Harry Harrison - To The Stars

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Book One - HOMEWORLD

Chapter One

"It's a monstrosity, a bastard combination of antique piping, worn valves -- and modern

electronic technology. The whole thing should be blown up and built over from scratch."

"Not that bad, your honor, I think, not really that bad." Radcliffe rubbed his reddened nose

with the back of his hand, looked up guiltily when he saw it streaked and wet. The tall engineer

beside him had not noticed; Radcliffe wiped it surreptitiously on his trouser leg. "It works, we

produce a fine spirit..."

"It works -- but just barely." Jan Kulozik was tired and there was a sharp edge to his

voice. "All of the packing glands should be replaced at once or it will blow itself up without any

help from me. Look at those leaks, puddles of the stuff."

"I'll have it cleaned up at once, your honor."

"That's not what I mean. Stop the leaks in the first place. Do something constructive,

man. That's an order."

"As you say, so shall it be done."

Radcliffe lowered his head obediently, trembling. Jan looked down on the man's balding

head, the dusting of dandruff on the fringe of oily hair, and could feel only disgust. These

people never learned. They could not think for themselves and even when ordered to do the

correct thing made a mess of it half of the time. This manager was about as efficient as the

at his feet. Sudden blue flame leaped high.

Jan shouldered the man aside roughly as he jumped for the fire extinguisher, tearing it

from the bracket, pounding the release as he ran. The workman was stamping wildly at the

pool of burning alcohol which only served to spread the flame.

Foam coughed out of the extinguisher's mouth and Jan directed it down, around. The fire

was out in a moment, but the workman's trousers were smoldering. Jan whipped the foam

across the man's legs and then, in a fit of anger, up his legs, chest, splashing and coating his

face with a white blanket.

"You're an absolute fool, a total fool!"

Jan turned off the valve and threw the extinguisher down. The workman was gasping and

wiping his eyes; Jan looked on coldly.

"You know smoking is forbidden in here. You must have been told often enough. And

you're standing right under a no smoking sign."

"I... I don't read so well, your honor." He choked and spat out the bitter liquid.

"Not so well, or probably not at all. You're fired, get out of here."

"No, please, your honor, don't say that," the man wailed, the pain in his eyes forgotten,

his mouth a gaping o of despair. "I've worked hard -- my family -- the dole for years..."

"The dole for life," Jan said coldly, the anger drained away as he looked at the man

before him, on his knees in the foam. "Just be happy that I'm not preferring sabotage charges."

The situation was almost impossible. Jan stamped away, unaware of the staring eyes of

the manager and the silent workmen. Just impossible. But better in the control room. Much

VALVE UNIT 376-L-9 LEAKING

VALVE UNIT 389-p-6 IN NEED OF REPLACEMENT

VALVE UNIT 429-p-8 LEAKING

It was all thoroughly depressing and he cleared the screen with a quick command. Behind

him Radcliffe's voice spoke quietly, respectfully from the open door.

Please excuse me, Engineer Kulozik, but it is about Simmons, the man you fired. He's a

good worker."

"I don't think he's very good." The anger was drained now and Jan wanted to be

reasonable about this. But firm. "There will be plenty of people queuing up for his job. Any one

of them will do it as well -- or better."

"He studied for years, your honor. Years. To get off the dole. That shows something."

"Lighting that match showed even more. I'm sorry. I'm not a cruel man. But I'm thinking of

you and the others here. What would you do if he burned down your jobs? You're

management, Radcliffe, and that's the way you must think. It may be hard, and look wrong

from the outside, but it is the only thing to do. You agree, don't you?"

There was a slight hesitation, but the answer came.

"Of course. You're right. I'm sorry I bothered you. I'll get him out of here now. We can't

have his kind around."

"That's the way to do it."

"I'll have to check the records." Radcliffe was pale.

"Don't bother. We both know it wasn't done. So get out of here and get a valve and we

will do the job now."

Jan himself detached the motor drive unit, using a power wrench on the recalcitrant

lugnuts. They were heavy with rust. Typical. It had apparently been too much effort to put

some oil on them before they had been tightened. He stood aside and watched closely while

the sweating proles struggled to get the old valve off, splashing through the runnels of liquid

that ran from the pipe end. When the new unit had been fitted and tightened into place under

his attentive eye -- no second-rate job this time -- he bolted on the motor drive. The work was

done efficiently without any extra chatter and the workmen picked up their tools and left as

soon as it was finished. Jan went back to control to open the blocked section and get the plant

functioning again. Once more he had the condition report scroll by, then had a hard copy

made. When it had emerged from the printer he dropped into a chair to go through it carefully,

ticking off the items that seemed to need the most urgent attention. He was a tall, almost

gangling man, in his late twenties. Women thought him good looking -- a number had told him

so but he did not think it particularly important. They were nice but they had their place. Which

was immediately after micro-circuit engineering. Whenever he read he frowned so that an

almost permanent crease was stamped between his eyes. He frowned even more now as he

went through the list a second time -- then burst into a wide grin.

"Done -- just about done!"

up and running. And he was going to get out. For a few weeks at least -- and the manager

would just have to fend for himself.

"Radcliffe, get in here. I have some interesting news for you."

The words cracked from every loudspeaker in the building, rolled and echoed. Within

seconds there was the sound of running footsteps and the panting manager came hurrying

into the room.

"Yes... your honor?"

"I'm leaving. Today. Don't gape, man, I thought you would be pleased at the prospect.

This antique vodka works is on line and should keep on running if you take care of all the

maintenance on this list. I've hooked the computer through the network to fuel concert where

the operation will be monitored. Any problems will bring someone here fast. But I don't expect

any problems, do I, Radcliffe?"

"No, sir, of course not. Do our best, thank you, sir."

"I hope so. And may your best be a little bit better than it has been in the past. I'll be back

as soon as I am able, to check operation and to see your list of completion. Now -- unless

there is anything else -- I am going to get out of this place."

"No. Nothing, sir.

"Good. See that it stays that way.

Jan waved the manager out as he unclipped his terminal and computer and stowed them

in his case. Eagerly, for the first time it seemed, he pulled on the fleece-lined coat and driving

gloves. One stop at the hotel to pack his bag and that was that! He whistled between his teeth

ten minutes, he believed in traveling light, and the manager held the front door and bowed him

out and wished him a safe journey.

Just outside of town the motorway began. The police at the entrance saluted and he

returned them an airy wave. Once on the automated road network he switched over to

automatic, giving LONDON EXIT 74 as his destination. This information flashed from the

transmitter under his car to the cable buried beneath the surface, to the network computer

which routed him and sent hack the command to the car computer in microseconds. There

was a slow surge of acceleration by the electric wheel motors up to the standard 240 K.P.H.,

until the landscape became a blur in the gathering dusk. Jan had no desire to look out at it. He

unlocked his seat and swiveled it about to face the rear. There was whiskey ready in the bar

compartment and water at the touch of a button. The television came on to a colorful and loud

production of Peter Grimes. Jan enjoyed it for a minute, admiring the soprano not only for her

voice -- and tried to think whom she reminded him of.

"Aileen Pettit of course!" He had a warm glow of memory; if she were only free now. She

had little enough to do since her divorce. She should jump at the chance to see him. To think

was to act. He punched for phone, then tapped her number quickly into the keys. It rang only

twice before she answered.

"Jan. How nice of you to call."

"How nice of you to answer. Do you have camera trouble?" He pointed at his own dark

screen.

"No, just blanked for privacy. You caught me in the sauna.

"Some sunshine. Some hot sun and warm ocean and good food, a case of champagne

and you. What do you say?"

"I say it sounds unspeakably lovely. My bank account or yours?"

"My treat. I deserve something after this winter in the wilderness. I know this little hotel,

right out in the desert on the shore of the Red Sea. If we leave in the morning we can get

there...

"No details, please, my sweet. I'm going to sink back into my sauna and wait there for

you. Don't be too long."

She broke the connection with the last word and Jan laughed out loud. Yes, life was

going to be a lot better. He drained the glass of scotch and poured another one.

The frozen fen country was already gone from his mind.

He did not know that the man he had fired, Simmons, never would go back on the dole.

He committed suicide just about the time Jan reached London.

Two

The circular shadow of the great flying ship drifted slowly over the blue surface of the

Mediterranean far below, across the beach and onto the desert beyond. The electric motors

were silent, the only sound the whir of the propellers. They were tiny, almost lost from sight

under the thick, saucer-like form of the Beachy Head, for their only work was to propel her

through the air. Lift was supplied by the helium bags concealed beneath the taut outer skin.

The dirigible was a superior form of transportation with very low fuel consumption.

"Marry me?" Jan asked.

"Thank you, no. My divorce isn't a month old. I want to enjoy my freedom for a while yet."

"I'll ask you next month."

"Do that..." The chiming bell cut her off and the steward's voice broke the silence of the

cabin.

"All passengers. We will be landing in Suez in thirty minutes' time. Please have your bags

ready for the porters. Thirty minutes' time. It has been our pleasure to have you aboard the

Beachy Head and in the name of Captain Wetherby and the crew I want to thank you for flying

British Airways."

“A half an hour and look at my hair! And I haven't started packing yet... ”

"There's no hurry. And no one will throw you out of the cabin. This is a holiday,

remember? I'm going to get dressed and see about the luggage. I'll meet you on the ground."

"Can't you wait for me?"

"I'll be waiting -- but outside. I want to see what kind of drilling gear they are unloading."

"You care more about all those filthy pipes than you do about me.

"Absolutely correct -- how did you find out? But this is a momentous occasion. If the

thermal extraction techniques work, we may be pumping oil again. For the first time in over two

hundred years.

"Oil? From where?" Aileen's voice was distant; she was more interested in getting the thin

blouse over her head.

Bundles of pipes were being lowered now by the cable hoists. Drifting down slowly,

bobbing slightly under the buoyant airship, dropping again to clang onto the waiting flatbed

truck. For a moment Jan thought of applying for permission to visit the well site -- then

changed his mind. No. Holiday first. Perhaps on the way back. For the time being he must

cleanse his mind of the glories of science and technology, and instead explore the more

fascinating glories of Aileen Pettit.

When she appeared from the lift they strolled to the customs building hand in hand,

enjoying the feel of the sun on their skin. A solemn, dark-skinned policeman stood guard at the

customs counter and watched while Jan inserted his ID card in the slot.

"Welcome to Egypt," the machine said in a contralto female voice. "We hope that your

visit will be an enjoyable one... Mr. Kulozik. Would you be so kind as to press your thumb to

the plate? Thank you. You may remove your card now. There is a message for you. Will you

please proceed to exit four where you will be met? Next please."

The computer dealt with Aileen just as swiftly. While the ritual welcome was being spoken

it checked her identi-ty, verifying with her thumbprint that she was the person referred to on the

ID card. Then making sure that the trip was an approved one.

They were met at the exit by a perspiring, sunburnt man in a tight blue uniform. "Mr.

Kulozik and party? I'm from the Magna Palace, your honor. I have your bags aboard and we

can leave when you are ready." His English was good, but he had an accent that Jan could not

place.

"We'll go now.”

"I've been here before," Jan said. "You can save the guided tour.

"Thank you, your honor."

"Jan, I wanted to hear it. I don't even know where we are?"

"Did you fail geography as well as history?"

"Don't be cruel."

"Sorry. We'll be coming out into the Red Sea soon and making a sharp left turn into the

Gulf of Aqaba where the sun always shines and it is always hot, except in the summer when it

is even hotter. And right in the middle of all that lovely sun and water is the Magna Palace

where we are going. You aren't British, are you, driver?"

"No, your honor, South African."

"You're a long way from home.

"A continent away, sir."

"I'm thirsty," Aileen said.

"I'll get some drinks from the bar."

"I'll do that, your honor," the driver said, flicking onto automatic and jumping to his feet.

"What will be your pleasure?"

"Whatever you suggest... I don't know your name.

"Piet, sir. There is cold beer and--"

"Just the thing. You too, Aileen?"

"Yes, thank you."

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摘要：

BookOne-HOMEWORLDChapterOne"It'samonstrosity,abastardcombinationofantiquepiping,wornvalves--andmodernelectronictechnology.Thewholethingshouldbeblownupandbuiltoverfromscratch.""Notthatbad,yourhonor,Ithink,notreallythatbad."Radclifferubbedhisreddenednosewiththebackofhishand,lookedupguiltilywhenhesawit...

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Harry Harrison - To The Stars

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