His Share of Glory The Complete Short Science Fiction

The Psychologist clutched at the rim of the tube as though she were fighting gravity that tried to drag her through. Intensely, pleadingly, she said: "That's not true. You know nothing of such things—you haven't specialized. I have nothing against permanent union, but on the ship it would be suicidal—time lost and relationships unbearably complicated—think again before you do this!"

"You were asked to leave for personal reasons," stated Will Archer. "You have seen that two mature minds are in agreement on this matter. Yet you did not obey this request, nor did you respect our decision. Your behavior is irrational and anti social. Mamie, I never thought that you were our weakest link."

There was fear in his eyes as she silently departed, looking somehow crushed and shrunken.

"I was afraid of this," he said. "The most delicately balanced organism is neither flesh, fish, fowl nor good red machinery. It's the socal organism, whether the world of man or our little blob of metal, out here in the middle of a vacuum. Will you take a reading of the counters, please?"

Yancey Mears extruded the sensitive plates from the hull and checked off the slowly revolving dials as they responded to the cosmic rays impinging on the plates.

"Intensity's about twenty times the last reading."

"We're there."

"What?" she asked incredulously.

"We're there. At least, there's only an insignificant distance separating the ship and the source of cosmic rays. Bring in some of the photo-plates."

The Clericalist operated the fishing-rod arrangement that reached the cameras with which the hull was studded. For not since the voyage's beginning had any of them seen outside the ship. The Executive slipped the transparencies against a lighted screen. "Shows nothing," he said.

"What did you expect to find?"

"I didn't expect anything in particular. But I believed I was correct in anticipating a visible object. It seems I was not. We'll change course as soon as we've disposed of the other two superiors."

"What plans have you made?"

"All plans up to the point of segregation. It was plain that a situation like this—one or more members of the complement losing their grasp on our social fabric—might occur. Sphere Nine is designed to accommodate them."

Quietly he flicked a pair of inconspicuous studs under his work table.

"Madame Tung and Mr. Macduff, please report to the Executive Officer in room C7." He broke the connection.

"Where's that?"

"Off the port side of the midship slice. As soon as both are in it seals itself. Now perhaps we can get to work …"

2

Star Macduff and Madame Mamie Tung were sealed in on schedule.

The Calculator, eyes glittering, drew a rod with a pistol grip.

"Where'd that come from, Star?"

"Made it myself. In my spare time."

"You never had any spare time. Time spent on work not requisite to the sphere's needs is wasted time. I think you've made a fool of yourself.

When Will comes I hope you remember your manners."

"Will isn't going to come, madame; we've been locked in here. I don't know whether he intends to starve us to death or whether the room will be flooded with gas …"

"Nonsense."

There was a creaking, scraping noise; the walls of the room seemed to twist on their weldings. "What was that?"

"I wouldn't know, madame. You forget that I'm half human. It was, no doubt, the brain-wave of a Homo superior."

"Ai—Ai—Ai-i-i …"

The two human beings whirled back to back, wild-eyed. In a tense whisper, her gaze not lowering from the walls, the woman asked: "What was it, Star?"

The hysteria was gone from Star Macduff's face; in a cold, determined fury of concentration he wrinkled his brow, running down the possibilities—considering the chances of capture by a star or planet; the chances of a fault in the ship's structure; sabotage by one of the ratings; sudden lunacy of the E.O.; the chance that he himself was mad and undergoing hallucinatory experience—with all the power of his brain.

His was a brain of no mean power, you will recall. In lightning order he assembled probabilities, some two hundred of them, ran through them each in a second's time, dismissing them one after another as they were contradicted by facts in his possession. It could not be a planet that they were near, for the instruments showed no planets within light-years. The instruments could not be faulty, for he had checked them personally yesterday.

His clear, white light of concentration viewed each possibility in turn, and each was dismissed.

"Madame," he said softly, "I know of no explanation for what has happened." "

The grotesque creaking sounded again. Star Macduff, feeling curiously weak, fell to the floor. "Easy, Star! What's the matter with you?"

"Feel like jelly …shouldn't—perfect health …"

The woman took the chance to relieve him of the weapon he had made.

"What does it do?" she asked.

"Metal-fatigue …crystallizes cross-fiber 'stead of lengthwise."

"Ai-i-i…"

MadameTung felt herself sinking, raised the gun and fired at the lock.