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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/24380-8.txt b/24380-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..765182c --- /dev/null +++ b/24380-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1458 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Shock Absorber, by E.G. von Wald + +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: Shock Absorber + +Author: E.G. von Wald + +Release Date: January 21, 2008 [EBook #24380] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHOCK ABSORBER *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + SHOCK ABSORBER + + BY E. G. VON WALD + + Illustrated by van Dongen + +[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Astounding Science +Fiction June 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that +the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] + + + _A man acts on what he believes the facts are, not on the facts. He + lives or dies by what the facts are. Now sometimes you don't have + time to correct a man's beliefs, yet he must act correctly...._ + + +The aging little psychologist looked down at the captain's insignia on +his sleeve and scowled. + +"I know it's a lousy, fouled-up situation, commander," he said with +evident irony. "You speak of discipline. Well, it's bad enough here on +Mars, where a junior officer like you feels free to argue with a full +captain like me, but out there with the fleet, discipline is now +virtually nonexistent." + +He looked up again and quickly added, "Oh, of course there is a +discipline of a sort, and in its own way it is quite effective. Strict, +too, as you will find. But it has few of the marks of the military +academy, of which the regular officers were so fond. Perhaps that was +the reason why they let the situation get away from them, and why we are +in charge of it now." + +"I still think--" the commander started, but he was interrupted again. + +"I know what you think, commander. You can forget it. It's wishful +thinking and we cannot permit such daydreaming in our precarious +condition. Face the facts as they exist in the present. After we kick +the aliens out of our solar system, maybe we can go back to the old +ideas again. Maybe. I'm not even very sure of that. But as for now, the +characteristic of despair is the lowest common denominator among the +combat patrols, and we therefore have mutinies, disobedience of orders, +defections of every variety. That is a real situation, and it will +persist until we can induce the men to accept tactical leadership that +can cope with the enemy. + +"Actually, it is not very remarkable that this situation developed. +Strategy is still a rational computable quantity, but the actual tactics +of fighting is something else entirely. The aliens have an intellectual +response that is in full truth alien to us. It simply cannot be +comprehended rationally by a human being, although they manage to guess +pretty well the responses of our own fighters. Naturally, the result has +been that in the past our losses were almost ninety per cent whenever a +patrol actually engaged in a firefight with the enemy. + +"Fortunately, the aliens are much too far from their home to possess +anything like the number of personnel and other resources that we have. +Otherwise, they would have beaten us long ago. Completely wiped us out. +And all because an ordinary, intelligent human being cannot learn any +patterns by which the aliens operate, and by which he can fight them +successfully." + +"I know that," the commander muttered. "I spent plenty of time out there +before I got tapped for this new branch of service." He rubbed the moist +palms of his hands together nervously. + +"Certainly you did," the captain acknowledged absently. Then he +continued his explanation. "Fortunately, there was a small body of +information on extra-rational mental faculties that had been developed +over the past century, and as soon as we expanded it sufficiently, we +were able to form this new branch of service you now belong to. But +unfortunately, some idiot in the Information Service released a +popularization of the data on the new branch. That was ill-advised. The +veterans who had survived so far had their own way of accounting for +their survival, and that did not include what that silly description +alluded to as 'blind guessing' by commanders of 'exceptional psychic +gifts.' + +"Like most popularizations, the description was grossly inaccurate, and +was promptly withdrawn; but the damage had already been done. The damage +was completed by another idiot who named the new branch the Psi Corps, +merely because the basic capacity for extra-rational mental faculties is +technically signified by the Greek letter 'psi.' The name was slightly +mispronounced by the men, and that automatically produced that nasty +little nickname, which has stuck, and which expresses very well the +attitude of the men toward the new service. + +"As I say, fleet discipline is very bad, and the men simply would not +accept orders from such officers. There are numerous cases on record +where they killed them when there was no other way out. + +"Now, as far as discipline itself is concerned, the best procedure would +be to pull an entire fleet out of the defense perimeter and retrain +them, because the newly trained recruits can be made to accept Psi Corps +officers as commanders. But our situation is far too desperate to permit +anything like that. Therefore, we must use whatever devices we can think +of to do the job. + +"The ship you are going to is staffed by veterans. They were incredibly +lucky. From the outset, they had a CO who was a man highly gifted in psi +without he or anyone else knowing about it until a few months ago when +we ran a quiet little survey. But he got killed in a recent encounter, +along with their executive officer, so we are now sending them a new +captain and a new exec as well. But those men simply will not accept +orders from a Psi Corps officer. Furthermore, they have heard the +rumors--soundly based--that the Psi Corps, as a result of its +opposition, has gone underground, so to speak. They know that its +personnel has been largely disguised by giving them special commissions +in the regular Space Combat Service. As a result, they will most +certainly suspect any new commanding officer no matter what insignia he +wears. + +"Of course, now and then you will find one of the old hands who will +accept the Psi Corps, so long as it isn't jammed down his throat. Just +pray that you have somebody like that aboard your new ship, although I +must admit, it isn't very likely." + + * * * * * + +"All right, all right," the commander growled with irritation. +"But--with your permission, sir--I still think my particular method of +assignment is a lousy approach and I don't like it. I still think it +will make for very bad discipline." + +"Whether you like it or not, commander, that is the way it will have to +be accomplished. We are simply recognizing a real situation for what it +is, and compromising with it." + +"But couldn't this change in command personnel be postponed until--" + +"If it could be postponed," the captain replied acidly, "you may rest +assured we would not be employing disagreeable--and somewhat +questionable--devices to speed it up. Unfortunately, our outlying +detectors have identified the approach of a fleet of starships. They can +only be reinforcements for the aliens, about equal to what they already +have here, and they will arrive in two years. If those two forces can +join each other, there will be no need to worry further about discipline +among the humans. There will shortly be no humans left. So we are +preparing a full-scale assault against those aliens now within our +system in the very near future. And we simply must have all tactical +combat devices commanded by men with extra-rational mental abilities in +order to deal with them effectively." + +"Effectively?" the commander snorted. "Thirty-two per cent effective, +according to the figures they gave us in the Psi school." + +"That is considerably better than twelve per cent, which is the +statistical likelihood of survival in combat without it," the captain +retorted. + +Nervously, the commander scratched the back of his thin neck, grimmaced +and nodded. + +"The first and most important problem for you is to gain the confidence +of your crew. They will be worse than useless to you without it, and it +will be a very difficult job, even with all the advice and help our men +can give you. And you will have to be careful--don't forget what I said +about assassinations. The way we are going about it, that you find so +disagreeable, should minimize that danger, but you can't ever tell what +will happen." + +He held up his hand to forestall a comment from the other and continued +on. "There are conditions for everything, commander. Men react according +to certain patterns, given the proper circumstances. It is +characteristic of the sort of men you will encounter on your new ship +that they are unlikely to take the initiative in such matters, partly +from their early training and partly from their association with a CO +who pretty well dominated them. However, they will readily condone it if +somebody else does take the initiative in their behalf. Particularly, if +that man has some official authority over them, and there is always +somebody like that. They will not only condone the action, they will +positively be happy about it, because it will tend to bolster their +sense of security--such as it is. You know the sort of thing--father +hunger. Somebody to take care of them the way their old CO did." + +The captain sighed. "So you see, commander, you are going into a +double-edged situation. Everything in it that can accrue to your +advantage, could also get you promptly killed." + +"I see. First I fight with my men," the commander said bitterly. "And if +I win that battle, I will be permitted to fight the aliens with a +thirty-two per cent possibility of living through the first encounter of +that." + +"It's always been that way to some extent," the captain replied +sympathetically, "in every command situation since the world began. Only +right now is a little worse than anyone can remember." + + * * * * * + +The commander departed. But about a month later, ensuing circumstances +brought one Lieutenant Maise to the same office building. He was not, of +course, ushered into the august presence of the captain, who was seeing +more important people than lieutenants that day. + +Maise had been there for several hours every day for the previous three, +and he went immediately to the desk of the Special Reports Officer. The +SR Officer was a lieutenant also, a combination of psychologist and +writer, whose business it was to make sure that Special Reports on +morale matters were presented in the properly dramatic fashion so that +that indefinable aura of reality, customarily omitted from official +historical documents, could be included. The Evaluation Division, back +on Earth, was very fussy about that "aura." + +"Ah, good afternoon sir," the SR Officer greeted him. "Glad to see you +again." + +Maise nodded curtly and took a seat beside the desk. + +"I think we are pretty well finished now--" + +"We better be," Maise interrupted. "My ship is pulling out in four +hours." + +"Right on the button, eh?" said the SR Officer. He fumbled in a desk +drawer and withdrew a bulky folder, from which he extracted a smaller +manuscript, and handed it to Maise. "I think you will find it complete +and suitably expressive, now, sir." + +Maise scowled as he accepted the document. "It makes no difference to +me. I didn't want to get involved with the report in the first place." + +"I know," the SR Officer nodded agreeably. "But don't worry. Nobody is +going to prefer any charges against anybody in any case. What they want +back on Earth is all the information they can get on morale problems, so +that they can more effectively implement their planning. You know how it +is." + +"How would _I_ know?" + +The SR Officer snapped, "I can understand your sentiments, but don't +blame me. Remember, I'm just a lieutenant, and I just work here in +Morale." + +"Sure," Maise said, cracking a grin on his stiff lips. "Sorry. I know it +isn't your fault." + +He opened the report, and commenced reading. + + * * * * * + +TITLE: + + SPECIAL CONFIDENTIAL PSYCHOLOGICAL REPORT, prepared in + collaboration with Lieutenant E. G. von Wald, Special Reports + Officer, Mars XLV Base. + +TO: + + COMMANDING OFFICER + Psychological Study and Evaluation District + Central Command Authority + Unified Human Defense Forces + +FROM: + + LIEUTENANT ALTON A. B. MAISE + Executive Officer + Space Combat Device LMB-43534 + Seventh Space Fleet + +SUBJECT: + + ATTEMPTED BACTERIOLOGICAL POISONING OF COMMANDER THOMAS L. FRENDON, + recently assigned captain of above-mentioned Combat Device. As per + Special Order PSIC334349, dated 23 July 2013. + +On 17 October 2015, Space Combat Device LMB-43534 was detached from the +Seventh Fleet and returned to the Martian XLV Docks for general +overhauling and refitting with new equipment. This period extended for +two months, and was followed by a seven-day course of rechecking by the +crew. + +I was assigned to the ship as Executive Officer on 21 November following +detachment, and was in command of the ship during most of the +above-mentioned operations. The men were extremely hostile toward me, +owing to their fear that I was a Psi Corps officer acting under a +special commission in the SCS, but no overt signs of mutiny took place, +perhaps because we were still in port. Needless to say, I was very glad +when the message arrived informing us of the assignment of Commander +Frendon as captain, inasmuch as the situation made clearly evident that +I could not expect to be able to assume tactical command of the ship +myself when it was returned to combat, the attitude of the crew being +what it was. + +Almost immediately upon receipt of the message, some of the animosity +toward me lifted, but hardly enough for me to consider myself accepted +as a member of the crew, although there was a good deal more work done +after that. + + * * * * * + +Six days before our scheduled departure date, Commander Frendon arrived. +I was in the control cabin with Lieutenant Spender, Third Officer, when +Lieutenant Harding, the Astrogator entered. He limped around the little +room a couple of times and then slumped dejectedly into a chair. "Well," +he said, "we've had it, boys." + +Spender looked around at him quickly, saying, "What's that?" + +"I said we've had it. I just saw the new CO, walking over from the +Operations office." + +"What about it?" I asked sharply. + +Harding shook his heavy, balding head, staring at the floor. "It's +written all over him," he said bitterly. + +"No!" muttered Spender. + +"Yep," Harding growled. "Just wait until you lay eyes on him." + +He stood up and faced me, his expression bleak and cold. "A sickman, Mr. +Exec," he snarled. "Just as sure as death." + +As previously noted, discipline was very lax, but I had been trying to +restore it as much as possible. So I said, "I don't know whether the +new CO is a member of the Psi Corps or not, Harding, but cut out this +nickname of 'sick.'" + +Harding mumbled: "That's what everybody calls them. I didn't invent the +name. But I think it is plenty appropriate." + +"Well cut it out." + +Harding glared at me. "I suppose you're glad to have one of the +guess-kids running this ship." + +"Nobody wants to be involved in any guessing games, but we're not +running the war here, so stow it." + +Spender broke in then with his customary cold, quiet speech. "A sickman, +eh? Then we have approximately one chance in three of living through our +first encounter with the enemy when we leave here. That is according to +the statistics, I believe. But to the best of my recollection, our +previous captain brought us through eighty-eight skirmishes before +anyone got hurt." He shook his head and thoughtfully contemplated the +big, raw knuckles of his hand. + +As is perfectly obvious from the above, the situation was ill-suited for +a new officer to take command of the ship. I would have liked to settle +the matter a little more before he got there, but there was nothing I +could do about it then. Besides, it wasn't my worry any more, I realized +gratefully. The problem of loyalty and confidence was now the business +of the new CO. I did not envy him his job, but it had to be done. + + * * * * * + +At the very first glance, you could see what Harding had been talking +about. Commander Frendon was the absolute epitome of every popular +physiological cliché associated with people of unusual psi endowment for +the past century that it has been known. At least ten years younger than +any of the rest of us, he was of medium height, extremely skinny and +nervous, his eyes glancing about with a restless uncertainty. It seemed +almost too obvious on him, I thought, and wondered who had been +responsible for assigning him to anything at all in the armed forces. + +He grinned slightly at us when he came in, dearly unsure of himself, and +made a valiant but artificial-sounding effort. "Hello men," he said. "My +name is Frendon. I'm the new CO." + +"Yeah," muttered Harding, "we see that you are." + +"What's that lieutenant?" Frendon's voice was suddenly sharp, and the +wavering grin had vanished. + +"I said, yes sir," Harding replied sullenly. "Welcome aboard." + +Frendon nodded curtly, and glanced around at the rest of us, at no time +looking anyone directly in the eyes. I stood up and held out my hand. +"Maise, here," I said. "Your Exec." And naturally I added the +traditional welcome. + +Spender introduced himself, and as he was speaking, the remaining crew +man walked in to find out what was up. He took one look at Frendon, +understood, and turned to leave again. + +"And the man in the lead-lined tunic is Lieutenant Korsakov," I said +quickly. "He's your engineer." + +Korsakov sullenly said hello and waited. And Frendon also waited, all +the time standing stiff and sensitive. One got the impression that he +was in a nervous agony, but unable to help himself or to receive help +from anybody else. When the introductions were long since completed, +Frendon still stood uncertainly, and an unpleasant silence developed. + +"Sit down, captain," I suggested. "How about some coffee?" + +Frendon nodded and jerkily moved to the seat I had vacated. The eyes of +the other men followed him, studying his uniform. Although it was clear +by now that he was wearing the ordinary insignia of the SCS, nobody was +particularly reassured, because we had all heard of the new arrangement +under which the Psi Corps operated. + +So Frendon sat. The silence continued. Everybody stared at him, and he +looked helplessly around. I worked up what I felt was a friendly grin, +and his gaze finally found itself on me and stayed there, almost +pleading. + +"You'll have to forgive us, captain," I told him. "We're an old bunch of +mangy veterans, and it's going to be a little strange for a while having +a bright new captain." + +"Certainly," Frendon said, his voice hardly above a whisper. "I +understand." He hesitated and then added in a quick defensive rush of +words, "But, of course, you must understand that this isn't the first +ship I've commanded, and I've been in combat before too, and so I don't +see why I should be so doggone strange." + +That's what he said. Doggone. + +"Well," I murmured and cleared my throat. "Of course, captain." + + * * * * * + +Harding broke off his steady, hostile glare, and fumbled in his pocket +for a cigarette. + +"Captain," he started, a little uncertainly, which was unusual for +Harding, "can I ask you a frank question?" + +"Huh?" Frendon looked at the Astrogator blankly. "Why ... why, er, +certainly, lieutenant. Harding you say your name is? Certainly, Harding, +go right ahead." + +Lieutenant Harding carefully lighted his cigarette. Then he said, +"Captain, will you tell us whether or not you are a sickman--I mean a +Psi Corps officer?" + +"Why?" Frendon leaned forward tensely, then relaxed self-consciously. +"Why do you ask that, Harding? Aren't you familiar with the insignia of +your own branch of service?" + +"Yes, sir," Harding replied blandly, "but there have been a number of +reports that they were going to assign a sick ... I mean a Psi Corps +officer to the command of all new Combat Devices, only they would be +wearing SCS insignia. Since we have been outfitted fresh and all, we +probably come under the heading of new Devices." + +"What if I were a Psi Corps officer?" Frendon demanded truculently, his +long, skinny frame taut with excitement. + +Harding considered that question, or rather statement, and puffed +thoughtfully on his cigarette. Finally he shrugged. He reached over and +meticulously crushed out the cigarette in an ash tray. + +"For the benefit of you, lieutenant"--Frendon's bitter gaze swept the +entire room--"and the rest of you, I am not now nor have I ever been a +member of the Psi Corps. Does that satisfy you?" + +"Yes, sir," I said quickly. Nobody else said anything. + +Frendon stood up and stalked tensely to the door. There he spun around +and said, "But there is a branch of the military service designated as +the Psi Corps, and if you wish to discuss it in the future, kindly refer +to it by its official title or abbreviation, and not by that atrocious +nickname of 'sick.' I am sure the Central Command Authority knows what +it is doing, and if they did intend to assign such personnel they must +have very good reasons for it. Understand?" + +There was a general nodding of heads and a scattered, sullen, "Yes, +sir." + +"Now then, you may call out the ship's company, Mr. Maise," Frendon said +to me. + +"Well, captain," I replied, "we're all here." Then sure enough, Frendon +made us all stand at attention while he read his orders to us, just like +it says in the book at the academy. After which, happily, he went to his +cabin, and let us go back to our work. + + * * * * * + +That was the introduction of Commander Frendon to the crew. He made a +distinct impression. Entirely bad. Veteran small-ship personnel in this +war have shown themselves to be extremely clannish, at best, deriving +their principal sense of security not from the strength of the fleet +which they never see and rarely contact, but from their familiarity with +and confidence in each other's capabilities. Now these men had a new CO +who was not only a stranger, but one who they felt sure was a member of +the feared and mistrusted Psi Corps, a sickman, a man whose battle +tactics were reputedly nothing but a bunch of blind, wild guesses. +Previously, I had been the unwanted and suspected stranger, so I knew +how Frendon would feel. + +The situation developed rapidly, probably because we had only six days +before our scheduled departure into the combat zone. That afternoon, +Korsakov and Harding were supposed to be checking the wiring of +fire-control circuits. Base mechanics had installed the gear and tested +it, but it is standard operating procedure for the ship's crew to do +their own checking afterwards, the quality of the work by electronics +mechanics on planetary assignment being what it is these days. + +I found them sitting on the deck, engaged in a desultory, low-voiced +conversation. They had stripped the conduit ducts of plating, but there +was no sign that they had done anything further. + +"All right, you guys," I said. "Get up and finish that check. We may +have to use those missiles one day soon, and I'd like to be sure they go +where they are sent." + +Korsakov looked up at me, his broad, thick mouth spread in an unpleasant +toothy grin and his bushy eyebrows raised. "What difference will it +make, my friend?" + +"None," supplied Harding. Then he added, "As a matter of fact, it might +even be better to leave them scrambled. If we strike an alien, our new +captain is going to close his eyes and punch buttons at random, +probably. Why shouldn't we leave the fire controls at random, too?" + +"They might," Korsakov said, still grinning inanely, "even cancel out +his error." + +"Cut it out," I said. "You know better than that." + +"Maybe you do, Maise." Harding replied, "but we don't." + +My face must have telegraphed my mood, because he lurched to his feet +and quickly added, "Now wait a minute, Maise. Don't get excited. You're +not in command any more, so you don't have to stick to that authority +line now. Oh sure, I know you're the Exec, but what the hell, Maise." + +I stared at him for a moment, then said quietly, "Come on Kors. On your +feet, too. Get that work done." + +"Ha," said Korsakov, but he stood up. + + * * * * * + +Harding moved closer to me. "Confidentially, Maise," he said, "what do +you really think?" + +"About what?" + +"You know--Frendon." + +I shrugged. "What am I supposed to think?" + +"You know as well as I do that he's a sickman." + +"I told you not to use that nickname around me," I replied with +annoyance. "Naturally you're going to mistrust them if you tie them up +in your mind with a name like that." + +"Do you trust them?" + +I suddenly wasn't sure myself, so I evaded by saying, "Frendon told us +he wasn't one, anyway." + +"Did you expect him to tell the truth?" Korsakov sneered. "After going +to the trouble of getting an auxiliary commission in the SCS? He knows +what we think." + +"Sickman," Harding repeated, watching me carefully. "And I'm plenty sick +of having the brass hats handing us junk like that. It used to be that +the worst we'd get would be fouled up equipment that we'd have to check +and rewire ourselves, like these fire controls. Now they give us a +fouled-up captain." + +"Look," I said. "I want you to cut that talk out, Harding. That's an +order. And if you think I can't pour it on you guys, just try me once." + +Korsakov, who had been staring morosely into the wiring duct, turned +around to face me. He had that nasty grin on his face again. + +The best thing I could think of to do at that moment was to pretend I +assumed that they would obey and go on back to the control room. I knew +they wouldn't pay much attention to the order, but the stand had to be +taken. I was still pretty much a stranger myself, but I wasn't going to +let them think they could sell me their friendship at the cost of the +captain's authority. + +One thing I did accomplish, however, was the completion of the +fire-control checkout. There was a lot of rewiring to do, but they had +it finished in two hours, and everything was perfect. + +Frendon went off to the city that evening, and didn't show up the next +day except for about an hour. Apparently, he had been talking to a +Psychological Advice officer or somebody like that, and now proceeded to +interview each of us in private, quite obviously trying to gain some +kind of rapport with us. It didn't work. Even if it hadn't been so +obviously what it was, it wouldn't have worked. The men couldn't stand +simply having him around, and their conviction that he was a Psi Corps +officer merely grew stronger. + +When he left for the day, it was a relief. You couldn't like the guy, +but you couldn't help but feel sorry for him--at least, I couldn't. + + * * * * * + +That evening, since we were still docked on Mars, I went to the Base +service club for dinner. Sitting in a booth there I found the three of +them--Harding, Spender and Korsakov. For the first time, they actually +seemed happy to see me, and the usual animosity I had experienced from +them had almost vanished. Of course, I knew what the reason was. They +could now hate somebody else, and since I was in the same dismal +situation that they were in, they generously permitted me to share their +gloom. + +I ordered some good Earthside bourbon, and sat down with them. Harding +had apparently been making a little speech, which I had interrupted, and +which he now concluded to me. + +"So what do you think we can do?" + +"About what?" I said. + +"You know about what." + +I shrugged and reached for my drink off the servidore. + +"I know you don't like to talk about it, Maise," Harding said, "but we +have to. Something has to be done." + +I started to say something, but he raised a hand and hurried on. "I +know, I know," he growled, "command authority, dignity of rank and all +that sort of nonsense and tradition. Sure, I'd like to see some of it, +too. But this is a hopeless case, Maise. Frendon is a sickman. Or a Psi +Corps man if you prefer. Undoubtedly they have some awfully clever +fellows back on Earth to do our thinking for us, but as far as I am +concerned, they might as well have sent us an idiot child to run the +ship in combat. Don't you understand?" + +He was looking at me earnestly, the deep concern he felt plain on his +face. I already knew that Harding could be depended upon to reflect the +sentiments of the group, and to say exactly what he felt. It was a +useful bit of knowledge. + +"I know what you mean, Harding," I said, "but--" + +"Well, think about it then, man," he interrupted sharply. "You're in the +same ship, you know. When we blow up, you do, too. And it isn't just +that we'll all be killed with this incompetent guess-kid in command--we +probably would anyway, sooner or later. But it's the waste of a good +ship. You know as well as I do that it stands to reason combat can't be +run as a game of blind man's bluff. And that's just what Frendon will +make it. If you're going to make proper use of your military potential +it takes brains, like our old skipper had." + +"They say the Psi Corps training brings out the most sensitive +intellectual capacities of a man," I replied, quoting from the old +publicity releases on it and keeping my voice level and dispassionate. +"The Central Command Authority believes that it will raise the +possibility of survival from twelve to thirty-two per cent in actual +combat." + +Korsakov giggled, belched, hiccupped and finished his drink. "Thirty-two +per cent," he said. "That is one chance in three." + +"You don't understand," Harding insisted. "Maybe the guessing games and +tests they run back on Earth do give the sickmen one chance in three of +being right by blind guessing. I'm not talking about that. I'm talking +about us--on our ship in combat and not in a laboratory back on Earth. +We had a captain who ran the ship well, ran it in eighty-seven separate +forays with the aliens and brought us back each time. He got killed +himself on the eighty-eighth. That's the sort of captain we want, Maise. +A man who can use his head and who can bring the ship through eighty-odd +runs safely. And that is going to take something besides guesswork. +Don't forget--if you like to believe in mathematical probability +statistics--our chances should be getting slender after all our combat +experience. Yours, too, for that matter." + +"Maybe," I hedged, "your previous captain was a Psi Corps man in +disguise." + +"No, he wasn't," Spender cut in calmly. "I knew him for years. We went +through the same service training and served together every minute of +the war. And they didn't start this sick-business until three years or +so ago." + +"Well, they say there are natural Psi men who don't need the training so +much." + +"Fairy tales," snorted Harding. "That stuff doesn't go. I don't believe +it." + + * * * * * + +That was clear. And no argument would convince him otherwise, even if I +had felt inclined to give him one, which I didn't. + +Korsakov, the silent Russian, thoughtfully rubbed his thick hands +together, and then punched the button calling for another drink. "Once +in three times," he said. "It's all been proved. Out of the next three +missions we go out on, we come back only once." His homely face broke +into a tired grin. + +I laughed with him, but Harding did not like the joke. "It isn't funny," +he growled. "If they can't find a decent captain to send us, why can't +they move up one of us that has at least served with a good commander in +combat, and maybe learned some of his tricks from him. Not that I would +want the job. But it would be better than Frendon. Anything would." + +I raised my eyebrows at him skeptically. He got the idea and swore. "You +know I didn't mean that I want the job, so don't go goggling your +righteous eyes at me, Maise. I know my limitations, but I also know a +good captain when I see one. And what do they send us? A kid who not +only is a nut, but he's already so scared he--" + +"Once in three times," Korsakov said loudly. He was apparently getting +pretty drunk. "Their computing machines would need an aspirin to handle +that situation. We go out three times but we only come back once." He +turned and peered intently at me, his heavy bushy eyebrows drawn +severely down and wiggling. "Puzzle: complete the figure without +retracing any lines or lifting the pencil from the paper. How do we +manage to go out there the third time when we haven't yet come back from +the second mission, huh?" + +"Shut up, Kors," Spender said without emotion. "You're getting a +fixation." + +"I'm not the astrogator," Korsakov muttered, laying his head down on the +table. "If you want a fix on our position, you will have to call on Mr. +Harding." + +My bourbon was probably good, but I couldn't taste it. There was too +much else to think about. I said, "Well, what are you going to do if he +really is a Psi Corps man?" + +"That," Harding said thoughtfully, "is the question." + +"Maise, you're the Exec," Spender commented. "It's up to you to work us +a replacement." + +"Didn't you see his orders?" I snapped. "They're dated from Central +Command Authority itself. Even if I did know somebody here in Mars +Command--which I don't--it wouldn't do any good." + +"He's right," Harding grumbled. "Everybody knows that once they've +assigned a sickman, the only people who can get him reassigned are the +sickmen themselves. Maise couldn't do anything about it unless he was a +member of the Corps himself. But that settles it, though--his orders +being from Central, I mean. Nobody but a sickman would have his orders +cut at Central for a puny little ship like ours. It proves what we +thought about him, anyway." + +"I don't think it proves anything," I retorted angrily. "I don't think +the question is whether or not Frendon is a sick--now you've got me +saying it--a Psi Corps man. The question is whether we're going to +settle down and stop whining just because we got a new CO we don't like, +and that we can't do anything about. We're not running this war. They're +running it back on Earth." + +"We're fighting it," Spender commented, chewing on a big, raw knuckle. + +Harding looked at me skeptically. "How much space-combat have you seen, +Maise?" + +"Six years, more or less," I told him. "I've seen plenty of the stuff. +I'd just as soon let somebody else do it from now on in, but nobody +asked me." + +Harding grunted: "Well, tell me, have you ever served under a sick +skipper?" + +"No." + +"Do you want to?" + +"Why not? Besides--what can I do about it?" + + * * * * * + +Harding leaned back and sipped away on the straight whiskey he was +drinking, watching me over the top of the glass and talking directly +into it, making his voice sound muffled and sinister. "You know, Maise, +sometimes you make me tired. Frankly, when they first sent us you, I +didn't like it. None of us did. You were CO then, and we thought maybe +you were a sickman even if you didn't look like it, and you kept sort of +sticking up for the sick corps whenever it was mentioned. Well, that's +all right. New officer in charge, trying to stiffen up discipline, et +cetera and so forth. But now we've got Frendon for CO. You're in the +same boat as the rest of us, and you still keep insisting that the +sickmen are O.K. But you're a liar and you know it." + +"Well, what do you want me to do?" I shouted angrily. "Poison the guy?" + +There was a sudden sharp hush. Even Korsakov lifted his head from the +table, and looked around with bleary, bloodshot eyes. "Poison?" he said. +Then, as if the effort of thinking was too much, he lay down again and +muttered. "Once in three times. It's a puzzle question, men. Figure it +out." + +"Of course, entirely aside from the present argument," Spender stated in +his cold, emotionless voice, staring into his empty glass, "but I do +seem to recall an incident like that. Seems there was a ship just about +like ours. About three months ago. A mechanic told me about it. Seems +they got a new CO assigned to it who was obviously a sickman, just like +us. Somebody managed to sneak a few of the dormant spores lying around +outside the dome into him. Then the sickman really was sick." + +I licked my lips. "I didn't mean that," I said. "Besides, they could +always tell if you did anything like that." + +"How?" asked Spender. + +Harding was listening intently, watching both of us, but he didn't say +anything. + +"They can identify the organisms," I pointed out. + +"Sure. Easy. But how do they know where he picked them up? They're +laying all around outside the domes here on Mars ever since the first +assault by the aliens twelve years ago. Nobody's had time to +decontaminate this whole planet like they did Earth. Easiest thing in +the world for a new officer on Mars to take a little sight-seeing +excursion outside the domes and to be a little careless." + +"There would be an epidemic if he brought back a lot of spores," I +suggested. "Besides, it's out of bounds to leave the dome." + +Spender shook his head. "You can get around that out-of-bounds business +without any trouble," he said. "And there are decontamination chambers +in the air locks, which would clean up anything he brought in; so there +would be no epidemic. The exposure would take place outside of the +domes--say if he opened his helmet to smell the perfume of the famous +hypnotic marspoppy, or something like that. Then he would be infected, +and after that it's non-contagious. All we need is somebody to buddy up +to him, and take him out there. Nature and the poppy will do the rest." + +"Look," I said angrily, "cut that stuff out, Spender. If you're looking +to me to disable the guy, forget about it. I won't. And I'm telling you +right now that if I find anybody else does, I'll report it." + + * * * * * + +For once Spender laughed. He turned to face me, and his blue eyes were +dancing in his scarred, old face. He was laughing at me and my +belligerent righteousness, but the real joke, of course, was that unless +somebody actually caught him talking Frendon into going out there, there +wouldn't be the slightest chance of proving he had done it. It was the +simplest thing in the world to sneak out and back without being +observed, and we both knew it. + +"All right," I said then. "Have your laugh, Spender. And you, too, +Harding. I don't like the nut we've got any more than you do, but what +you're talking about is mutiny and murder--" + +"Oh, he wouldn't necessarily die," Harding commented thoughtfully. "If +he gets the serum within a few hours of the first symptoms, he probably +would be just a very sick man for about a month. Too long to take the +ship out with us when we go." He grinned at me. "And as for mutiny, +nobody would be using any physical force on him. Nor--when you come +right down to the specific matter of his commanding his ship--would +there be any moral force employed either." + +"Have it any way you like," I said, standing up. "I don't care for the +tone of this discussion, and I'm getting out of it." + +Harding laughed again at that. "O.K., Maise," he said in a friendly tone +of voice. "Sorry. I guess you're right at that." I stood glaring at him. +"Come on, sit down," he continued. "I know there isn't anything else for +you to say about it. Being Exec and all, you pretty well have to stick +up for him, and we don't hold it against you. And don't worry about us +doing anything to your precious Frendon." + +His face darkened as he said it, though, and he swore. "Not right now, +anyway. Still, that spore business isn't such a bad--" + +"Let it go," Spender cut him off with a mixture of irritation and +affection. "Somebody told me about it, and so I just passed it on. It +isn't as easy as it sounds, because that stuff can kill, and you stand a +pretty good chance of making a mistake and catching it yourself." Then +he looked up at me and smiled again. "You might as well stick around +with us tonight and get drunk, Maise. No place else to go." + +I hesitated. It was a genuine offer of comradeship, and God knows I +wanted it. I had been an outcast among these men too long. So I grinned +back at him and slid down into the booth again, pressing the button for +another drink. "I'll have one more, but then I think I have some work to +do. Got to see a man about something." + +Korsakov stirred himself. He wasn't as drunk as he seemed, I think. He +raised his head and looked at me carefully for a moment, but then he +mumbled, "Once in three times. How do you figure it?" + + * * * * * + +I left them soon after, located and spoke to Frendon, and then returned +to the ship. The following morning at nine thirty Commander Frendon +suddenly complained of a fever, and said he was going to the hospital. + +A couple of hours later, we received notification of his condition from +the hospital, and at the same time orders from CINCMARS. + +Korsakov, eyes still bloodshot from his hangover, took the message out +of the scanner and stared at it. Then he wordlessly handed it over to +me. + +I read it. It said that Commander Frendon had contracted the spore +disease, but that his condition was satisfactory due to the speedy +treatment. He would, however, be confined to the hospital for one month. + +There was an empty space of three lines, and the orders followed, +addressed to Frendon, to prepare to lift off planet in three days and +rejoin the Seventh Fleet. + +Harding, Spender and Korsakov stared at me with awe when I read them the +information. Nobody said anything for a full minute. + +"All right," I snapped finally. "Kors, ship out a quickie to CINCMARS +and notify him that we can't join the fleet, because we don't have a +captain, and the orders are to him, personally, and not the ship. +Something has to be changed." + +Korsakov thoughtfully pulled on his shaggy, graying eyebrows with his +thick fingers. "Why don't we wait until just before lift time," he +suggested. "Then they won't have time to fish us out another sickman, +and you'll be the skipper, Maise. What do you think of that?" + +"Lousy," I said. "A delay like that when they already must have that +information kicking around somewhere might just be the thing to foul up +the deal. This has to be played straight. Besides, I don't think they +are likely to have any unassigned sick--I mean Psi Corps men around on +Mars. Go chop out that report." + +He was reluctant, but he didn't waste any time about it. And almost +immediately the reply came back ordering me to report to the Base Morale +Officer and account for Frendon's sudden illness, or accident, or +whatever it was. In the old days, that might not have meant so much; but +now, of course, the Morale Officer is the whole works. + +"Well," I said then, "looks like the soup is hot. They're suspicious." +Nobody said anything. They were all waiting, looking at me. "Who," I +continued slowly and carefully, "do you suppose slipped Frendon the +spore? They'll want to know, maybe." + +"Why, Maise," Harding said garrulously, "just like Spender told us. He +went outside, the dome on a sight-seeing trip and made the mistake of +looking at a marspoppy without an antihypnotic color filter. He just +accidentally happened to expose himself." + +"He might not have gone alone," I suggested. "They'll want to know who +went with him, since he probably didn't know anybody else on the Base." + +Korsakov grinned hugely. "We all did, skipper," he said. "They can't +court-martial the whole crew for going out of bounds with him, can they? +It would take a valuable ship out of action." + +"They might." I stood up, frowning. "Well, it all depends upon what +Frendon told them, but, of course, he might have been drunk himself at +the time, and a man like him would hesitate to admit something like +that. That shouldn't be too hard to demonstrate. In which case," I +added, letting them see a grin on my face, "he might have gone by +himself after all, and then none of us would have to be even slightly +implicated. Like for instance, if he spent some time with us drinking, +and then went off by himself, how would we know where he was going?" + +They all laughed with evident relief. It would be a good story. They +all knew that none of them had induced Frendon to disable himself, and +for them that settled the question of who did it. Their willingness to +take a full share of the blame off me settled the only other question I +myself was concerned about. + +And this morning, when CINCMARS confirmed my acting captain status, and +sent us a raw recruit for third officer replacement after moving Harding +up to acting Exec, everybody was satisfied and happy. + +As happy as any small group of reluctant soldiers about to go into +battle is ever likely to get, anyway. + + * * * * * + +Lieutenant Maise dropped the report back on the SR Officer's desk when +he had finished reading it. + +"How did you like it?" the SR wanted to know. + +"All right," Maise murmured. "It covers it. I just hope they can make +some use of it, so that in the future the assignment of a Psi Corps +officer won't be a general signal for a small-time mutiny." + +"That's the whole point of making these reports. They'll work out +something." + +Maise nodded. "Where's Frendon now?" + +"He was transferred to XXX Base three days ago, right after he left your +ship. Couldn't let him run around here for a while. Not after the +trouble with your crew--somebody might recognize him. Besides, he +already has another assignment there." + +"I think it was a pretty stupid thing," Maise grumbled. "He was so +obvious. And suppose I hadn't warned him about it that night, or that I +hadn't been there when the spore-poisoning idea came to a head among the +crew? They might really have tried to get him outside the dome, or to +get a spore culture inside. And then we'd all be sick or dead." + +"Not likely, sir," the SR Officer said with a polite, knowing smile. +"You see, the aliens are presumably susceptible to their own +bacteriological weapons. At least we think so from the way they went +about it. They want our planets, and they didn't want to have to +decontaminate them when they took them over. Besides, it's practically +impossible to decontaminate an entire planet, anyway." + +"But we did it with Earth." + +"For morale purposes, Central Authority let it be known that they were +able to decontaminate it, but what actually happened was that the spores +lost their effectiveness within a few years of their original seeding. +I'm surprised they didn't tell you that in the beginning--" He caught +himself suddenly, then shrugged and smiled again. + +"Maybe you aren't supposed to be told," he continued without +embarrassment. "It's sometimes hard for me to know about such things. +You have no idea how confused the directives can get in an organization +this large. Anyway, as you can see, your men couldn't have poisoned +Frendon or themselves or anybody else with those spores. That's why we +have been using that particular form of suggested violence in this +unpleasant business. If, as you pointed out, something unexpected did +happen, it would be absolutely harmless. Naturally," he added, "we +wouldn't like to risk unnecessarily a professional actor with such a +remarkably suitable physical appearance as Commander Frendon--even if +the poor fellow doesn't have the slightest trace of psi ability." + +Maise gaped at him for a moment as he comprehended the careful, +knowledgeable planning behind the ruse, much of which had not been +explained to him before in his briefings. He said, "And I guess there is +still a lot more about it that I don't know." + +The SR Officer nodded agreement. "Neither you nor I," he replied in bald +understatement. "After all, there are some pretty intelligent men in +charge of this last-ditch defense of our species, and they do keep a few +of the more important things to themselves. For your own safety among +your crew, I suggest that you keep this spore business equally secret." + +"I don't need your advice for that," Maise said with a low voice and a +wry grin on his face. But the grin vanished as he stood up to go. He +hesitated and shook his head uncertainly. + +"So that takes care of that," the SR concluded. "Now you're all set, +aren't you?" + +"All set?" Maise murmured, half to himself. "Hell, I'm just starting, +and I'm scared. When the boys asked me if I trusted the intuition of the +Psi Corps men, I suddenly realized that I really wasn't quite sure +myself. I've studied and worked for two solid years under extraordinary +teachers, and back on Earth they said I was unusually good. But now that +men's lives will depend on it, it almost seems like something out of a +joke book." He stopped talking and sighed. "Well, that's the way it has +to be, I guess." + +He turned to go, but the SR Officer called him back. "Just a minute, +sir," he said. "You forgot to sign this report. You are the originating +officer, you know." + +"Oh, yes." Maise went back to the desk. He picked up a pen and riffled +through the pages to the last one. There he signed his name, scribbling +rapidly, + + "Alton A. B. Maise, Acting Lieutenant SCS Commander, Psi Corps." + +"There you are, lieutenant," he muttered, and started walking on back to +the field where his ship was waiting. + + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Shock Absorber, by E.G. von Wald + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHOCK ABSORBER *** + +***** This file should be named 24380-8.txt or 24380-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/3/8/24380/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan 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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G. Von Wald. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em; + float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: dashed 1px;} + + .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + .br {border-right: solid 2px;} + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; 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;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Shock Absorber, by E.G. von Wald + +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: Shock Absorber + +Author: E.G. von Wald + +Release Date: January 21, 2008 [EBook #24380] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHOCK ABSORBER *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + +<h1>SHOCK ABSORBER</h1> + +<h2>BY E. G. VON WALD</h2> + +<h3>Illustrated by van Dongen</h3> + +<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Astounding Science +Fiction June 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that +the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illus1.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>A man acts on what he believes the facts are, not on the facts. He +lives or dies by what the facts are. Now sometimes you don't have +time to correct a man's beliefs, yet he must act correctly....</i></p></div> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The aging little psychologist looked down at the captain's insignia on +his sleeve and scowled.</p> + +<p>"I know it's a lousy, fouled-up situation, commander," he said with +evident irony. "You speak of discipline. Well, it's bad enough here on +Mars, where a junior officer like you feels free to argue with a full +captain like me, but out there with the fleet, discipline is now +virtually nonexistent."</p> + +<p>He looked up again and quickly added, "Oh, of course there is a +discipline of a sort, and in its own way it is quite effective. Strict, +too, as you will find. But it has few of the marks of the military +academy, of which the regular officers were so fond. Perhaps that was +the reason why they let the situation get away from them, and why we are +in charge of it now."</p> + +<p>"I still think—" the commander started, but he was interrupted again.</p> + +<p>"I know what you think, commander. You can forget it. It's wishful +thinking and we cannot permit such daydreaming in our precarious +condition. Face the facts as they exist in the present. After we kick +the aliens out of our solar system, maybe we can go back to the old +ideas again. Maybe. I'm not even very sure of that. But as for now, the +characteristic of despair is the lowest common denominator among the +combat patrols, and we therefore have mutinies, disobedience of orders, +defections of every variety. That is a real situation, and it will +persist until we can induce the men to accept tactical leadership that +can cope with the enemy.</p> + +<p>"Actually, it is not very remarkable that this situation developed. +Strategy is still a rational computable quantity, but the actual tactics +of fighting is something else entirely. The aliens have an intellectual +response that is in full truth alien to us. It simply cannot be +comprehended rationally by a human being, although they manage to guess +pretty well the responses of our own fighters. Naturally, the result has +been that in the past our losses were almost ninety per cent whenever a +patrol actually engaged in a firefight with the enemy.</p> + +<p>"Fortunately, the aliens are much too far from their home to possess +anything like the number of personnel and other resources that we have. +Otherwise, they would have beaten us long ago. Completely wiped us out. +And all because an ordinary, intelligent human being cannot learn any +patterns by which the aliens operate, and by which he can fight them +successfully."</p> + +<p>"I know that," the commander muttered. "I spent plenty of time out there +before I got tapped for this new branch of service." He rubbed the moist +palms of his hands together nervously.</p> + +<p>"Certainly you did," the captain acknowledged absently. Then he +continued his explanation. "Fortunately, there was a small body of +information on extra-rational mental faculties that had been developed +over the past century, and as soon as we expanded it sufficiently, we +were able to form this new branch of service you now belong to. But +unfortunately, some idiot in the Information Service released a +popularization of the data on the new branch. That was ill-advised. The +veterans who had survived so far had their own way of accounting for +their survival, and that did not include what that silly description +alluded to as 'blind guessing' by commanders of 'exceptional psychic +gifts.'</p> + +<p>"Like most popularizations, the description was grossly inaccurate, and +was promptly withdrawn; but the damage had already been done. The damage +was completed by another idiot who named the new branch the Psi Corps, +merely because the basic capacity for extra-rational mental faculties is +technically signified by the Greek letter 'psi.' The name was slightly +mispronounced by the men, and that automatically produced that nasty +little nickname, which has stuck, and which expresses very well the +attitude of the men toward the new service.</p> + +<p>"As I say, fleet discipline is very bad, and the men simply would not +accept orders from such officers. There are numerous cases on record +where they killed them when there was no other way out.</p> + +<p>"Now, as far as discipline itself is concerned, the best procedure would +be to pull an entire fleet out of the defense perimeter and retrain +them, because the newly trained recruits can be made to accept Psi Corps +officers as commanders. But our situation is far too desperate to permit +anything like that. Therefore, we must use whatever devices we can think +of to do the job.</p> + +<p>"The ship you are going to is staffed by veterans. They were incredibly +lucky. From the outset, they had a CO who was a man highly gifted in psi +without he or anyone else knowing about it until a few months ago when +we ran a quiet little survey. But he got killed in a recent encounter, +along with their executive officer, so we are now sending them a new +captain and a new exec as well. But those men simply will not accept +orders from a Psi Corps officer. Furthermore, they have heard the +rumors—soundly based—that the Psi Corps, as a result of its +opposition, has gone underground, so to speak. They know that its +personnel has been largely disguised by giving them special commissions +in the regular Space Combat Service. As a result, they will most +certainly suspect any new commanding officer no matter what insignia he +wears.</p> + +<p>"Of course, now and then you will find one of the old hands who will +accept the Psi Corps, so long as it isn't jammed down his throat. Just +pray that you have somebody like that aboard your new ship, although I +must admit, it isn't very likely."</p> + + +<p>"All right, all right," the commander growled with irritation. +"But—with your permission, sir—I still think my particular method of +assignment is a lousy approach and I don't like it. I still think it +will make for very bad discipline."</p> + +<p>"Whether you like it or not, commander, that is the way it will have to +be accomplished. We are simply recognizing a real situation for what it +is, and compromising with it."</p> + +<p>"But couldn't this change in command personnel be postponed until—"</p> + +<p>"If it could be postponed," the captain replied acidly, "you may rest +assured we would not be employing disagreeable—and somewhat +questionable—devices to speed it up. Unfortunately, our outlying +detectors have identified the approach of a fleet of starships. They can +only be reinforcements for the aliens, about equal to what they already +have here, and they will arrive in two years. If those two forces can +join each other, there will be no need to worry further about discipline +among the humans. There will shortly be no humans left. So we are +preparing a full-scale assault against those aliens now within our +system in the very near future. And we simply must have all tactical +combat devices commanded by men with extra-rational mental abilities in +order to deal with them effectively."</p> + +<p>"Effectively?" the commander snorted. "Thirty-two per cent effective, +according to the figures they gave us in the Psi school."</p> + +<p>"That is considerably better than twelve per cent, which is the +statistical likelihood of survival in combat without it," the captain +retorted.</p> + +<p>Nervously, the commander scratched the back of his thin neck, grimmaced +and nodded.</p> + +<p>"The first and most important problem for you is to gain the confidence +of your crew. They will be worse than useless to you without it, and it +will be a very difficult job, even with all the advice and help our men +can give you. And you will have to be careful—don't forget what I said +about assassinations. The way we are going about it, that you find so +disagreeable, should minimize that danger, but you can't ever tell what +will happen."</p> + +<p>He held up his hand to forestall a comment from the other and continued +on. "There are conditions for everything, commander. Men react according +to certain patterns, given the proper circumstances. It is +characteristic of the sort of men you will encounter on your new ship +that they are unlikely to take the initiative in such matters, partly +from their early training and partly from their association with a CO +who pretty well dominated them. However, they will readily condone it if +somebody else does take the initiative in their behalf. Particularly, if +that man has some official authority over them, and there is always +somebody like that. They will not only condone the action, they will +positively be happy about it, because it will tend to bolster their +sense of security—such as it is. You know the sort of thing—father +hunger. Somebody to take care of them the way their old CO did."</p> + +<p>The captain sighed. "So you see, commander, you are going into a +double-edged situation. Everything in it that can accrue to your +advantage, could also get you promptly killed."</p> + +<p>"I see. First I fight with my men," the commander said bitterly. "And if +I win that battle, I will be permitted to fight the aliens with a +thirty-two per cent possibility of living through the first encounter of +that."</p> + +<p>"It's always been that way to some extent," the captain replied +sympathetically, "in every command situation since the world began. Only +right now is a little worse than anyone can remember."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The commander departed. But about a month later, ensuing circumstances +brought one Lieutenant Maise to the same office building. He was not, of +course, ushered into the august presence of the captain, who was seeing +more important people than lieutenants that day.</p> + +<p>Maise had been there for several hours every day for the previous three, +and he went immediately to the desk of the Special Reports Officer. The +SR Officer was a lieutenant also, a combination of psychologist and +writer, whose business it was to make sure that Special Reports on +morale matters were presented in the properly dramatic fashion so that +that indefinable aura of reality, customarily omitted from official +historical documents, could be included. The Evaluation Division, back +on Earth, was very fussy about that "aura."</p> + +<p>"Ah, good afternoon sir," the SR Officer greeted him. "Glad to see you +again."</p> + +<p>Maise nodded curtly and took a seat beside the desk.</p> + +<p>"I think we are pretty well finished now—"</p> + +<p>"We better be," Maise interrupted. "My ship is pulling out in four +hours."</p> + +<p>"Right on the button, eh?" said the SR Officer. He fumbled in a desk +drawer and withdrew a bulky folder, from which he extracted a smaller +manuscript, and handed it to Maise. "I think you will find it complete +and suitably expressive, now, sir."</p> + +<p>Maise scowled as he accepted the document. "It makes no difference to +me. I didn't want to get involved with the report in the first place."</p> + +<p>"I know," the SR Officer nodded agreeably. "But don't worry. Nobody is +going to prefer any charges against anybody in any case. What they want +back on Earth is all the information they can get on morale problems, so +that they can more effectively implement their planning. You know how it +is."</p> + +<p>"How would <i>I</i> know?"</p> + +<p>The SR Officer snapped, "I can understand your sentiments, but don't +blame me. Remember, I'm just a lieutenant, and I just work here in +Morale."</p> + +<p>"Sure," Maise said, cracking a grin on his stiff lips. "Sorry. I know it +isn't your fault."</p> + +<p>He opened the report, and commenced reading.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>TITLE:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>SPECIAL CONFIDENTIAL PSYCHOLOGICAL REPORT, prepared in +collaboration with Lieutenant E. G. von Wald, Special Reports +Officer, Mars XLV Base.</p></div> + +<p>TO:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>COMMANDING OFFICER<br /> +Psychological Study and Evaluation District<br /> +Central Command Authority<br /> +Unified Human Defense Forces</p></div> + +<p>FROM:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>LIEUTENANT ALTON A. B. MAISE<br /> +Executive Officer<br /> +Space Combat Device LMB-43534<br /> +Seventh Space Fleet</p></div> + +<p>SUBJECT:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>ATTEMPTED BACTERIOLOGICAL POISONING OF COMMANDER THOMAS L. FRENDON, +recently assigned captain of above-mentioned Combat Device. As per +Special Order PSIC334349, dated 23 July 2013.</p></div> + +<p>On 17 October 2015, Space Combat Device LMB-43534 was detached from the +Seventh Fleet and returned to the Martian XLV Docks for general +overhauling and refitting with new equipment. This period extended for +two months, and was followed by a seven-day course of rechecking by the +crew.</p> + +<p>I was assigned to the ship as Executive Officer on 21 November following +detachment, and was in command of the ship during most of the +above-mentioned operations. The men were extremely hostile toward me, +owing to their fear that I was a Psi Corps officer acting under a +special commission in the SCS, but no overt signs of mutiny took place, +perhaps because we were still in port. Needless to say, I was very glad +when the message arrived informing us of the assignment of Commander +Frendon as captain, inasmuch as the situation made clearly evident that +I could not expect to be able to assume tactical command of the ship +myself when it was returned to combat, the attitude of the crew being +what it was.</p> + +<p>Almost immediately upon receipt of the message, some of the animosity +toward me lifted, but hardly enough for me to consider myself accepted +as a member of the crew, although there was a good deal more work done +after that.</p> + +<p>Six days before our scheduled departure date, Commander Frendon arrived. +I was in the control cabin with Lieutenant Spender, Third Officer, when +Lieutenant Harding, the Astrogator entered. He limped around the little +room a couple of times and then slumped dejectedly into a chair. "Well," +he said, "we've had it, boys."</p> + +<p>Spender looked around at him quickly, saying, "What's that?"</p> + +<p>"I said we've had it. I just saw the new CO, walking over from the +Operations office."</p> + +<p>"What about it?" I asked sharply.</p> + +<p>Harding shook his heavy, balding head, staring at the floor. "It's +written all over him," he said bitterly.</p> + +<p>"No!" muttered Spender.</p> + +<p>"Yep," Harding growled. "Just wait until you lay eyes on him."</p> + +<p>He stood up and faced me, his expression bleak and cold. "A sickman, Mr. +Exec," he snarled. "Just as sure as death."</p> + +<p>As previously noted, discipline was very lax, but I had been trying to +restore it as much as possible. So I said, "I don't know whether the +new CO is a member of the Psi Corps or not, Harding, but cut out this +nickname of 'sick.'"</p> + +<p>Harding mumbled: "That's what everybody calls them. I didn't invent the +name. But I think it is plenty appropriate."</p> + +<p>"Well cut it out."</p> + +<p>Harding glared at me. "I suppose you're glad to have one of the +guess-kids running this ship."</p> + +<p>"Nobody wants to be involved in any guessing games, but we're not +running the war here, so stow it."</p> + +<p>Spender broke in then with his customary cold, quiet speech. "A sickman, +eh? Then we have approximately one chance in three of living through our +first encounter with the enemy when we leave here. That is according to +the statistics, I believe. But to the best of my recollection, our +previous captain brought us through eighty-eight skirmishes before +anyone got hurt." He shook his head and thoughtfully contemplated the +big, raw knuckles of his hand.</p> + +<p>As is perfectly obvious from the above, the situation was ill-suited for +a new officer to take command of the ship. I would have liked to settle +the matter a little more before he got there, but there was nothing I +could do about it then. Besides, it wasn't my worry any more, I realized +gratefully. The problem of loyalty and confidence was now the business +of the new CO. I did not envy him his job, but it had to be done.</p> + +<p>At the very first glance, you could see what Harding had been talking +about. Commander Frendon was the absolute epitome of every popular +physiological cliché associated with people of unusual psi endowment for +the past century that it has been known. At least ten years younger than +any of the rest of us, he was of medium height, extremely skinny and +nervous, his eyes glancing about with a restless uncertainty. It seemed +almost too obvious on him, I thought, and wondered who had been +responsible for assigning him to anything at all in the armed forces.</p> + +<p>He grinned slightly at us when he came in, dearly unsure of himself, and +made a valiant but artificial-sounding effort. "Hello men," he said. "My +name is Frendon. I'm the new CO."</p> + +<p>"Yeah," muttered Harding, "we see that you are."</p> + +<p>"What's that lieutenant?" Frendon's voice was suddenly sharp, and the +wavering grin had vanished.</p> + +<p>"I said, yes sir," Harding replied sullenly. "Welcome aboard."</p> + +<p>Frendon nodded curtly, and glanced around at the rest of us, at no time +looking anyone directly in the eyes. I stood up and held out my hand. +"Maise, here," I said. "Your Exec." And naturally I added the +traditional welcome.</p> + +<p>Spender introduced himself, and as he was speaking, the remaining crew +man walked in to find out what was up. He took one look at Frendon, +understood, and turned to leave again.</p> + +<p>"And the man in the lead-lined tunic is Lieutenant Korsakov," I said +quickly. "He's your engineer."</p> + +<p>Korsakov sullenly said hello and waited. And Frendon also waited, all +the time standing stiff and sensitive. One got the impression that he +was in a nervous agony, but unable to help himself or to receive help +from anybody else. When the introductions were long since completed, +Frendon still stood uncertainly, and an unpleasant silence developed.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, captain," I suggested. "How about some coffee?"</p> + +<p>Frendon nodded and jerkily moved to the seat I had vacated. The eyes of +the other men followed him, studying his uniform. Although it was clear +by now that he was wearing the ordinary insignia of the SCS, nobody was +particularly reassured, because we had all heard of the new arrangement +under which the Psi Corps operated.</p> + +<p>So Frendon sat. The silence continued. Everybody stared at him, and he +looked helplessly around. I worked up what I felt was a friendly grin, +and his gaze finally found itself on me and stayed there, almost +pleading.</p> + +<p>"You'll have to forgive us, captain," I told him. "We're an old bunch of +mangy veterans, and it's going to be a little strange for a while having +a bright new captain."</p> + +<p>"Certainly," Frendon said, his voice hardly above a whisper. "I +understand." He hesitated and then added in a quick defensive rush of +words, "But, of course, you must understand that this isn't the first +ship I've commanded, and I've been in combat before too, and so I don't +see why I should be so doggone strange."</p> + +<p>That's what he said. Doggone.</p> + +<p>"Well," I murmured and cleared my throat. "Of course, captain."</p> + +<p>Harding broke off his steady, hostile glare, and fumbled in his pocket +for a cigarette.</p> + +<p>"Captain," he started, a little uncertainly, which was unusual for +Harding, "can I ask you a frank question?"</p> + +<p>"Huh?" Frendon looked at the Astrogator blankly. "Why ... why, er, +certainly, lieutenant. Harding you say your name is? Certainly, Harding, +go right ahead."</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Harding carefully lighted his cigarette. Then he said, +"Captain, will you tell us whether or not you are a sickman—I mean a +Psi Corps officer?"</p> + +<p>"Why?" Frendon leaned forward tensely, then relaxed self-consciously. +"Why do you ask that, Harding? Aren't you familiar with the insignia of +your own branch of service?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," Harding replied blandly, "but there have been a number of +reports that they were going to assign a sick ... I mean a Psi Corps +officer to the command of all new Combat Devices, only they would be +wearing SCS insignia. Since we have been outfitted fresh and all, we +probably come under the heading of new Devices."</p> + +<p>"What if I were a Psi Corps officer?" Frendon demanded truculently, his +long, skinny frame taut with excitement.</p> + +<p>Harding considered that question, or rather statement, and puffed +thoughtfully on his cigarette. Finally he shrugged. He reached over and +meticulously crushed out the cigarette in an ash tray.</p> + +<p>"For the benefit of you, lieutenant"—Frendon's bitter gaze swept the +entire room—"and the rest of you, I am not now nor have I ever been a +member of the Psi Corps. Does that satisfy you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," I said quickly. Nobody else said anything.</p> + +<p>Frendon stood up and stalked tensely to the door. There he spun around +and said, "But there is a branch of the military service designated as +the Psi Corps, and if you wish to discuss it in the future, kindly refer +to it by its official title or abbreviation, and not by that atrocious +nickname of 'sick.' I am sure the Central Command Authority knows what +it is doing, and if they did intend to assign such personnel they must +have very good reasons for it. Understand?"</p> + +<p>There was a general nodding of heads and a scattered, sullen, "Yes, +sir."</p> + +<p>"Now then, you may call out the ship's company, Mr. Maise," Frendon said +to me.</p> + +<p>"Well, captain," I replied, "we're all here." Then sure enough, Frendon +made us all stand at attention while he read his orders to us, just like +it says in the book at the academy. After which, happily, he went to his +cabin, and let us go back to our work.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>That was the introduction of Commander Frendon to the crew. He made a +distinct impression. Entirely bad. Veteran small-ship personnel in this +war have shown themselves to be extremely clannish, at best, deriving +their principal sense of security not from the strength of the fleet +which they never see and rarely contact, but from their familiarity with +and confidence in each other's capabilities. Now these men had a new CO +who was not only a stranger, but one who they felt sure was a member of +the feared and mistrusted Psi Corps, a sickman, a man whose battle +tactics were reputedly nothing but a bunch of blind, wild guesses. +Previously, I had been the unwanted and suspected stranger, so I knew +how Frendon would feel.</p> + +<p>The situation developed rapidly, probably because we had only six days +before our scheduled departure into the combat zone. That afternoon, +Korsakov and Harding were supposed to be checking the wiring of +fire-control circuits. Base mechanics had installed the gear and tested +it, but it is standard operating procedure for the ship's crew to do +their own checking afterwards, the quality of the work by electronics +mechanics on planetary assignment being what it is these days.</p> + +<p>I found them sitting on the deck, engaged in a desultory, low-voiced +conversation. They had stripped the conduit ducts of plating, but there +was no sign that they had done anything further.</p> + +<p>"All right, you guys," I said. "Get up and finish that check. We may +have to use those missiles one day soon, and I'd like to be sure they go +where they are sent."</p> + +<p>Korsakov looked up at me, his broad, thick mouth spread in an unpleasant +toothy grin and his bushy eyebrows raised. "What difference will it +make, my friend?"</p> + +<p>"None," supplied Harding. Then he added, "As a matter of fact, it might +even be better to leave them scrambled. If we strike an alien, our new +captain is going to close his eyes and punch buttons at random, +probably. Why shouldn't we leave the fire controls at random, too?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="images/illus2.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + + +<div class="figright"> +<img src="images/illus3.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"They might," Korsakov said, still grinning inanely, "even cancel out +his error."</p> + +<p>"Cut it out," I said. "You know better than that."</p> + +<p>"Maybe you do, Maise." Harding replied, "but we don't."</p> + +<p>My face must have telegraphed my mood, because he lurched to his feet +and quickly added, "Now wait a minute, Maise. Don't get excited. You're +not in command any more, so you don't have to stick to that authority +line now. Oh sure, I know you're the Exec, but what the hell, Maise."</p> + +<p>I stared at him for a moment, then said quietly, "Come on Kors. On your +feet, too. Get that work done."</p> + +<p>"Ha," said Korsakov, but he stood up.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Harding moved closer to me. "Confidentially, Maise," he said, "what do +you really think?"</p> + +<p>"About what?"</p> + +<p>"You know—Frendon."</p> + +<p>I shrugged. "What am I supposed to think?"</p> + +<p>"You know as well as I do that he's a sickman."</p> + +<p>"I told you not to use that nickname around me," I replied with +annoyance. "Naturally you're going to mistrust them if you tie them up +in your mind with a name like that."</p> + +<p>"Do you trust them?"</p> + +<p>I suddenly wasn't sure myself, so I evaded by saying, "Frendon told us +he wasn't one, anyway."</p> + +<p>"Did you expect him to tell the truth?" Korsakov sneered. "After going +to the trouble of getting an auxiliary commission in the SCS? He knows +what we think."</p> + +<p>"Sickman," Harding repeated, watching me carefully. "And I'm plenty sick +of having the brass hats handing us junk like that. It used to be that +the worst we'd get would be fouled up equipment that we'd have to check +and rewire ourselves, like these fire controls. Now they give us a +fouled-up captain."</p> + +<p>"Look," I said. "I want you to cut that talk out, Harding. That's an +order. And if you think I can't pour it on you guys, just try me once."</p> + +<p>Korsakov, who had been staring morosely into the wiring duct, turned +around to face me. He had that nasty grin on his face again.</p> + +<p>The best thing I could think of to do at that moment was to pretend I +assumed that they would obey and go on back to the control room. I knew +they wouldn't pay much attention to the order, but the stand had to be +taken. I was still pretty much a stranger myself, but I wasn't going to +let them think they could sell me their friendship at the cost of the +captain's authority.</p> + +<p>One thing I did accomplish, however, was the completion of the +fire-control checkout. There was a lot of rewiring to do, but they had +it finished in two hours, and everything was perfect.</p> + +<p>Frendon went off to the city that evening, and didn't show up the next +day except for about an hour. Apparently, he had been talking to a +Psychological Advice officer or somebody like that, and now proceeded to +interview each of us in private, quite obviously trying to gain some +kind of rapport with us. It didn't work. Even if it hadn't been so +obviously what it was, it wouldn't have worked. The men couldn't stand +simply having him around, and their conviction that he was a Psi Corps +officer merely grew stronger.</p> + +<p>When he left for the day, it was a relief. You couldn't like the guy, +but you couldn't help but feel sorry for him—at least, I couldn't.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>That evening, since we were still docked on Mars, I went to the Base +service club for dinner. Sitting in a booth there I found the three of +them—Harding, Spender and Korsakov. For the first time, they actually +seemed happy to see me, and the usual animosity I had experienced from +them had almost vanished. Of course, I knew what the reason was. They +could now hate somebody else, and since I was in the same dismal +situation that they were in, they generously permitted me to share their +gloom.</p> + +<p>I ordered some good Earthside bourbon, and sat down with them. Harding +had apparently been making a little speech, which I had interrupted, and +which he now concluded to me.</p> + +<p>"So what do you think we can do?"</p> + +<p>"About what?" I said.</p> + +<p>"You know about what."</p> + +<p>I shrugged and reached for my drink off the servidore.</p> + +<p>"I know you don't like to talk about it, Maise," Harding said, "but we +have to. Something has to be done."</p> + +<p>I started to say something, but he raised a hand and hurried on. "I +know, I know," he growled, "command authority, dignity of rank and all +that sort of nonsense and tradition. Sure, I'd like to see some of it, +too. But this is a hopeless case, Maise. Frendon is a sickman. Or a Psi +Corps man if you prefer. Undoubtedly they have some awfully clever +fellows back on Earth to do our thinking for us, but as far as I am +concerned, they might as well have sent us an idiot child to run the +ship in combat. Don't you understand?"</p> + +<p>He was looking at me earnestly, the deep concern he felt plain on his +face. I already knew that Harding could be depended upon to reflect the +sentiments of the group, and to say exactly what he felt. It was a +useful bit of knowledge.</p> + +<p>"I know what you mean, Harding," I said, "but—"</p> + +<p>"Well, think about it then, man," he interrupted sharply. "You're in the +same ship, you know. When we blow up, you do, too. And it isn't just +that we'll all be killed with this incompetent guess-kid in command—we +probably would anyway, sooner or later. But it's the waste of a good +ship. You know as well as I do that it stands to reason combat can't be +run as a game of blind man's bluff. And that's just what Frendon will +make it. If you're going to make proper use of your military potential +it takes brains, like our old skipper had."</p> + +<p>"They say the Psi Corps training brings out the most sensitive +intellectual capacities of a man," I replied, quoting from the old +publicity releases on it and keeping my voice level and dispassionate. +"The Central Command Authority believes that it will raise the +possibility of survival from twelve to thirty-two per cent in actual +combat."</p> + +<p>Korsakov giggled, belched, hiccupped and finished his drink. "Thirty-two +per cent," he said. "That is one chance in three."</p> + +<p>"You don't understand," Harding insisted. "Maybe the guessing games and +tests they run back on Earth do give the sickmen one chance in three of +being right by blind guessing. I'm not talking about that. I'm talking +about us—on our ship in combat and not in a laboratory back on Earth. +We had a captain who ran the ship well, ran it in eighty-seven separate +forays with the aliens and brought us back each time. He got killed +himself on the eighty-eighth. That's the sort of captain we want, Maise. +A man who can use his head and who can bring the ship through eighty-odd +runs safely. And that is going to take something besides guesswork. +Don't forget—if you like to believe in mathematical probability +statistics—our chances should be getting slender after all our combat +experience. Yours, too, for that matter."</p> + +<p>"Maybe," I hedged, "your previous captain was a Psi Corps man in +disguise."</p> + +<p>"No, he wasn't," Spender cut in calmly. "I knew him for years. We went +through the same service training and served together every minute of +the war. And they didn't start this sick-business until three years or +so ago."</p> + +<p>"Well, they say there are natural Psi men who don't need the training so +much."</p> + +<p>"Fairy tales," snorted Harding. "That stuff doesn't go. I don't believe +it."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>That was clear. And no argument would convince him otherwise, even if I +had felt inclined to give him one, which I didn't.</p> + +<p>Korsakov, the silent Russian, thoughtfully rubbed his thick hands +together, and then punched the button calling for another drink. "Once +in three times," he said. "It's all been proved. Out of the next three +missions we go out on, we come back only once." His homely face broke +into a tired grin.</p> + +<p>I laughed with him, but Harding did not like the joke. "It isn't funny," +he growled. "If they can't find a decent captain to send us, why can't +they move up one of us that has at least served with a good commander in +combat, and maybe learned some of his tricks from him. Not that I would +want the job. But it would be better than Frendon. Anything would."</p> + +<p>I raised my eyebrows at him skeptically. He got the idea and swore. "You +know I didn't mean that I want the job, so don't go goggling your +righteous eyes at me, Maise. I know my limitations, but I also know a +good captain when I see one. And what do they send us? A kid who not +only is a nut, but he's already so scared he—"</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illus4.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"Once in three times," Korsakov said loudly. He was apparently getting +pretty drunk. "Their computing machines would need an aspirin to handle +that situation. We go out three times but we only come back once." He +turned and peered intently at me, his heavy bushy eyebrows drawn +severely down and wiggling. "Puzzle: complete the figure without +retracing any lines or lifting the pencil from the paper. How do we +manage to go out there the third time when we haven't yet come back from +the second mission, huh?"</p> + +<p>"Shut up, Kors," Spender said without emotion. "You're getting a +fixation."</p> + +<p>"I'm not the astrogator," Korsakov muttered, laying his head down on the +table. "If you want a fix on our position, you will have to call on Mr. +Harding."</p> + +<p>My bourbon was probably good, but I couldn't taste it. There was too +much else to think about. I said, "Well, what are you going to do if he +really is a Psi Corps man?"</p> + +<p>"That," Harding said thoughtfully, "is the question."</p> + +<p>"Maise, you're the Exec," Spender commented. "It's up to you to work us +a replacement."</p> + +<p>"Didn't you see his orders?" I snapped. "They're dated from Central +Command Authority itself. Even if I did know somebody here in Mars +Command—which I don't—it wouldn't do any good."</p> + +<p>"He's right," Harding grumbled. "Everybody knows that once they've +assigned a sickman, the only people who can get him reassigned are the +sickmen themselves. Maise couldn't do anything about it unless he was a +member of the Corps himself. But that settles it, though—his orders +being from Central, I mean. Nobody but a sickman would have his orders +cut at Central for a puny little ship like ours. It proves what we +thought about him, anyway."</p> + +<p>"I don't think it proves anything," I retorted angrily. "I don't think +the question is whether or not Frendon is a sick—now you've got me +saying it—a Psi Corps man. The question is whether we're going to +settle down and stop whining just because we got a new CO we don't like, +and that we can't do anything about. We're not running this war. They're +running it back on Earth."</p> + +<p>"We're fighting it," Spender commented, chewing on a big, raw knuckle.</p> + +<p>Harding looked at me skeptically. "How much space-combat have you seen, +Maise?"</p> + +<p>"Six years, more or less," I told him. "I've seen plenty of the stuff. +I'd just as soon let somebody else do it from now on in, but nobody +asked me."</p> + +<p>Harding grunted: "Well, tell me, have you ever served under a sick +skipper?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Do you want to?"</p> + +<p>"Why not? Besides—what can I do about it?"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Harding leaned back and sipped away on the straight whiskey he was +drinking, watching me over the top of the glass and talking directly +into it, making his voice sound muffled and sinister. "You know, Maise, +sometimes you make me tired. Frankly, when they first sent us you, I +didn't like it. None of us did. You were CO then, and we thought maybe +you were a sickman even if you didn't look like it, and you kept sort of +sticking up for the sick corps whenever it was mentioned. Well, that's +all right. New officer in charge, trying to stiffen up discipline, et +cetera and so forth. But now we've got Frendon for CO. You're in the +same boat as the rest of us, and you still keep insisting that the +sickmen are O.K. But you're a liar and you know it."</p> + +<p>"Well, what do you want me to do?" I shouted angrily. "Poison the guy?"</p> + +<p>There was a sudden sharp hush. Even Korsakov lifted his head from the +table, and looked around with bleary, bloodshot eyes. "Poison?" he said. +Then, as if the effort of thinking was too much, he lay down again and +muttered. "Once in three times. It's a puzzle question, men. Figure it +out."</p> + +<p>"Of course, entirely aside from the present argument," Spender stated in +his cold, emotionless voice, staring into his empty glass, "but I do +seem to recall an incident like that. Seems there was a ship just about +like ours. About three months ago. A mechanic told me about it. Seems +they got a new CO assigned to it who was obviously a sickman, just like +us. Somebody managed to sneak a few of the dormant spores lying around +outside the dome into him. Then the sickman really was sick."</p> + +<p>I licked my lips. "I didn't mean that," I said. "Besides, they could +always tell if you did anything like that."</p> + +<p>"How?" asked Spender.</p> + +<p>Harding was listening intently, watching both of us, but he didn't say +anything.</p> + +<p>"They can identify the organisms," I pointed out.</p> + +<p>"Sure. Easy. But how do they know where he picked them up? They're +laying all around outside the domes here on Mars ever since the first +assault by the aliens twelve years ago. Nobody's had time to +decontaminate this whole planet like they did Earth. Easiest thing in +the world for a new officer on Mars to take a little sight-seeing +excursion outside the domes and to be a little careless."</p> + +<p>"There would be an epidemic if he brought back a lot of spores," I +suggested. "Besides, it's out of bounds to leave the dome."</p> + +<p>Spender shook his head. "You can get around that out-of-bounds business +without any trouble," he said. "And there are decontamination chambers +in the air locks, which would clean up anything he brought in; so there +would be no epidemic. The exposure would take place outside of the +domes—say if he opened his helmet to smell the perfume of the famous +hypnotic marspoppy, or something like that. Then he would be infected, +and after that it's non-contagious. All we need is somebody to buddy up +to him, and take him out there. Nature and the poppy will do the rest."</p> + +<p>"Look," I said angrily, "cut that stuff out, Spender. If you're looking +to me to disable the guy, forget about it. I won't. And I'm telling you +right now that if I find anybody else does, I'll report it."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>For once Spender laughed. He turned to face me, and his blue eyes were +dancing in his scarred, old face. He was laughing at me and my +belligerent righteousness, but the real joke, of course, was that unless +somebody actually caught him talking Frendon into going out there, there +wouldn't be the slightest chance of proving he had done it. It was the +simplest thing in the world to sneak out and back without being +observed, and we both knew it.</p> + +<p>"All right," I said then. "Have your laugh, Spender. And you, too, +Harding. I don't like the nut we've got any more than you do, but what +you're talking about is mutiny and murder—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he wouldn't necessarily die," Harding commented thoughtfully. "If +he gets the serum within a few hours of the first symptoms, he probably +would be just a very sick man for about a month. Too long to take the +ship out with us when we go." He grinned at me. "And as for mutiny, +nobody would be using any physical force on him. Nor—when you come +right down to the specific matter of his commanding his ship—would +there be any moral force employed either."</p> + +<p>"Have it any way you like," I said, standing up. "I don't care for the +tone of this discussion, and I'm getting out of it."</p> + +<p>Harding laughed again at that. "O.K., Maise," he said in a friendly tone +of voice. "Sorry. I guess you're right at that." I stood glaring at him. +"Come on, sit down," he continued. "I know there isn't anything else for +you to say about it. Being Exec and all, you pretty well have to stick +up for him, and we don't hold it against you. And don't worry about us +doing anything to your precious Frendon."</p> + +<p>His face darkened as he said it, though, and he swore. "Not right now, +anyway. Still, that spore business isn't such a bad—"</p> + +<p>"Let it go," Spender cut him off with a mixture of irritation and +affection. "Somebody told me about it, and so I just passed it on. It +isn't as easy as it sounds, because that stuff can kill, and you stand a +pretty good chance of making a mistake and catching it yourself." Then +he looked up at me and smiled again. "You might as well stick around +with us tonight and get drunk, Maise. No place else to go."</p> + +<p>I hesitated. It was a genuine offer of comradeship, and God knows I +wanted it. I had been an outcast among these men too long. So I grinned +back at him and slid down into the booth again, pressing the button for +another drink. "I'll have one more, but then I think I have some work to +do. Got to see a man about something."</p> + +<p>Korsakov stirred himself. He wasn't as drunk as he seemed, I think. He +raised his head and looked at me carefully for a moment, but then he +mumbled, "Once in three times. How do you figure it?"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>I left them soon after, located and spoke to Frendon, and then returned +to the ship. The following morning at nine thirty Commander Frendon +suddenly complained of a fever, and said he was going to the hospital.</p> + +<p>A couple of hours later, we received notification of his condition from +the hospital, and at the same time orders from CINCMARS.</p> + +<p>Korsakov, eyes still bloodshot from his hangover, took the message out +of the scanner and stared at it. Then he wordlessly handed it over to +me.</p> + +<p>I read it. It said that Commander Frendon had contracted the spore +disease, but that his condition was satisfactory due to the speedy +treatment. He would, however, be confined to the hospital for one month.</p> + +<p>There was an empty space of three lines, and the orders followed, +addressed to Frendon, to prepare to lift off planet in three days and +rejoin the Seventh Fleet.</p> + +<p>Harding, Spender and Korsakov stared at me with awe when I read them the +information. Nobody said anything for a full minute.</p> + +<p>"All right," I snapped finally. "Kors, ship out a quickie to CINCMARS +and notify him that we can't join the fleet, because we don't have a +captain, and the orders are to him, personally, and not the ship. +Something has to be changed."</p> + +<p>Korsakov thoughtfully pulled on his shaggy, graying eyebrows with his +thick fingers. "Why don't we wait until just before lift time," he +suggested. "Then they won't have time to fish us out another sickman, +and you'll be the skipper, Maise. What do you think of that?"</p> + +<p>"Lousy," I said. "A delay like that when they already must have that +information kicking around somewhere might just be the thing to foul up +the deal. This has to be played straight. Besides, I don't think they +are likely to have any unassigned sick—I mean Psi Corps men around on +Mars. Go chop out that report."</p> + +<p>He was reluctant, but he didn't waste any time about it. And almost +immediately the reply came back ordering me to report to the Base Morale +Officer and account for Frendon's sudden illness, or accident, or +whatever it was. In the old days, that might not have meant so much; but +now, of course, the Morale Officer is the whole works.</p> + +<p>"Well," I said then, "looks like the soup is hot. They're suspicious." +Nobody said anything. They were all waiting, looking at me. "Who," I +continued slowly and carefully, "do you suppose slipped Frendon the +spore? They'll want to know, maybe."</p> + +<p>"Why, Maise," Harding said garrulously, "just like Spender told us. He +went outside, the dome on a sight-seeing trip and made the mistake of +looking at a marspoppy without an antihypnotic color filter. He just +accidentally happened to expose himself."</p> + +<p>"He might not have gone alone," I suggested. "They'll want to know who +went with him, since he probably didn't know anybody else on the Base."</p> + +<p>Korsakov grinned hugely. "We all did, skipper," he said. "They can't +court-martial the whole crew for going out of bounds with him, can they? +It would take a valuable ship out of action."</p> + +<p>"They might." I stood up, frowning. "Well, it all depends upon what +Frendon told them, but, of course, he might have been drunk himself at +the time, and a man like him would hesitate to admit something like +that. That shouldn't be too hard to demonstrate. In which case," I +added, letting them see a grin on my face, "he might have gone by +himself after all, and then none of us would have to be even slightly +implicated. Like for instance, if he spent some time with us drinking, +and then went off by himself, how would we know where he was going?"</p> + +<p>They all laughed with evident relief. It would be a good story. They +all knew that none of them had induced Frendon to disable himself, and +for them that settled the question of who did it. Their willingness to +take a full share of the blame off me settled the only other question I +myself was concerned about.</p> + +<p>And this morning, when CINCMARS confirmed my acting captain status, and +sent us a raw recruit for third officer replacement after moving Harding +up to acting Exec, everybody was satisfied and happy.</p> + +<p>As happy as any small group of reluctant soldiers about to go into +battle is ever likely to get, anyway.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Lieutenant Maise dropped the report back on the SR Officer's desk when +he had finished reading it.</p> + +<p>"How did you like it?" the SR wanted to know.</p> + +<p>"All right," Maise murmured. "It covers it. I just hope they can make +some use of it, so that in the future the assignment of a Psi Corps +officer won't be a general signal for a small-time mutiny."</p> + +<p>"That's the whole point of making these reports. They'll work out +something."</p> + +<p>Maise nodded. "Where's Frendon now?"</p> + +<p>"He was transferred to XXX Base three days ago, right after he left your +ship. Couldn't let him run around here for a while. Not after the +trouble with your crew—somebody might recognize him. Besides, he +already has another assignment there."</p> + +<p>"I think it was a pretty stupid thing," Maise grumbled. "He was so +obvious. And suppose I hadn't warned him about it that night, or that I +hadn't been there when the spore-poisoning idea came to a head among the +crew? They might really have tried to get him outside the dome, or to +get a spore culture inside. And then we'd all be sick or dead."</p> + +<p>"Not likely, sir," the SR Officer said with a polite, knowing smile. +"You see, the aliens are presumably susceptible to their own +bacteriological weapons. At least we think so from the way they went +about it. They want our planets, and they didn't want to have to +decontaminate them when they took them over. Besides, it's practically +impossible to decontaminate an entire planet, anyway."</p> + +<p>"But we did it with Earth."</p> + +<p>"For morale purposes, Central Authority let it be known that they were +able to decontaminate it, but what actually happened was that the spores +lost their effectiveness within a few years of their original seeding. +I'm surprised they didn't tell you that in the beginning—" He caught +himself suddenly, then shrugged and smiled again.</p> + +<p>"Maybe you aren't supposed to be told," he continued without +embarrassment. "It's sometimes hard for me to know about such things. +You have no idea how confused the directives can get in an organization +this large. Anyway, as you can see, your men couldn't have poisoned +Frendon or themselves or anybody else with those spores. That's why we +have been using that particular form of suggested violence in this +unpleasant business. If, as you pointed out, something unexpected did +happen, it would be absolutely harmless. Naturally," he added, "we +wouldn't like to risk unnecessarily a professional actor with such a +remarkably suitable physical appearance as Commander Frendon—even if +the poor fellow doesn't have the slightest trace of psi ability."</p> + +<p>Maise gaped at him for a moment as he comprehended the careful, +knowledgeable planning behind the ruse, much of which had not been +explained to him before in his briefings. He said, "And I guess there is +still a lot more about it that I don't know."</p> + +<p>The SR Officer nodded agreement. "Neither you nor I," he replied in bald +understatement. "After all, there are some pretty intelligent men in +charge of this last-ditch defense of our species, and they do keep a few +of the more important things to themselves. For your own safety among +your crew, I suggest that you keep this spore business equally secret."</p> + +<p>"I don't need your advice for that," Maise said with a low voice and a +wry grin on his face. But the grin vanished as he stood up to go. He +hesitated and shook his head uncertainly.</p> + +<p>"So that takes care of that," the SR concluded. "Now you're all set, +aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"All set?" Maise murmured, half to himself. "Hell, I'm just starting, +and I'm scared. When the boys asked me if I trusted the intuition of the +Psi Corps men, I suddenly realized that I really wasn't quite sure +myself. I've studied and worked for two solid years under extraordinary +teachers, and back on Earth they said I was unusually good. But now that +men's lives will depend on it, it almost seems like something out of a +joke book." He stopped talking and sighed. "Well, that's the way it has +to be, I guess."</p> + +<p>He turned to go, but the SR Officer called him back. "Just a minute, +sir," he said. "You forgot to sign this report. You are the originating +officer, you know."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes." Maise went back to the desk. He picked up a pen and riffled +through the pages to the last one. There he signed his name, scribbling +rapidly,</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Alton A. B. Maise, Acting Lieutenant SCS Commander, Psi Corps."</p></div> + +<p>"There you are, lieutenant," he muttered, and started walking on back to +the field where his ship was waiting.</p> + + +<p>THE END</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Shock Absorber, by E.G. von Wald + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHOCK ABSORBER *** + +***** This file should be named 24380-h.htm or 24380-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/3/8/24380/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan 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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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: Shock Absorber + +Author: E.G. von Wald + +Release Date: January 21, 2008 [EBook #24380] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHOCK ABSORBER *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + SHOCK ABSORBER + + BY E. G. VON WALD + + Illustrated by van Dongen + +[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Astounding Science +Fiction June 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that +the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] + + + _A man acts on what he believes the facts are, not on the facts. He + lives or dies by what the facts are. Now sometimes you don't have + time to correct a man's beliefs, yet he must act correctly...._ + + +The aging little psychologist looked down at the captain's insignia on +his sleeve and scowled. + +"I know it's a lousy, fouled-up situation, commander," he said with +evident irony. "You speak of discipline. Well, it's bad enough here on +Mars, where a junior officer like you feels free to argue with a full +captain like me, but out there with the fleet, discipline is now +virtually nonexistent." + +He looked up again and quickly added, "Oh, of course there is a +discipline of a sort, and in its own way it is quite effective. Strict, +too, as you will find. But it has few of the marks of the military +academy, of which the regular officers were so fond. Perhaps that was +the reason why they let the situation get away from them, and why we are +in charge of it now." + +"I still think--" the commander started, but he was interrupted again. + +"I know what you think, commander. You can forget it. It's wishful +thinking and we cannot permit such daydreaming in our precarious +condition. Face the facts as they exist in the present. After we kick +the aliens out of our solar system, maybe we can go back to the old +ideas again. Maybe. I'm not even very sure of that. But as for now, the +characteristic of despair is the lowest common denominator among the +combat patrols, and we therefore have mutinies, disobedience of orders, +defections of every variety. That is a real situation, and it will +persist until we can induce the men to accept tactical leadership that +can cope with the enemy. + +"Actually, it is not very remarkable that this situation developed. +Strategy is still a rational computable quantity, but the actual tactics +of fighting is something else entirely. The aliens have an intellectual +response that is in full truth alien to us. It simply cannot be +comprehended rationally by a human being, although they manage to guess +pretty well the responses of our own fighters. Naturally, the result has +been that in the past our losses were almost ninety per cent whenever a +patrol actually engaged in a firefight with the enemy. + +"Fortunately, the aliens are much too far from their home to possess +anything like the number of personnel and other resources that we have. +Otherwise, they would have beaten us long ago. Completely wiped us out. +And all because an ordinary, intelligent human being cannot learn any +patterns by which the aliens operate, and by which he can fight them +successfully." + +"I know that," the commander muttered. "I spent plenty of time out there +before I got tapped for this new branch of service." He rubbed the moist +palms of his hands together nervously. + +"Certainly you did," the captain acknowledged absently. Then he +continued his explanation. "Fortunately, there was a small body of +information on extra-rational mental faculties that had been developed +over the past century, and as soon as we expanded it sufficiently, we +were able to form this new branch of service you now belong to. But +unfortunately, some idiot in the Information Service released a +popularization of the data on the new branch. That was ill-advised. The +veterans who had survived so far had their own way of accounting for +their survival, and that did not include what that silly description +alluded to as 'blind guessing' by commanders of 'exceptional psychic +gifts.' + +"Like most popularizations, the description was grossly inaccurate, and +was promptly withdrawn; but the damage had already been done. The damage +was completed by another idiot who named the new branch the Psi Corps, +merely because the basic capacity for extra-rational mental faculties is +technically signified by the Greek letter 'psi.' The name was slightly +mispronounced by the men, and that automatically produced that nasty +little nickname, which has stuck, and which expresses very well the +attitude of the men toward the new service. + +"As I say, fleet discipline is very bad, and the men simply would not +accept orders from such officers. There are numerous cases on record +where they killed them when there was no other way out. + +"Now, as far as discipline itself is concerned, the best procedure would +be to pull an entire fleet out of the defense perimeter and retrain +them, because the newly trained recruits can be made to accept Psi Corps +officers as commanders. But our situation is far too desperate to permit +anything like that. Therefore, we must use whatever devices we can think +of to do the job. + +"The ship you are going to is staffed by veterans. They were incredibly +lucky. From the outset, they had a CO who was a man highly gifted in psi +without he or anyone else knowing about it until a few months ago when +we ran a quiet little survey. But he got killed in a recent encounter, +along with their executive officer, so we are now sending them a new +captain and a new exec as well. But those men simply will not accept +orders from a Psi Corps officer. Furthermore, they have heard the +rumors--soundly based--that the Psi Corps, as a result of its +opposition, has gone underground, so to speak. They know that its +personnel has been largely disguised by giving them special commissions +in the regular Space Combat Service. As a result, they will most +certainly suspect any new commanding officer no matter what insignia he +wears. + +"Of course, now and then you will find one of the old hands who will +accept the Psi Corps, so long as it isn't jammed down his throat. Just +pray that you have somebody like that aboard your new ship, although I +must admit, it isn't very likely." + + * * * * * + +"All right, all right," the commander growled with irritation. +"But--with your permission, sir--I still think my particular method of +assignment is a lousy approach and I don't like it. I still think it +will make for very bad discipline." + +"Whether you like it or not, commander, that is the way it will have to +be accomplished. We are simply recognizing a real situation for what it +is, and compromising with it." + +"But couldn't this change in command personnel be postponed until--" + +"If it could be postponed," the captain replied acidly, "you may rest +assured we would not be employing disagreeable--and somewhat +questionable--devices to speed it up. Unfortunately, our outlying +detectors have identified the approach of a fleet of starships. They can +only be reinforcements for the aliens, about equal to what they already +have here, and they will arrive in two years. If those two forces can +join each other, there will be no need to worry further about discipline +among the humans. There will shortly be no humans left. So we are +preparing a full-scale assault against those aliens now within our +system in the very near future. And we simply must have all tactical +combat devices commanded by men with extra-rational mental abilities in +order to deal with them effectively." + +"Effectively?" the commander snorted. "Thirty-two per cent effective, +according to the figures they gave us in the Psi school." + +"That is considerably better than twelve per cent, which is the +statistical likelihood of survival in combat without it," the captain +retorted. + +Nervously, the commander scratched the back of his thin neck, grimmaced +and nodded. + +"The first and most important problem for you is to gain the confidence +of your crew. They will be worse than useless to you without it, and it +will be a very difficult job, even with all the advice and help our men +can give you. And you will have to be careful--don't forget what I said +about assassinations. The way we are going about it, that you find so +disagreeable, should minimize that danger, but you can't ever tell what +will happen." + +He held up his hand to forestall a comment from the other and continued +on. "There are conditions for everything, commander. Men react according +to certain patterns, given the proper circumstances. It is +characteristic of the sort of men you will encounter on your new ship +that they are unlikely to take the initiative in such matters, partly +from their early training and partly from their association with a CO +who pretty well dominated them. However, they will readily condone it if +somebody else does take the initiative in their behalf. Particularly, if +that man has some official authority over them, and there is always +somebody like that. They will not only condone the action, they will +positively be happy about it, because it will tend to bolster their +sense of security--such as it is. You know the sort of thing--father +hunger. Somebody to take care of them the way their old CO did." + +The captain sighed. "So you see, commander, you are going into a +double-edged situation. Everything in it that can accrue to your +advantage, could also get you promptly killed." + +"I see. First I fight with my men," the commander said bitterly. "And if +I win that battle, I will be permitted to fight the aliens with a +thirty-two per cent possibility of living through the first encounter of +that." + +"It's always been that way to some extent," the captain replied +sympathetically, "in every command situation since the world began. Only +right now is a little worse than anyone can remember." + + * * * * * + +The commander departed. But about a month later, ensuing circumstances +brought one Lieutenant Maise to the same office building. He was not, of +course, ushered into the august presence of the captain, who was seeing +more important people than lieutenants that day. + +Maise had been there for several hours every day for the previous three, +and he went immediately to the desk of the Special Reports Officer. The +SR Officer was a lieutenant also, a combination of psychologist and +writer, whose business it was to make sure that Special Reports on +morale matters were presented in the properly dramatic fashion so that +that indefinable aura of reality, customarily omitted from official +historical documents, could be included. The Evaluation Division, back +on Earth, was very fussy about that "aura." + +"Ah, good afternoon sir," the SR Officer greeted him. "Glad to see you +again." + +Maise nodded curtly and took a seat beside the desk. + +"I think we are pretty well finished now--" + +"We better be," Maise interrupted. "My ship is pulling out in four +hours." + +"Right on the button, eh?" said the SR Officer. He fumbled in a desk +drawer and withdrew a bulky folder, from which he extracted a smaller +manuscript, and handed it to Maise. "I think you will find it complete +and suitably expressive, now, sir." + +Maise scowled as he accepted the document. "It makes no difference to +me. I didn't want to get involved with the report in the first place." + +"I know," the SR Officer nodded agreeably. "But don't worry. Nobody is +going to prefer any charges against anybody in any case. What they want +back on Earth is all the information they can get on morale problems, so +that they can more effectively implement their planning. You know how it +is." + +"How would _I_ know?" + +The SR Officer snapped, "I can understand your sentiments, but don't +blame me. Remember, I'm just a lieutenant, and I just work here in +Morale." + +"Sure," Maise said, cracking a grin on his stiff lips. "Sorry. I know it +isn't your fault." + +He opened the report, and commenced reading. + + * * * * * + +TITLE: + + SPECIAL CONFIDENTIAL PSYCHOLOGICAL REPORT, prepared in + collaboration with Lieutenant E. G. von Wald, Special Reports + Officer, Mars XLV Base. + +TO: + + COMMANDING OFFICER + Psychological Study and Evaluation District + Central Command Authority + Unified Human Defense Forces + +FROM: + + LIEUTENANT ALTON A. B. MAISE + Executive Officer + Space Combat Device LMB-43534 + Seventh Space Fleet + +SUBJECT: + + ATTEMPTED BACTERIOLOGICAL POISONING OF COMMANDER THOMAS L. FRENDON, + recently assigned captain of above-mentioned Combat Device. As per + Special Order PSIC334349, dated 23 July 2013. + +On 17 October 2015, Space Combat Device LMB-43534 was detached from the +Seventh Fleet and returned to the Martian XLV Docks for general +overhauling and refitting with new equipment. This period extended for +two months, and was followed by a seven-day course of rechecking by the +crew. + +I was assigned to the ship as Executive Officer on 21 November following +detachment, and was in command of the ship during most of the +above-mentioned operations. The men were extremely hostile toward me, +owing to their fear that I was a Psi Corps officer acting under a +special commission in the SCS, but no overt signs of mutiny took place, +perhaps because we were still in port. Needless to say, I was very glad +when the message arrived informing us of the assignment of Commander +Frendon as captain, inasmuch as the situation made clearly evident that +I could not expect to be able to assume tactical command of the ship +myself when it was returned to combat, the attitude of the crew being +what it was. + +Almost immediately upon receipt of the message, some of the animosity +toward me lifted, but hardly enough for me to consider myself accepted +as a member of the crew, although there was a good deal more work done +after that. + + * * * * * + +Six days before our scheduled departure date, Commander Frendon arrived. +I was in the control cabin with Lieutenant Spender, Third Officer, when +Lieutenant Harding, the Astrogator entered. He limped around the little +room a couple of times and then slumped dejectedly into a chair. "Well," +he said, "we've had it, boys." + +Spender looked around at him quickly, saying, "What's that?" + +"I said we've had it. I just saw the new CO, walking over from the +Operations office." + +"What about it?" I asked sharply. + +Harding shook his heavy, balding head, staring at the floor. "It's +written all over him," he said bitterly. + +"No!" muttered Spender. + +"Yep," Harding growled. "Just wait until you lay eyes on him." + +He stood up and faced me, his expression bleak and cold. "A sickman, Mr. +Exec," he snarled. "Just as sure as death." + +As previously noted, discipline was very lax, but I had been trying to +restore it as much as possible. So I said, "I don't know whether the +new CO is a member of the Psi Corps or not, Harding, but cut out this +nickname of 'sick.'" + +Harding mumbled: "That's what everybody calls them. I didn't invent the +name. But I think it is plenty appropriate." + +"Well cut it out." + +Harding glared at me. "I suppose you're glad to have one of the +guess-kids running this ship." + +"Nobody wants to be involved in any guessing games, but we're not +running the war here, so stow it." + +Spender broke in then with his customary cold, quiet speech. "A sickman, +eh? Then we have approximately one chance in three of living through our +first encounter with the enemy when we leave here. That is according to +the statistics, I believe. But to the best of my recollection, our +previous captain brought us through eighty-eight skirmishes before +anyone got hurt." He shook his head and thoughtfully contemplated the +big, raw knuckles of his hand. + +As is perfectly obvious from the above, the situation was ill-suited for +a new officer to take command of the ship. I would have liked to settle +the matter a little more before he got there, but there was nothing I +could do about it then. Besides, it wasn't my worry any more, I realized +gratefully. The problem of loyalty and confidence was now the business +of the new CO. I did not envy him his job, but it had to be done. + + * * * * * + +At the very first glance, you could see what Harding had been talking +about. Commander Frendon was the absolute epitome of every popular +physiological cliche associated with people of unusual psi endowment for +the past century that it has been known. At least ten years younger than +any of the rest of us, he was of medium height, extremely skinny and +nervous, his eyes glancing about with a restless uncertainty. It seemed +almost too obvious on him, I thought, and wondered who had been +responsible for assigning him to anything at all in the armed forces. + +He grinned slightly at us when he came in, dearly unsure of himself, and +made a valiant but artificial-sounding effort. "Hello men," he said. "My +name is Frendon. I'm the new CO." + +"Yeah," muttered Harding, "we see that you are." + +"What's that lieutenant?" Frendon's voice was suddenly sharp, and the +wavering grin had vanished. + +"I said, yes sir," Harding replied sullenly. "Welcome aboard." + +Frendon nodded curtly, and glanced around at the rest of us, at no time +looking anyone directly in the eyes. I stood up and held out my hand. +"Maise, here," I said. "Your Exec." And naturally I added the +traditional welcome. + +Spender introduced himself, and as he was speaking, the remaining crew +man walked in to find out what was up. He took one look at Frendon, +understood, and turned to leave again. + +"And the man in the lead-lined tunic is Lieutenant Korsakov," I said +quickly. "He's your engineer." + +Korsakov sullenly said hello and waited. And Frendon also waited, all +the time standing stiff and sensitive. One got the impression that he +was in a nervous agony, but unable to help himself or to receive help +from anybody else. When the introductions were long since completed, +Frendon still stood uncertainly, and an unpleasant silence developed. + +"Sit down, captain," I suggested. "How about some coffee?" + +Frendon nodded and jerkily moved to the seat I had vacated. The eyes of +the other men followed him, studying his uniform. Although it was clear +by now that he was wearing the ordinary insignia of the SCS, nobody was +particularly reassured, because we had all heard of the new arrangement +under which the Psi Corps operated. + +So Frendon sat. The silence continued. Everybody stared at him, and he +looked helplessly around. I worked up what I felt was a friendly grin, +and his gaze finally found itself on me and stayed there, almost +pleading. + +"You'll have to forgive us, captain," I told him. "We're an old bunch of +mangy veterans, and it's going to be a little strange for a while having +a bright new captain." + +"Certainly," Frendon said, his voice hardly above a whisper. "I +understand." He hesitated and then added in a quick defensive rush of +words, "But, of course, you must understand that this isn't the first +ship I've commanded, and I've been in combat before too, and so I don't +see why I should be so doggone strange." + +That's what he said. Doggone. + +"Well," I murmured and cleared my throat. "Of course, captain." + + * * * * * + +Harding broke off his steady, hostile glare, and fumbled in his pocket +for a cigarette. + +"Captain," he started, a little uncertainly, which was unusual for +Harding, "can I ask you a frank question?" + +"Huh?" Frendon looked at the Astrogator blankly. "Why ... why, er, +certainly, lieutenant. Harding you say your name is? Certainly, Harding, +go right ahead." + +Lieutenant Harding carefully lighted his cigarette. Then he said, +"Captain, will you tell us whether or not you are a sickman--I mean a +Psi Corps officer?" + +"Why?" Frendon leaned forward tensely, then relaxed self-consciously. +"Why do you ask that, Harding? Aren't you familiar with the insignia of +your own branch of service?" + +"Yes, sir," Harding replied blandly, "but there have been a number of +reports that they were going to assign a sick ... I mean a Psi Corps +officer to the command of all new Combat Devices, only they would be +wearing SCS insignia. Since we have been outfitted fresh and all, we +probably come under the heading of new Devices." + +"What if I were a Psi Corps officer?" Frendon demanded truculently, his +long, skinny frame taut with excitement. + +Harding considered that question, or rather statement, and puffed +thoughtfully on his cigarette. Finally he shrugged. He reached over and +meticulously crushed out the cigarette in an ash tray. + +"For the benefit of you, lieutenant"--Frendon's bitter gaze swept the +entire room--"and the rest of you, I am not now nor have I ever been a +member of the Psi Corps. Does that satisfy you?" + +"Yes, sir," I said quickly. Nobody else said anything. + +Frendon stood up and stalked tensely to the door. There he spun around +and said, "But there is a branch of the military service designated as +the Psi Corps, and if you wish to discuss it in the future, kindly refer +to it by its official title or abbreviation, and not by that atrocious +nickname of 'sick.' I am sure the Central Command Authority knows what +it is doing, and if they did intend to assign such personnel they must +have very good reasons for it. Understand?" + +There was a general nodding of heads and a scattered, sullen, "Yes, +sir." + +"Now then, you may call out the ship's company, Mr. Maise," Frendon said +to me. + +"Well, captain," I replied, "we're all here." Then sure enough, Frendon +made us all stand at attention while he read his orders to us, just like +it says in the book at the academy. After which, happily, he went to his +cabin, and let us go back to our work. + + * * * * * + +That was the introduction of Commander Frendon to the crew. He made a +distinct impression. Entirely bad. Veteran small-ship personnel in this +war have shown themselves to be extremely clannish, at best, deriving +their principal sense of security not from the strength of the fleet +which they never see and rarely contact, but from their familiarity with +and confidence in each other's capabilities. Now these men had a new CO +who was not only a stranger, but one who they felt sure was a member of +the feared and mistrusted Psi Corps, a sickman, a man whose battle +tactics were reputedly nothing but a bunch of blind, wild guesses. +Previously, I had been the unwanted and suspected stranger, so I knew +how Frendon would feel. + +The situation developed rapidly, probably because we had only six days +before our scheduled departure into the combat zone. That afternoon, +Korsakov and Harding were supposed to be checking the wiring of +fire-control circuits. Base mechanics had installed the gear and tested +it, but it is standard operating procedure for the ship's crew to do +their own checking afterwards, the quality of the work by electronics +mechanics on planetary assignment being what it is these days. + +I found them sitting on the deck, engaged in a desultory, low-voiced +conversation. They had stripped the conduit ducts of plating, but there +was no sign that they had done anything further. + +"All right, you guys," I said. "Get up and finish that check. We may +have to use those missiles one day soon, and I'd like to be sure they go +where they are sent." + +Korsakov looked up at me, his broad, thick mouth spread in an unpleasant +toothy grin and his bushy eyebrows raised. "What difference will it +make, my friend?" + +"None," supplied Harding. Then he added, "As a matter of fact, it might +even be better to leave them scrambled. If we strike an alien, our new +captain is going to close his eyes and punch buttons at random, +probably. Why shouldn't we leave the fire controls at random, too?" + +"They might," Korsakov said, still grinning inanely, "even cancel out +his error." + +"Cut it out," I said. "You know better than that." + +"Maybe you do, Maise." Harding replied, "but we don't." + +My face must have telegraphed my mood, because he lurched to his feet +and quickly added, "Now wait a minute, Maise. Don't get excited. You're +not in command any more, so you don't have to stick to that authority +line now. Oh sure, I know you're the Exec, but what the hell, Maise." + +I stared at him for a moment, then said quietly, "Come on Kors. On your +feet, too. Get that work done." + +"Ha," said Korsakov, but he stood up. + + * * * * * + +Harding moved closer to me. "Confidentially, Maise," he said, "what do +you really think?" + +"About what?" + +"You know--Frendon." + +I shrugged. "What am I supposed to think?" + +"You know as well as I do that he's a sickman." + +"I told you not to use that nickname around me," I replied with +annoyance. "Naturally you're going to mistrust them if you tie them up +in your mind with a name like that." + +"Do you trust them?" + +I suddenly wasn't sure myself, so I evaded by saying, "Frendon told us +he wasn't one, anyway." + +"Did you expect him to tell the truth?" Korsakov sneered. "After going +to the trouble of getting an auxiliary commission in the SCS? He knows +what we think." + +"Sickman," Harding repeated, watching me carefully. "And I'm plenty sick +of having the brass hats handing us junk like that. It used to be that +the worst we'd get would be fouled up equipment that we'd have to check +and rewire ourselves, like these fire controls. Now they give us a +fouled-up captain." + +"Look," I said. "I want you to cut that talk out, Harding. That's an +order. And if you think I can't pour it on you guys, just try me once." + +Korsakov, who had been staring morosely into the wiring duct, turned +around to face me. He had that nasty grin on his face again. + +The best thing I could think of to do at that moment was to pretend I +assumed that they would obey and go on back to the control room. I knew +they wouldn't pay much attention to the order, but the stand had to be +taken. I was still pretty much a stranger myself, but I wasn't going to +let them think they could sell me their friendship at the cost of the +captain's authority. + +One thing I did accomplish, however, was the completion of the +fire-control checkout. There was a lot of rewiring to do, but they had +it finished in two hours, and everything was perfect. + +Frendon went off to the city that evening, and didn't show up the next +day except for about an hour. Apparently, he had been talking to a +Psychological Advice officer or somebody like that, and now proceeded to +interview each of us in private, quite obviously trying to gain some +kind of rapport with us. It didn't work. Even if it hadn't been so +obviously what it was, it wouldn't have worked. The men couldn't stand +simply having him around, and their conviction that he was a Psi Corps +officer merely grew stronger. + +When he left for the day, it was a relief. You couldn't like the guy, +but you couldn't help but feel sorry for him--at least, I couldn't. + + * * * * * + +That evening, since we were still docked on Mars, I went to the Base +service club for dinner. Sitting in a booth there I found the three of +them--Harding, Spender and Korsakov. For the first time, they actually +seemed happy to see me, and the usual animosity I had experienced from +them had almost vanished. Of course, I knew what the reason was. They +could now hate somebody else, and since I was in the same dismal +situation that they were in, they generously permitted me to share their +gloom. + +I ordered some good Earthside bourbon, and sat down with them. Harding +had apparently been making a little speech, which I had interrupted, and +which he now concluded to me. + +"So what do you think we can do?" + +"About what?" I said. + +"You know about what." + +I shrugged and reached for my drink off the servidore. + +"I know you don't like to talk about it, Maise," Harding said, "but we +have to. Something has to be done." + +I started to say something, but he raised a hand and hurried on. "I +know, I know," he growled, "command authority, dignity of rank and all +that sort of nonsense and tradition. Sure, I'd like to see some of it, +too. But this is a hopeless case, Maise. Frendon is a sickman. Or a Psi +Corps man if you prefer. Undoubtedly they have some awfully clever +fellows back on Earth to do our thinking for us, but as far as I am +concerned, they might as well have sent us an idiot child to run the +ship in combat. Don't you understand?" + +He was looking at me earnestly, the deep concern he felt plain on his +face. I already knew that Harding could be depended upon to reflect the +sentiments of the group, and to say exactly what he felt. It was a +useful bit of knowledge. + +"I know what you mean, Harding," I said, "but--" + +"Well, think about it then, man," he interrupted sharply. "You're in the +same ship, you know. When we blow up, you do, too. And it isn't just +that we'll all be killed with this incompetent guess-kid in command--we +probably would anyway, sooner or later. But it's the waste of a good +ship. You know as well as I do that it stands to reason combat can't be +run as a game of blind man's bluff. And that's just what Frendon will +make it. If you're going to make proper use of your military potential +it takes brains, like our old skipper had." + +"They say the Psi Corps training brings out the most sensitive +intellectual capacities of a man," I replied, quoting from the old +publicity releases on it and keeping my voice level and dispassionate. +"The Central Command Authority believes that it will raise the +possibility of survival from twelve to thirty-two per cent in actual +combat." + +Korsakov giggled, belched, hiccupped and finished his drink. "Thirty-two +per cent," he said. "That is one chance in three." + +"You don't understand," Harding insisted. "Maybe the guessing games and +tests they run back on Earth do give the sickmen one chance in three of +being right by blind guessing. I'm not talking about that. I'm talking +about us--on our ship in combat and not in a laboratory back on Earth. +We had a captain who ran the ship well, ran it in eighty-seven separate +forays with the aliens and brought us back each time. He got killed +himself on the eighty-eighth. That's the sort of captain we want, Maise. +A man who can use his head and who can bring the ship through eighty-odd +runs safely. And that is going to take something besides guesswork. +Don't forget--if you like to believe in mathematical probability +statistics--our chances should be getting slender after all our combat +experience. Yours, too, for that matter." + +"Maybe," I hedged, "your previous captain was a Psi Corps man in +disguise." + +"No, he wasn't," Spender cut in calmly. "I knew him for years. We went +through the same service training and served together every minute of +the war. And they didn't start this sick-business until three years or +so ago." + +"Well, they say there are natural Psi men who don't need the training so +much." + +"Fairy tales," snorted Harding. "That stuff doesn't go. I don't believe +it." + + * * * * * + +That was clear. And no argument would convince him otherwise, even if I +had felt inclined to give him one, which I didn't. + +Korsakov, the silent Russian, thoughtfully rubbed his thick hands +together, and then punched the button calling for another drink. "Once +in three times," he said. "It's all been proved. Out of the next three +missions we go out on, we come back only once." His homely face broke +into a tired grin. + +I laughed with him, but Harding did not like the joke. "It isn't funny," +he growled. "If they can't find a decent captain to send us, why can't +they move up one of us that has at least served with a good commander in +combat, and maybe learned some of his tricks from him. Not that I would +want the job. But it would be better than Frendon. Anything would." + +I raised my eyebrows at him skeptically. He got the idea and swore. "You +know I didn't mean that I want the job, so don't go goggling your +righteous eyes at me, Maise. I know my limitations, but I also know a +good captain when I see one. And what do they send us? A kid who not +only is a nut, but he's already so scared he--" + +"Once in three times," Korsakov said loudly. He was apparently getting +pretty drunk. "Their computing machines would need an aspirin to handle +that situation. We go out three times but we only come back once." He +turned and peered intently at me, his heavy bushy eyebrows drawn +severely down and wiggling. "Puzzle: complete the figure without +retracing any lines or lifting the pencil from the paper. How do we +manage to go out there the third time when we haven't yet come back from +the second mission, huh?" + +"Shut up, Kors," Spender said without emotion. "You're getting a +fixation." + +"I'm not the astrogator," Korsakov muttered, laying his head down on the +table. "If you want a fix on our position, you will have to call on Mr. +Harding." + +My bourbon was probably good, but I couldn't taste it. There was too +much else to think about. I said, "Well, what are you going to do if he +really is a Psi Corps man?" + +"That," Harding said thoughtfully, "is the question." + +"Maise, you're the Exec," Spender commented. "It's up to you to work us +a replacement." + +"Didn't you see his orders?" I snapped. "They're dated from Central +Command Authority itself. Even if I did know somebody here in Mars +Command--which I don't--it wouldn't do any good." + +"He's right," Harding grumbled. "Everybody knows that once they've +assigned a sickman, the only people who can get him reassigned are the +sickmen themselves. Maise couldn't do anything about it unless he was a +member of the Corps himself. But that settles it, though--his orders +being from Central, I mean. Nobody but a sickman would have his orders +cut at Central for a puny little ship like ours. It proves what we +thought about him, anyway." + +"I don't think it proves anything," I retorted angrily. "I don't think +the question is whether or not Frendon is a sick--now you've got me +saying it--a Psi Corps man. The question is whether we're going to +settle down and stop whining just because we got a new CO we don't like, +and that we can't do anything about. We're not running this war. They're +running it back on Earth." + +"We're fighting it," Spender commented, chewing on a big, raw knuckle. + +Harding looked at me skeptically. "How much space-combat have you seen, +Maise?" + +"Six years, more or less," I told him. "I've seen plenty of the stuff. +I'd just as soon let somebody else do it from now on in, but nobody +asked me." + +Harding grunted: "Well, tell me, have you ever served under a sick +skipper?" + +"No." + +"Do you want to?" + +"Why not? Besides--what can I do about it?" + + * * * * * + +Harding leaned back and sipped away on the straight whiskey he was +drinking, watching me over the top of the glass and talking directly +into it, making his voice sound muffled and sinister. "You know, Maise, +sometimes you make me tired. Frankly, when they first sent us you, I +didn't like it. None of us did. You were CO then, and we thought maybe +you were a sickman even if you didn't look like it, and you kept sort of +sticking up for the sick corps whenever it was mentioned. Well, that's +all right. New officer in charge, trying to stiffen up discipline, et +cetera and so forth. But now we've got Frendon for CO. You're in the +same boat as the rest of us, and you still keep insisting that the +sickmen are O.K. But you're a liar and you know it." + +"Well, what do you want me to do?" I shouted angrily. "Poison the guy?" + +There was a sudden sharp hush. Even Korsakov lifted his head from the +table, and looked around with bleary, bloodshot eyes. "Poison?" he said. +Then, as if the effort of thinking was too much, he lay down again and +muttered. "Once in three times. It's a puzzle question, men. Figure it +out." + +"Of course, entirely aside from the present argument," Spender stated in +his cold, emotionless voice, staring into his empty glass, "but I do +seem to recall an incident like that. Seems there was a ship just about +like ours. About three months ago. A mechanic told me about it. Seems +they got a new CO assigned to it who was obviously a sickman, just like +us. Somebody managed to sneak a few of the dormant spores lying around +outside the dome into him. Then the sickman really was sick." + +I licked my lips. "I didn't mean that," I said. "Besides, they could +always tell if you did anything like that." + +"How?" asked Spender. + +Harding was listening intently, watching both of us, but he didn't say +anything. + +"They can identify the organisms," I pointed out. + +"Sure. Easy. But how do they know where he picked them up? They're +laying all around outside the domes here on Mars ever since the first +assault by the aliens twelve years ago. Nobody's had time to +decontaminate this whole planet like they did Earth. Easiest thing in +the world for a new officer on Mars to take a little sight-seeing +excursion outside the domes and to be a little careless." + +"There would be an epidemic if he brought back a lot of spores," I +suggested. "Besides, it's out of bounds to leave the dome." + +Spender shook his head. "You can get around that out-of-bounds business +without any trouble," he said. "And there are decontamination chambers +in the air locks, which would clean up anything he brought in; so there +would be no epidemic. The exposure would take place outside of the +domes--say if he opened his helmet to smell the perfume of the famous +hypnotic marspoppy, or something like that. Then he would be infected, +and after that it's non-contagious. All we need is somebody to buddy up +to him, and take him out there. Nature and the poppy will do the rest." + +"Look," I said angrily, "cut that stuff out, Spender. If you're looking +to me to disable the guy, forget about it. I won't. And I'm telling you +right now that if I find anybody else does, I'll report it." + + * * * * * + +For once Spender laughed. He turned to face me, and his blue eyes were +dancing in his scarred, old face. He was laughing at me and my +belligerent righteousness, but the real joke, of course, was that unless +somebody actually caught him talking Frendon into going out there, there +wouldn't be the slightest chance of proving he had done it. It was the +simplest thing in the world to sneak out and back without being +observed, and we both knew it. + +"All right," I said then. "Have your laugh, Spender. And you, too, +Harding. I don't like the nut we've got any more than you do, but what +you're talking about is mutiny and murder--" + +"Oh, he wouldn't necessarily die," Harding commented thoughtfully. "If +he gets the serum within a few hours of the first symptoms, he probably +would be just a very sick man for about a month. Too long to take the +ship out with us when we go." He grinned at me. "And as for mutiny, +nobody would be using any physical force on him. Nor--when you come +right down to the specific matter of his commanding his ship--would +there be any moral force employed either." + +"Have it any way you like," I said, standing up. "I don't care for the +tone of this discussion, and I'm getting out of it." + +Harding laughed again at that. "O.K., Maise," he said in a friendly tone +of voice. "Sorry. I guess you're right at that." I stood glaring at him. +"Come on, sit down," he continued. "I know there isn't anything else for +you to say about it. Being Exec and all, you pretty well have to stick +up for him, and we don't hold it against you. And don't worry about us +doing anything to your precious Frendon." + +His face darkened as he said it, though, and he swore. "Not right now, +anyway. Still, that spore business isn't such a bad--" + +"Let it go," Spender cut him off with a mixture of irritation and +affection. "Somebody told me about it, and so I just passed it on. It +isn't as easy as it sounds, because that stuff can kill, and you stand a +pretty good chance of making a mistake and catching it yourself." Then +he looked up at me and smiled again. "You might as well stick around +with us tonight and get drunk, Maise. No place else to go." + +I hesitated. It was a genuine offer of comradeship, and God knows I +wanted it. I had been an outcast among these men too long. So I grinned +back at him and slid down into the booth again, pressing the button for +another drink. "I'll have one more, but then I think I have some work to +do. Got to see a man about something." + +Korsakov stirred himself. He wasn't as drunk as he seemed, I think. He +raised his head and looked at me carefully for a moment, but then he +mumbled, "Once in three times. How do you figure it?" + + * * * * * + +I left them soon after, located and spoke to Frendon, and then returned +to the ship. The following morning at nine thirty Commander Frendon +suddenly complained of a fever, and said he was going to the hospital. + +A couple of hours later, we received notification of his condition from +the hospital, and at the same time orders from CINCMARS. + +Korsakov, eyes still bloodshot from his hangover, took the message out +of the scanner and stared at it. Then he wordlessly handed it over to +me. + +I read it. It said that Commander Frendon had contracted the spore +disease, but that his condition was satisfactory due to the speedy +treatment. He would, however, be confined to the hospital for one month. + +There was an empty space of three lines, and the orders followed, +addressed to Frendon, to prepare to lift off planet in three days and +rejoin the Seventh Fleet. + +Harding, Spender and Korsakov stared at me with awe when I read them the +information. Nobody said anything for a full minute. + +"All right," I snapped finally. "Kors, ship out a quickie to CINCMARS +and notify him that we can't join the fleet, because we don't have a +captain, and the orders are to him, personally, and not the ship. +Something has to be changed." + +Korsakov thoughtfully pulled on his shaggy, graying eyebrows with his +thick fingers. "Why don't we wait until just before lift time," he +suggested. "Then they won't have time to fish us out another sickman, +and you'll be the skipper, Maise. What do you think of that?" + +"Lousy," I said. "A delay like that when they already must have that +information kicking around somewhere might just be the thing to foul up +the deal. This has to be played straight. Besides, I don't think they +are likely to have any unassigned sick--I mean Psi Corps men around on +Mars. Go chop out that report." + +He was reluctant, but he didn't waste any time about it. And almost +immediately the reply came back ordering me to report to the Base Morale +Officer and account for Frendon's sudden illness, or accident, or +whatever it was. In the old days, that might not have meant so much; but +now, of course, the Morale Officer is the whole works. + +"Well," I said then, "looks like the soup is hot. They're suspicious." +Nobody said anything. They were all waiting, looking at me. "Who," I +continued slowly and carefully, "do you suppose slipped Frendon the +spore? They'll want to know, maybe." + +"Why, Maise," Harding said garrulously, "just like Spender told us. He +went outside, the dome on a sight-seeing trip and made the mistake of +looking at a marspoppy without an antihypnotic color filter. He just +accidentally happened to expose himself." + +"He might not have gone alone," I suggested. "They'll want to know who +went with him, since he probably didn't know anybody else on the Base." + +Korsakov grinned hugely. "We all did, skipper," he said. "They can't +court-martial the whole crew for going out of bounds with him, can they? +It would take a valuable ship out of action." + +"They might." I stood up, frowning. "Well, it all depends upon what +Frendon told them, but, of course, he might have been drunk himself at +the time, and a man like him would hesitate to admit something like +that. That shouldn't be too hard to demonstrate. In which case," I +added, letting them see a grin on my face, "he might have gone by +himself after all, and then none of us would have to be even slightly +implicated. Like for instance, if he spent some time with us drinking, +and then went off by himself, how would we know where he was going?" + +They all laughed with evident relief. It would be a good story. They +all knew that none of them had induced Frendon to disable himself, and +for them that settled the question of who did it. Their willingness to +take a full share of the blame off me settled the only other question I +myself was concerned about. + +And this morning, when CINCMARS confirmed my acting captain status, and +sent us a raw recruit for third officer replacement after moving Harding +up to acting Exec, everybody was satisfied and happy. + +As happy as any small group of reluctant soldiers about to go into +battle is ever likely to get, anyway. + + * * * * * + +Lieutenant Maise dropped the report back on the SR Officer's desk when +he had finished reading it. + +"How did you like it?" the SR wanted to know. + +"All right," Maise murmured. "It covers it. I just hope they can make +some use of it, so that in the future the assignment of a Psi Corps +officer won't be a general signal for a small-time mutiny." + +"That's the whole point of making these reports. They'll work out +something." + +Maise nodded. "Where's Frendon now?" + +"He was transferred to XXX Base three days ago, right after he left your +ship. Couldn't let him run around here for a while. Not after the +trouble with your crew--somebody might recognize him. Besides, he +already has another assignment there." + +"I think it was a pretty stupid thing," Maise grumbled. "He was so +obvious. And suppose I hadn't warned him about it that night, or that I +hadn't been there when the spore-poisoning idea came to a head among the +crew? They might really have tried to get him outside the dome, or to +get a spore culture inside. And then we'd all be sick or dead." + +"Not likely, sir," the SR Officer said with a polite, knowing smile. +"You see, the aliens are presumably susceptible to their own +bacteriological weapons. At least we think so from the way they went +about it. They want our planets, and they didn't want to have to +decontaminate them when they took them over. Besides, it's practically +impossible to decontaminate an entire planet, anyway." + +"But we did it with Earth." + +"For morale purposes, Central Authority let it be known that they were +able to decontaminate it, but what actually happened was that the spores +lost their effectiveness within a few years of their original seeding. +I'm surprised they didn't tell you that in the beginning--" He caught +himself suddenly, then shrugged and smiled again. + +"Maybe you aren't supposed to be told," he continued without +embarrassment. "It's sometimes hard for me to know about such things. +You have no idea how confused the directives can get in an organization +this large. Anyway, as you can see, your men couldn't have poisoned +Frendon or themselves or anybody else with those spores. That's why we +have been using that particular form of suggested violence in this +unpleasant business. If, as you pointed out, something unexpected did +happen, it would be absolutely harmless. Naturally," he added, "we +wouldn't like to risk unnecessarily a professional actor with such a +remarkably suitable physical appearance as Commander Frendon--even if +the poor fellow doesn't have the slightest trace of psi ability." + +Maise gaped at him for a moment as he comprehended the careful, +knowledgeable planning behind the ruse, much of which had not been +explained to him before in his briefings. He said, "And I guess there is +still a lot more about it that I don't know." + +The SR Officer nodded agreement. "Neither you nor I," he replied in bald +understatement. "After all, there are some pretty intelligent men in +charge of this last-ditch defense of our species, and they do keep a few +of the more important things to themselves. For your own safety among +your crew, I suggest that you keep this spore business equally secret." + +"I don't need your advice for that," Maise said with a low voice and a +wry grin on his face. But the grin vanished as he stood up to go. He +hesitated and shook his head uncertainly. + +"So that takes care of that," the SR concluded. "Now you're all set, +aren't you?" + +"All set?" Maise murmured, half to himself. "Hell, I'm just starting, +and I'm scared. When the boys asked me if I trusted the intuition of the +Psi Corps men, I suddenly realized that I really wasn't quite sure +myself. I've studied and worked for two solid years under extraordinary +teachers, and back on Earth they said I was unusually good. But now that +men's lives will depend on it, it almost seems like something out of a +joke book." He stopped talking and sighed. "Well, that's the way it has +to be, I guess." + +He turned to go, but the SR Officer called him back. "Just a minute, +sir," he said. "You forgot to sign this report. You are the originating +officer, you know." + +"Oh, yes." Maise went back to the desk. He picked up a pen and riffled +through the pages to the last one. There he signed his name, scribbling +rapidly, + + "Alton A. B. Maise, Acting Lieutenant SCS Commander, Psi Corps." + +"There you are, lieutenant," he muttered, and started walking on back to +the field where his ship was waiting. + + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Shock Absorber, by E.G. von Wald + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHOCK ABSORBER *** + +***** This file should be named 24380.txt or 24380.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/3/8/24380/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan 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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