Read Online One in 300 by J. T. McIntosh - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: J. T. McIntosh
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to a few real figures,
like four and seven and three, with a lot of incomprehensible zeroes
after them.
I would come again, no doubt. But meantime I had reached a mental
dead stop.
2
I gave myself a push against the wall, guided myself with my arms, and
swam out into the main room of the lifeship, which Sammy had already
christened, ironically, "the lounge."
Lifeships were simply moving barns. There was nothing to be seen in
the so-called lounge except white paneling, steel floors, ten couches,
and nine people floating about, with something on one of the couches
covered by a sheet.
Little Bessie Phillips, unrepressed by tragedy, was flying about in the air,
delighted by the absence of gravity. Jim Stowe, dry-eyed, was sitting with
his father, one leg curled around the frame of the couch to hold him down.
Betty and Morgan were in a corner, whispering. Sammy, Leslie, Harry Phillips,
and Miss Wallace formed another group, holding the edges of a couch to keep
themselves still.
They couldn't help becoming suddenly silent when I came in. They knew, all
of them, how I'd been supposed to take off -- I'd told them myself what
it would be like -- and it hadn't been like that. It hadn't been as I'd
said it would be. Unless something had gone wrong, unless somehow I had
been forced into it, I had done something on the spur of the moment and
as a result Mary Stowe had died. That was how they were all figuring it.
Maybe I had tried to be clever, they were thinking. I could see it in their
faces. They were waiting for me to explain, hoping I could, pretty sure
I couldn't.
I went over to Mary Stowe's couch. Nobody moved. The sheet was tied at the
four corners to the frame. I untied one corner and saw what had happened.
When Mary's weight went up to half a ton or so, one of the steel supports
under the couch had snapped. Then another. The couch became a switchback
-- and, quite naturally, Mary's back was broken.
I averted my eyes from the dead woman's face. She had not died pleasantly,
and her face showed it.
"Someone help me to get the body outside," I said.
They realized that had to be done. Sammy pushed against the couch he was
holding, and floated over to me. We took hold of the limp body and clawed
our way to the base of the ship, to the only air lock. The eyes of the
others followed us silently.
I knew I should save the dead woman's clothes, for cloth, trinkets, leather,
and particularly the imprex tape which still bound her broken body might be
useful in the bare, empty lifeship.
But any suggestion of stripping the body before throwing it into space
would clearly heighten feeling which was already too high. I'd be regarded
as a grave ravisher as well as a man who had made a mistake that killed
Mary Stowe.
So Sammy and I left the body in the air lock, just as it was, closed the
inside door, and turned the wheel that opened the outer door. There was
no sound, but the air in the lock shot out into space, sweeping all that
was left of Mary Stowe with it.
The body had the same velocity as the lifeship and would travel on with it.
The small additional thrust imparted by the violently escaping air, however,
would carry it off on a tangent. Soon the lifeship and the body of the
woman who had left Earth, alive, in it would be miles apart. Then hundreds
of miles. Perhaps, eventually, millions of miles.
We went back silently to the main room of the ship. Nobody seemed to
have moved.
"All right," I said. "Since you're all so concerned about this thing --
let's talk about it."
Harry Phillips looked up. His eyes were as kindly as ever. "Wouldn't it
be better not, son?" he said gently. "You did what you thought was right.
We don't doubt that."
He didn't, perhaps, but Miss Wallace didn't meet my eyes. Leslie seemed to
shrink away from
like four and seven and three, with a lot of incomprehensible zeroes
after them.
I would come again, no doubt. But meantime I had reached a mental
dead stop.
2
I gave myself a push against the wall, guided myself with my arms, and
swam out into the main room of the lifeship, which Sammy had already
christened, ironically, "the lounge."
Lifeships were simply moving barns. There was nothing to be seen in
the so-called lounge except white paneling, steel floors, ten couches,
and nine people floating about, with something on one of the couches
covered by a sheet.
Little Bessie Phillips, unrepressed by tragedy, was flying about in the air,
delighted by the absence of gravity. Jim Stowe, dry-eyed, was sitting with
his father, one leg curled around the frame of the couch to hold him down.
Betty and Morgan were in a corner, whispering. Sammy, Leslie, Harry Phillips,
and Miss Wallace formed another group, holding the edges of a couch to keep
themselves still.
They couldn't help becoming suddenly silent when I came in. They knew, all
of them, how I'd been supposed to take off -- I'd told them myself what
it would be like -- and it hadn't been like that. It hadn't been as I'd
said it would be. Unless something had gone wrong, unless somehow I had
been forced into it, I had done something on the spur of the moment and
as a result Mary Stowe had died. That was how they were all figuring it.
Maybe I had tried to be clever, they were thinking. I could see it in their
faces. They were waiting for me to explain, hoping I could, pretty sure
I couldn't.
I went over to Mary Stowe's couch. Nobody moved. The sheet was tied at the
four corners to the frame. I untied one corner and saw what had happened.
When Mary's weight went up to half a ton or so, one of the steel supports
under the couch had snapped. Then another. The couch became a switchback
-- and, quite naturally, Mary's back was broken.
I averted my eyes from the dead woman's face. She had not died pleasantly,
and her face showed it.
"Someone help me to get the body outside," I said.
They realized that had to be done. Sammy pushed against the couch he was
holding, and floated over to me. We took hold of the limp body and clawed
our way to the base of the ship, to the only air lock. The eyes of the
others followed us silently.
I knew I should save the dead woman's clothes, for cloth, trinkets, leather,
and particularly the imprex tape which still bound her broken body might be
useful in the bare, empty lifeship.
But any suggestion of stripping the body before throwing it into space
would clearly heighten feeling which was already too high. I'd be regarded
as a grave ravisher as well as a man who had made a mistake that killed
Mary Stowe.
So Sammy and I left the body in the air lock, just as it was, closed the
inside door, and turned the wheel that opened the outer door. There was
no sound, but the air in the lock shot out into space, sweeping all that
was left of Mary Stowe with it.
The body had the same velocity as the lifeship and would travel on with it.
The small additional thrust imparted by the violently escaping air, however,
would carry it off on a tangent. Soon the lifeship and the body of the
woman who had left Earth, alive, in it would be miles apart. Then hundreds
of miles. Perhaps, eventually, millions of miles.
We went back silently to the main room of the ship. Nobody seemed to
have moved.
"All right," I said. "Since you're all so concerned about this thing --
let's talk about it."
Harry Phillips looked up. His eyes were as kindly as ever. "Wouldn't it
be better not, son?" he said gently. "You did what you thought was right.
We don't doubt that."
He didn't, perhaps, but Miss Wallace didn't meet my eyes. Leslie seemed to
shrink away from
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