—changing
suppliers
every
couple
of
years, filling
duplicate
orders—always
above
quota,
extra supplies.
No
colony
in
the
Universe
would
need
the supplies
this
colony
has
been
piling
in
for
the
last
hundred
years—"

Torm
looked
straight
at
Colonel
Benedict,
and
his face
was
grave.
"But
I
tell
you
in
all
truth
that
we've received
nothing
in
this
colony
that
we
don't
need— for
survival."

"You
mean
you
need
food
enough
to
feed
twice
your
population?"
the
Colonel
snapped.
"What
are you
doing
to
that
food?
Are
you
trying
to
tell
me
that
just
working
these
mines
requires
almost
double
the normal
food
supply?"

"I
repeat—we
have
received
nothing
that
we
don't
need—
for
survival."
It
seemed
to
Tuck
that
the
colony leader
placed
an
emphasis
on
the
last
two
words.
"And you
must
remember
that
the
men
are
working,
they spend
their
days
in
physical
labor,
they
need
more food
than
the
average
Earthman.
And
you
aren't
dealing
with
the
same
conditions
here
as
on
Earth.
We have
atmosphere
leaks
to
plague
us,
we
have
contamination
problems.
When
food
gets
contaminated
with some
of
the
natural
bacterial
flora
here,
or
when
our hydroponics
are
thrown
out
of
balance
by
natural
fungi,
we
can't
take
any
chances.
We
have
to
throw
out
all
we
have
that
may
have
been
contaminated,
or run
the
risk
of
a
plague,
or
of
no
oxygen
to
breathe—"