Let 'Em Breathe Space! Page 6

through the beginnings of the hassle. "Itrust those I appointed--at least more than I do the rest of you. Thequestion now is whether to return to Earth at once or to go on toSaturn. We can't radio for help for months yet. We're not equippedwith sharp beams, we're low powered, and we're off the lanes whereEarth's pick-ups hunt. Dr. Pietro wants to go on, since we can't getback within our period of safety; I favor returning, since there is noproof that this danger will end with this outrage. We've agreed to letthe result of a vote determine it."

  Wilcox stuck up a casual hand, and Muller nodded to him. He grinnedamiably at all of us. "There's a third possibility, Captain. We canreach Jupiter in about three months, if we turn now. It's offside, butcloser than anything else. From there, on a fast liner, we can be backon Earth in another ten days."

  Muller calculated, while Peters came up to discuss it. Then he nodded."Saturn or Jupiter, then. I'm not voting, of course. Bullard isdisqualified to vote by previous acts." He drew a low moan from thesick figure of Bullard for that, but no protest. Then he nodded. "Allthose in favor of Jupiter, your right hands please!"

  I counted them, wondering why my own hand was still down. It made somesort of sense to turn aside now. But none of our group was voting--andall the others had their hands up, except for Dr. Napier. "Seven,"Muller announced. "Those in favor of Saturn."

  Again, Napier didn't vote. I hesitated, then put my hand up. It wascrazy, and Pietro was a fool to insist. But I knew that he'd never getanother chance if this failed, and....

  "Eight," Muller counted. He sighed, then straightened. "Very well, wego on. Dr. Pietro, you will have my full support from now on. Inreturn, I'll expect every bit of help in meeting this emergency. Mr.Tremaine was correct; we cannot remain camps at war."

  Pietro's goatee bobbed quickly, and his hand went out. But while mostof the scientists were nodding with him, I caught the dark scowl ofGrundy, and heard the mutters from the deckhands and the engine men.If Muller could get them to cooperate, he was a genius.

  Pietro faced us, and his face was serious again. "We can hasten theseeding of the plants a little, I think, by temperature andlight-and-dark cycle manipulations. Unfortunately, these aren'tsea-algae plants, or we'd be in comparatively little trouble. That wasmy fault in not converting. We can, however, step up their efficiencya bit. And I'm sure we can find some way to remove the carbon dioxidefrom the air."

  "How about oxygen to breathe?" Peters asked.

  "That's the problem," Pietro admitted. "I was wondering aboutelectrolyzing water."

  Wilcox bobbed up quickly. "Can you do it on AC current?"

  Lomax shook his head. "It takes DC."

  "Then that's out. We run on 220 AC. And while I can rectify a fewwatts, it wouldn't be enough to help. No welders except monatomichydrogen torches, even."

  Pietro looked sicker than before. He'd obviously been counting onthat. But he turned to Bullard. "How about seeds? We had a crop oftomatoes a month ago--and from the few I had, they're all seed. Areany left?"

  Bullard rocked from side to side, moaning. "Dead. We're all gonna bedead. I told him, I did, you take me out there, I'll never get back.I'm a good man, I am. I wasn't never meant to die way out here.I--I--"

  He gulped and suddenly screamed. He went through the door at anawkward shuffle, heading for his galley. Muller shook his head, andturned toward me. "Check up, will you, Mr. Tremaine? And I suggestthat you and Mr. Peters start your investigation at once. I understandthat chromazone would require so little hiding space that there's nouse searching for it. But if you can find any evidence, report it atonce."

  Peters and I left. I found the galley empty. Apparently Bullard hadgone to lie on his stomach in his bunk and nurse his terror. I foundthe freezer compartments, though--and the tomatoes. There must havebeen a bushel of them, but Bullard had followed his own peculiartastes. From the food he served, he couldn't stand fresh vegetables;and he'd cooked the tomatoes down thoroughly and run them through thedehydrator before packing them away!

  * * * * *

  It was a cheerful supper, that one! Bullard had half-recovered and hisfear was driving him to try to be nice to us. The selection was good,beyond the inevitable baked beans; but he wasn't exactly a chef atbest, and his best was far behind him. Muller had brought Wilcox,Napier and Peters down to our mess with himself, to consolidateforces, and it seemed that he was serious about cooperating. But itwas a little late for that.

  Overhead, the fans had been stepped up to counteract the effect ofstaleness our minds supplied. But the whine of the motors keptreminding us our days were counted. Only Jenny was normal; she satbetween Muller and Pietro, where she could watch my face and that ofNapier. And even her giggles had a forced sound.

  There were all kinds of things we could do--in theory. But we didn'thave that kind of equipment. The plain fact was that the plants weregoing to lose the battle against our lungs. The carbon dioxide wouldincrease, speeding up our breathing, and making us all seem tosuffocate. The oxygen would grow thinner and thinner, once oursupplies of bottled gas ran out. And eventually, the air wouldn'tsupport life.

  "It's sticky and hot," Jenny complained, suddenly.

  "I stepped up the humidity and temperature controls," I told her. Shenodded in quick comprehension, but I went on for Muller's benefit."Trying to give the plants the best growing atmosphere. We'll feeljust as hot and sticky when the carbon dioxide goes up, anyhow."

  "It must already be up," Wilcox said. "My two canaries are breathingfaster."

  "Canaries," Muller said. He frowned, though he must have known ofthem. It was traditional to keep them in the engine-room, though thereason behind it had long since been lost. "Better kill them, Mr.Wilcox."

  Wilcox jerked, and his face paled a bit. Then he nodded. "Yes, sir!"

  That was when I got scared. The idea that two birds breathing couldhurt our chances put things on a little too vivid a basis. Only Lomaxseemed unaffected. He shoved back now, and stood up.

  "Some tests I have to make, Captain. I have an idea that might turn upthe killer among us!"

  I had an idea he was bluffing, but I kept my mouth shut. A bluff wasas good as anything else, it seemed.

  At least, it was better than anything I seemed able to do. I prowledover the ship, sometimes meeting Peters doing the same, but I couldn'tfind a bit of evidence. The crewmen sat watching with hating eyes. Andprobably the rest aboard hated and feared us just as much. It wasn'thard to imagine the man who was behind it all deciding to wipe one ofus out. My neck got a permanent crimp from keeping one eye behind me.But there wasn't a shred of evidence I could find.

  In two more days, we began to notice the stuffiness more. My breathingwent up enough to notice. Somehow, I couldn't get a full breath. Andthe third night, I woke up in the middle of my sleep with the feelingsomething was sitting on my chest; but since I'd taken to sleepingwith the light on, I saw that it was just the stuffiness that wasbothering me. Maybe most of it had been psychological up until then.But that was the real thing.

  The nice part of it was that it wouldn't be sudden--we'd have days toget closer and closer to death; and days for each one to realize alittle more that every man who wasn't breathing would make it thatmuch easier for the rest of us. I caught myself thinking of it when Isaw Bullard or Grundy.

  * * * * *

  Then trouble struck again. I was late getting to the scene this time,down by the engine room. Muller and Bill Sanderson were ahead of me,trying to separate Hal Lomax and Grundy, and not doing so well. Lomaxbrought up a haymaker as I arrived, and started to shout something.But Grundy was out of Muller's grasp, and up, swinging a wrench. Itconnected with a dull thud, and Lomax hit the floor, unconscious.

  I picked Grundy up by the collar of his jacket, heaved him around andagainst a wall, where I could get my hand against his esophagus andstart squeezing. His eyeballs popped, and the wrench dropped from hishands. When I get mad enough to act that way, I usually know I'llregret it later. This time
it felt good, all the way. But Mullerpushed me aside, waiting until Grundy could breathe again.

  "All right," Muller said. "I hope you've got a good explanation,before I decide what to do with you."

  Grundy's eyes were slitted, as if he'd been taking some of the Venusdrugs. But after one long, hungry look at me, he faced the captain."Yes, sir. This guy came down here ahead of me. Didn't think nothingof it, sir. But when he started fiddling with the panel there, I gotsuspicious." He pointed to the external control panel for the engineroom, to be used in case of accidents. "With all that's been going on,how'd I