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diff --git a/30649.txt b/30649.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..386eebc --- /dev/null +++ b/30649.txt @@ -0,0 +1,846 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Last Resort, by Stephen Bartholomew + +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: Last Resort + +Author: Stephen Bartholomew + +Illustrator: George Schelling + +Release Date: December 11, 2009 [EBook #30649] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAST RESORT *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from Analog Science Fact & Fiction April 1963. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. + + + LAST RESORT + + + The phenomenon of "hysterical strength" at the physical + level is well known. Wonder what the equivalent phenomenon + at the psychological level might do.... + + + by STEPHEN BARTHOLOMEW + + + ILLUSTRATED BY GEORGE SCHELLING + + * * * * * + + + + +I inflated a rubber balloon and set it adrift. The idea was that in +free fall the balloon would drift slowly in the direction of the leak. +This was the first thing I did after I had discovered the trouble. I +mean it was the first action I took. I had been thinking about it for +some time. I had been thinking about what a great distance it was from +Pacific Grove, California to Mars, and how I would never breathe the +odor of eucalyptus again. + +I watched the white balloon floating in the middle of the cabin. Light +reflected from a spot on its surface, and it made me think of a +Moonglobe I used to keep on my desk when I was in college. I had +turned off the fan, and tried to hold my breath to keep from +disturbing the air. The balloon drifted slowly a few feet aft, wobbled +there for a minute or two, then began to drift forward again. I +decided to indulge in the rare luxury of a cigarette. I lighted one, +reached over, and popped the balloon. The piece of rubber hung in the +air, limp and twisted. I had not expected that trick to work. + +The rate of leakage was very low. It had been some thirty-six hours +since I'd first noticed it. This was one of those things, of course, +that were not supposed to happen in space, and often did. Every +precaution had been taken against it. The outer shell of the ship was +tough enough to stop medium-velocity meteoroids, and inside the shell +was a self-sealing goo, like a tubeless tire. Evidently the goo hadn't +worked. Something had got through the hull and made a pinhole leak. In +fact the hole was so small that it had taken me nearly thirty-five +hours to compute the rate of leakage exactly. But it was big enough, +it would do. + +I had held the clipboard in my hand for a long time, rechecking the +little black numbers on it again and again. Then I had warmed up the +transmitter, raised Lunar Base, and reported what had happened. I had +not reported before because I had not even been sure I had a leak. +There's a normal seepage rate, of course; a certain amount of air will +seep right through the molecular structure of the hull. That's what +the reserve tanks are for. But I had been out a long time, and there +wasn't enough left in the tanks to compensate for this. Not quite. + +So I reported to Base. The operator on the other end told me to stand +by for instructions. That was for my morale. Then I spent some time +thinking about Pacific Grove, and the white house there, and the stand +of eucalyptus. Then I blew up the balloon and popped it. As I was +watching the piece of rubber hang motionless in the air the receiver +began clicking. I waited till it stopped, then pulled out the tape and +read it. It said, HAVE YOU INSPECTED HULL? I switched on the send key +and tapped out, JUST GOING TO. STAND BY. + +I opened the locker and broke out my spacesuit. This was the first +time I had put it on since lift-off. Without help, it took me nearly +half an hour to get it on and then check it out. I always did hate +wearing a spacesuit, it's like a straitjacket. In theory I could have +kept it on, plugged directly into the ship's oxygen supply, and ridden +all the way back to Earth that way. The trouble with that idea was +that the suit wasn't designed for it. You couldn't eat or drink +through the helmet, and no one had ever thought up a satisfactory +method of removing body wastes. That would be the worst way to go, I +thought, poisoned slowly in my own juices. + +When I finally did get the thing on, I went out the air lock. If the +leak had been bad enough, I would have been able to see the air +spurting out through the hole, a miniature geyser. But I found no more +than what I expected. I crawled around the entire circumference of the +hull and found only a thin silvery haze. The air as it leaked out +formed a thin atmosphere around the hull, held there by the faint +gravity of the ship's mass. Dust motes in the air, reflecting +sunlight, were enough to hide any microscopic geyser spout. Before I +re-entered the air lock I looked out into space, in the direction away +from the sun. Out there, trailing far away, the air had formed a +silver tail, I saw it faintly shimmering in the night. I was going to +make a good comet. + +I got back inside and stripped off the suit. Then I raised Lunar Base +again and tapped out, HAVE INSPECTED HULL. RESULTS NEGATIVE. A few +minutes later the reply came back, STAND BY FOR INSTRUCTIONS. For my +morale. + + * * * * * + +I lighted another cigarette and thought about it some more. I looked +around at the interior of my expensive, ten-foot coffin. I figured I +would last for about another seventy-five hours. Of course I could +take cyanide and get it over with. But this wouldn't be such a bad way +to go. Within seventy-five hours the last of my reserve tanks would be +empty. Then I would just wait for the rest of the air to leak out of +the cabin. First I would lose consciousness with anoxia. I'd hardly +even notice. Then as the pressure got lower my body fluids would begin +to evaporate. + +Once I had seen a mummy in a museum, it was some old prospector who +had been lying in the Nevada desert for a hundred years or so. I was +going to look like him, dried up, yellow, my teeth protruding in a +grin, perfectly preserved. With no pilot, the ship would go into a +cometary orbit around the sun. Maybe in a hundred years or so someone +would come and take me back to a museum on earth. + +I began to think about my wife, Sandy. I got out a piece of paper and +wrote a long letter to her. I thought, maybe she'll even get to read +it some day. Writing gave me something to do. I wrote about the time +we had gone up to the Sierras together and slept in a sleeping bag at +the edge of a four-thousand foot cliff. And about the times we had +gone out in our cabin cruiser, the time we both nearly drowned. And +asked about our daughter Wendy, who would be four now. I remembered +part of an old poem: + + Christ! That my love were in my arms, + And I in my bed again! + +Writing was all right, until I realized that I had begun feeling sorry +for myself, and I was letting it get into the letter. I put the letter +aside and wondered what else I could do to kill time. I got out some +of the film plates I'd made of the surface of Mars. Of course I had +transmitted them all to Lunar Base, but it would have been nice if I +could have delivered the original plates. I studied them for a while +but didn't find anything I hadn't seen before. Well, I had done my job +at least. I had orbited Mars, I had the glory of being the first +American to do that. I had dropped the instrument package and +transmitted all the data I could get back to Lunar. My only failure +would be in not bringing back the ship. + +I remembered a conversation I'd had at the last International Space +Symposium in Geneva. A buddy of mine and I had taken out one of the +Soviet cosmonauts and got him drunk. He was a dignified sort of drunk, +a Party member who told long, pointless Russian jokes with an +unwavering, serious expression. He sat sideways on the bar stool, +holding his glass of vodka between two fingers and staring straight +ahead. He said one thing that I had never forgotten. + +"Do you know why we are ahead of you in space?" he had said, staring +with dignity at the tall blonde at a nearby table. "It is because of +your bourgeois sentimentality. You do not like risking men. You build +a skyscraper in New York to house some insurance company. Two or three +construction workers are maimed or killed on the job. One of your coal +mines collapses and fifty men are trapped. Yet, look. You are afraid +of losing men in space because of what the people at home might think. +So you are too conservative, you avoid risks. So we are ahead of you. +We send out a ship with three men aboard when you would risk only one. +We are not sentimental, that is all. That is why we are ahead of you." +He ordered another drink and stared into the mirror for several +minutes, letting us think that over. Then he went on. + +"Yes, you are less scientific than we, less logical. Yet that is your +advantage, too. You are more alert to the unprecedented, the +unpredictable. You are always ready for the Wild Chance, the +impossible possibility. You expect the unexpected. You hope for the +hopeless. Being sentimental, you have imagination." + +His words came back to me. The unpredictable, the wild chance, the +impossible possibility. That was all that could save me now. But what? +Maybe another meteor would come along and plug the hole the first one +had made. No. I had to think my way out of this one. But what if there +was no way out? + +I pushed myself to the aft bulkhead, turned and looked forward to the +instrument panel. I picked out the smallest meter face. I could just +read the numbers on it. I told myself: When I can't read the numbers +any more I'll know my vision is blurring from the beginning of anoxia. +I thought: When that happens I'll key in the transmitter and tap out, +TELL SANDY GOOD-BY. + +It would be dramatic anyhow. + +A withered mummy in a flying tomb. + + * * * * * + +The receiver began clicking again. They're still worried about my +morale, I thought. I went over and pulled out the tape. It said: + +BRONSON HERE. SUGGEST YOU TRY LAST RESORT. + +Dr. Bronson was the project director. It was a moment before I +realized what he meant. When I did I hesitated for several minutes. +Then I shrugged and tapped out, O.K. + +I knew what had been happening down there. They had fed all the data I +could give them through a computer, and the computer had said no dice. +There was no solution to the problem, at least none that a computer +could think of with the data available. There was still the Last +Resort. + +I wondered if cyanide might not be more pleasant. Well, the exects +would have scientific interest anyway. The Last Resort was still Top +Secret. And highly experimental. It was a new drug with a name a foot +long, called LRXD for short. It had come out of the old experiments +with lysergic acid and mescalin. I had never heard of its existence +until a few hours before lift-off from Lunar Base. Then Dr. Bronson +had given me a single ampule of the stuff. He had held it up to the +light, looking through it. He said, "This is called LRXD. No one knows +exactly what it will do. The lab boys say the 'LR' stands for Last +Resort." + +What it was _supposed_ to do was increase mental efficiency in human +beings. Sometimes it did. They had given it to one volunteer and then +shown him an equation which it had taken a computer ten minutes to +solve. He wrote down the answer at once, apparently having gone +through the entire process in his head instantaneously. + +Dr. Bronson told me, "It isn't just a matter of I.Q. It increases the +total level of consciousness. Ordinarily the human brain screens out +thousands of irrelevant stimuli. You're not aware of your watch +ticking, or the fly on the wall, or your own body odor. You just don't +_notice_ them. But under LRXD, the brain becomes aware of everything +simultaneously. Nothing is screened out. Furthermore, the subject is +capable of correlating everything. The human brain becomes as +efficient as a Mark 60 computer, with the advantage of imagination and +intuition. We don't know how it works yet, or exactly what it does. I +hate to say this. But there's even some evidence that the drug +increases telepathic ability." + +But then again, three of the volunteers had gone insane after taking +the drug. Two had died. On some of the others there was no apparent +effect at all. + +"We don't even know whether the effects are permanent or temporary," +Bronson had added. + +So now I was supposed to take this Last Resort and then try to think +of a way out of my predicament, with my I.Q. boosted up to a thousand +or so. It made me think of my college days, when I had stayed up all +night on benzedrine, writing term papers. I remembered Bronson's +description of one of the volunteers who had gone insane, and +shuddered. Well, I had nothing to lose. + +"It is what its name implies," Bronson had said. "To be used only in +extreme emergency. Only when you have nothing to lose." + +I had put the ampule away in the medicine locker and deliberately +forgotten about it. Now I got it out again and held it up to the light +as Bronson had done. Milky, white. I strapped myself to the +acceleration couch, filled a syringe, and swabbed my arm. I looked at +the letter I had started and probably would never finish. I rammed the +needle in. + + * * * * * + +The hallucinations began within five minutes. This was normal, Bronson +had said. I waited, gripping the armrests of the couch, hoping I would +not begin believing in what I saw. + +First there was the meter face directly in front of me. It was +blue-green. I had never really seen before what color it was. It was +like a round, bright flame. I stared at it, becoming hypnotized. +Finally I couldn't stand it any more, I reached over and switched off +the panel lights. Then the meter face became the blackest darkness I +had ever seen, it was no longer a flat disk, but the entrance to a +long, black tunnel, endless and narrow. I wanted to enter the tunnel +and--Quickly I shifted my gaze. A gas tube rectifier caught my +attention. This was like the meter face, only worse. A cloud of +intense blue, flickering, shimmering--As I stared at it the cloud +seemed to be expanding, growing, forever flickering and shimmering +until it became vast, it filled the universe, pulsating with energy, +it was a kind of blue I had never seen before.... I had never seen +color before. There was a red plastic safety guard over one of the +toggle switches. Suddenly it seemed alive, rather the _red_ was alive, +the color was no longer part of the object, it was an entity in +itself, blazing like flame, liberated from matter, it was a living +drop of blood, afire. + +I closed my eyes, trying to escape from color, but that was much +worse. The colors inside my head blazed out even brighter, more +savage. + +I turned my head, trying to find something in the cabin to look at +that was not bright blue or green or red. With horror I focused on the +spacesuit locker. I had left the locker open, the suit hanging on its +wire stretcher. I saw immediately that the spacesuit was alive. It +stood there motionless, returning my stare, I could not look away from +it. I could not move, with fear. Slowly, very slowly, the spacesuit +raised an arm and pointed at me. I stared at its single, oval eye, +recalling childhood nightmares. Then the suit came out of its locker +and began to advance toward me, still pointing its gauntlet at my +face. It seemed to take hours to walk across the cabin toward me. I +held my breath, waiting. I thought I would scream if it did not reach +me, it was taking too long. + +Then it did reach me and, bending low above me, wrapped its metallic +arms around my body. I turned my face from its mechanical, fiery +breath. It began to crush me, I could not breathe, I felt my ribs +begin to bend, slowly splinter. My face was pressed against its +metallic chest, it was a thin gray wall.... + +Then there was nothing but the wall itself, dark, thin as a membrane, +but impenetrably strong. I was pressing toward it, forcing my way, +flattened against it, being crushed slowly between this thin, gray +membrane and the tremendous weight of darkness at my back. I knew that +if the membrane did not give, if I did not break through at last, I +would suffocate and die. In fact I was already dead, the idea came to +me with a weight of horror, I twisted, lashing out in total panic. +Then the thin gray wall split and gave way, and I was free. + +I was still strapped to my crash couch, regarding the instrument panel +with absolute calm. Bronson had been right. I was aware of everything. +I took in every meter indication simultaneously and correlated their +data in my mind, without the help of the computer. I was aware of +every sound, the faint hum of the gas tubes and transformers, the whir +of the gyros, the reedy buzz of hydraulic actuators, the periodic +clicking of the oxygen reclaim unit. I was aware of everything that +was happening in the ship, as if it were my own body. + +My body. I knew that I would have to explore my new self before +investigating the ship. With an effort of will I shut off my new sense +impressions, and--looked inside. I sensed the rhythmic muscular action +of my heart, the opening and closing of the valves. I felt the surge +of blood in all my vessels. I moved my hand to touch the bulkhead, and +found that I could count the number of microseconds it took for the +nerve impulses to travel from my fingers to my brain. Time seemed to +have slowed down, it took an hour for the second hand on the panel +clock to make one circuit. + +In retrospect I know that this condition of super-awareness must have +lasted only for a few minutes. But it seemed then that I had all the +time in the world. + +I found that I no longer needed to think in words, or even symbols. I +could pose myself a problem in, say, four-dimensional vector analysis +and see the solution immediately, like a flash of intuition. I had +attained total somatic consciousness; I was able to analyze the exact +relationship of the drug to the molecular structure of my own +protoplasm. + +It was then I knew that, although I had recorded no information about +Mars that the Russians didn't already have, I was going to bring back +home a piece of candy much sweeter. + +Wait, now, I told myself. Wait. You have a specific problem to solve. +The problem being how to stop that leak in the hull long enough to get +home alive. It was a problem of basic survival. I was confident. I +knew that if any possible solution to my predicament existed I would +find it. I was my own data computer now, but with eyes and ears and +imagination. I opened my senses again and concentrated on the flood of +information coming at me from the instrument panel. I found that I had +total recall, I could remember--simultaneously--every wiring diagram +and blueprint of the ship, every screw and transistor and welded seam, +that I had ever glanced at. I saw the entire ship as a single entity, +a smoothly functioning organism. In a flash I saw a hundred ways of +improving its design. But that would have to wait. For a moment I +gathered all my psychic energy and concentrated on the single crucial +problem of stopping that leak. + +And I saw that there was no way to stop the leak. No logical way. + + * * * * * + +Back at Lunar Base I tried to explain to Bronson what had happened. +But I found that it was impossible to explain in words. In fact I no +longer entirely understood, myself, what had happened. It was +something that had occurred--not altogether on the conscious level. +Something about my becoming aware, for a time, of the separate +molecules of air within the cabin as extensions of my own body-mind. +But I didn't know how to verbalize it. + +Dr. Bronson gave me a thorough physical and a preliminary +psychological exam. The effects of the drug had worn off, but I felt +somehow--changed, I didn't know just how. In fact I wouldn't know +until one day two years later, when I dropped a vial of +nitroglycerine, and it miraculously did not go off. Still, Bronson +pronounced me ready and fit for a long vacation, and in a few days I +was headed back toward Pacific Grove. + +The vacation lasted for a week. Then it was a Sunday evening, and I +was sitting on the front porch of the white house nursing a highball +while my wife was upstairs telling Wendy a bedtime story about a +princess who kissed a toad, and it turned into a handsome prince. + +I was sitting there in the evening light, inhaling the scent of +eucalyptus and thinking for the thousandth time about how much better +this was than bottled oxygen. Then a rented car pulled into the +driveway, and General Bergen got out, wearing civilian clothes. He +came up to the porch and sat down next to me. He did not pause for any +pleasantries. + +"Where's your wife?" he said. + +"Upstairs." + +"Anyone else in the house?" + +"Just my daughter." + +He leaned back and lighted a cigarette. I was about to offer him a +drink, but he didn't give me a chance. + +"Official orders. From now on, you're Top Secret. You're wanted back +at the Spacemedic Center in Washington. You have twenty-four hours to +straighten out your affairs." + +"_What?_" + +He waved a hand. "I wasn't supposed to tell you this yet. Keep it +under your hat." I noticed that the fingers holding his cigarette were +trembling. "We spent four days going over the hull of your ship--with +microscopes. Then we found it. The leak. The hole was still there. It +must have been a micrometeor of high density and tremendous velocity. +Burned a hole right through the sealing compound--" + +Once again I tried to organize words to explain what I had not been +able to explain before. + +"But the ship's air did stop leaking. I could never have made it +back...." + +"But the _hole_ was still there!" Then his voice faltered. "Don't you +see? My God, what we have yet to learn about psi forces, +psychokinesis.... There was nothing to prevent all the air in your +ship from leaking out through that pinhole, nothing except--you." + +The general leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, looking out into +the gathering darkness. + +"We've got to find out what this drug _does_," he said. + +"The space program ..." I began. + +"Space program?" He pulled on his cigarette. "Hell. What are rockets, +compared to this?" + + * * * * * + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Last Resort, by Stephen Bartholomew + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAST RESORT *** + +***** This file should be named 30649.txt or 30649.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/6/4/30649/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://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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