The Old Man of the Stars by John Burke Page B

that he was trying to say something to Clifford, but had not the faintest idea what it could be.
    And then the pain died away. Bones were left aching, and Matthew felt that his head would split open, but the awful weight against his chest and stomach had gone.
    He said: “Free.”
    Clifford leaned his forehead against the cool panel in front of him.
    â€œWe’re caught in the galactic flux,” he said. “So far so good. Theory and practice have tied up—so far.”
    They looked at one another, and both of them had, absurdly, tears in their eyes.
    From then on the main problem was an administrative one. The ship, moving at a fantastic speed through space, did not seem to its occupants to be moving at all. There were no landmarks and no sensation of movement. It was as though this scrap of metal and its human cargo were hanging motionless in infinity, lost in the star-studded vastness. There was no sense of danger: the only danger was boredom, and Matthew knew how serious that would become as time went on.
    Looking at the stars through the glassite ports was a pastime that soon palled. The stars were fixed and immutable. They were apparently always in the same position: the ship did not approach them; no planets swam past, and there was no difference between night and day.
    â€œWe shall be all right for a little while,” said Matthew to Clifford, “and we must do all we can to foster friendships and—er—romances on board ship. The biologist, Richard, already enjoys the company of that woman who made such a fuss about leaving. If they marry, that’ll keep them occupied for a few years before they get really fretful.”
    â€œYou make it sound very matter-of-fact,” said Clifford ruefully.
    â€œWe can’t afford to be anything but realistic. The first world that we’re headed for will take five years to reach. We’ve got to keep our tempers somehow for five years.”
    There were thirty people aboard—ten women, twenty men, and two children. The six men who had been trained as pilots took their turns, two at a time, in the control cabin. This was mainly a matter of routine: held to its predicted course, the ship ran itself smoothly, but a constant watch was necessary in case a meteorite shower or some other unexpected phenomenon threatened.
    The engine-room maintenance staff worked in similar shifts. Dr. Richard was fully occupied with the food culture shelves and the issue of concentrate capsules.
    The women were the real trouble—or they would be, in time. Although each one was allotted a task, they still had time on their hands. Sitting in the communal lounge, they talked until it seemed there was nothing left to talk about, and then bickered irritably. Matthew had made sure that several sets of Elysian Tarasco cards had been manufactured before they left, and involved games of this were played for months on end. But the games became acrimonious, and there were perpetual outbreaks of hostility between different cliques—cliques to which the men as well as the women belonged.
    As Matthew had predicted, the unmarried women were soon paired off with men of the crew. One of the two children who had come along was an attractive little girl who would undoubtedly prove a source of rivalry in a few years’ time.
    And after the marriages had taken place, it was inevitable that surreptitious affairs should commence—flirtations and passionate attachments that could not be kept secret for long in the cramped space of the ship.
    â€œAs long as nobody gets thrown out of the airlock, I suppose we mustn’t complain,” remarked Clifford. But Matthew observed that the young man guarded his wife Alida jealously. He gossiped freely about the behaviour of other members of the crew, when he and Matthew were on duty together, but he would have been the first to start violence if anyone had made advances to Alida.
    New games of cards were invented as