Subspace Explorers. E.E. "Doc" Smith
is Brass. Give us everything you know or can guess at.”
Deston spoke steadily for thirty minutes. He did not mention the gangsters, nor psionics, nor the extraordinarily long periods of gestation; otherwise his report was accurate and complete. When it was done, French said:
“Mark off. Off the air, Babe—nice job. Now, Herc, on the air. Mark on. Second Officer Theodore Jones reporting. You’re orbiting the fourth planet of a sun. What sun? Where?”
“I don’t know. Unlisted; we’re in unexplored territory. Standard reference data as follows,” and Jones read off a long list of observations; not only of the brightest stars of the galaxy, but also of the standard reference points, such as S-Doradus, lying outside it. “When you get that stuff all plotted you’ll find a hell of a big confusion, but I hope there aren’t enough stars in it but what you’ll be able to find us sometime.”
“Mark off. Don’t make me laugh, Herc; your probable center will spear it. If there’s ever more than one star in any confusion you set up I’ll eat all the extras. But there’s a dozen Big Brains, gnawing their nails off to the elbows to talk to Adams. So put him on and let’s get back to sleep, huh? They’re cutting this mike now.”
“Hold it!” Deston snapped. “I want some information too, dammit! What’s your Greenwich?”
“Zero seven one four plus thirty seven seconds. So go to bed, you night-prowling owl.”
“Of what day, month, and year?” Deston insisted.
“Friday, Sep... ” French’s voice was replaced by that of a much older man; very evidently that of a Fellow of the College.
After listening for less than a minute, Barbara took Deston’s arm and led him away. “Any at all of that gibberish is exactly that much too much, husband mine. So I think we’d better take Captain French’s advice, don’t you?”
* * * *
Since there was only one star in Jones’ “confusion” (by the book, “Volume of Uncertainty”) finding the Procyon was no problem at all. High Brass came in quantity and the whole story, except for one bit of biology, was told. Two huge subspace-going machine-shops also came, and a battalion of mechanics, who worked on the crippled liner for over three weeks.
Then the Procyon started back for Earth under her own subspace drive, under the command of Captain Theodore Jones. His first and only command for the Interstellar Corporation, of course, since he was a married man. Deston had tendered his resignation while still a First Officer, but his superiors would not accept it until after his promotion “for outstanding services” had come through. Thus Captain Carlyle Deston and his wife and son were dead-heading, not quite back to Earth, but to the transfer point for Newmars.
Just before that transfer point was reached, Deston went “up Top” to take leave of his friend, and Jones greeted him with:
“I’ve been trying to talk to Doc again; but wherever he starts or whatever the angle of approach he always boils it down to this: ‘Subjective time is measured by the number of learning events experienced.’ I ask you, Babe, what in hell does that mean? If anything?”
“I know. Me, too. It sounds like it ought to mean something, but I’ll be damned if I know what. However, if it makes the old boy happy and gives the College a toe-hold on subspace, what do we care?”
And at this same time Barbara had been visiting Bernice. They had of course been talking about the babies, and an awkward silence had fallen.
“Oh,” Barbara licked her lips. “So you get those feelings too.”
“Too?” Bernice’s face paled. “But they’re absolutely normal, Bobby. Perfect. Absolutely perfect in every respect.”
“I know... but once in a while.. an aura or something... it scares me simply witless.”
“I have them too. Not often, but... well, they began even before she was born.”
“Oh? So did mine! But they aren’t monsters, Bun! I just know they aren’t!”
“So do I. Of course they aren’t. They aren’t even mutants. Look, Bobby, let’s think instead of emoting. All four of us are very strongly psychic, but each of us got it from only one side of the family. With both parents psychic the effect would have to be intensified, wouldn’t it?”
“It would, at that. That’s the answer, Bun, you solved the mystery. They have the same thing we have, except more of it. But they can’t have real powers without experience or knowledge, so when they grow up they’ll be stronger than we are and we’ll learn from them.”
“That’s the way it is. I’m sure of it.”
“So am I, now. I feel a lot better, Bun. I’ve got to gallop. This isn’t goodbye, dear—I’ll see you soon and often—it’s just so long.”
CHAPTER III
DESTON THE DOWSER
For a week the Destons were busy settling down in their low, sprawling home on Newmars. Deston had not had time to think about a job, and Barbara did not intend to let him think about one. Wherefore, the first free evening they had, while they were sitting close together on a davenport near the fireplace in their living-room, she said:
“I know how much you really want to explore deep space. I do, too. I’m sure we could accomplish something worth while, and I’d like very much to leave a size five-bee footprint on the sands of time, too. There’s a way we can do it.”
Deston stiffened. “I’d like to believe that, pet. I’d give my right leg to the hip and one eye—but what’s the use of kidding ourselves? Your last buck, even if I’d lay it on that kind of a line, wouldn’t cover the nut.”
“The way things are now, no. But listen. What is the one single thing that all civilization needs most desperately?”
“Uranium. You know that as well as I do.”
“I know; but I want you to think very seriously about the reality, the intensity, and the importance of that need. So elucidate.”
“Okay.” Deston shrugged his shoulders. “It’s the sine qua non of interstellar flight; of running the Chaytor engine. While all the uranium does is trigger the power intake, the bigger the Chaytor the bigger its Wesley has to be and the faster the uranium gets used up. Uranium’s so scarce that except for controls its price would be fantastic. Hence the black market, where its price is fantastic. Hence bribery, corruption, and so forth. Half of the deviltry and skulduggery on all ninety six planets is due to the hard fact that the supply of uranium cannot be made to equal the demand. Sufficient?”
“Sufficient. Now for it. I’ve been hinting, but you’ve been shying away from psionics as though it were something to be ashamed of, and it isn’t. In space we were all too horribly busy to do anything about it, but now I’m going to slug you with it. Carl, I know that you’re the first real metal-dowser that ever lived. Don’t ask me how I know; I just know. If you’ll just get serious and really work on your latent abilities you’ll be able to find any metal you please as easily as I can find oil.”
Tightening his arm, he swung her around and stared into her eyes. “I know all about things that way. Hunches. So how do I go about learning to dowse metal?”
“Like I did. I started on coal, holding a lump in my hand. I concentrated on it until I could sense everything about it, clear down to its atomic structure. Then, looking at a map and spreading it out, I could see every coal deposit on the planet. So here’s a piece of copper tube and a blueprint of this house. Concentrate as hard as you possibly can; then you’ll know what I mean.”
“Oh—so you’ve been laying for me.”
“Of course I have. This is the first time we’ve had any time.”
“Okay.