command."
"Perhaps," said Halter quietly. "However, we can come back to that.Please brief me on the records."
Captain McClelland's face hardened as he turned to Dr. Anna Mueller.
She explained, "We regained consciousness twenty-four hours afterCaptain McClelland used the shock gun on us. By then, our metabolismswere high enough to keep us conscious and alive. We could liftnutrition and water capsules to our mouths. We could press the buttonto activate the exercise mechanisms in our bunks. The output of theair machines was cut down until there was just enough to keep us aliveand thinking clearly.
"At intervals of several days, during our exercise and study periods,Captain McClelland turned up the air. We slept. And we dreamed. Thedreams are recorded in full. When we could face them, they were playedback to us. Our thoughts were played back, too. I conducted grouptherapy among us. We all grew to understand each other and ourselves,intimately, and now, in relation to our environment, we're perfectlyadjusted."
"Did Captain McClelland join you in group therapy?"
"No."
"Why?"
"He was already perfectly adjusted."
* * * * *
She frowned faintly, glanced at the captain. "When we were conscious,we studied from the library of microfilm. We read all the greatliterature of Earth. We watched the great plays and pictures and thepaintings and listened to the music. Sometimes our thoughts werehateful. There was self-pity and hysteria. There were times when oneor two of us would withdraw almost to the point of death. Then CaptainMcClelland would knock us out with the shock gun.
"Slowly, over the years, our minds gradually merged into one mind. Wethought and created and lived as if we were one person. There grew tobe complete and perfect cooperation. And from this cooperation camesome great works. Each one of us will tell you. I'll speak first."
She paused. "Psychology has always been my prime interest. My ratingat school was genius. My aptitudes were precisely in line with thefield of work I chose. Through the years, I've developed a theory,discovered a way to bring about cooperation between all men. This ispossible in spite of your wars and hatreds and destruction." Frowncreases wrinkled her parchment forehead. "I'd like to know if it wouldwork."
Daniel Carlyle's voice was slightly above a whisper. "All my life, I'dwanted to write poetry. The meteor struck. I realized I wouldn't beallowed to die quickly. I began to do what I'd always wanted to do.The words poured into the thought recorder. Everything I felt andthought is there and all I've been able to know and be from this onemind of ours that's in us all. And it's some of the finest poetrythat's ever been written." He closed his eyes and sighed heavily."It'd be good to know if anyone found them inspiring."
"I've always lived for adventure," said Crowley, the rocketman, hisold voice steady and quiet. "I've been the one to quiet down last intothe life it was necessary for us to live out there. But my thoughtsran on into distant universes and across endless stretches of space.And so at last, to keep my sanity, I wrote stories of all theadventures I should have had, and more. And in them is all the nativepower of me, of all adventurers, and the eternal sweep of the Universewhere Man will always thrust out to new places." There was a fainttrembling in his body and a pained light in his eyes. "Seems I oughtto know if they'll ever be read."
* * * * *
In spite of Brady's frailness, the lieutenant was like a grizzled oldanimal growling with his last breath. "I was the most capable pilotthat ever blasted off from Earth. But I was also an inventor anddesigner. A lot of the ships Earth pilots are flying today arebasically my ideas. After the accident, I wanted to get drunk and makelove and then let myself out into space, with a suit, and be thereforever. But Captain McClelland's shock gun and the understandingseeping into me from the thought recorders calmed me down eventually.
"So I turned to creation as I lay there in my bunk. I designed manyspaceships. And from those, I designed fewer and fewer, incorporatingthe best from each. And now I have on microfilm a ship that can thrustout to the ends of our galaxy. There aren't any flaws.... Oh, I tellyou, by God, I'd like to see her come to life!"
He leaned back, sweat rolling down his bony cheeks.
Miss Gordon, dietician and televisor, the motionless old lady withcropped, white hair, and face bones across which the paper skin wasstretched, said, "There was only one thing I wanted when I knew Icouldn't have marriage and a family. There was a perfect food for thehuman animal. I could find it. I began working on formulas. Over andover again, I put the food elements together and took them apart andput them together again. I threw away the work of years and startedover again until at last I had my perfect formula."
She clasped her hands. "Man's nutrition problem is solved. From theoceans and the air and the Earth, from the cosmic rays and the lightsof the suns and from the particles of the microcosm, Man can take intohis body all the nutrition that can enable him to live forever." Shesat very still, smiling. "And it's got to be given a try."
Silence.
Colonel Halter watched the old figures sitting like figures in a waxmuseum, waiting, waiting. He turned a dial. The picture that flashedonto the screen in his office showed the pocked ship standing uprightnow, like some tree that had grown in the middle of a desert where itwas never meant to grow.
The space tugs had streaked out beyond the atmosphere to finish otherassignments. There were no crowds, no official cars, no platforms, nobands. Only darkness and silence.
Halter turned a dial. The control room of the old ship flashed backonto the screen. The ancient crew sat as before. Halter saw his ownface on their television screen.
Something was missing, he thought. What? What hadn't been said?
And then suddenly it came to him.
The captain. He hadn't spoken of any contribution he had made duringthose interminable years.
* * * * *
Halter thought back over Captain McClelland's record. No family. Wipedout when he was a baby in the last war. Educated and raised by thegovernment. Never married. No entanglements with women. No closefriends. Ship's captain at twenty-one. No failures. No vacations. Norecord of breakdown. Perfect physical condition. Strictdisciplinarian. More time in space than on Earth by seventy-five percent. No hobbies. No interest in the arts.... Apparently no flaw as aspaceman.... The end product of the stiffest training regimen yetdevised by Man.
The ideal captain.
The records of the other five? All showing slight emotionalinstabilities when checked against the optimum score of a spaceman.
Dr. Mueller--a divorcee. A woman men had sought after. Dedicated inspare time to social psychology. Conflict in her decision as towhether she should go into the private practice of psychotherapy orspecialize in space psychology. Interested in the study of neurosiscaused by culture.
Lieutenant Brady--family man. Forced himself into mold of good husbandand father. Brilliant designer. Ambition also to be space captain.Conflict between these three. Several years of psychotherapy whichreleased his drive for adventure in space. _Alpha_ mission to be hislast. Lack of full leadership qualities prevented him from reachingcaptaincy.
Rocketman Crowley--typical man of action. Superb physique. Decathlonchampion. Continual entanglements with women. Quick temper. Tendencyto fight if pushed or crossed. Proud. However, if under good command,best rocketman in the service.
Astrogator Daniel Carlyle--highly sensitive. Psychosomatic symptomsunless out in space. Then in perfect health. Fine mathematician.Highly intuitive, yet logical. Saved four missions from disaster.Holder of Congressional Medal of Honor. Hobby, poetry. Fiancee wasboyhood sweetheart.
Dietician and televisor Caroline Gordon--youngest of crew. Twentyyears. Too many aptitudes. Tendency toward immaturity. Many hobbies.Idealistic. Emotions unfocused. IQ 165. Success in any field ofendeavor concentrated upon. At eighteen, specialized in dietetics andelectronics. Highest ratings in field. Stable when under strictexterna
l discipline.
* * * * *
No, thought Halter. None of them fitted space like the completelyself-sufficient McClelland, the man who could stand alone against thatblack, teeming, swirling endlessness of space.
He turned to the captain. The old face was placid, the eyes slightlyout of focus.
"Captain McClelland," Halter said sharply.
The pale eyes blinked and looked keenly on Halter's face.
"You want fuel to take you back out into space."
"That's right."
"And if you don't get it, you'll press a button on the arm of yourchair and you'll all die of carbon monoxide poisoning."
"Exactly."
"I'm curious about one