The Burning Bridge | Page 6

chilly little globules under his arms.
This much a man could see within the Solar System. Traveling at half
light-speed stretched the human mind still further, till often it ripped
across and another lunatic was shoved into deepsleep. For aberration
redrew the sky, crowding stars toward the bows, so that the ships
plunged toward a cloud of Doppler hell-blue. The constellations lay
thinly abeam, you looked out upon the dark. Aft, Sol was still the
brightest object in heaven, but it had gained a sullen red tinge, as if
already grown old, as if the prodigal would return from far places to
find his home buried under ice.
What is man that thou art mindful of him? The line gave its accustomed
comfort; for, after all, the Sun-maker had also wrought this flesh, atom
by atom, and at the very least would think it worthy of hell. Coffin had
never understood how his atheist colleagues endured free space.
Well--
He took aim at the next hull and fired his little spring-powered
crossbow. A light line unreeled behind the magnetic bolt. He tested its
security with habitual care, pulled himself along until he reached the
companion ship, yanked the bolt loose and fired again, and so on from
hull to slowly orbiting hull, until he reached the Pioneer.
Its awkward ugly shape was like a protective wall against the stars.
Coffin drew himself past the ion tubes, now cold. Their skeletal
structure seemed impossibly frail to have hurled forth peeled atoms at
one half c. Mass tanks bulked around the vessel; allowing for
deceleration, plus a small margin, the mass ratio was about nine to one.
Months would be required at Rustum to refine enough reaction material
for the home voyage. Meanwhile such of the crew as were not thus
engaged would help the colony get established--

If it ever did!
Coffin reached the forward air lock and pressed the "doorbell." The
outer valve opened for him, and he cycled through. First Officer
Karamchand met him and helped him doff armor. The other man on
duty found an excuse to approach and listen; for monotony was as
corrosive out here as distance and strangeness.
"Ah, sir. What brings you over?"
Coffin braced himself. Embarrassment roughened his tone: "I want to
see Miss Zeleny."
"Of course--But why come yourself? I mean, the telecircuit--"
"In person!" barked Coffin.
"What?" escaped the crewman. He propelled himself backward in
terror of a wigging. Coffin ignored it.
"Emergency," he snapped. "Please intercom her and arrange for a
private discussion."
"Why ... why ... yes, sir. At once. Will you wait here ... I mean ... yes,
sir!" Karamchand shot down the corridor.
Coffin felt a sour smile on his own lips. He could understand if they got
confused. His own law about the women had been like steel, and now
he violated it himself.
The trouble was, he thought, no one knew if it was even required. Until
now there had been few enough women crossing space, and then only
within the Solar System, on segregated ships. There was no background
of interstellar experience. It seemed reasonable, though, that a man on
his year-watch should not be asked to tend deepsleeping female
colonists. (Or vice versa!) The idea revolted Coffin personally; but for
once the psychotechs had agreed with him. And, of course, waking men
and women, freely intermingling, were potentially even more explosive.

Haremlike seclusion appeared the only answer; and husband and wife
were not to be awake at the same time.
Bad enough to see women veiled when there was a telecircuit
conference. (Or did the masks make matters still worse, by challenging
the imagination? Who knew?) Best seal off the living quarters and
coldvat sections of the craft which bore them. Crewmen standing
watches on those particular ships had better return to their own vessels
to sleep and eat.
Coffin braced his muscles. The rules wouldn't apply if a large meteor
struck, he reminded himself. What has come up is more dangerous than
that. So never mind what anyone thinks.
Karamchand returned to salute him and say breathlessly: "Miss Zeleny
will see you, captain. This way, if you please."
"Thanks." Coffin followed to the main bulkhead. The women had its
doorkey. Now the door stood ajar. Coffin pushed himself through so
hard that he overshot and caromed off the farther wall.
Teresa laughed. She closed the door and locked it. "Just to make them
feel safe out there," she said. "Poor well-meaning men! Welcome,
captain."
* * * * *
He turned about, almost dreading the instant. Her tall form was decent
in baggy coveralls, but she had dropped the mask. She was not pretty,
he supposed: broad-faced, square-jawed, verging on spinsterhood. But
he had liked her way of smiling.
"I--" He found no words.