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diff --git a/23791-h/23791-h.htm b/23791-h/23791-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f5fba50 --- /dev/null +++ b/23791-h/23791-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1608 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Scrimshaw, by Murray Leinster + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;} + + sub {vertical-align: text-bottom; font-size: small;} + + h1,h2 {text-align: center; clear: both;} + + hr {width: 33%; margin: 1em auto; visibility: hidden;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + + .figcenter {margin: 1em auto; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .trans1 {border: solid 1px; margin: 3em 15%; padding: 1em; text-align: justify;} + + img {border: none} + + .illo {margin-bottom: 2em; font-size: smaller; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;} + .tease {width: 18em; margin: 1.5em auto; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; text-align: justify;} + .theend {text-align: center; font-weight: bold; margin-top: 2em;} + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Scrimshaw, by William Fitzgerald Jenkins + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Scrimshaw + +Author: William Fitzgerald Jenkins + +Illustrator: Kelly Freas + +Release Date: December 10, 2007 [EBook #23791] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SCRIMSHAW *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/001.png" width="600" height="255" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + + + + + + +<h1>SCRIMSHAW</h1> + +<p class="tease"><big>The old man</big> just wanted to get back his +memory—and the methods he used were +gently hellish, from the viewpoint of the +others....</p> + +<h2>BY MURRAY LEINSTER</h2> + +<p class="illo">Illustrated by Freas</p> + + +<p>Pop Young was the one known +man who could stand life on the +surface of the Moon's far side, and, +therefore, he occupied the shack on +the Big Crack's edge, above the +mining colony there. Some people +said that no normal man could do +it, and mentioned the scar of a +ghastly head-wound to explain his +ability. One man partly guessed the +secret, but only partly. His name was +Sattell and he had reason not to +talk. Pop Young alone knew the +whole truth, and he kept his mouth +shut, too. It wasn't anybody else's +business.</p> + +<p>The shack and the job he filled +were located in the medieval notion +of the physical appearance of hell. +By day the environment was heat and +torment. By night—lunar night, of +course, and lunar day—it was frigidity +and horror. Once in two weeks +Earth-time a rocketship came around +the horizon from Lunar City with +stores for the colony deep underground. +Pop received the stores and +took care of them. He handed over +the product of the mine, to be forwarded +to Earth. The rocket went +away again. Come nightfall Pop +lowered the supplies down the long +cable into the Big Crack to the colony +far down inside, and freshened up +the landing field marks with magnesium +marking-powder if a rocket-blast +had blurred them. That was +fundamentally all he had to do. But +without him the mine down in the +Crack would have had to shut +down.</p> + +<p>The Crack, of course, was that +gaping rocky fault which stretches +nine hundred miles, jaggedly, over +the side of the Moon that Earth +never sees. There is one stretch where +it is a yawning gulf a full half-mile +wide and unguessably deep. Where +Pop Young's shack stood it was only +a hundred yards, but the colony was +a full mile down, in one wall. There +is nothing like it on Earth, of course. +When it was first found, scientists +descended into it to examine the exposed +rock-strata and learn the history +of the Moon before its craters +were made. But they found more +than history. They found the reason +for the colony and the rocket landing +field and the shack.</p> + +<p>The reason for Pop was something +else.</p> + +<p>The shack stood a hundred feet +from the Big Crack's edge. It looked +like a dust-heap thirty feet high, and +it was. The outside was surface +moondust, piled over a tiny dome to +be insulation against the cold of +night and shadow and the furnace +heat of day. Pop lived in it all alone, +and in his spare time he worked +industriously at recovering some +missing portions of his life that Sattell +had managed to take away from +him.</p> + +<p>He thought often of Sattell, down +in the colony underground. There +were galleries and tunnels and living-quarters +down there. There were +air-tight bulkheads for safety, and a +hydroponic garden to keep the air +fresh, and all sorts of things to make +life possible for men under if not +on the Moon.</p> + +<p>But it wasn't fun, even underground. +In the Moon's slight gravity, +a man is really adjusted to existence +when he has a well-developed case +of agoraphobia. With such an aid, a +man can get into a tiny, coffinlike +cubbyhole, and feel solidity above +and below and around him, and +happily tell himself that it feels delicious. +Sometimes it does.</p> + +<p>But Sattell couldn't comfort himself +so easily. He knew about Pop, +up on the surface. He'd shipped out, +whimpering, to the Moon to get far +away from Pop, and Pop was just +about a mile overhead and there was +no way to get around him. It was +difficult to get away from the mine, +anyhow. It doesn't take too long for +the low gravity to tear a man's +nerves to shreds. He has to develop +kinks in his head to survive. And +those kinks—</p> + +<p>The first men to leave the colony +had to be knocked cold and shipped +out unconscious. They'd been underground—and +in low gravity—long +enough to be utterly unable to face +the idea of open spaces. Even now +there were some who had to be carried, +but there were some tougher +ones who were able to walk to the +rocketship if Pop put a tarpaulin +over their heads so they didn't have +to see the sky. In any case Pop was +essential, either for carrying or +guidance.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Sattell got the shakes when he +thought of Pop, and Pop rather +probably knew it. Of course, by the +time he took the job tending the +shack, he was pretty certain about +Sattell. The facts spoke for themselves.</p> + +<p>Pop had come back to consciousness +in a hospital with a great +wound in his head and no memory +of anything that had happened before +that moment. It was not that his +identity was in question. When he +was stronger, the doctors told him +who he was, and as gently as possible +what had happened to his wife +and children. They'd been murdered +after he was seemingly killed defending +them. But he didn't remember +a thing. Not then. It was +something of a blessing.</p> + +<p>But when he was physically recovered +he set about trying to pick +up the threads of the life he could +no longer remember. He met Sattell +quite by accident. Sattell looked familiar. +Pop eagerly tried to ask him +questions. And Sattell turned gray +and frantically denied that he'd ever +seen Pop before.</p> + +<p>All of which happened back on +Earth and a long time ago. It seemed +to Pop that the sight of Sattell had +brought back some vague and cloudy +memories. They were not sharp, +though, and he hunted up Sattell +again to find out if he was right. +And Sattell went into panic when +he returned.</p> + +<p>Nowadays, by the Big Crack, Pop +wasn't so insistent on seeing Sattell, +but he was deeply concerned with +the recovery of the memories that +Sattell helped bring back. Pop was +a highly conscientious man. He took +good care of his job. There was a +warning-bell in the shack, and when +a rocketship from Lunar City got +above the horizon and could send a +tight beam, the gong clanged loudly, +and Pop got into a vacuum-suit +and went out the air lock. He usually +reached the moondozer about the +time the ship began to brake for +landing, and he watched it come in.</p> + +<p>He saw the silver needle in the +sky fighting momentum above a line +of jagged crater-walls. It slowed, and +slowed, and curved down as it drew +nearer. The pilot killed all forward +motion just above the field and came +steadily and smoothly down to land +between the silvery triangles that +marked the landing place.</p> + +<p>Instantly the rockets cut off, +drums of fuel and air and food came +out of the cargo-hatch and Pop swept +forward with the dozer. It was a +miniature tractor with a gigantic +scoop in front. He pushed a great +mound of talc-fine dust before him +to cover up the cargo. It was necessary. +With freight costing what it +did, fuel and air and food came +frozen solid, in containers barely +thicker than foil. While they stayed +at space-shadow temperature, the foil +would hold anything. And a cover of +insulating moondust with vacuum +between the grains kept even air +frozen solid, though in sunlight.</p> + +<p>At such times Pop hardly thought +of Sattell. He knew he had plenty +of time for that. He'd started to follow +Sattell knowing what had happened +to his wife and children, but +it was hearsay only. He had no memory +of them at all. But Sattell stirred +the lost memories. At first Pop followed +absorbedly from city to city, +to recover the years that had been +wiped out by an axe-blow. He did +recover a good deal. When Sattell +fled to another continent, Pop followed +because he had some distinct +memories of his wife—and the way +he'd felt about her—and some fugitive +mental images of his children. +When Sattell frenziedly tried to deny +knowledge of the murder in Tangier, +Pop had come to remember both his +children and some of the happiness +of his married life.</p> + +<p>Even when Sattell—whimpering—signed +up for Lunar City, Pop tracked +him. By that time he was quite +sure that Sattell was the man who'd +killed his family. If so, Sattell had +profited by less than two days' pay +for wiping out everything that Pop +possessed. But Pop wanted it back. +He couldn't prove Sattell's guilt. +There was no evidence. In any case, +he didn't really want Sattell to die. +If he did, there'd be no way to recover +more lost memories.</p> + +<p>Sometimes, in the shack on the far +side of the Moon, Pop Young had +odd fancies about Sattell. There was +the mine, for example. In each two +Earth-weeks of working, the mine-colony +nearly filled up a three-gallon +cannister with greasy-seeming white +crystals shaped like two pyramids +base to base. The filled cannister +would weigh a hundred pounds on +Earth. Here it weighed eighteen. But +on Earth its contents would be computed +in carats, and a hundred +pounds was worth millions. Yet here +on the Moon Pop kept a waiting cannister +on a shelf in his tiny dome, +behind the air-apparatus. It rattled +if he shook it, and it was worth no +more than so many pebbles. But +sometimes Pop wondered if Sattell +ever thought of the value of the +mine's production. If he would kill +a woman and two children and think +he'd killed a man for no more than +a hundred dollars, what enormity +would he commit for a three-gallon +quantity of uncut diamonds?</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>But he did not dwell on such +speculation. The sun rose very, very +slowly in what by convention was +called the east. It took nearly two +hours to urge its disk above the +horizon, and it burned terribly in +emptiness for fourteen times twenty-four +hours before sunset. Then there +was night, and for three hundred +and thirty-six consecutive hours there +were only stars overhead and the +sky was a hole so terrible that a man +who looked up into it—what with +the nagging sensation of one-sixth +gravity—tended to lose all confidence +in the stability of things. Most men +immediately found it hysterically necessary +to seize hold of something +solid to keep from falling upward. +But nothing felt solid. Everything +fell, too. Wherefore most men tended +to scream.</p> + +<p>But not Pop. He'd come to the +Moon in the first place because Sattell +was here. Near Sattell, he found +memories of times when he was a +young man with a young wife who +loved him extravagantly. Then pictures +of his children came out of +emptiness and grew sharp and clear. +He found that he loved them very +dearly. And when he was near Sattell +he literally recovered them—in +the sense that he came to know new +things about them and had new +memories of them every day. He +hadn't yet remembered the crime +which lost them to him. Until he +did—and the fact possessed a certain +grisly humor—Pop didn't even hate +Sattell. He simply wanted to be near +him because it enabled him to recover +new and vivid parts of his +youth that had been lost.</p> + +<p>Otherwise, he was wholly matter-of-fact—certainly +so for the far side +of the Moon. He was a rather fussy +housekeeper. The shack above the +Big Crack's rim was as tidy as any +lighthouse or fur-trapper's cabin. He +tended his air-apparatus with a fine +precision. It was perfectly simple. In +the shadow of the shack he had an +unfailing source of extreme low +temperature. Air from the shack +flowed into a shadow-chilled pipe. +Moisture condensed out of it here, +and CO<sub>2</sub> froze solidly out of it there, +and on beyond it collected as restless, +transparent liquid air. At the same +time, liquid air from another tank +evaporated to maintain the proper +air pressure in the shack. Every so +often Pop tapped the pipe where the +moisture froze, and lumps of water +ice clattered out to be returned to the +humidifier. Less often he took out the +CO<sub>2</sub> snow, and measured it, and +dumped an equivalent quantity of +pale-blue liquid oxygen into the liquid +air that had been purified by +cold. The oxygen dissolved. Then the +apparatus reversed itself and supplied +fresh air from the now-enriched +fluid, while the depleted other +tank began to fill up with cold-purified +liquid air.</p> + +<p>Outside the shack, jagged stony +pinnacles reared in the starlight, and +craters complained of the bombardment +from space that had made them. +But, outside, nothing ever happened. +Inside, it was quite different.</p> + +<p>Working on his memories, one +day Pop made a little sketch. It +helped a great deal. He grew deeply +interested. Writing-material was +scarce, but he spent most of the time +between two particular rocket-landings +getting down on paper exactly +how a child had looked while sleeping, +some fifteen years before. He +remembered with astonishment that +the child had really looked exactly +like that! Later he began a sketch of +his partly-remembered wife. In time—he +had plenty—it became a really +truthful likeness.</p> + +<p>The sun rose, and baked the +abomination of desolation which was +the moonscape. Pop Young meticulously +touched up the glittering +triangles which were landing guides +for the Lunar City ships. They glittered +from the thinnest conceivable +layer of magnesium marking-powder. +He checked over the moondozer. +He tended the air apparatus. He did +everything that his job and survival +required. Ungrudgingly.</p> + +<p>Then he made more sketches. The +images to be drawn came back more +clearly when he thought of Sattell, +so by keeping Sattell in mind he recovered +the memory of a chair that +had been in his forgotten home. +Then he drew his wife sitting in it, +reading. It felt very good to see her +again. And he speculated about +whether Sattell ever thought of millions +of dollars' worth of new-mined +diamonds knocking about unguarded +in the shack, and he suddenly recollected +clearly the way one of his +children had looked while playing +with her doll. He made a quick +sketch to keep from forgetting that.</p> + +<p>There was no purpose in the +sketching, save that he'd lost all his +young manhood through a senseless +crime. He wanted his youth back. He +was recovering it bit by bit. The +occupation made it absurdly easy to +live on the surface of the far side of +the Moon, whether anybody else +could do it or not.</p> + +<p>Sattell had no such device for adjusting +to the lunar state of things. +Living on the Moon was bad enough +anyhow, then, but living one mile +underground from Pop Young was +much worse. Sattell clearly remembered +the crime Pop Young hadn't +yet recalled. He considered that Pop +had made no overt attempt to revenge +himself because he planned +some retaliation so horrible and lingering +that it was worth waiting for. +He came to hate Pop with an insane +ferocity. And fear. In his mind the +need to escape became an obsession +on top of the other psychotic states +normal to a Moon-colonist.</p> + +<p>But he was helpless. He couldn't +leave. There was Pop. He couldn't +kill Pop. He had no chance—and he +was afraid. The one absurd, irrelevant +thing he could do was write +letters back to Earth. He did that. +He wrote with the desperate, impassioned, +frantic blend of persuasion +and information and genius-like invention +of a prisoner in a high-security +prison, trying to induce someone +to help him escape.</p> + +<p>He had friends, of a sort, but for +a long time his letters produced +nothing. The Moon swung in vast +circles about the Earth, and the Earth +swung sedately about the Sun. The +other planets danced their saraband. +The rest of humanity went about its +own affairs with fascinated attention. +But then an event occurred which +bore directly upon Pop Young and +Sattell and Pop Young's missing +years.</p> + +<p>Somebody back on Earth promoted +a luxury passenger-line of spaceships +to ply between Earth and +Moon. It looked like a perfect set-up. +Three spacecraft capable of the journey +came into being with attendant +reams of publicity. They promised a +thrill and a new distinction for the +rich. Guided tours to Lunar! The +most expensive and most thrilling +trip in history! One hundred thousand +dollars for a twelve-day cruise +through space, with views of the +Moon's far side and trips through +Lunar City and a landing in Aristarchus, +plus sound-tapes of the journey +and fame hitherto reserved for +honest explorers!</p> + +<p>It didn't seem to have anything +to do with Pop or with Sattell. But +it did.</p> + +<p>There were just two passenger +tours. The first was fully booked. +But the passengers who paid so highly, +expected to be pleasantly thrilled +and shielded from all reasons for +alarm. And they couldn't be. Something +happens when a self-centered +and complacent individual unsuspectingly +looks out of a spaceship +port and sees the cosmos unshielded +by mists or clouds or other aids to +blindness against reality. It is shattering.</p> + +<p>A millionaire cut his throat when +he saw Earth dwindled to a mere +blue-green ball in vastness. He could +not endure his own smallness in the +face of immensity. Not one passenger +disembarked even for Lunar +City. Most of them cowered in their +chairs, hiding their eyes. They were +the simple cases of hysteria. But the +richest girl on Earth, who'd had five +husbands and believed that nothing +could move her—she went into +catatonic withdrawal and neither +saw nor heard nor moved. Two other +passengers sobbed in improvised +strait jackets. The first shipload +started home. Fast.</p> + +<p>The second luxury liner took off +with only four passengers and turned +back before reaching the Moon. +Space-pilots could take the strain of +space-flight because they had work +to do. Workers for the lunar mines +could make the trip under heavy +sedation. But it was too early in the +development of space-travel for +pleasure-passengers. They weren't +prepared for the more humbling +facts of life.</p> + +<p>Pop heard of the quaint commercial +enterprise through the micro-tapes +put off at the shack for the men +down in the mine. Sattell probably +learned of it the same way. Pop didn't +even think of it again. It seemed +to have nothing to do with him. But +Sattell undoubtedly dealt with it +fully in his desperate writings back +to Earth.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Pop matter-of-factly tended the +shack and the landing field and the +stores for the Big Crack mine. Between-times +he made more drawings +in pursuit of his own private objective. +Quite accidentally, he developed +a certain talent professional artists +might have approved. But he was not +trying to communicate, but to discover. +Drawing—especially with his +mind on Sattell—he found fresh incidents +popping up in his recollection. +Times when he was happy. One +day he remembered the puppy his +children had owned and loved. He +drew it painstakingly—and it was +his again. Thereafter he could remember +it any time he chose. He did +actually recover a completely vanished +past.</p> + +<p>He envisioned a way to increase +that recovery. But there was a marked +shortage of artists' materials on the +Moon. All freight had to be hauled +from Earth, on a voyage equal to +rather more than a thousand times +around the equator of the Earth. +Artists' supplies were not often included. +Pop didn't even ask.</p> + +<p>He began to explore the area outside +the shack for possible material +no one would think of sending from +Earth. He collected stones of various +sorts, but when warmed up in the +shack they were useless. He found +no strictly lunar material which +would serve for modeling or carving +portraits in the ground. He found +minerals which could be pulverized +and used as pigments, but nothing +suitable for this new adventure in +the recovery of lost youth. He even +considered blasting, to aid his search. +He could. Down in the mine, blasting +was done by soaking carbon black—from +CO<sub>2</sub>—in liquid oxygen, and then +firing it with a spark. It exploded +splendidly. And its fumes were +merely more CO<sub>2</sub> which an air-apparatus +handled easily.</p> + +<p>He didn't do any blasting. He didn't +find any signs of the sort of +mineral he required. Marble would +have been perfect, but there is no +marble on the Moon. Naturally! Yet +Pop continued to search absorbedly +for material with which to capture +memory. Sattell still seemed necessary, +but—</p> + +<p>Early one lunar morning he was +a good two miles from his shack +when he saw rocket-fumes in the +sky. It was most unlikely. He wasn't +looking for anything of the sort, but +out of the corner of his eye he observed +that something moved. Which +was impossible. He turned his head, +and there were rocket-fumes coming +over the horizon, not in the direction +of Lunar City. Which was more +impossible still.</p> + +<p>He stared. A tiny silver rocket to +the westward poured out monstrous +masses of vapor. It decelerated swiftly. +It curved downward. The rockets +checked for an instant, and flamed +again more violently, and checked +once more. This was not an expert +approach. It was a faulty one. Curving +surface-ward in a sharply changing +parabola, the pilot over-corrected +and had to wait to gather down-speed, +and then over-corrected again. +It was an altogether clumsy landing. +The ship was not even perfectly vertical +when it settled not quite in the +landing-area marked by silvery triangles. +One of its tail-fins crumpled +slightly. It tilted a little when fully +landed.</p> + +<p>Then nothing happened.</p> + +<p>Pop made his way toward it in +the skittering, skating gait one uses +in one-sixth gravity. When he was +within half a mile, an air-lock door +opened in the ship's side. But nothing +came out of the lock. No space-suited +figure. No cargo came drifting +down with the singular deliberation +of falling objects on the Moon.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 159px;"> +<img src="images/002.png" width="159" height="500" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>It was just barely past lunar sunrise +on the far side of the Moon. +Incredibly long and utterly black +shadows stretched across the plain, +and half the rocketship was dazzling +white and half was blacker than +blackness itself. The sun still hung +low indeed in the black, star-speckled +sky. Pop waded through moondust, +raising a trail of slowly settling +powder. He knew only that the ship +didn't come from Lunar City, but +from Earth. He couldn't imagine +why. He did not even wildly connect +it with what—say—Sattell might +have written with desperate plausibility +about greasy-seeming white +crystals out of the mine, knocking +about Pop Young's shack in cannisters +containing a hundred Earth-pounds +weight of richness.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Pop reached the rocketship. He +approached the big tail-fins. On one +of them there were welded ladder-rungs +going up to the opened air-lock +door.</p> + +<p>He climbed.</p> + +<p>The air-lock was perfectly normal +when he reached it. There was a +glass port in the inner door, and he +saw eyes looking through it at him. +He pulled the outer door shut and +felt the whining vibration of admitted +air. His vacuum suit went slack +about him. The inner door began to +open, and Pop reached up and gave +his helmet the practiced twisting +jerk which removed it.</p> + +<p>Then he blinked. There was a red-headed +man in the opened door. He +grinned savagely at Pop. He held a +very nasty hand-weapon trained on +Pop's middle.</p> + +<p>"Don't come in!" he said mockingly. +"And I don't give a damn +about how you are. This isn't social. +It's business!"</p> + +<p>Pop simply gaped. He couldn't +quite take it in.</p> + +<p>"This," snapped the red-headed +man abruptly, "is a stickup!"</p> + +<p>Pop's eyes went through the inner +lock-door. He saw that the interior +of the ship was stripped and bare. +But a spiral stairway descended from +some upper compartment. It had a +handrail of pure, transparent, water-clear +plastic. The walls were bare insulation, +but that trace of luxury remained. +Pop gazed at the plastic, +fascinated.</p> + +<p>The red-headed man leaned forward, +snarling. He slashed Pop +across the face with the barrel of his +weapon. It drew blood. It was wanton, +savage brutality.</p> + +<p>"Pay attention!" snarled the red-headed +man. "A stickup, I said! Get +it? You go get that can of stuff +from the mine! The diamonds! +Bring them here! Understand?"</p> + +<p>Pop said numbly: "What the +hell?"</p> + +<p>The red-headed man hit him +again. He was nerve-racked, and, +therefore, he wanted to hurt.</p> + +<p>"Move!" he rasped. "I want the +diamonds you've got for the ship +from Lunar City! Bring 'em!" Pop +licked blood from his lips and the +man with the weapon raged at him. +"Then phone down to the mine! +Tell Sattell I'm here and he can +come on up! Tell him to bring any +more diamonds they've dug up since +the stuff you've got!"</p> + +<p>He leaned forward. His face was +only inches from Pop Young's. It +was seamed and hard-bitten and +nerve-racked. But any man would be +quivering if he wasn't used to space +or the feel of one-sixth gravity on +the Moon. He panted:</p> + +<p>"And get it straight! You try +any tricks and we take off! We +swing over your shack! The rocket-blast +smashes it! We burn you +down! Then we swing over the cable +down to the mine and the rocket-flame +melts it! You die and everybody +in the mine besides! No tricks! +We didn't come here for nothing!"</p> + +<p>He twitched all over. Then he +struck cruelly again at Pop Young's +face. He seemed filled with fury, at +least partly hysterical. It was the tension +that space-travel—then, at its +beginning—produced. It was meaningless +savagery due to terror. But, +of course, Pop was helpless to resent +it. There were no weapons on the +Moon and the mention of Sattell's +name showed the uselessness of bluff. +He'd pictured the complete set-up +by the edge of the Big Crack. Pop +could do nothing.</p> + +<p>The red-headed man checked +himself, panting. He drew back and +slammed the inner lock-door. There +was the sound of pumping.</p> + +<p>Pop put his helmet back on and +sealed it. The outer door opened. +Outrushing air tugged at Pop. After +a second or two he went out and +climbed down the welded-on ladder-bars +to the ground.</p> + +<p>He headed back toward his shack. +Somehow, the mention of Sattell had +made his mind work better. It always +did. He began painstakingly to +put things together. The red-headed +man knew the routine here in every +detail. He knew Sattell. That part +was simple. Sattell had planned this +multi-million-dollar coup, as a man +in prison might plan his break. The +stripped interior of the ship identified +it.</p> + +<p>It was one of the unsuccessful +luxury-liners sold for scrap. Or perhaps +it was stolen for the journey +here. Sattell's associates had had to +steal or somehow get the fuel, and +somehow find a pilot. But there were +diamonds worth at least five million +dollars waiting for them, and the +whole job might not have called for +more than two men—with Sattell as +a third. According to the economics +of crime, it was feasible. Anyhow it +was being done.</p> + +<p>Pop reached the dust-heap which +was his shack and went in the air +lock. Inside, he went to the vision-phone +and called the mine-colony +down in the Crack. He gave the +message he'd been told to pass on. +Sattell to come up, with what diamonds +had been dug since the +regular cannister was sent up for the +Lunar City ship that would be due +presently. Otherwise the ship on the +landing strip would destroy shack +and Pop and the colony together.</p> + +<p>"I'd guess," said Pop painstakingly, +"that Sattell figured it out. He's +probably got some sort of gun to +keep you from holding him down +there. But he won't know his friends +are here—not right this minute he +won't."</p> + +<p>A shaking voice asked questions +from the vision-phone.</p> + +<p>"No," said Pop, "they'll do it anyhow. +If we were able to tell about +'em, they'd be chased. But if I'm +dead and the shacks smashed and +the cable burnt through, they'll be +back on Earth long before a new +cable's been got and let down to you. +So they'll do all they can no matter +what I do." He added, "I wouldn't +tell Sattell a thing about it, if I were +you. It'll save trouble. Just let him +keep on waiting for this to happen. +It'll save you trouble."</p> + +<p>Another shaky question.</p> + +<p>"Me?" asked Pop. "Oh, I'm going +to raise what hell I can. There's +some stuff in that ship I want."</p> + +<p>He switched off the phone. He +went over to his air apparatus. He +took down the cannister of diamonds +which were worth five millions or +more back on Earth. He found a +bucket. He dumped the diamonds +casually into it. They floated downward +with great deliberation and +surged from side to side like a liquid +when they stopped. One-sixth gravity.</p> + +<p>Pop regarded his drawings meditatively. +A sketch of his wife as he +now remembered her. It was very +good to remember. A drawing of his +two children, playing together. He +looked forward to remembering +much more about them. He grinned.</p> + +<p>"That stair-rail," he said in deep +satisfaction. "That'll do it!"</p> + +<p>He tore bed linen from his bunk +and worked on the emptied cannister. +It was a double container with a +thermware interior lining. Even on +Earth newly-mined diamonds sometimes +fly to pieces from internal +stress. On the Moon, it was not desirable +that diamonds be exposed to +repeated violent changes of temperature. +So a thermware-lined cannister +kept them at mine-temperature once +they were warmed to touchability.</p> + +<p>Pop packed the cotton cloth in the +container. He hurried a little, because +the men in the rocket were shaky and +might not practice patience. He took +a small emergency-lamp from his +spare spacesuit. He carefully cracked +its bulb, exposing the filament within. +He put the lamp on top of the +cotton and sprinkled magnesium +marking-powder over everything. +Then he went to the air-apparatus +and took out a flask of the liquid +oxygen used to keep his breathing-air +in balance. He poured the frigid, +pale-blue stuff into the cotton. He +saturated it.</p> + +<p>All the inside of the shack was +foggy when he finished. Then he +pushed the cannister-top down. He +breathed a sigh of relief when it was +in place. He'd arranged for it to +break a frozen-brittle switch as it +descended. When it came off, the +switch would light the lamp with its +bare filament. There was powdered +magnesium in contact with it and +liquid oxygen all about.</p> + +<p>He went out of the shack by the +air lock. On the way, thinking about +Sattell, he suddenly recovered a completely +new memory. On their first +wedding anniversary, so long ago, +he and his wife had gone out to +dinner to celebrate. He remembered +how she looked: the almost-smug +joy they shared that they would be +together for always, with one complete +year for proof.</p> + +<p>Pop reflected hungrily that it was +something else to be made permanent +and inspected from time to time. +But he wanted more than a drawing +of this! He wanted to make the memory +permanent and to extend it—</p> + +<p>If it had not been for his vacuum +suit and the cannister he carried, Pop +would have rubbed his hands.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Tall, jagged crater-walls rose +from the lunar plain. Monstrous, extended +inky shadows stretched +enormous distances, utterly black. +The sun, like a glowing octopod, +floated low at the edge of things and +seemed to hate all creation.</p> + +<p>Pop reached the rocket. He +climbed the welded ladder-rungs to +the air lock. He closed the door. Air +whined. His suit sagged against his +body. He took off his helmet.</p> + +<p>When the red-headed man opened +the inner door, the hand-weapon +shook and trembled. Pop said +calmly:</p> + +<p>"Now I've got to go handle the +hoist, if Sattell's coming up from +the mine. If I don't do it, he don't +come up."</p> + +<p>The red-headed man snarled. But +his eyes were on the cannister whose +contents should weigh a hundred +pounds on Earth.</p> + +<p>"Any tricks," he rasped, "and you +know what happens!"</p> + +<p>"Yeah," said Pop.</p> + +<p>He stolidly put his helmet back +on. But his eyes went past the red-headed +man to the stair that wound +down, inside the ship, from some +compartment above. The stair-rail was +pure, clear, water-white plastic, not +less than three inches thick. There +was a lot of it!</p> + +<p>The inner door closed. Pop opened +the outer. Air rushed out. He +climbed painstakingly down to the +ground. He started back toward the +shack.</p> + +<p>There was the most luridly bright +of all possible flashes. There was no +sound, of course. But something +flamed very brightly, and the ground +thumped under Pop Young's vacuum +boots. He turned.</p> + +<p>The rocketship was still in the act +of flying apart. It had been a splendid +explosion. Of course cotton sheeting +in liquid oxygen is not quite as +good an explosive as carbon-black, +which they used down in the mine. +Even with magnesium powder to +start the flame when a bare light-filament +ignited it, the cannister-bomb +hadn't equaled—say—T.N.T. +But the ship had fuel on board for +the trip back to Earth. And it blew, +too. It would be minutes before all +the fragments of the ship returned +to the Moon's surface. On the Moon, +things fall slowly.</p> + +<p>Pop didn't wait. He searched +hopefully. Once a mass of steel plating +fell only yards from him, but it +did not interrupt his search.</p> + +<p>When he went into the shack, he +grinned to himself. The call-light of +the vision-phone flickered wildly. +When he took off his helmet the bell +clanged incessantly. He answered. A +shaking voice from the mining-colony +panted:</p> + +<p>"We felt a shock! What happened? +What do we do?"</p> + +<p>"Don't do a thing," advised Pop. +"It's all right. I blew up the ship and +everything's all right. I wouldn't +even mention it to Sattell if I were +you."</p> + +<p>He grinned happily down at a section +of plastic stair-rail he'd found +not too far from where the ship exploded. +When the man down in the +mine cut off, Pop got out of his +vacuum suit in a hurry. He placed +the plastic zestfully on the table +where he'd been restricted to drawing +pictures of his wife and children +in order to recover memories of +them.</p> + +<p>He began to plan, gloatingly, the +thing he would carve out of a four-inch +section of the plastic. When it +was carved, he'd paint it. While he +worked, he'd think of Sattell, because +that was the way to get back the +missing portions of his life—the +parts Sattell had managed to get +away from him. He'd get back more +than ever, now!</p> + +<p>He didn't wonder what he'd do +if he ever remembered the crime +Sattell had committed. He felt, somehow, +that he wouldn't get that back +until he'd recovered all the rest.</p> + +<p>Gloating, it was amusing to remember +what people used to call +such art-works as he planned, when +carved by other lonely men in other +faraway places. They called those +sculptures scrimshaw.</p> + +<p>But they were a lot more than +that!</p> + + +<p class="theend">THE END</p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/003.png" width="600" height="275" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="trans1"><b>Transcriber's Note:</b><br /> +This etext was produced from <i>Astounding Science Fiction</i> September +1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. +copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and +typographical errors have been corrected without note.</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Scrimshaw, by William Fitzgerald Jenkins + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SCRIMSHAW *** + +***** This file should be named 23791-h.htm or 23791-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/7/9/23791/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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