Robert A Heinlein - Common Sense

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file:///C|/Documents and Settings/hasi•i/Dokumenty/Mar•anovi ptá•koviny/...0 SciFi, Fantasy, and Classic eBooks/Heinlein, Robert A/Common Sense.txt

COMMON SENSE

JOE, THE RIGHT HAND head of Joe-Jim, addressed his words to Hugh Hoyland. "All right, smart

boy, you've convinced the Chief Engineer." He gestured toward Bill Ertz with the blade of his knife,

then resumed picking Jim's teeth with it. "So what? Where does it get you?"

"I've explained that," Hugh Hoyland answered irritably. "We keep on, until every scientist in the

Ship, from the Captain to the greenest probationer, knows that the Ship moves and believes that we can

make it move. Then we'll finish the Trip, as Jordan willed. How many knives can you muster?" he

added.

"Well, for the love of Jordan! Listen, have you got some fool idea that we are going to help you

with this crazy scheme?"

"Naturally. You're necessary to it."

"Then you had better think up another think. That's out. Bobo! Get out the checkerboard."

"O.K., Boss." The microcephalic dwarf hunched himself up off the floor plates and trotted across

Joe-Jim's apartment.

"Hold it, Bobo." Jim, the left-hand head, had spoken. The dwarf stopped dead, his narrow forehead

wrinkled. The fact that his two-headed master occasionally failed to agree as to what Bobo should do

was the only note of insecurity in his tranquil bloodthirsty existence.

"Let's hear what he has to say," Jim continued. "There may be some fun in this."

"Fun! The fun of getting a knife in your ribs. Let me point out that they are my ribs, too. I don't

agree to it."

"I didn't ask you to agree; I asked you to listen. Leaving fun out of it, it may be the only way to

keep a knife out of our ribs."

"What do you mean?" Joe demanded suspiciously. "You heard what Ertz had to say." Jim flicked a

thumb toward the prisoner. "The Ship's officers are planning to clean out the upper levels. How would

you like to go into the Converter, Joe? You can't play checkers after we're broken down into hydrogen."

"Bunk! The Crew can't exterminate the muties; they've tried before."

Jim turned to Etrz. "How about it?"

Ertz answered somewhat diffidently, being acutely aware of his own changed status from a senior

Ship's officer to prisoner of war. He felt befuddled anyhow; too much had happened and too fast. He had

been kidnaped, hauled up to the Captain's veranda, and had there gazed out at the stars. The stars.

His hard-boiled rationalism included no such concept. If an Earth astronomer had had it physically

demonstrated to him that the globe spun on its axis because someone turned a crank, the upset in

evaluations could have been no greater.

Besides that, he was acutely aware that his own continued existence hung in fine balance. Joe-Jim

was the first upper-level mutie he had ever met other than in combat, knife to knife. A word from him to

that great ugly dwarf sprawled on the deck-- He chose his words. "I think the Crew would be successful,

this time. We . . . they have organized for it. Unless there are more of you than we think there are and

better organized, I think it could be done. You see . . . well, uh, I organized it."

"You?"

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"Yes. A good many of the Council don't like the policy of letting the muties alone. Maybe it's

sound religious doctrine and maybe it isn't, but we lose a child here and a couple of pigs there. It's

annoying."

"What do you expect muties to eat?" demanded Jim belligerently. "Thin air?"

"No, not exactly. Anyhow, the new policy was not entirely destructive. Any muties that surrendered

and could be civilized we planned to give to masters and put them to work as part of the Crew. That is,

any that weren't, uh . . . that were--" He broke off in embarrassment, and shifted his eyes from the two-

headed monstrosity before him.

"You mean any that weren't physical mutations, like me," Joe filled in nastily. "Don't you?" he

persisted. "For the likes of me it's the Converter, isn't it?" He slapped the blade of his knife nervously on

the palm of his hand.

Ertz edged away, his own hand shifting to his belt. But no knife was slung there; he felt naked and

helpless without it. "Just a minute," he said defensively, "you asked me; that's the situation. It's out of

my hands. I'm just telling you."

"Let him alone, Joe. He's just handing you the straight dope. It's like I was telling you: either go

along with Hugh's plan, or wait to be hunted down. And don't get any ideas about killing him; we're

going to need him." As Jim spoke he attempted to return the knife to its sheath. There was a brief and

silent struggle between the twins for control of the motor nerves to their right arm, a clash of will below

the level of physical activity. Joe gave in.

"All right," he agreed surlily, "but if I go to the Converter, I want to take this one with me for

company."

"Stow it," said Jim. "You'll have me for company."

"Why do you believe him?"

"He has nothing to gain by lying. Ask Alan."

Alan Mahoney, Hugh's friend and boyhood chum, had listened to the argument round-eyed, without

joining it. He, too, had suffered the nerve-shaking experience of viewing the outer stars, but his ignorant

peasant mind had not the sharply formulated opinions of Ertz, the Chief Engineer. Ertz had been able to

see almost at once that the very existence of a world outside the Ship changed all his plans and

everything he had believed in; Alan was capable only of wonder.

"What about this plan to fight the muties, Alan?"

"Huh? Why, I don't know anything about it. Shucks, I'm not a scientist. Say, wait a minute; there

was a junior officer sent in to help our village scientist, Lieutenant Nelson." He stopped and looked

puzzled.

"What about it? Go ahead."

"Well, he has been organizing the cadets in our village, and the married men, too, but not so much.

Making 'em practice with their blades and slings. Never told us what for, though."

Ertz spread his hands. "You see?"

Joe nodded. "I see," he admitted grimly.

Hugh Hoyland looked at him eagerly. "Then you're with me?"

"I suppose so," Joe admitted. "Right!" added Jim.

Hoyland looked back to Ertz. "How about you, Bill Ertz?"

"What choice have I got?"

"Plenty. I want you with me wholeheartedly. Here's the layout: The Crew doesn't count; it's the

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officers we have to convince. Any that aren't too addlepated and stiff-necked to understand after they've

seen the stars and the Control Room, we keep. The others--" he drew a thumb across his throat while

making a harsh sibilance in his cheek, "the Converter."

Bobo grinned happily and imitated the gesture and the sound.

Ertz nodded. "Then what?"

"Muties and Crew together, under a new Captain, we move the Ship to Far Centaurus! Jordan's Will

be done!"

Ertz stood up and faced Hoyland. It was a heady notion, too big to be grasped at once, but, by

Jordan! he liked it. He spread his hands on the table and leaned across it. "I'm with you, Hugh Hoyland!"

A knife clattered on the table before him, one from the brace at Joe-Jim's belt. Joe looked startled,

seemed about to speak to his brother, then appeared to think better of it. Ertz looked his thanks and stuck

the knife in his belt.

The twins whispered to each other for a moment, then Joe spoke up. "Might as well make it stick,"

he said. He drew his remaining knife and, grasping the blade between thumb and forefinger so that only

the point was exposed, he jabbed himself in the fleshly upper part of his left arm. "Blade for blade!"

Ertz's eyebrows shot up. He whipped out his newly acquired blade and cut himself in the same

location. The blood spurted and ran down to the crook of his arm. "Back to back!" He shoved the table

aside and pressed his gory shoulder against the wound on Joe-Jim.

Alan Mahoney, Hugh Hoyland, Bobo: all had their blades out, all nicked their arms till the skin ran

red and wet. They crowded in, bleeding shoulders pushed together so that the blood dripped united to the

death.

"Blade for blade!"

"Back to back!"

"Blood to blood!"

"Blood brothers, to the end of the Trip!"

An apostate scientist, a kidnaped scientist, a dull peasant, a two-headed monster, a apple-brained

moron; five knives, counting Joe-Jim as one; five brains, counting Joe-Jim as two and Bobo as none;

five brains and five knives to overthrow an entire culture.

"But I don't want to go back, Hugh." Alan shuffled his feet and looked dogged. "Why can't I stay

here with you? I'm a good blade."

"Sure you are, old fellow. But right now you'll be more useful as a spy."

"But you've got Bill Ertz for that."

"So we have, but we need you too. Bill is a public figure; he can't duck out and climb to the upper

levels without it being noticed and causing talk. That's where you come in; you're his go-between."

"I'll have a Huff of a time explaining where I've been."

"Don't explain any more than you have to. But stay away from the Witness." Hugh had a sudden

picture of Alan trying to deceive the old village historian, with his searching tongue and lust for details.

"Keep clear of the Witness. The old boy would trip you up."

"Him? You mean the old one; he's dead. Made the Trip long since. The new one don't amount to

nothing."

"Good. If you're careful, you'll be safe." Hugh raised his voice. "Bill! Are you ready to go down?"

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"I suppose so." Ertz picked himself up and reluctantly put aside the book he had been reading _The

Three Musketeers_, illustrated, one of Joe-Jim's carefully stolen library. "Say, that's a wonderful book.

Hugh, is Earth really like that?"

"Of course. Doesn't it say so in the book?"

Ertz chewed his lip and thought about it. "What is a house?"

"A house? A house is a sort of a. . . a sort of a compartment."

"That's what I thought at first, but how can you ride on a compartment?"

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Why, all through the book they keep climbing on their houses and riding away."

"Let me see that book," Joe ordered. Ertz handed it to him. Joe-Jim thumbed through it rapidly. "I

see what you mean. Idiot! They ride horses, not houses."

"Well, what's a horse?"

"A horse is an animal, like a big hog, or maybe like a cow. You squat up on top of it and let it carry

you along."

Ertz considered this. "It doesn't seem practical. Look, when you ride in a litter, you tell the chief

porter where you want to go. How can you tell a cow where you want to go?"

"That's easy. You have a porter lead it."

Ertz conceded the point. "Anyhow, you might fall off. It isn't practical. I'd rather walk."

"It's quite a trick," Joe explained. "Takes practice."

"Can you do it?"

Jim sniggered. Joe looked annoyed. "There are no horses in the Ship."

"OK, O.K. But look. These guys Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, they had something--"

"We can discuss that later," Hugh interrupted. "Bobo is back. Are you ready to go, Bill?"

"Don't get in a hurry, Hugh. This is important. These chaps had knives."

"Sure. Why not?"

"But they were better than our knives. They had knives as long as your arm, maybe longer. If we

are going to fight the whole Crew, think what an advantage that would be."

"Hm-m-m." Hugh drew his knife and looked at it, cradling it in his palm. "Maybe. You couldn't

throw it as well."

"We could have throwing knives, too."

"Yes, I suppose we could."

The twins had listened Without comment. "He's right," put in Joe. "Hugh, you take care of placing

the knives. Jim and I have some reading to do." Both of Joe-Jim's heads were busy thinking of other

books they owned, books. that discussed in saguinary detail the infinitely varied methods used by

mankind to shorten the lives of enemies. He was about to institute a War College Department of

Historical Research, although he called his project by no such fancy term.

"O.K.," Hugh agreed, "but you will have to say the word to them."

"Right away." Joe-Jim stepped out of his apartment into the passageway where Bobo had

assembled a couple of dozen of Joe-Jim's henchmen among the muties. Save for Long Arm, Pig, and

Squatty, who had taken part in the rescue of Hugh, they were all strangers to Hugh, Alan, and Bill, and

they were all sudden death to strangers.

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Joe-Jim motioned for the three from the lower decks to join him. He pointed them out to the muties,

and ordered them to look closely and not to forget: these three were to have safe passage and protection

wherever they went. Furthermore, in Joe-Jim's absence his men were to take orders from any of them.

They stirred and looked at each other. Orders they were used to, but from Joe-Jim only.

A big-nosed individual rose up from his squat and addressed them. He looked at Joe-Jim, but his

words were intended for all. "I am Jack-of-the-Nose. My blade is sharp and my eye is keen. Joe-Jim

with the two wise heads is my Boss and my knife fights for him. But Joe is my Boss, not strangers from

heavy decks. What do say, knives? Is that not the Rule?"

He paused. The others had listened to him stealing glances at Joe-Jim. Joe muttered something of

the corner of his mouth to Bobo. Jack O'Nose opened his mouth to continue. There was a smash of

splintering teeth, a crack from a broken neck; his mouth stopped with a missile.

Bobo reloaded his slingshot. The body, not yet still, settled slowly to the deck. Joe-Jim waved a

hand it. "Good eating!" Joe announced. "He's yours." The muties converged on the body as if they had

suddenly been unleashed. They concealed it completely in a busy grunting pile-up. Knives out, they

cuffed and crowded each other for a piece of the prize.

Joe-Jim waited patiently for the undoing to be over, then, when the place where Jack O'Nose had

been was no more than a stain on the deck and the several polite arguments over the sharing had died

down, he started again; Joe spoke. "Long Arm, you and Forty-one and the Ax go down with Bobo, Alan

and Bill. The rest here."

Bobo trotted away in the long loping strides, sped on by the low pseudogravity near the axis of

rotation of Ship. Three of the muties detached themselves from pack and followed. Ertz and Alan

Mahoney hurried catch up.

When he reached the nearest staircase trunk, he skipped out into space without breaking his stride

letting centrifugal force carry him down to the next. Alan and the muties followed; but Ertz paused on

the edge and looked back. "Jordan keep you, brother!" he sang out.

Joe-Jim waved to him. "And you," acknowledged Joe.

"Good eating!" Jim added.

"Good eating!"

Bobo led them down forty-odd decks, well into no man's land inhabited neither by mutie nor crew,

stopped. He pointed in succession to Long Arm, Forty-one, and the Ax. "Two Wise Heads say for you to

watch here. You first," he added, pointing again to Forty-one. "It's like this," Ertz amplified. "Alan and I

are going down to heavy-weight level. You three are to keep a guard here, one at a time, so that I will be

able to send messages back up to Joe-Jim. Get it?"

"Sure. Why not?" Long Arm answered.

"Joe-Jim says it," Forty-one commented with a note of finality in his voice. The Ax grunted

agreeably.

"O.K.," said Bobo. Forty-one sat down at the stairwell, letting his feet hang over, and turned his

attention to food which he had been carrying tucked under his left arm.

Bobo slapped Ertz and Alan on their backs. "Good eating," he bade them, grinning. When he could

get his breath, Ertz acknowledged the courteous thought, then dropped at once to the next lower deck,

Alan close after him. They had still many decks to go to 'civilization.'

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Robert A Heinlein - Common Sense

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