Intermission Time

“You will live in a small communal group where esthetic occupations only are present: all economic needs are provided for you. Within this group, you may live in complete freedom; but you will be observed and your life charted minutely.”

“What are the breeding-aspects of the program?” John asked tonelessly.

“Ugly rumors do get around, don’t they?” said Bronson. “But I’m sure you were told briefly that marriage between members of the group is freely permitted, but not forced. The only restriction is that it must be within the group, because potential partners are those who have the same qualities which we desire to emphasize and study in future generations.”

“How large is this section of Alpha Colony?”

“There are almost a thousand members in the esthetic section.”

“What are the Control-groups?” said John suddenly. “I’ve heard a little about them, just a little.”

Bronson watched his face in silence for a long time. “Yes,” he said at last, “your diningroom waiter told me you were inquiring.

“Don’t try to see her,” he said abruptly. “Don’t try to see her again!”

John felt the blood heavy in his face. “You are jumping to conclusions,” he said.

“I hope so,” said Bronson, “but there is one thing that you must not forget; I’m sure this was adequately explained. Once a person embarks upon this journey, there is no turning back; none whatever. Your signature upon a contract with Human Developments automatically cancels any previous obligations; and all future contracts will be made within the framework of Human Developments. Our restrictions are the minimum required for success, of the experiments, but these bounds cannot be overstepped. Do you understand that, John?”

“Yes — yes, I understand that,” John said.

The time spent in overdrive was brief, but once out, within the Alpha system, there were days of rocket-travel, before they would reach Planet 7, the only Earth-type world in this family of planets. Man could reach the stars, now, but the impetus to make much use of this ability had nearly died; the discovery had come late, nearly too late...

It was on the ninth day of the journey that John saw the cat — the yellow cat belonging to the girl in the flame-red dress. John saw the animal strolling ahead of him in the corridor leading to his room. He looked around quickly, but no one else was near. Then he called gently. As if in recognition, the cat turned, arched his back, and rubbed against the steel wall. John scooped him under one arm and hurried to the stateroom.

It was stupid, but his hands were shaking, he discovered, as he set the cat down. Momentarily he debated opening the door and pushing Toby into the corridor; but he knew he was not going to do that.

He entered Doris’ stateroom, knowing she was out, because he had just left her with Dr. Bronson on the promenade deck. Searching through drawers he found a piece of wide ribbon. Then he returned to his own room and sat down at the desk, and there he stopped.

What was there to say? And why should he believe she would be interested in hearing any word at all from him? He didn’t know.

He wrote hastily on a small scrap of paper: I don’t even know your name. Mine is John Carwell. Can I see you again? — In the corridor between the main lounge and your deck, a door marked “Crew Only” leads to the engineers’ catwalk. I’ll be there after dinner tonight.

His hands were shaking even more as he folded the paper in a small roll and doubled the ribbon over it. He tied a narrow band about the cat’s neck. Then, cautiously, he opened the door and shoved the cat into the empty corridor. “Find her, Toby,” he said. “Go quickly.”

* * *

The long, hollow tube at the center of the ship carried the ten thousand wires and pipes that formed the ship’s mechanical nervous-system. It contained an elevator for the use of crewmen, and in each deck there was a small platform for inspection-purposes. A connecting ladder passed between the platforms from one end of the ship to the other.

It was cold in the catwalk tube, and dark. There was a sulphur smell and the faint sting of ozone in the air. John could hear the whine and click of occasional auxiliary motors, and the deep bass note of the ship’s engines.

He waited there in the dim light, knowing himself to be a complete fool. Nine chances out of ten the cat hadn’t even reached the girl’s stateroom with the message about its neck. He had been clawing experimentally when John last saw him; and the tenth chance was that she would laugh and ignore his message completely.

But he was there. He had been there for twenty minutes and he did not know how much longer he would wait. Perhaps until they got to Venus, he thought irrationally.