All Judgment Fled (2 page)

 

 

During the five and a half months it would take them to reach the Ship,
they would eat, sleep, talk and sweat within a few inches of each other.
McCullough wondered if their club's rules of behavior, or esprit de corps
or whatever peculiar quality it was that made a group of individuals
greater than the sum of its parts, would keep them from suiciding out
of sheer loneliness or tearing each other to pieces from utter boredom
or disintegrating into madness and death for reasons they could not as
yet even imagine.

 

 

McCullough hoped it would. He was almost sure it would.

 

 

 

 

chapter two

 

 

The Prometheus Project was either the result of some very devious thinking
or there had been introduced into it such a multiplicity of objectives
that its planners did not know where they were. Even allowing for the
hasty mounting of the operation -- the original purpose of the two
ships was to have been the setting up of a manned lab and observatory
on Deimos -- McCullough's instructions were a mishmash of insufficient
data and ambiguous language.

 

 

He could follow their reasoning and even feel sympathy for their
problem. The alien vessel beyond the orbit of Mars was an enigma. To
solve it they had two small, fragile ships, a double payload which was
hopelessly inadequate, and six men. If the solution was to be as complete
as possible, the abilities of the six men must cover the widest possible
spread of physical and social science and, since the Ship was obviously
the product of a highly advanced culture, the knowledge possessed by
the six men should be complete and extensive.

 

 

Picking the men -- six healthy, stable, intelligent men capable of
surviving the longest journey in human history and asking the right
questions at the end of it -- was not an easy task because they had
to choose men capable of collecting the bacon and bringing it home
safely. Despite the thousands of scientifically eminent people who
demanded to go on the trip, it was the space medics who had, as usual,
the final say.

 

 

Instead of six of the world's acknowledged scientific geniuses, there
had been chosen four experienced astronauts and two under training who
were not even known in scientific circles, and respected only by a few
friends. All that could be said for them was that they had a fairly good
chance of surviving the trip.

 

 

McCullough, according to Berryman, had a subconscious which was dizzy from
watching people go around in centrifuges, while Hollis, the supercargo in
Morrison's ship, was a physicist working on the development of nuclear
power plants for space vessels. All four of the astronauts had in their
individual fashions told Hollis and McCullough that they approved of
the choice which had been made -- even though they may have been lying
diplomatically -- and that the two scientific unknowns should not worry
about the things certain green-complexioned ivory tower types were saying
about them. When they returned home they would all be as famous as anyone
could hope to be.

 

 

Berryman cleared his throat loudly, bringing McCullough's mind back to
present time with a rush as he said, "I suggest we do as the man said,
Doctor -- it's been thirty-one hours since we slept. Besides, it will
still be there when you wake up."

 

 

"What will?" asked Walters.

 

 

"Nothing," said Berryman. "Millions of miles of nothing."

 

 

"I fell for that one," said Walters. He sighed and with great deliberation
closed his eyes.

 

 

When they were quiet again waiting for the sedatives to work, McCullough's
mind returned to the almost laughable problem of these people who insisted,
quite wrongly, that they were his charges. He liked to think that his
professional qualifications were necessary to the success of this trip,
that he would spend his time making detailed observations and evaluating
data gathered on extraterrestrial physiology, sociology, and even
psychology although he was not himself a psychologist. But apart from
five names, faces, tones of voice and military insignias, McCullough
knew very little about his colleagues and self-elected patients.

 

 

Basically they were well adjusted introverts -- an astronaut had no business
being anything else -- and both Captain Berryman and Major Walters had shown
great thoughtfulness and consideration in their dealings with him.

 

 

Where Colonel Morrison was concerned, he had less to go on. The colonel
was polite but reserved and there had been very little prior social contact
between them. The same applied to Major Drew. The third member of
Morrison's crew was the physicist, Captain Hollis. His rank, like that
of McCullough's, did not mean very much and had probably been given
in order to simplify Army paperwork and make it easier for them to be
ordered to do things. Hollis did not talk much and when he did it was in
shy, low-voiced polysyllables. Apparently he got his kicks from playing
chess and fixing his friends' TV sets.

 

 

Then there was Lieutenant Colonel McCullough, of course, a complex
personality whose motivations McCullough had thought he understood
until he found himself volunteering for this job. He had been undergoing
training for MOL service, the idea being to have him share one of the
orbiting laboratories with a number of lab animals and make a study
of life processes in the weightless condition. Like the others he was
unmarried and this was probably a good thing, despite the generally held
belief that marriage gave added strength and emotional stability to an
astronaut, because Prometheus might very well become a suicide mission.

 

 

McCullough wriggled in his couch, even though all positions were equally
comfortable in the weightless condition. Beyond the port, Earth was
in darkness with the moon just about to slip over the sharply curved
horizon. Cloud masses and continental outlines were gray and indistinct,
with the stars above the horizon and the cities below it shining with
the same intensity so that the whole planet seemed transparent and
insubstantial, like a world of ectoplasm.

 

 

It was as if the final war had started and finished while he wasn't looking
and the whole world had died, McCullough thought rather fancifully as he
slipped over the edge of sleep, and a planet-sized ghost eternally pursued
its orbit around the Sun . . .

 

 

But when he awakened some hours later, the Earth was again solid and
condensed into a bright sphere which was just small enough to fit within
the rim of the port. Berryman and Walters were already awake and when
they saw that McCullough had joined them, the command pilot passed out
breakfast. They were squeezing the last of it from their tubes when
there was an interruption.

 

 

"This is Prometheus Control. Good morning, gentlemen! If you have
nothing better to do, and we are sure you haven't, we would like you to
take your first lecture. We have now decided to increase the frequency
of these lectures from two to three per day. The first one, which should
prove very helpful when you reach the Ship, deals with multidimensional
geometry . . ."

 

 

"Ugh," said Berryman.

 

 

"Drop dead," said Walters.

 

 

"No comment," said McCullough.

 

 

"Thank you for your cooperation, gentlemen. If you will have pencils
and paper ready . . ."

 

 

"Negative, negative!"
the voice of Colonel Morrison broke in.
"P-One to Prometheus Control and P-Two. I advise against taking written
notes. Paper is limited and may be needed for purposes of communications
and supplementary sketches for the photographs taken at the Ship."

 

 

"A good point, Colonel. Very well, mental notes only until a decision
has been taken in this matter. And now, if you're ready to begin . . ."

 

 

There was a short silence broken by two bursts of static and an apologetic
cough, then a new voice said,
"Well now, the subject of this lecture
may itself need an explanation and it is this. From our observations of
the approach, physical mass and general appearance of the alien ship,
we are convinced that some method of faster-than-light propulsion is
being used. Since Einsteinian math holds FTL travel to be impossible in
this spacetime continuum, we must fall back on those vaguer theories
which suggest that the physical laws governing this continuum may be
in some fashion sidestepped by traveling along or within some highly
speculative hyperdimension. But as things stand you would very probably
not know a hyperdimensional propulsion device if it stood up and bit you,
and neither in all probability would I . . ."

 

 

There was a small, dry, academic cough, then the voice went on,
"So
the purpose of this lecture is, by outlining current thinking on this
subject together with our speculations and supporting math, to give you
a slightly better chance of recognizing a hyperdimensional generator if
you should happen to see one.
"Subsequent lectures on a wide range of subjects are expected to include
. . ."

 

 

McCullough was beginning to feel concern for a future which now promised
to be positively rather than negatively boring. He hoped the Prometheus
people knew what they were doing and had taken pains to pick the right
kind of lecturer. When the idea had been first mentioned they had agreed
that without visual aids or textbooks, the process of learning new and
difficult subjects would be anything but easy. If handled properly, the
lectures would help negate boredom by engendering a competitive spirit
among the two ships' crews. This would be a very good thing provided
it did not cause some people to appear less bright than their fellows,
a situation which could open the way to all sorts of conflicts and
emotional disturbances. But all this had been taken into consideration,
the Prometheus astronauts had been told, and any harmful side effects
would be guarded against.

 

 

Probably time alone would tell, McCullough thought. At least this lecturer
possessed a rudimentary sense of humor.

 

 

He was saying,
". . . To give you an example, our knowledge of
extraterrestrial biology, physiology and sociology is nil. But in future
lectures we will prepare you to a certain extent for whatever you may meet
by considering in detail the sexual mores of certain isolated cultures
on our own planet and the exotic reproductive mechanisms of our more
alien terrestrial animals, insects and plants, and by formulating the
type of social system these creatures might be expected to develop were
they to rise to a human level of intelligence.
"All this is simply an indication of what you may expect from the various
specialist lecturers who will follow me.
"Before I commence my series of lectures it might be better if I introduced
myself. I am Doctor -- of Philosophy, not Medicine -- Edward Ernest Pugh,
Professor of Mathematics at the University of Coleraine, and Director of
its Department of Extramural Studies . . ."

 

 

Berryman turned to stare very solemnly out of the Earth-side port. He said,
"Just how extramural can a student get . . ."

 

 

Walters and McCullough laughed and Professor Pugh asked them to begin
by considering a tesseract.

 

 

 

 

chapter three

 

 

Time passed.

 

 

Their education grew while Earth and the apparent size of their vehicle
shrank. When the bulkheads pressed in on them too closely, they took
turns going outside, treating incipient claustrophobia with threatened
agoraphobia. At least that was how Berryman described the process. But
he talked that way, as they all did, to hide his real feelings. The
simple truth was that on the end of a long safety line, with their
vehicle looking like some surrealistic toy five hundred yards away,
the whole of Creation was spread out around them in sharp focus and
perfect 3-D and it was not a sight which could be easily talked about.

 

 

With the increased distance from Earth and Prometheus Control,
communication difficulties also grew. Not only did periodic solar
interference make incoming messages barely intelligible, the time lag
between outgoing questions and incoming answers was more than eight
minutes. When it became necessary to turn up the gain on their receiver
because a whisper of intelligence was trying to fight its way through a
thunder of mush, the time lag was more than simply irritating. Finally
even the colonel could stand it no longer.

 

 

"You may be transmitting a lecture on production methods in the
aircraft industry,"
Morrison enunciated slowly and with sarcasm,
"but it sounds like a tape of Omaha Beach on D-Day. You are fighting
a losing battle. Give up until these blasted sunspots have gone back to
sleep, at least!"

 

 

Eight minutes later a tiny voice fought its way through a barrage of
static to say,
". . . Your message incompletely received . . . do
not have battle tactics . . . Operation Overlord immediately available
. . . loss to understand this request . . ."

 

 

"You misunderstood my message, Prometheus Control,"
the colonel's
voice returned, louder but with less clarity of diction.
"I requested
that you cease transmission . . .

 

 

". . . a lecture scheduled on Games Theory, but must warn you . . .
Alien conception of military tactics may not agree . . . Eisenhower
. . ."