Too well I understood. Dak did not use the word — I doubt if he would have understood it — but he was telling me that I was not a trouper. The bitter part about it was that he was justified. I could not be angry; I could only be ashamed. I had been an idiot to accept the contract without knowing more about it — but I had agreed to play the role, without conditions or escape clauses. Now I was trying to back out, like a rank amateur with stage fright.
«The show must go on» is the oldest tenet of show business. Perhaps it has no philosophical verity, but the things men live by are rarely subject to logical proof. My father had believed it — I had seen him play two acts with a burst appendix and then take his bows before he had let them rush him to a hospital. I could see his face now, looking at me with the contempt of a trouper for a so-called actor who would let an audience down.
«Dak,» I said humbly, «I am very sorry. I was wrong.»
He looked at me sharply. «You'll do the job?»
«Yes.» I meant it sincerely. Then I suddenly remembered a factor which could make the part as impossible for me as the role of Snow White in
«But what?» he said scornfully. «More of your damned temperament?»
«No, no! But you said we were going to Mars. Dak, am I going to be expected to do this impersonation with Martians around me?»
«Eh? Of course. How else on Mars?»
«Uh ... But, Dak, I can't
«Oh. If that is all that is worrying you, forget it.»
«Huh? But I can't forget it. I can't help it. I — »
«I said, “Forget it.” Old son, we knew you were a peasant in such matters — we know all about you. Lorenzo, your fear of Martians is as childish and irrational as a fear of spiders or snakes. But we had anticipated it and it will be taken care of. So forget it.»
«Well — all right.» I was not much reassured, but he had flicked me where it hurt. «Peasant» — why,«
Dak pulled the communicator to him, did not bother to silence his message with the rumble box: «Dandelion to Tumbleweed — cancel Plan Inkblot. We will complete Mardi Gras.»
«Dak?» I said as he signed off.
«Later,» he answered. «I'm about to match orbits. The contact may be a little rough, as I am not going to waste time worrying about chuck holes. So pipe down and hang on.»
And it
«Yes, yes!» Dak answered. «He's got make-up on. Never mind, it's all right. Help me get him into the cider press.»
A hand grabbed my arm, towed me along a narrow passage and into a compartment. Against one bulkhead and flat to it were two bunks, or «cider presses,» the bathtub-shaped, hydraulic, pressure-distribution tanks used for high acceleration in torchships. I had never seen one before but we had used quite convincing mock-ups in the space opus
There was a stenciled sign on the bulkhead behind the bunks:
Through the racket I heard Dak ask urgently, «Is the projector all set? The tapes ready?»
«Sure, sure!»
«Got the hypo?» Dak squirmed around in the air and said to me, «Look, shipmate, we're going to give you a shot. It's all right. Part of it is Nullgrav, the rest is a stimulant — for you are going to have to stay awake and study your lines. It will make your eyeballs feel hot at first and it may make you itch, but it won't hurt you.»
«Wait, Dak, I — »
«No time! I've got to smoke this scrap heap!» He twisted and was out the door before I could protest. The second man pushed up my left sleeve, held an injection gun against the skin, and I had received the dose before I knew it. Then he was gone. The hooting gave way to: «Red warning! Two gravities! Two minutes!»
I tried to look around but the drug made me even more confused. My eyeballs did feel hot and my teeth as well and I began to feel an almost intolerable itching along my spine — but the safety straps kept me from reaching the tortured area — and perhaps kept me from breaking an arm at acceleration. The hooting stopped again and this time Dak's self-confident baritone boomed out, «Last red warning! Two gravities! One minute! Knock off those pinochle games and spread your fat carcasses — we're goin' to smoke!» The hooting was replaced this time by a recording of
A mermaid came in the door. No scaly tail, surely, but a mermaid is what she looked like. When my eyes refocused I saw that it was a very likely looking and adequately mammalian young woman in singlet and shorts, swimming along head first in a way that made clear that free fall was no novelty to her. She glanced at me without smiling, placed herself against the other cider press, and took hold of the hand grips — she did not bother with safety belts. The music hit the rolling finale and I felt myself grow very heavy.
Two gravities is not bad, not when you are floating in a liquid bed. The skin over the top of the cider press pushed up around me, supporting me inch by inch; I simply felt heavy and found it hard to breathe. You hear these stories about pilots torching at ten gravities and ruining themselves and I have no doubt that they are true — but two gravities, taken in the cider press, simply makes one feel languid, unable to move.
It was some time before I realized that the horn in the ceiling was speaking to me. «Lorenzo! How are you doing, shipmate?»
«All right.» The effort made me gasp. «How long do we have to put up with this?»
«About two days.»
I must have moaned, for Dak laughed at me. «Quit bellyaching, chum! My first trip to Mars took thirty-seven weeks, every minute of it free fall in an elliptical orbit. You're taking the luxury route, at a mere double gee for a couple of days — with a one-gee rest at turnover, I might add. We ought to charge you for it.»
I started to tell him what I thought of his humor in scathing green-room idiom, then recalled that there was a lady present. My father had taught me that a woman will forgive any action, up to and including assault with violence, but is easily insulted by language; the lovelier half of our race is symbol-oriented — very strange, in view of their extreme practicality. In any case, I have never let a taboo word pass my lips when it might offend the ears of a lady since the time I last received the back of my father's hard hand full on my mouth ... Father could have given Professor Pavlov pointers in reflex conditioning.
But Dak was speaking again. «Penny! You there, honey chile?»
«Yes, Captain,» the young woman with me answered.
«Okay, start him on his homework. I'll be down when I have this firetrap settled in its groove.»
«Very well, Captain.» She turned her head toward me and said in a soft, husky, contralto voice, «Dr. Capek wants you simply to relax and look at movies for several hours. I am here to answer questions as necessary.»
I sighed. «Thank goodness someone is at last going to answer questions!»
She did not answer, but raised an arm with some difficulty and passed it over a switch. The lights in the compartment died out and a sound and stereo image built up in front of my eyes. I recognized the central figure —
