Space Station 1
Station's central control compartment, and confront the commander,
when the latter, absorbed by matters of the utmost urgency, had
triple-guarded his privacy by stationing executive officers outside the
door.
Commander Clement was a small man physically, with a strangely bland,
almost cherubic face. But his face was dark with anger now--or possibly
it was shock that he was experiencing--and the heightened color seemed
to add to his dignity, making him look not merely forcibly determined,
but almost formidable. His white uniform and the seven gold bars on
each epaulet helped a good deal too. It was impossible to determine at
a glance just how great was his inner strength, but Corriston knew that
he could not have gotten where he was had he not possessed unalloyed
resoluteness.
He was standing by a visual reference mechanism which looked almost
exactly like a black stovepipe spiraling up from the deck. There was
a speaking tube in his hand, and he was talking into it. He seemed
completely unaware that he was no longer alone.
Had Corriston been less agitated he would have felt a little sorry for
the officer who had admitted him. The officer had been so impressed by
Corriston's gravity and the earnestness with which he had pleaded his
case that he had stepped forward and opened the door without question,
assuming, no doubt, that Clement would look up instantly and see
Corriston standing just inside the doorway.
Now the door had closed again, Clement hadn't looked up, and the
officer was going to be in trouble. But Corriston had no time and very
little inclination to worry about that. What Commander Clement was
saying into the speaking tube had a far stronger claim on his attention.
"It's the worst thing that could have happened," Clement was saying.
"We can't just brazen it out. It's going to mean trouble, serious
trouble. What's that? How should I know what happened? When you're
carrying a certain kind of cargo a thousand things can go wrong. The
ship went out of control, that's all. The first radio message didn't
tell me anything. The captain was trying to cover up to save himself.
He didn't even want _me_ to know.
"You bet it can happen again. We've got to be prepared for that, too.
But right now--"
Commander Clement saw Corriston then. His expression didn't change, but
it seemed to Corriston that he paled slightly.
"That's all for now," he said, and returned the speaking tube to its
cradle.
He looked steadily at Corriston for a moment. A glint of anger appeared
in his eyes, and suddenly they were blazing.
"What do you mean by coming in here unannounced, Lieutenant?" he
demanded. "I gave strict orders that no one was to be admitted. If I
didn't know you were suffering from severe space-shock...."
"I'm sorry, sir," Corriston said quickly. "It's very urgent. I think
I can convince you that I am _not_ suffering from space-shock. I've
found Miss Ramsey. She's been badly hurt and needs immediate medical
attention."
The Commander looked as if a man he had thought sane was standing
before him with a gun in his hand. Not Corriston, but some other, more
violent man. For a moment longer he remained rigid and then his hand
went out and tightened on Corriston's arm.
"By heaven, if you're lying to me!"
"I would have no reason to lie, sir. It proves I'm not a space-shock
case. But that's unimportant now. She's safe for the moment. No one can
get to her. I bolted the door on the inside. Unless--"
Corriston went pale. "No, there's no danger. I drew the ladder up and
returned it to the Selector compartment. Then I threw the lock on the
emergency door."
"Start at the beginning," Clement said. "If she's in danger well get to
her. Take it easy now, and tell me exactly what happened."
Corriston went over it fast. He said nothing about the mask. Let
Clement find that out for himself.
Commander Clement walked to the door, threw it open and spoke to the
executive officer who was stationed outside. The officer came into the
control room.
"Stay with Lieutenant Corriston until I get back," Clement said. "He's
not to leave. He understands that."
He turned back to Corriston. "I'm afraid you'll have to consider
yourself still under guard, Lieutenant. I have only your word that you
found Miss Ramsey. I believe you, but there are some regulations even I
can't waive."
"It's all right," Corriston said. "I won't attempt to leave. But please
hurry, sir."
Commander Clement hesitated, then said with a smile: "I knew about the
guard you knocked out, Lieutenant. You're a very hot-headed young man.
That's _really_ a court-martial offense, but perhaps we can smooth it
over if you're telling the truth now. You were in the position of a man
imprisoned for a crime he didn't commit. If he can prove his innocence,
the law is very lenient. He can escape and still get a full pardon,
even a pardon with apologies. It's a different matter, of course if he
_kills_ a guard to escape. You didn't."
Corriston was tempted to say, "I think perhaps I tried to, sir," but
thought better of it. He'd ask Clement later why the guards who had
been sent down into the Selector compartment had failed to find him.
It wasn't important enough now to waste a second thought on, but just
out of curiosity he would ask.
He didn't have to. After Clement had departed the executive officer
told him. "They made a pretty thorough search for you," he said. "Or so
they claimed. But they had been drinking heavily--every one of them.
Maintaining discipline can be a terrible headache at times. There's a
lot of objectivity about the commander and he doesn't try to crack down
too hard. He knows what it means to be out here for months with nothing
to break the monotony. Hell, if we could send for our wives more often
it wouldn't be so bad."
Corriston's palms were cold. He stood very still, wondering how long it
would take the commander to return with the news he wanted to hear.
"The question is whether life is really worth living without a woman to
talk to," the executive officer went on. "Just to lie relaxed and watch
a pretty girl move slowly around a room. It does something for you."
Corriston wished the man would keep quiet. Under ordinary circumstances
he could have sympathized heartily. He couldn't now. There was only one
girl he wanted to see walk around a room, and she might just as well
have been at the opposite end of space.
She wasn't walking around a room now. She was lying helplessly sprawled
out, waiting for rescue to come. It had to come soon, it had to. The
commander wouldn't just go down alone after her. He'd be accompanied by
a half-dozen executive officers who would know exactly how to bundle
her into a stretcher and carry her to the sick bay.
But what if a killer just happened to be crouching in one of the
corridors, waiting for the stretcher to pass? A killer with a poisoned
barb....
Corriston couldn't stand still. He walked back and forth across the
control room while the executive officer continued to talk. He paid no
heed at all.
Corriston heard a footfall as he paced. He turned and saw that
Commander Clement had returned. He was standing in the doorway with a
strange look on his face.
Corriston felt bewildered, unable to quite believe that Clement was
really back. It was like a dream that had suddenly turned real, a
looking glass reversal with a strange quality of distortion about it.
It was real enough. Clement entered and shut the door behind him, very
firmly and carefully, as if he wanted to make sure that Corriston would
not attempt to escape.
He walked slowly forward, looking at the executive officer as if
Corriston had no place at all in his thoughts.
"Everything he told me was a lie," Clement said. "Everything. There
was no girl. The compartment was locked; so was the emergency door
leading down to the Selector. The ladder was standing against the wall
in the Selector compartment. Miss Ramsey could not have been in the
compartment--not at any time. There was nothing to indicate it. She
just wasn't there."
Corriston moved toward him, his face white. "That's a lie and you know
it. What have you done with her? You'd better tell me. You can have me
court-martialed, but you can't stop me from talking. I can prove she
was there. The grate--"
"The grate? What are you talking about? There was no ripped-out grate.
The grate was in place. I feel very sorry for you, Lieutenant. But I
can't let sympathy stand in the way of my duty. In some respects you're
very rational. You can think logically and clearly ... up to a point.
But the shock weakness is there. It's very serious when you start
having actual hallucinations."
The executive officer had drawn his gun. He was holding it rather
loosely in his hand now, triggered and ready for any dangerous or
suspicious move on Corriston's part.
There was nothing in Clement's gaze as he swung about to refute the
dark mistrust that had come into the executive officer's eyes. He
seemed intent only on bolstering that mistrust by driving even deeper
nails into Corriston's coffin.
"I'm afraid we'll have to continue to regard Lieutenant Corriston as
dangerously unstable," he said. "Keep your gun on him when you take him
back to the Ward. Don't relax your vigilance for an instant."
"I won't," the executive officer promised.
"Good. You're not going to make any further trouble for us, are you,
Lieutenant?"
The question seemed to call for no answer and Corriston made none. He
turned slowly and walked toward the door, despairingly aware that a man
he had rather liked had fallen into step behind him and would shoot him
dead if he so much as wavered.
Just as he reached the door Clement spoke again, giving the executive
officer final instructions. "He must not be permitted to leave his
cell. Make sure of that, Simms. Post a permanent guard at the door. He
must be kept under constant surveillance. If he's the self-destructive
type, and I'm by no means sure he isn't, he may attempt to kill
himself."
9
_May attempt to kill himself. May attempt.... May attempt.... May
attempt to kill himself._ Corriston sat up on his cot, his mouth dry,
his temples pounding.
Had Clement implanted the suggestion in his mind deliberately, with
infinite cruelty and cunning? Was Clement really hoping that he _would_
commit suicide? If he took his own life Clement would stand to gain a
great deal.
But could Clement be that much of a scoundrel? Was he, in fact, a
scoundrel at all?
Corriston knew that he could not afford to succumb to panic. Only by
staying calm, by trying to reason it out logically, could he hope to
get anywhere. Not at the truth, perhaps, but anywhere at all.
Start off with a supposition: The commander was everything that he
pretended to be, an honest man with immense responsibilities which he
could not delegate to anyone else. A forthright, hot-tempered, but
completely sincere man. A little secretive, yes, but only because he
took his responsibilities so seriously.
Start off by assuming that Clement was that kind of a man. What
would he stand to gain if Corriston killed himself? The removal of
one responsibility, at the very least. It was bad for morale if an
officer had hallucinations that vitally concerned the Station itself.
But a hallucination about the wealthiest girl on Earth wasn't just
run-of-the-mill. It could not only disturb every officer and enlisted
man on the Station; it could have political repercussions on Earth.
Clement was already in trouble because of the freighter. The chances
were a Congressional Investigating Committee would be coming out.
They'd be sure to hear about Corriston. His story would be all over the
Station, on everyone's lips.