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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1b8ea6b --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #65936 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65936) diff --git a/old/65936-0.txt b/old/65936-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 555d721..0000000 --- a/old/65936-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,727 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Wanderlust, by Alan E. Nourse - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Wanderlust - -Author: Alan E. Nourse - -Release Date: July 28, 2021 [eBook #65936] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WANDERLUST *** - - - - - Tad, like other young men, looked to the - spaceways for adventure. But George Barlow, like - other fathers, knew that disaster would end his-- - - WANDERLUST - - By Alan E. Nourse - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy - October 1952 - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - -Somehow George Barlow had sensed that something was wrong the moment -his son drove into the barnyard that evening. He had been waiting -impatiently for Tad's return all afternoon; the men needed those -tractor bolts before they could do the mowing. But George had felt the -uneasiness, quite suddenly, deep in his chest when he heard the boy's -three-wheeler chugging up the rutted country road from town. - -He sat quietly, waiting, stroking old Snuffy behind the ears. He heard -the little motor-car pop into silence as Tad drove it into the garage; -then there was a long silence. George waited several minutes before -running a hand through his tawny hair. "What's that boy doing out -there, anyway?" he growled. - -Florence Barlow glanced up through the kitchen window. "He's gone up on -the ridge," she said. "He's just standing up there, looking down the -valley." She turned back to the stove, pushing back an unruly whisp of -graying hair. - -George sat back in his chair, puffing his pipe, the uneasiness growing. -Tad was usually back from town hours earlier. The oats had to be -cut this week--the shipment of Venusian _taaro_ was due from the next -Rocket, and they had to have a field free for it. But still, he knew it -was more than the tractor bolts that bothered him. - -Then suddenly the door burst open and Tad was there, filling the room -with his broad shoulders, whistling tunelessly to himself. A cool east -breeze followed him in the door, and with it an aura of excitement. -Tad's sunbaked hair was wild from the ride through the wind, his sharp -eyes sparkling: - -"Dad! The Rocket landed this afternoon. Out at Dillon's Landing. It's -three weeks early this time!" - -A chill swept up George's spine, tingling his scalp. "Then we should -get the _taaro_ in a couple of days," he said smoothly. - -"We should." Tad's eyes were bright as he patted the dog's head. His -whole body seemed alive with excitement. "I walked up on the ridge to -get a look at it, dad. It's a beauty--tall and slim--you should see it -down there. It catches the sunset like you never saw before--" - -He was still talking as he walked out to the kitchen, stooping to kiss -his mother on the forehead. "You ought to go up and take a look at it, -mom--before the sun's gone." - -"I've got plenty to do without going to gawk at a Rocket ship," his -mother's voice was sharp. "You have too, for that matter. Did you get -the tractor bolts for your father?" - - * * * * * - -The boy frowned suddenly, and snapped his fingers. "Plumb forgot them. -The ship was landing just as I got into town, so I went over to watch -it--" he took his place opposite his father at the table, his face -brightening again. He didn't see the cloud on his father's face. "And -they let us go inside it to look around, dad. I never saw anything -like it. You wouldn't believe that they could get such a ship off the -ground. Why, even I can remember when it was all they could do to blast -off with a little ten-man ship, and now--why, this one is like a yacht. -It's the STAR KING, the newest one in Dillon's fleet." - -George Barlow scowled, the tightness in the pit of his stomach suddenly -making his food tasteless. "That's lovely," he said sourly. "They can -build them a mile long for all I care. They still aren't fit for rats. -At least here you can wash your face if you want to--" He turned back -to his plate, hoping the discussion was over, hoping-- - -"But this one had complete showers, soft bunks, everything. Hydroponic -tanks that make the experimental station look like pikers--" - -"Eat," said George. - -Tad lapsed into silence, the hearty silence of a hungry -nineteen-year-old before a full dinner plate. His father took another -mouthful and put down his fork, his appetite gone. He could feel the -tension growing, the tightness of his breathing. He sensed his wife's -apprehension as she too slowed and stopped eating. As if she, too, -were waiting-- - -"Saw Len Cooper when he came off the ship, too, dad. Do you remember -Len? This was his first cruise." Tad's eyes sparkled. "He says there's -nothing like it, that Rocket life. They stopped on Venus, you know, and -then did a reconnaissance in toward the Mercury orbit before they came -back. Almost five years away from Earth! They've got a stack of reports -as big as an almanac for printing. And Len--you know how scrawny he -was? He's put on muscle now. Looks great." Tad put down his fork, a -subtle change in his voice, his hand trembling. "We had a long talk, -dad. Len says--" - -"Len Cooper's a fool!" George Barlow's voice snapped irritably. "He -hasn't got all his marbles. A kid like that--all the potential in the -world--brains, opportunity--and what does he do with it? Shoots it into -Rockets! First cruise, huh? It isn't his last, by a long shot. Those -Rocket boys aren't stupid. They know it takes a good cruise to teach -a youngster his way around out there. He can't begin to work for his -wages until the second cruise, or the third. And then it's too late to -come back--" - -Tad fiddled with his fork, his eyes down. The room was silent; even -Florence sat tense, startled by the outburst. George sat glumly. That -was stupid, he thought. Inexcusably stupid. You'll have to face it -some day--you know that. Now? Maybe--oh, Lord, not now--maybe tomorrow. -But what could you say? What if it _is_ now? His hand trembled as he -fumbled awkwardly for his pipe. Where were the words, the phrases, the -arguments, so long rehearsed, so sensible, so fatherly? - -"Dad." - -His fingers were like ice on the pipe bowl. Not tomorrow, then. Now. - -"Dad." - -"Yes, Tad." - -The boy looked straight at his father, his voice very low. "I'm going, -dad," he said. "I'm going with it." - - * * * * * - -The chill widened in George Barlow's stomach, spreading into his legs -and chest. He heard his wife's startled gasp, and the chill deepened. -He searched for words, and no words came. How long, now, had he -prepared, rehearsed? And now--nothing. He just sat there in the dead -still room-- - -"Well, I never heard anything more ridiculous in all my life!" Florence -burst out finally. "You're crazy, Tad. Plumb crazy. Do you mean to sit -there and say that you're going to give up college, throw away this -farm?" She set the cream pitcher down with a thump. "It's out of the -question. You just can't mean it." - -Tad wriggled uneasily. "I do mean it, mom. The STAR KING is signing up -crew tomorrow. They have places for four novices, this time. They'll -take me. I know they will. I--I asked this afternoon. I want to go." - -George Barlow gripped the edge of the table, fighting for control. -"Don't be silly, boy," he said finally, his voice tight. "You're no -Rocket man. You don't know what you're saying--" his hands trembled. -"Space is no place for a fellow like you--you belong here, studying, -working--not hopping around space like a common tramp." He tamped -tobacco into his pipe bowl with an air of finality. "Every boy nowadays -thinks about going to Space, I know. The fleets are growing larger, -taking more and more boys--but the smart ones stay home." - -Tad's voice was low and quiet, more deadly firm than George had ever -heard it. "You don't understand, dad. I know you don't like it--I -know you think it's foolish not to finish college, you hate to see me -leave home--but you don't understand." He looked up, his boyish face -pale under deep summer tan. "I can't explain it, dad. Ever since I was -little, since I saw my first Rocket shooting up into the sky toward -the stars, I knew I had to go, too, sometime." He shook his head -helplessly. "It's what I've wanted all my life, dad. I've _got_ to go." - -"But the farm, son--" Florence was almost in tears. "Doesn't that mean -anything to you? Your family's been here for a hundred years, Tad. -It's yours, as soon as you're ready to farm it. Don't you _care_ about -it after all these years?" - -"You know I care, mom." The boy avoided her tearful eyes, ran a hand -through his hair. "You know I like the place, and I feel awful running -out after all the work you and dad and the men have put in, building -it up--but I couldn't make a go of it. I don't want to be earth-bound, -tied down to a piece of land all my life--" - -His mother's face was suddenly very, very tired. "Oh, you fool," she -said, her voice bitter. "You don't know how you'll long for green -grass again--" her face flared red in anger. "You've barely started to -shave, and you want to go to Space. Well, it's nonsense! You can't do -it, that's final. Tell him, George! Tell him why he can't go--tell him -why--" - -"_Florence!_" - -She stopped short, eyes wide. "George, I'm sorry--" - -His voice was sharp, urgent. "I think--maybe Tad and I ought to talk -this out--ourselves--" - -"I'm sorry, George." Florence Barlow rose silently. She began clearing -the table, her eyes brimming. - -Tad's face was troubled. "I wish you wouldn't make a fuss, dad. I -suppose it's a surprise to you both--" - -George smiled sourly. "Hardly. We've been around a while, Tad. We saw -Len Cooper go, and a half-dozen like him. We knew you'd get the bug -sooner or later. But you've got to understand why we can't allow it." - - * * * * * - -The room was silent, except for the faint rustling of the breeze -through the curtains. "You don't know what you're walking into, Tad. -None of you boys really know. You only see one side of the picture, -the excitement and adventure. I know, it's a thrilling picture, but -the thrill wears off, and then you have the long dull days of waiting, -sitting, always waiting, with nothing to see but the bulkhead and a -dozen men cramped into impossible tight quarters without any room to -move around. You don't know how you'd get to hate those men, how you'd -wish you could be alone for just a little while, how you'd long for -privacy. And you don't realize the danger--not the exciting, bravado -kind of danger that you read about, but the live, horrible danger of -depending for your life on a little sliver of metal. - -"So many things can go wrong, and any one of them means you're through. -Not a brave death, son, nor a heroic death--just a very lonely death, -where you freeze and starve, and feel the life choke out of you. There -are so many ways to die in Space, such horrible ways, so easily. And -there isn't any reward worth the risk. It's all risk, and you have -nothing for it. A few days of glory when you're back home, and then -you're off again. Once you go, you're gone. You'll never come back. -Only the lucky ones come back. You'll be in Space 'til it kills you." - -"But the colonies, dad. Mars Mountain, Player's Folly, -Ironstone--they're all going concerns. They need men, lots of men, with -ideas--men who aren't afraid of work--" - -"The colonies!" George Barlow's voice rose angrily, his control wearing -thin. "Why the colonies? What glory can you see in working a lifetime -to squeeze a living out of Mars rock? Scraping and fighting, squeezing -every last drop of water, every possible inch of topsoil to dig up -enough to keep barely alive--and then dying thirty years before your -time? What can you see in that? Or Venus, where you sweat, and waste -away, until the fungus gets into your lungs and blood, and you finally -just go to sleep forever? You're crazy, Tad! You can't do it!" - -Tad shuffled his feet, his eyes downcast. "I knew you wouldn't -understand. I can't explain it, dad--I don't know the words. But I've -got to go, even if you don't--" - -George's face flushed in exasperation. "Now look. Just listen a minute. -I understand perfectly, I just--" - -"_You don't understand!_" The boy's eyes blazed in sudden anger, his -voice was bitter. "How _could_ you understand? You've been nothing but -a slogging dirt farmer all your life! How could you understand why I'd -want to go to the stars? What do you know about Mars, or Venus? _You've -never been there!_" - -George Barlow sat stiff, as though he had been struck. The room was -tense, and he heard the boy breathing across the room. "Then you give -me no choice," he said finally, his voice suddenly tired and barely -audible. "I'm your father. I forbid you to go." - -There was a long, silent moment. Then: "I'm sorry, dad. I'm going -anyway." - - * * * * * - -George Barlow lay in bed, breathing quietly. The room was close, the -air stuffy and humid. He heard his wife's steady breathing, peaceful -now, after sobbing herself to sleep. And somehow, deep within him, -he seemed to hear the steady pom-pom-pom of spaceship engines, deep, -throaty, thrilling, throbbing, vibrating-- - -Calling-- - -He rose quietly and walked to the window. He heard Snuffy stir herself, -heard her claws scrabbling on the bare farmhouse floor, and felt her -warm muzzle, firm and comforting in his hand. Then he heard nothing but -the buzzing of cicadas, the quiet night-sounds of the farm, smelled -the cool, hearty odor of hay and clover, heard the occasional uneasy -stomping of cattle in the barn. And still, deep in his mind, he heard -older sounds, more familiar sounds, sounds tinged with fear, horror, -hate, desperation--he shook his head, trying to forget, but there was -excitement there, too, that intangible, overpowering thrill of the -wanderlust-- - -Memories flooded back into his mind, memories he had thought long ago -blotted out and forgotten. The rich thrill of excitement as the last -seconds crowded in close, with the strap cutting a deep welt across his -chest--the muffled roar, the powerful sledge-hammer blow, driving his -stomach and legs down like lead, then easing, easing gently into no -pressure, then less than no pressure--the exhilarating, wonder-filled -vision of the Earth rushing away, dwindling into a mottled patchwork, -still dwindling-- - -Oh, he understood, all right. He knew what tugged at his son's heels, -he knew the consuming thrill, the insatiable hunger to reach higher -and higher, to seek out unknown places. He knew the wonder of stepping -on another land, an alien land, the thrill of watching two moons creep -softly over a reddish horizon. He knew the deep, rich thrill of pushing -the frontier outward until the sun winked coldly like another star. -Memories flooded his mind, and he remembered too well the insistent tug -of the wanderlust at his heels, the call of the open road, the call of -space. And he knew that, try as he would, no Earth-bound answer would -ever drive it away-- - -Yes, he understood. But deep in his heart he felt the coldness, the -pain and agony, the sense of bitter loss. He was one of the lucky. He -had come back. Tad would never come back. The odds were too great, -there were too few of the lucky. And it was better _not_ to be one of -the lucky, better to die out there, forgotten, unmourned. - - * * * * * - -Maybe he should have told the boy while he was young, tried to teach -him, to make him understand. Perhaps he'd been wrong to conceal it all -these years, to lie to Tad, to make Florence conceal, too. Perhaps Tad -should have been told--but even knowing that someday the wanderlust -would come, he knew he couldn't have told him. Better to conceal, to -wait for the contempt, wait to hear the words, short, bitter words: -"_How could you ever understand? You've never been there_--" - -George felt the perspiration trickle down his neck. How could he -explain the things he hardly dared think about himself? The fear, the -bitterness, the horror? Tad would be sleeping now, peacefully, in his -room, his bag half packed on the dresser, dreaming dreams of wonder -in his sleep, and never dreaming for an instant of the terror, the -pain--never knowing how hard a taskmaster the wanderlust could be, what -terrible fees it could exact. - -He knew he couldn't fight it. He had known since Tad was born that it -would be useless. For the young saw only what they wanted to see. - -And suddenly George was fumbling in his dresser drawer, frantically -searching for the small oblong box, rushing, before he changed his -mind. His hands closed on the small container, and its contents were -cold between his fingers. And then he was in Tad's room, quietly, -seeking the bag, half packed, a few meager clothes, a few meager -memories to go away with a hopeful heart. He fumbled in the bag, and -suddenly the memories closed in on George Barlow, and he was living -again the horrible moments, the rumbling, jolting thunder in the -bowels of the ship; the frantic scrambling down the dark passageways, -the men, fear-crazed and tumbling over each other in free fall--the -gleaming white-hot of the atomic fires gone wild; the screams of agony, -the crashing, fiery groping through oven-like chambers, the twisting, -wrenching of controls, fighting to stay alive, fighting in blazing -agony, fire burning to the bottom of his soul-- - -The little metal disc slipped into the boy's bag, down between a pair -of pants and a book; a thin metal disc of pure gold, a simple symbol, -with simple words: _To George L. Barlow, for Heroism in Space_-- - -He dropped the disc into the boy's bag and stumbled back to his room. -He sat in the silence stroking old Snuffy's soft muzzle, sat in -darkness, eternal since that hour of terror, as tears streamed down -scarred cheeks from his sightless eyes.... - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WANDERLUST *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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Nourse</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Wanderlust</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Alan E. Nourse</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July 28, 2021 [eBook #65936]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WANDERLUST ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus.jpg" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<p>Tad, like other young men, looked to the<br /> -spaceways for adventure. But George Barlow, like<br /> -other fathers, knew that disaster would end his—</p> - -<h1>WANDERLUST</h1> - -<h2>By Alan E. Nourse</h2> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy<br /> -October 1952<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>Somehow George Barlow had sensed that something was wrong the moment -his son drove into the barnyard that evening. He had been waiting -impatiently for Tad's return all afternoon; the men needed those -tractor bolts before they could do the mowing. But George had felt the -uneasiness, quite suddenly, deep in his chest when he heard the boy's -three-wheeler chugging up the rutted country road from town.</p> - -<p>He sat quietly, waiting, stroking old Snuffy behind the ears. He heard -the little motor-car pop into silence as Tad drove it into the garage; -then there was a long silence. George waited several minutes before -running a hand through his tawny hair. "What's that boy doing out -there, anyway?" he growled.</p> - -<p>Florence Barlow glanced up through the kitchen window. "He's gone up on -the ridge," she said. "He's just standing up there, looking down the -valley." She turned back to the stove, pushing back an unruly whisp of -graying hair.</p> - -<p>George sat back in his chair, puffing his pipe, the uneasiness growing. -Tad was usually back from town hours earlier. The oats had to be -cut this week—the shipment of Venusian <i>taaro</i> was due from the next -Rocket, and they had to have a field free for it. But still, he knew it -was more than the tractor bolts that bothered him.</p> - -<p>Then suddenly the door burst open and Tad was there, filling the room -with his broad shoulders, whistling tunelessly to himself. A cool east -breeze followed him in the door, and with it an aura of excitement. -Tad's sunbaked hair was wild from the ride through the wind, his sharp -eyes sparkling:</p> - -<p>"Dad! The Rocket landed this afternoon. Out at Dillon's Landing. It's -three weeks early this time!"</p> - -<p>A chill swept up George's spine, tingling his scalp. "Then we should -get the <i>taaro</i> in a couple of days," he said smoothly.</p> - -<p>"We should." Tad's eyes were bright as he patted the dog's head. His -whole body seemed alive with excitement. "I walked up on the ridge to -get a look at it, dad. It's a beauty—tall and slim—you should see it -down there. It catches the sunset like you never saw before—"</p> - -<p>He was still talking as he walked out to the kitchen, stooping to kiss -his mother on the forehead. "You ought to go up and take a look at it, -mom—before the sun's gone."</p> - -<p>"I've got plenty to do without going to gawk at a Rocket ship," his -mother's voice was sharp. "You have too, for that matter. Did you get -the tractor bolts for your father?"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The boy frowned suddenly, and snapped his fingers. "Plumb forgot them. -The ship was landing just as I got into town, so I went over to watch -it—" he took his place opposite his father at the table, his face -brightening again. He didn't see the cloud on his father's face. "And -they let us go inside it to look around, dad. I never saw anything -like it. You wouldn't believe that they could get such a ship off the -ground. Why, even I can remember when it was all they could do to blast -off with a little ten-man ship, and now—why, this one is like a yacht. -It's the STAR KING, the newest one in Dillon's fleet."</p> - -<p>George Barlow scowled, the tightness in the pit of his stomach suddenly -making his food tasteless. "That's lovely," he said sourly. "They can -build them a mile long for all I care. They still aren't fit for rats. -At least here you can wash your face if you want to—" He turned back -to his plate, hoping the discussion was over, hoping—</p> - -<p>"But this one had complete showers, soft bunks, everything. Hydroponic -tanks that make the experimental station look like pikers—"</p> - -<p>"Eat," said George.</p> - -<p>Tad lapsed into silence, the hearty silence of a hungry -nineteen-year-old before a full dinner plate. His father took another -mouthful and put down his fork, his appetite gone. He could feel the -tension growing, the tightness of his breathing. He sensed his wife's -apprehension as she too slowed and stopped eating. As if she, too, -were waiting—</p> - -<p>"Saw Len Cooper when he came off the ship, too, dad. Do you remember -Len? This was his first cruise." Tad's eyes sparkled. "He says there's -nothing like it, that Rocket life. They stopped on Venus, you know, and -then did a reconnaissance in toward the Mercury orbit before they came -back. Almost five years away from Earth! They've got a stack of reports -as big as an almanac for printing. And Len—you know how scrawny he -was? He's put on muscle now. Looks great." Tad put down his fork, a -subtle change in his voice, his hand trembling. "We had a long talk, -dad. Len says—"</p> - -<p>"Len Cooper's a fool!" George Barlow's voice snapped irritably. "He -hasn't got all his marbles. A kid like that—all the potential in the -world—brains, opportunity—and what does he do with it? Shoots it into -Rockets! First cruise, huh? It isn't his last, by a long shot. Those -Rocket boys aren't stupid. They know it takes a good cruise to teach -a youngster his way around out there. He can't begin to work for his -wages until the second cruise, or the third. And then it's too late to -come back—"</p> - -<p>Tad fiddled with his fork, his eyes down. The room was silent; even -Florence sat tense, startled by the outburst. George sat glumly. That -was stupid, he thought. Inexcusably stupid. You'll have to face it -some day—you know that. Now? Maybe—oh, Lord, not now—maybe tomorrow. -But what could you say? What if it <i>is</i> now? His hand trembled as he -fumbled awkwardly for his pipe. Where were the words, the phrases, the -arguments, so long rehearsed, so sensible, so fatherly?</p> - -<p>"Dad."</p> - -<p>His fingers were like ice on the pipe bowl. Not tomorrow, then. Now.</p> - -<p>"Dad."</p> - -<p>"Yes, Tad."</p> - -<p>The boy looked straight at his father, his voice very low. "I'm going, -dad," he said. "I'm going with it."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The chill widened in George Barlow's stomach, spreading into his legs -and chest. He heard his wife's startled gasp, and the chill deepened. -He searched for words, and no words came. How long, now, had he -prepared, rehearsed? And now—nothing. He just sat there in the dead -still room—</p> - -<p>"Well, I never heard anything more ridiculous in all my life!" Florence -burst out finally. "You're crazy, Tad. Plumb crazy. Do you mean to sit -there and say that you're going to give up college, throw away this -farm?" She set the cream pitcher down with a thump. "It's out of the -question. You just can't mean it."</p> - -<p>Tad wriggled uneasily. "I do mean it, mom. The STAR KING is signing up -crew tomorrow. They have places for four novices, this time. They'll -take me. I know they will. I—I asked this afternoon. I want to go."</p> - -<p>George Barlow gripped the edge of the table, fighting for control. -"Don't be silly, boy," he said finally, his voice tight. "You're no -Rocket man. You don't know what you're saying—" his hands trembled. -"Space is no place for a fellow like you—you belong here, studying, -working—not hopping around space like a common tramp." He tamped -tobacco into his pipe bowl with an air of finality. "Every boy nowadays -thinks about going to Space, I know. The fleets are growing larger, -taking more and more boys—but the smart ones stay home."</p> - -<p>Tad's voice was low and quiet, more deadly firm than George had ever -heard it. "You don't understand, dad. I know you don't like it—I -know you think it's foolish not to finish college, you hate to see me -leave home—but you don't understand." He looked up, his boyish face -pale under deep summer tan. "I can't explain it, dad. Ever since I was -little, since I saw my first Rocket shooting up into the sky toward -the stars, I knew I had to go, too, sometime." He shook his head -helplessly. "It's what I've wanted all my life, dad. I've <i>got</i> to go."</p> - -<p>"But the farm, son—" Florence was almost in tears. "Doesn't that mean -anything to you? Your family's been here for a hundred years, Tad. -It's yours, as soon as you're ready to farm it. Don't you <i>care</i> about -it after all these years?"</p> - -<p>"You know I care, mom." The boy avoided her tearful eyes, ran a hand -through his hair. "You know I like the place, and I feel awful running -out after all the work you and dad and the men have put in, building -it up—but I couldn't make a go of it. I don't want to be earth-bound, -tied down to a piece of land all my life—"</p> - -<p>His mother's face was suddenly very, very tired. "Oh, you fool," she -said, her voice bitter. "You don't know how you'll long for green -grass again—" her face flared red in anger. "You've barely started to -shave, and you want to go to Space. Well, it's nonsense! You can't do -it, that's final. Tell him, George! Tell him why he can't go—tell him -why—"</p> - -<p>"<i>Florence!</i>"</p> - -<p>She stopped short, eyes wide. "George, I'm sorry—"</p> - -<p>His voice was sharp, urgent. "I think—maybe Tad and I ought to talk -this out—ourselves—"</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry, George." Florence Barlow rose silently. She began clearing -the table, her eyes brimming.</p> - -<p>Tad's face was troubled. "I wish you wouldn't make a fuss, dad. I -suppose it's a surprise to you both—"</p> - -<p>George smiled sourly. "Hardly. We've been around a while, Tad. We saw -Len Cooper go, and a half-dozen like him. We knew you'd get the bug -sooner or later. But you've got to understand why we can't allow it."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The room was silent, except for the faint rustling of the breeze -through the curtains. "You don't know what you're walking into, Tad. -None of you boys really know. You only see one side of the picture, -the excitement and adventure. I know, it's a thrilling picture, but -the thrill wears off, and then you have the long dull days of waiting, -sitting, always waiting, with nothing to see but the bulkhead and a -dozen men cramped into impossible tight quarters without any room to -move around. You don't know how you'd get to hate those men, how you'd -wish you could be alone for just a little while, how you'd long for -privacy. And you don't realize the danger—not the exciting, bravado -kind of danger that you read about, but the live, horrible danger of -depending for your life on a little sliver of metal.</p> - -<p>"So many things can go wrong, and any one of them means you're through. -Not a brave death, son, nor a heroic death—just a very lonely death, -where you freeze and starve, and feel the life choke out of you. There -are so many ways to die in Space, such horrible ways, so easily. And -there isn't any reward worth the risk. It's all risk, and you have -nothing for it. A few days of glory when you're back home, and then -you're off again. Once you go, you're gone. You'll never come back. -Only the lucky ones come back. You'll be in Space 'til it kills you."</p> - -<p>"But the colonies, dad. Mars Mountain, Player's Folly, -Ironstone—they're all going concerns. They need men, lots of men, with -ideas—men who aren't afraid of work—"</p> - -<p>"The colonies!" George Barlow's voice rose angrily, his control wearing -thin. "Why the colonies? What glory can you see in working a lifetime -to squeeze a living out of Mars rock? Scraping and fighting, squeezing -every last drop of water, every possible inch of topsoil to dig up -enough to keep barely alive—and then dying thirty years before your -time? What can you see in that? Or Venus, where you sweat, and waste -away, until the fungus gets into your lungs and blood, and you finally -just go to sleep forever? You're crazy, Tad! You can't do it!"</p> - -<p>Tad shuffled his feet, his eyes downcast. "I knew you wouldn't -understand. I can't explain it, dad—I don't know the words. But I've -got to go, even if you don't—"</p> - -<p>George's face flushed in exasperation. "Now look. Just listen a minute. -I understand perfectly, I just—"</p> - -<p>"<i>You don't understand!</i>" The boy's eyes blazed in sudden anger, his -voice was bitter. "How <i>could</i> you understand? You've been nothing but -a slogging dirt farmer all your life! How could you understand why I'd -want to go to the stars? What do you know about Mars, or Venus? <i>You've -never been there!</i>"</p> - -<p>George Barlow sat stiff, as though he had been struck. The room was -tense, and he heard the boy breathing across the room. "Then you give -me no choice," he said finally, his voice suddenly tired and barely -audible. "I'm your father. I forbid you to go."</p> - -<p>There was a long, silent moment. Then: "I'm sorry, dad. I'm going -anyway."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>George Barlow lay in bed, breathing quietly. The room was close, the -air stuffy and humid. He heard his wife's steady breathing, peaceful -now, after sobbing herself to sleep. And somehow, deep within him, -he seemed to hear the steady pom-pom-pom of spaceship engines, deep, -throaty, thrilling, throbbing, vibrating—</p> - -<p>Calling—</p> - -<p>He rose quietly and walked to the window. He heard Snuffy stir herself, -heard her claws scrabbling on the bare farmhouse floor, and felt her -warm muzzle, firm and comforting in his hand. Then he heard nothing but -the buzzing of cicadas, the quiet night-sounds of the farm, smelled -the cool, hearty odor of hay and clover, heard the occasional uneasy -stomping of cattle in the barn. And still, deep in his mind, he heard -older sounds, more familiar sounds, sounds tinged with fear, horror, -hate, desperation—he shook his head, trying to forget, but there was -excitement there, too, that intangible, overpowering thrill of the -wanderlust—</p> - -<p>Memories flooded back into his mind, memories he had thought long ago -blotted out and forgotten. The rich thrill of excitement as the last -seconds crowded in close, with the strap cutting a deep welt across his -chest—the muffled roar, the powerful sledge-hammer blow, driving his -stomach and legs down like lead, then easing, easing gently into no -pressure, then less than no pressure—the exhilarating, wonder-filled -vision of the Earth rushing away, dwindling into a mottled patchwork, -still dwindling—</p> - -<p>Oh, he understood, all right. He knew what tugged at his son's heels, -he knew the consuming thrill, the insatiable hunger to reach higher -and higher, to seek out unknown places. He knew the wonder of stepping -on another land, an alien land, the thrill of watching two moons creep -softly over a reddish horizon. He knew the deep, rich thrill of pushing -the frontier outward until the sun winked coldly like another star. -Memories flooded his mind, and he remembered too well the insistent tug -of the wanderlust at his heels, the call of the open road, the call of -space. And he knew that, try as he would, no Earth-bound answer would -ever drive it away—</p> - -<p>Yes, he understood. But deep in his heart he felt the coldness, the -pain and agony, the sense of bitter loss. He was one of the lucky. He -had come back. Tad would never come back. The odds were too great, -there were too few of the lucky. And it was better <i>not</i> to be one of -the lucky, better to die out there, forgotten, unmourned.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Maybe he should have told the boy while he was young, tried to teach -him, to make him understand. Perhaps he'd been wrong to conceal it all -these years, to lie to Tad, to make Florence conceal, too. Perhaps Tad -should have been told—but even knowing that someday the wanderlust -would come, he knew he couldn't have told him. Better to conceal, to -wait for the contempt, wait to hear the words, short, bitter words: -"<i>How could you ever understand? You've never been there</i>—"</p> - -<p>George felt the perspiration trickle down his neck. How could he -explain the things he hardly dared think about himself? The fear, the -bitterness, the horror? Tad would be sleeping now, peacefully, in his -room, his bag half packed on the dresser, dreaming dreams of wonder -in his sleep, and never dreaming for an instant of the terror, the -pain—never knowing how hard a taskmaster the wanderlust could be, what -terrible fees it could exact.</p> - -<p>He knew he couldn't fight it. He had known since Tad was born that it -would be useless. For the young saw only what they wanted to see.</p> - -<p>And suddenly George was fumbling in his dresser drawer, frantically -searching for the small oblong box, rushing, before he changed his -mind. His hands closed on the small container, and its contents were -cold between his fingers. And then he was in Tad's room, quietly, -seeking the bag, half packed, a few meager clothes, a few meager -memories to go away with a hopeful heart. He fumbled in the bag, and -suddenly the memories closed in on George Barlow, and he was living -again the horrible moments, the rumbling, jolting thunder in the -bowels of the ship; the frantic scrambling down the dark passageways, -the men, fear-crazed and tumbling over each other in free fall—the -gleaming white-hot of the atomic fires gone wild; the screams of agony, -the crashing, fiery groping through oven-like chambers, the twisting, -wrenching of controls, fighting to stay alive, fighting in blazing -agony, fire burning to the bottom of his soul—</p> - -<p>The little metal disc slipped into the boy's bag, down between a pair -of pants and a book; a thin metal disc of pure gold, a simple symbol, -with simple words: <i>To George L. Barlow, for Heroism in Space</i>—</p> - -<p>He dropped the disc into the boy's bag and stumbled back to his room. -He sat in the silence stroking old Snuffy's soft muzzle, sat in -darkness, eternal since that hour of terror, as tears streamed down -scarred cheeks from his sightless eyes....</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WANDERLUST ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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