He took the matter up with Joe and at last gained some notion of gravitation. He never really understood it emotionally—it was too wildly improbable—but as an intellectual concept he was able to accept it and use it, much later, in his first vague glimmerings of the science of ballistics and the art of astrogation and ship maneuvering. And it led in time to his wondering about weight in the Ship, a matter that had never bothered him before. The lower the level the greater the weight had been to his mind simply the order of nature, and nothing to wonder at. He was familiar with centrifugal force as it applied to slingshots. To apply it also to the whole Ship, to think of the Ship as spinning like a slingshot and thereby causing weight, was too much of a hurdle—he never really believed it.
Joe-Jim took him back once more to the Control Room and showed him what little Joe-Jim knew about the manipulation of the controls and the reading of the astrogation instruments.
The long-forgotten engineer-designers employed by the Jordan Foundation had been instructed to design a ship that would not—could not—wear out, even though the Trip were protracted beyond the expected sixty years. They built better than they knew. In planning the main drive engines and the auxiliary machinery, largely automatic, which would make the Ship habitable, and in designing the controls necessary to handle all machinery not entirely automatic, the very idea of moving parts had been rejected. The engines and auxiliary equipment worked on a level below mechanical motion, on a level of pure force, as electrical transformers do. Instead of push buttons, levers, cams, and shafts, the controls and the machinery they served were planned in terms of balance between static fields, bias of electronic flow, circuits broken or closed by a hand placed over a light.
On this level of action, friction lost its meaning, wear and erosion took no toll. Had all hands been killed in the mutiny, the Ship would still have plunged on through space, still lighted, its air still fresh and moist, its engines ready and waiting. As it was, though elevators and conveyor belts fell into disrepair, disuse, and finally into the oblivion of forgotten function, the essential machinery of the Ship continued its automatic service to its ignorant human freight, or waited, quiet and ready, for someone bright enough to puzzle out its key.
Genius had gone into the building of the Ship. Far too huge to be assembled on Earth, it had been put together piece by piece in its own orbit out beyond the Moon. There it had swung for fifteen silent years while the problems presented by the decision to make its machinery foolproof and enduring had been formulated and solved. A whole new field of submolar action had been conceived in the process, struggled with, and conquered.
So— When Hugh placed an untutored, questing hand over the first of a row of lights marked ACCELERATION, POSITIVE, he got an immediate response, though not in terms of acceleration. A red light at the top of the chief pilot’s board blinked rapidly and the annunciator panel glowed with a message: MAIN ENGINES—NOT MANNED.
“What does that mean?” he asked Joe-Jim.
“There’s no telling,” said Jim. “We’ve done the same thing in the main engine room,” added Joe. “There, when you try it, it says ‘Control Room Not Manned.’ ”
Hugh thought a moment. “What would happen,” he persisted, “if all the control stations had somebody at ’em at once, and then I did that?”
“Can’t say,” said Joe. “Never been able to try it.”
Hugh said nothing. A resolve which had been growing, formless, in his mind was now crystallizing into decision. He was busy with it.
He waited until he found Joe-Jim in a mellow mood, both of him, before broaching his idea. They were in the Captain’s veranda at the time Hugh decided the moment was ripe. Joe-Jim rested gently in the Captain’s easy chair, his belly full of food, and gazed out through the heavy glass of the view port at the serene stars. Hugh floated beside him. The spinning of the Ship caused the stars to appear to move in stately circles.
Presently he said, “Joe-Jim—”
“Eh? What’s that, youngster?” It was Joe who had replied.
“It’s pretty swell, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
“All that. The stars.” Hugh indicated the view through the port with a sweep of his arm, then caught at the chair to stop his own backspin.
“Yeah, it sure is. Makes you fed good.” Surprisingly, it was Jim who offered this.
Hugh knew the time was right. He waited a moment, then said, “Why don’t we finish the job?”
Two heads turned simultaneously, Joe leaning out a little to see past Jim. “What job?”
“The Trip. Why don’t we start up the main drive and go on with it? Somewhere out there,” he said hurriedly to finish before he was interrupted, “there are planets like Earth—or so the First Crew thought. Let’s go find them.”
Jim looked at him, then laughed. Joe shook his head.
“Kid,” he said, “you don’t know what you are talking about. You’re as balmy as Bobo. No,” he went on, “that’s all over and done with. Forget it.”
“Why is it over and done with, Joe?”
“Well, because— It’s too big a job. It takes a crew that understands what it’s all about, trained to operate the Ship.”
“Does it take so many? You have shown me only about a dozen places, all told, for men actually to be at the controls. Couldn’t a dozen men run the Ship—if they knew what you know,” he added slyly.
Jim chuckled. “He’s got you, Joe. He’s right.”
Joe brushed it aside. “You overrate our knowledge. Maybe we could operate the Ship, but we wouldn’t get anywhere. We don’t know where we are. The Ship has been drifting for I don’t know how many generations. We don’t know where we’ve headed, or how fast we’re going.”
“But look,” Hugh pleaded, “there are instruments. You showed them to me. Couldn’t we learn how to use them? Couldn’t you figure them out, Joe, if you really wanted to?”
“Oh, I suppose so,” Jim agreed.
“Don’t boast, Jim,” said Joe.
“I’m not boasting,” snapped Jim. “If a thing’ll work, I can figure it out.”
“Humph!” said Joe.
The matter rested in delicate balance. Hugh had got them disagreeing among themselves—which was what he wanted—with the less tractable of the pair on his side. Now, to consolidate his gain—
“I had an idea,” he said quickly, “to get you men to work with, Jim, if you were able to train them.”
“What’s your idea?” demanded Jim suspiciously.
“Well, you remember what I told you about a bunch of the younger scientists—”
“Those fools!”
“Yes, yes, sure—but they don’t know what you know. In their way they were trying to be reasonable. Now, if I could go back down and tell them what you’ve taught me, I could get you enough men to work with.”
Joe cut in. “Take a good look at us, Hugh. What do you see?”
