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It was going to be another restless night. Kenton could tell it from the way he had begun to twitch, the muscle high on one cheek, his legs, the nervous movement of his hands. Irritably he threw down his book and lit a cigarette, sucking the smoke deep into his lungs and letting it trickle from his nostrils. #3 | | |
It wasn’t new, this feeling. He had had it before and he knew exactly what to expect. Going to bed would be a waste of time; he would lie in the darkness and try for sleep only to find his mind more active than ever. He would lie for hours while his thoughts bubbled like the released gas in a bottle of mineral water. Then he would rise and smoke and maybe drink a little. He would take a shower and pace his rooms until, physically exhausted, he would fall into a parody of sleep only to wake depressed and emotionally unstable. #4 | | |
Knowing what caused the unrest didn’t cure it. If anything it only made it worse. Like it or not, he was stuck five hundred light years from Earth and, like it or not, here he had to stay until he did something about it. Doing something about it, however, wasn’t as easy as it sounded. #5 | | |
Irritably he drew at the cigarette and scowled around his living quarters. They were comfortable enough, even he had to admit that, but they were poor compensation for the real thing. A row of well-read books, some magazines now long out of date and almost alien in the products they advertised. A video and music player, deep chairs, soft lighting, a radio, all the usual appurtenances of civilisation. #6 | | |
To Kenton they represented nothing better than the padding of his cell. #7 | | |
Impatiently he jerked to his feet and crossed the room towards the broad windows. His apartment was at the top of the tower as befitted the Controller and, from the windows, he could see most of the hydroponic farm below. #8 | | |
It was night but the two moons of Lubridgida had risen and, in their light, the glass roofs and concrete walls of the building shone like the waters of a frozen sea. Kenton stared down at them, the red tip of his cigarette reflected together with his own thin, almost aesthetic, features in the window before him. #9 | | |
He frowned as he saw a warm, yellow light shining from one of the buildings. Night work wasn’t unusual but it was odd to see lights in the tank buildings after dark. Irregular illumination was discouraged because of the upsetting of the plant-growth cycle. Most after-dark work was done in the sorting sheds and packaging and processing plants. His hand was touching the phone when it hummed its attention signal. #10 | | |
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“Is that you, Dan?” It was Jelkson, the botanist, and Kelton felt his irritation increase at the sound of the carefully educated voice. #12 | | |
“Speaking. What is it?” #13 | | |
“Sorry to have woken you, but we’ve run into a little trouble.” #14 | | |
“I wasn’t asleep. What’s wrong with number seven?” #15 | | |
“Number seven?” Jelkson’s voice held a momentary surprise. “How did you know?” #16 | | |
“Never mind that. What is the trouble?” #17 | | |
“You must have seen the lights,” mused Jelkson. He had the sort of mind that insisted on the logical explanation of trivia. It was an attribute that had made him an expert in his field, but which now grated on Kenton’s nerves. #18 | | |
“That isn’t important,” he snapped into the phone. “Get to the point. What is wrong with number seven?” #19 | | |
“Susan spotted what she thought was rust on some of the plants. She reported it to me earlier this evening. It isn’t rust. The crop will have to be destroyed and the building sterilised.” #20 | | |
“What!” Anger mingled with sickness so that Kenton felt his muscles jerk beneath his skin. The sickness was caused by the prospect of losing the crop, the anger at the calm assumption that his opinion was either needed or necessary. “Who is in charge of number seven?” #21 | | |
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“No. I’m alone with Susan. Why?” #24 | | |
“I’m coming down. Remain until I arrive. In the meantime send out a call for Perchon to join us in number seven. We’ll decide what is be done after the inquiry.” #25 | | |
“Decide?” Jelkson’s voice held the subtle contempt of the expert for the amateur. “What can there be to decide? The crop is diseased and there is only one thing to do.” #26 | | |
“Sterilise and burn,” snapped Kenton impatiently. “You don’t have to tell me my job, Jelkson. But that crop is almost ready for harvest and we can’t afford to throw it away. Now get moving and find Perchon.” #27 | | |
“As you wish,” said Jelkson casually. “Naturally, you accept full responsibility?” #28 | | |
“Responsibility for what?” #29 | | |
“For whatever you may decide.” #30 | | |
“You,” said Kenton bitterly, “are talking like a fool. I…” #31 | | |
The click was unmistakable. Kenton slammed down the receiver and stood shaking with rage at Jelkson for having hung up on him. Savagely he dragged at his cigarette. It had gone out while he was talking and he relit it, inhaling with such force that his throat burned from the hot smoke. #32 | | |
He was acting like a fool and he knew it but the knowledge only made him worse. Temper was useless when dealing with a man like Jelkson. #33 | | |
Impatiently Kenton snatched up the phone. #34 | | |
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Doctor Thorpe, small, wizened, mellowed with age and canny with understanding, sat engrossed over a problem in chess. He had set up a board on the operating table and the little red and white pieces seemed strangely out of place among the sterile glitter and soft green of the dispensary. He looked up as Kenton entered the room, nodded, moved a piece on the board, looked at it, frowned, then moved it back again #36 | | |
“The trouble with chess,” he commented, “is that it’s too logical. A man needs a mind like a computer to play the game, that is if he wants to be any good at it. Me, I’m a poker player myself.” #37 | | |
“Then why waste time with chess?” #38 | | |
“I’m ambitious. First I want to beat Jelkson and then, when I’m ready, I want to tackle our blue-skinned friends. It doesn’t seem right that we should be beaten by a bunch of aliens at our own game.” #39 | | |
“The Denebians are logical,” said Kenton absently. “As far as I know, Jelkson is the only one on this planet who can hold his own with them.” He looked around the room. “Where is it?” #40 | | |
“That dope you ordered?” Thorpe shrugged. “It’s ready if you want it. A couple of pills and you’ll feel as if you’re riding on a cloud. No nerves, tense muscles, irritation. Nothing but peace.” #41 | | |
“You don’t have to be sarcastic,” snapped Kenton. “I know what I’m doing.” #42 | | |
“Naturally. Well, what will it be this time? Opium? Morphine? Something new to numb your survival instincts and fog your brain? Name it and you’ve got it.” #43 | | |
“All right, so you don’t believe in sedatives,” said Kenton tiredly. “But this is special. I’m as jumpy as hell and ready to fly off the handle. Jelkson’s getting ready to ride me and I don’t trust myself with the little swine. Give me a pill and save the lecture.” #44 | | |
“Jelkson?” Thorpe nodded as if he understood. “Got under your skin, has he? Well, I’m not surprised. It isn’t human for a man to be always right.” He rose and took a phial from a cabinet “Here. Take a couple of these and give them five minutes to take effect.” #45 | | |
“Thank you.” Kenton opened the container, swallowed a couple of pills, and handed the phial back to Thorpe. #46 | | |
He felt calmer already though he knew that the drug could not possibly have acted so fast. He looked around the little dispensary, with its machines and instruments for curing human ills. Physical ills, that was, nothing had yet been discovered or invented to cure the basic unrest of the human race. He turned to leave the room. #47 | | |
“Hold it, Dan,” said Thorpe quietly. “Five minutes, remember?” #48 | | |
“Jelkson’s waiting for me.” #49 | | |
“Let him wait. Start running about now and you will be sorry for it later.” Thorpe waited until Kenton had reluctantly sat down and then produced a pipe. He filled it, lit it, then sat down and puffed with evident enjoyment. Looking at him Kenton envied his calm. #50 | | |
