It would take a while to reach another planet, for space was rather sparsely populated in this area. There would be time to think and plan. He might be able to work out something that would be to his great advantage.
He leaned back in the chair and stretched out his legs. His brain began to click in a ceaseless scurrying back and forth, nosing from every angle all the possibilities that existed in this setup.
It was nice, he thought—this entire operation. The Ship undoubtedly had figured out some angles for itself which no human yet had thought of.
There were a lot of things to do. He’d have to learn the capabilities of the Ship and give close study to its personality, seeking out its weak points and its strength. Then he’d have to plan his strategy and be careful not to give away his thinking. He must not move until he was entirely ready.
There might be many ways to do it. There might be flattery or there might be a business proposition or there might be blackmail. He’d have to think on it and study and follow out the line of action that seemed to be the best.
He wondered at the Ship’s means of operation. Anti-gravity, perhaps, so far considered as a source of power.
He got up from the chair and paced, three paces across the room. Or a fusion chamber. Or perhaps some method which had not been and back, restlessly pondering odds.
Yes, he thought, it would be a nice kind of ship to have. More than likely there was nothing in all of space that could touch it in speed and maneuverability. Nothing that could overhaul it should he ever have to run. It could apparently set down anywhere. It was probably self-repairing, for the Ship had spoken of redesigning and of rebuilding itself. With the memory of his recent situation still fresh inside his mind, this was comforting.
There must be a way to get the Ship, he told himself. There had to be a way to get it. It was something that he needed.
He could buy another ship, of course; with the diamonds in the sacking he could buy a fleet of ships. But this was the one he wanted.
Maybe it had been pure luck this Ship had picked him up. For any other legal ship would probably turn him over to the authorities at its next port of call, but this Ship didn’t seem to mind who he was or what his record might be. Any other ship that was not entirely legal would have grabbed off, not only the diamonds that he had but his discovery of the diamond field. But this particular Ship had no concern with diamonds.
What a setup, he thought. A human brain and a spaceship tied together, so closely tied together that their identities had merged. He shivered at the thought of it, for it was a gruesome thing.
Although perhaps it had not meant too much to that old man who was about to die. He had traded an aged and death-marked body for many years of life. Perhaps life as a part of a space-traveling machine was better than no life at all.
How many years, he wondered, had it been since that old man had translated himself into something else than human? A hundred? Five hundred? Perhaps even more than that.
In those years where had he been and what might he have seen? And, most pertinent of all, what thoughts had run through and congealed and formed within his mind? What was life like for him? Not a human sort of life, of course, not a human viewpoint, but something else entirely.
Sherwood tried to imagine what it might be like, but gave up in dismay. It would necessarily be a negation of everything he lived for—all the sensual pleasure, all the dreams of gain and glory, all the neat behavior patterns he had set up for himself, all his self-made rules of conduct and of conscience.
A miracle, he thought. As a matter of fact, there’d been two miracles. The first had been when he had been able to set his ship down without a crackup when the valve had failed. He had come in close above the planet’s surface to find a place to land—and suddenly the valve went out and the engine failed and there he’d been, plunging down above the rough terrain. Then suddenly he had glimpsed a place where a landing might be just barely possible and had fought the controls madly to hit that certain spot and finally had hit it—alive.
It had been a miracle that he had made the landing; and the coming of the Ship to rescue him had been the second miracle.
The bunk dropped down flat against the wall and his sack of diamonds was dumped onto the floor.
“Hey, what goes on?” yelled Sherwood. Then he wished he had not yelled, for it was quite clear exactly what had happened. The support that held the bunk had not been snapped properly into place and had given way, letting down the bunk.
“Something wrong, Mr. Sherwood?” asked the Ship.
“No, not a thing,” said Sherwood. “My bunk fell down. I guess it startled me.”
He bent down to pick up the diamonds. As he did, the chair quietly and efficiently slid back against the wall, folded itself up and slid into a slight depression that exactly fitted it.
Squatted to pick up the diamonds, Sherwood watched the chair in horrified fascination, then swiftly spun around. The bunk no longer hung against the wall, also had fitted itself into another niche.
Cold fear speared into Sherwood. He rose swiftly to his feet, turning like a man at bay. He stood in a bare cubicle. With both the bunk and chair retracted, he stood
