Address: Centauri, F. L. Wallace [best ereader for pc .txt] 📗

asking but what's so deadly about being in space without a spacesuit?"

"Cold. Lack of pressure. Lack of oxygen."

"Is that all? Nothing else?"

His voice was too loud; it seemed thunderous to him. "Isn't that enough?"

"Maybe not for me. I just wanted to be sure." She beckoned to Nona and together they went forward, where the spacesuits were kept. "Don't do anything drastic until I get back," she said as she left.

Cameron scowled puzzledly and started to follow until Jordan waved the toaster in front of him. "All right, I see it," he growled, stopping and rubbing his chin. "There's nothing she can do. You know it as well as I do."

"Do I? Well, for once I'm inclined to agree with you," said Docchi. "But you never can tell with Anti. Sometimes she comes up with surprising things. She's not scientifically trained but she has a good mind, as good as her body once was."

"And how good was that?" asked Cameron ironically.

"Look it up in your records," said Jordan shortly. "We don't talk about it ourselves."

The women didn't come back soon, and when they did Cameron wasn't sure that the weird creature that floated into the control compartment with Nona was Anti. He looked again and saw shudderingly what she had done to herself. "You do need psychotherapy," he said bitingly. "When we get back it's the first thing I'll recommend. Can't you understand how fool-hardy you're being?"

"Be quiet," growled Jordan. "Anti, explain what you've rigged up. I'm not sure we can let you do it."

"Any kind of pressure will do as far as the outside of the body is concerned," answered Anti, flipping back the helmet. "Mechanical pressure is as satisfactory as air. I had Nona cut the spacesuit in strips and wind them around me, very hard. That will keep me from squishing out. Then I found a helmet that would cover my head when the damaged part was cut away. It won't hold much air pressure even taped tight to my skin. It doesn't have to as long as it's pure oxygen."

"So far it makes sense," admitted Docchi. "But what can you do about temperature?"

"Do you think I'm going to worry about cold?" asked Anti. "Me? Way down below all this flesh? Mountains and mountains of it?"

"I've heard enough," said Cameron, standing in front of Anti. "Now listen to me. Stop this nonsense and take off that childish rig. I can't permit you to ruin my career by deliberate suicide."

"You and your stinking career," said Jordan disgustedly. "You don't know what success is and what it means to give it up. Stay out of this. We don't have to ask your permission to do anything." Cameron retreated from the toaster and Jordan turned to Anti. "Do you understand what the risk, is, Anti? You know that it may not work at all?"

"I've thought about it," said Anti. "On the other hand I've thought about the asteroid. I don't want to go back."

"We should have viewers outside," said Docchi. "One directly in back, one on each side. At least we'll know what's happening."

At the control panel Jordan began flipping levers. "They're out and working," he said at last. "Anti, go to the freight ramp. Close your helmet and wait. I'll let the air out slowly. If everything doesn't work perfectly let me know on the helmet radio and I'll yank you in immediately. Once you're outside I'll give you further instructions. You'll find the tools and equipment that opens to space."

Anti waddled away. Huge, but she wasn't any bigger than her determination.

Once she was gone Jordan looked down at his legless body. "I hate to do this but we've got to be realistic about it."

"It's the only way we've got a chance," answered Docchi. "Anti's the only one who can do the job. And I think she'll survive."

Jordan adjusted a dial. "Cameron had better hope she will," he muttered. "He'll join her if she doesn't."

Docchi glanced hastily at the screen. Anti was hanging free in space, wrapped and strapped in strips torn from the supposedly useless spacesuits. And she was also enclosed in more flesh than any human had borne. The helmet was taped jauntily to her head and the oxygen cylinder was fastened to her back. And she lived.

"How is she?" he asked anxiously, unaware that the microphone was open.

"Fine," came the reply, faint and reedy. "The air's thin but it's pure."

"Cold?"

"Don't know. Don't feel it yet. Anyway it can't be worse than the acid. What do I do?"

Jordan gave her directions while the others watched. It required considerable effort to find the tools and examine the tubes for defectives, to loosen the tubes in the sockets and pull them out, sending them spinning into space. It was still more difficult to replace them, though there was no gravity and Anti was held firmly to the hull by magnetics.

Anti had never been a technician of any kind. Cameron was sure of it. She was ignorant of the commonest terms, the simplest tool. She shouldn't have been able to do it. And yet she managed nicely, though she didn't know how. The explanation must be that she did know, that somewhere in her remote past, of which he was totally uninformed, she had had training which prepared her for this. Such contradiction was ridiculous. But there was rhythm to her motions, this giant shapeless creature whose bones would break with weight if she tried to stand at half gravity.

The whale plowing through the deeps and waves has the attraction of beauty. It can't be otherwise for any animal in an environment which it is suited to live in. And the human race had produced, haphazardly, one unlikely person to whom interplanetary space was not alien. Anti was at last in her element.

"Now," said Jordan, keeping tension out of his voice though it was trembling in his hand. "Go back to the outside tool compartment. You'll find a lever near it. Pull. This will set the combustion cap in place."

"Done," said Anti when it was.

"That's all. Come in now."

She went slowly over the hull to the cargo ramp and while she did Jordan reeled in the viewers. The lock was no sooner closed to the outside and the air hissing into the intermediate space than he was there, waiting for the inner lock to open.

"Are you all right?" he asked gruffly.

She flipped back the helmet. There was frost on her eyebrows and her face was bright and red. "Why shouldn't I be? My hands aren't cold." She stripped off the heated gloves and waggled her fingers.

"I can't believe it," protested Cameron with more vehemence than he intended. "You should be frozen through."

"Why?" said Anti with gurgling laughter. "It's merely a matter of insulation and I have plenty of that. More than I want."

Shaking his head Cameron turned to Docchi. "When I was a boy I saw a film of a dancer. She did a ballet. I think it was called: Free Space-Free Life. Something like that. I can't say why but it came to my mind when Anti was out there. I hadn't thought of it in years."

He rubbed his hand over his forehead. "It fascinated me when I first saw it. I went to it again and again. When I grew older I found out a tragic thing had happened to the dancer. She was on a tour of Venus when the ship she was in was forced down. Searching parties were sent out but they didn't find anyone except her. And she had been struggling over a fungus plain for a week. You know what that meant. The great ballerina was a living spore culture medium."

"Shut up," said Jordan. "Shut up."

Cameron was engrossed in the remembrance and didn't seem to hear. "Naturally she died. I can't recall her name but I can't forget the ballet. And that's funny because it reminded me of Anti out there——"

"I told you to shut up!" Jordan exploded a fist in the doctor's face. If there had been more behind the blow than shoulders and a fragment of a body Cameron's jaw would have been broken. As it was he floated through the air and crashed against the wall.

Angrily he got to his feet. "I gave my word I wouldn't cause trouble. I thought the agreement worked both ways." He glanced significantly at the weapon Jordan carried. "Better keep that around all the time."

"I told you," said Jordan. "I told you more than once." After that he ignored the doctor, thrusting the weapon securely into his garment. He turned to Anti. "Very good," he said, his anger gone and his voice courtly. "An excellent performance. One of your best, Antoinette."

"You should have seen me when I was good," said Anti. The frost had melted from her eyebrows and was trickling down her cheek. She left with Jordan.

Cameron remained behind. It was too bad about his ambition. He knew now he was never going to be the spectacular success he'd once envisioned—not after this escape from Handicap Haven. He'd done all he could to prevent it but it wouldn't count with the Medicouncil that he had good intentions. Still, he'd be able to practice somewhere; doctors were always necessary. There were worse fates—suppose he had to abandon medicine altogether?

Think of the ballerina he'd been talking about—she hadn't died as the history tapes indicated. That much was window dressing; people were supposed to believe it because it was preferable to the truth. It would have been better for that woman if she hadn't lived on. By now he had recalled her name: Antoinette.

And now it was Anti. He could have found it out by checking the records—if Handicap Haven kept that particular information on file. He was suddenly willing to bet that it wasn't there. He felt his jaw, which ached throbbingly. He deserved it. He hadn't really been convinced that they were people too.

"We'll stick to the regular lanes," decided Docchi. "I think we'll get closer. They've no reason to suspect we're heading toward Earth. Mars is more logical, or one of the moons of Jupiter, or another asteroid. I'm sure they don't know what we're trying to do."

Jordan shifted uneasily. "I'm against it. They'll pick us up before we have a chance to do anything."

"There's nothing to distinguish us from an ordinary Earth to Mars rocket. We have a ship's registry on board. Use it. Take a ship that's in our general class and thereafter we'll be that ship. If Traffic blips us, and I don't think they will unless we try to land, we'll have a recording ready. Something like this: 'ME 21 zip crackle 9 reporting. Our communication is acting up. We can't hear you, Traffic.'

"That's quite believable in view of the age and condition of our ship. Don't overdo the static effects but repeat it with suitable variations and I don't think they'll bother us."

Shaking his head dubiously Jordan swung away toward the tiny fabricating shop.

"You seem worried," said Anti as she came in.

Docchi didn't turn around. "Yeah."

"What's the matter, won't it work?"

"Sure. There are too many ships. They can't pick us out among so many. Anyway they're not looking for us around Earth. They don't really know why we took the rocket and escaped."

"Then why so much concern? Once we're near Earth we won't need much time."

His face was taut and tired. "I thought so too, in the beginning. Things have changed. The entire Solar Police force has been alerted for us."

"So the Solar Police really want us? But I still don't understand why that changes a thing."

"Look, Anti. We planned to bypass the Medicouncil and take our case directly to the Solar Government. But if they want us as badly as the radio indicates they're not going to be sympathetic. Not at all.

"And if they're not, if the Solar Government doesn't support us all the way, we'll never get another chance. Hereafter there'll be guards everywhere on the asteroid. They'll watch us even when we sleep."

"Well?" said Anti. She seemed trimmer and more vigorous. "We considered it might turn out this way, didn't we? Let's take the last step first."

Docchi raised his head. "Go to the ultimate authority? The Solar Government won't like it."

"They won't, but there's nothing they can do about it."

"Don't be sure. They can shoot us down. When we stole the ship we automatically became criminals."

"I know, but they'll be careful, especially after we make contact. How would it look if we were blown to bits in front of their eyes, in a billion homes?"

Docchi chuckled grimly. "Very shrewd. All right, they'll be careful. But is it worth it to us?"

"It is to me."

"Then it is to me," said Docchi. "I suggest we start getting ready."

Anti scrutinized him carefully. "Maybe we ought to fix you up."

"With fake arms and