old, he could find refuge from the dark waters that threatened to engulf him.
“Father, I’ve passed the medical and the psychiatric. I have an interview with
the Board of Space Commissioners.”
“Well done, sport. To hell with this confounded rain. We’ll go into Sydney, and I’ll buy you a beer.”
Darkness. Cold darkness.
“What is your name?”
“Suzy Wu, sir.”
“How old are you?”
“Almost twenty-one, Captain Hamilton.”
“How many space-hours have you logged?”
“The regulation two hundred.”
“The shoot to Earth should be routine. But the conditions we find when—and if—we touch-down, well, they are imponderable. It could be a one-way trip. You are sure you want to sign on for the
Dag Hammarskjold?
”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why?” Earth to flourish on Mars.”
“You are a romantic fool, Suzy.”
She was dejected, anticipating dismissal. “Yes, sir.”
“But the
Dag Hammarskjold
is crewed entirely by fools. Sign here.”
Darkness again. So cold.
What the hell! If you can’t run any more, then for Christ’s sake stop trying.
I want to feel wind on my face, he screamed to himself. That I had a hand in bringing back a part of the dying I want to walk on grass. I want to watch some youngster take the Gagarin cup. I want to listen to music, make jokes, very vulnerable. “I want to do something,” she said desperately. “Something worthwhile. I want to help salvage a fragment of Earth I can’t properly explain it. But it would be something to be proud of, something to remember.
She looked much younger than twenty-one. Very young, kiss a pretty girl. I want to
breathe
.
“CAPTAIN HAMILTON, PLEASE RESPOND! IDON’T WANT TO HURT YOU!”
The voice was shattering, the pain dreadful. What the hell! If you can’t run any more, then for Christ’s sake stop trying.
He didn’t have to open his eyes to see. He only had to want to see, or submit to the ordeal of seeing.
She was still there, the girl who called herself Zylonia. He found he could control his vision quite easily this time. No ripples. No cloud imploding.
“If I am not already mad,” he said reasonably, “I am thinking of going mad. It seems a good idea. I don’t know what else to do.”
“Captain Hamilton, you are quite sane, but traumatized. We will not let you retreat into madness.”
He managed to laugh. The pitch was wrong, but the noise sounded roughly like laughter. “You think you can stop me?”
“If we have to, yes. But we wish to minimize our interference with your mental processes.”
“Baby, you are talking to a ghost. I don’t believe in God, I don’t believe in immortality, I don’t believe in ghosts. But you are talking to one. So how can you stop a ghost from declaring himself insane?”
“You are not a ghost, Captain Hamilton.”
“So? I died on the
Dag Hammarskjold
. Tell me it was a delusion. That will only prove you have whistled up a mad ghost. Q.E.D.”
“You did die on the
Dag Hammarskjold.
” There was a note of exasperation in her voice. “But, demonstrably, you are not dead now … You are making matters difficult, Captain Hamilton. It was decided that you should be phased back into reality slowly, so that you would have time to adjust.”
Again he laughed, dreadfully. “It was decided … Screw that … As far as I am concerned, you are just part of a dead man’s nightmares until you prove otherwise. I know—or
think
I know—that I haven’t got my own body, my own eyes, my own voice. All I’ve got—all I
think
I’ve got—aremy own memories. Now if you—pretty delusion that you are—don’t give me a very convincing shot of truth, I shall do my damnedest to blow myself into the big dark, where there are no dreams, no nightmares, no memories, no nothing. So talk fast, because I’m listening but for not much longer.”
“Give me a few moments,” she said. “Your responses are being monitored. I must consult my colleagues.”
There was darkness and
“Father, I’ve passed the medical and the psychiatric. I have an interview with
the Board of Space Commissioners.”
“Well done, sport. To hell with this confounded rain. We’ll go into Sydney, and I’ll buy you a beer.”
Darkness. Cold darkness.
“What is your name?”
“Suzy Wu, sir.”
“How old are you?”
“Almost twenty-one, Captain Hamilton.”
“How many space-hours have you logged?”
“The regulation two hundred.”
“The shoot to Earth should be routine. But the conditions we find when—and if—we touch-down, well, they are imponderable. It could be a one-way trip. You are sure you want to sign on for the
Dag Hammarskjold?
”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why?” Earth to flourish on Mars.”
“You are a romantic fool, Suzy.”
She was dejected, anticipating dismissal. “Yes, sir.”
“But the
Dag Hammarskjold
is crewed entirely by fools. Sign here.”
Darkness again. So cold.
What the hell! If you can’t run any more, then for Christ’s sake stop trying.
I want to feel wind on my face, he screamed to himself. That I had a hand in bringing back a part of the dying I want to walk on grass. I want to watch some youngster take the Gagarin cup. I want to listen to music, make jokes, very vulnerable. “I want to do something,” she said desperately. “Something worthwhile. I want to help salvage a fragment of Earth I can’t properly explain it. But it would be something to be proud of, something to remember.
She looked much younger than twenty-one. Very young, kiss a pretty girl. I want to
breathe
.
“CAPTAIN HAMILTON, PLEASE RESPOND! IDON’T WANT TO HURT YOU!”
The voice was shattering, the pain dreadful. What the hell! If you can’t run any more, then for Christ’s sake stop trying.
He didn’t have to open his eyes to see. He only had to want to see, or submit to the ordeal of seeing.
She was still there, the girl who called herself Zylonia. He found he could control his vision quite easily this time. No ripples. No cloud imploding.
“If I am not already mad,” he said reasonably, “I am thinking of going mad. It seems a good idea. I don’t know what else to do.”
“Captain Hamilton, you are quite sane, but traumatized. We will not let you retreat into madness.”
He managed to laugh. The pitch was wrong, but the noise sounded roughly like laughter. “You think you can stop me?”
“If we have to, yes. But we wish to minimize our interference with your mental processes.”
“Baby, you are talking to a ghost. I don’t believe in God, I don’t believe in immortality, I don’t believe in ghosts. But you are talking to one. So how can you stop a ghost from declaring himself insane?”
“You are not a ghost, Captain Hamilton.”
“So? I died on the
Dag Hammarskjold
. Tell me it was a delusion. That will only prove you have whistled up a mad ghost. Q.E.D.”
“You did die on the
Dag Hammarskjold.
” There was a note of exasperation in her voice. “But, demonstrably, you are not dead now … You are making matters difficult, Captain Hamilton. It was decided that you should be phased back into reality slowly, so that you would have time to adjust.”
Again he laughed, dreadfully. “It was decided … Screw that … As far as I am concerned, you are just part of a dead man’s nightmares until you prove otherwise. I know—or
think
I know—that I haven’t got my own body, my own eyes, my own voice. All I’ve got—all I
think
I’ve got—aremy own memories. Now if you—pretty delusion that you are—don’t give me a very convincing shot of truth, I shall do my damnedest to blow myself into the big dark, where there are no dreams, no nightmares, no memories, no nothing. So talk fast, because I’m listening but for not much longer.”
“Give me a few moments,” she said. “Your responses are being monitored. I must consult my colleagues.”
There was darkness and
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