The
MAROONER
By CHARLES A. STEARNS
Steadily they smashed themensurate battlements, inblackness beyond night anddarkness without stars. Yet Mr.Wordsley, the engineer, who wasslight, balding and ingenious,was able to watch the firmamentfrom his engine room as it driftedfrom bow to beam to rocket'send. This was by virtue of bankedrows of photon collectorswhich he had invented and installedin the nose of the ship.
The creature was more pitifulthan fearsome.And Mr. Wordsley, at threeminutes of the hour of seventeenover four, tuned in a white, newstar of eye-blinking magnitudeand surpassing brilliance. Discoveringnew stars was a kindof perpetual game with Mr.Wordsley. Perhaps more than agame.
"I wish I may, I wish Imight ..." Mr. Wordsley said.
The fiddly hatch clanged. DeCastros,that gross, terrifyingclown of a man, clumped downthe ladder from the bridge to defeatthe enchantment of the moment.DeCastros held sway. Hewas captain. He did not wantMr. Wordsley to forget that hewas captain.
The worst of Captain DeCastroswas that he had moods. Justnow he was being a sly leprechaun,if one can imagine adouble-chinned, three-hundredpound leprechaun. He came overand dug his fingers into Mr.Wordsley's shoulder. A wrackingpain in the trapezius muscle.
"The ertholaters are plugged,"he said gently. "The vi-lines aregiving out a horrible stink."
"I'll attend to it right away,"Mr. Wordsley said, wincing alittle as he wriggled free.
"Tch, tch," DeCastros said,"can anyone really be so asthenicas you seem, Mr. Wordsley?"
"No, sir," Mr. Wordsley said,uncertain of his meaning.
The captain winked. "Yetthere was that ruffled shirt thatI found in the laundromat lastweek. It was not my shirt. Thereare only the two of us aboard,Mr. Wordsley."
"It was my shirt," Mr. Wordsleysaid, turning crimson. "Ibought it on Vega Four. I—Ididn't know—that is, they wearthem like that on Vega Four."
"Yes, they do," DeCastrossaid. "Well, well, perhaps youare only a poet, Mr. Wordsley.But should you happen to be alittle—well, maggoty, you positivelydo not have to tell me. Nodoubt we both have our secrets.Naturally."
"I haven't," Mr. Wordsley saiddesperately.
"No? Then you certainly willnot mind that I am recommendingan Ab Test for you when weget home."
Mr. Wordsley's heart stoppedbeating for several seconds. Hesearched Captain DeCastros'face for a sign that he might befooling. He was not. He lookedtoo pleasant. Mr. Wordsley hadalways managed to pass theAberrations Test by the skin ofhis teeth, but he was sure that,like most spiritual geniuses, hewas sensitively balanced, andthat the power and seniority ofa man like DeCastros must influencethe Board of Examination.
"You might be decommed. Oreven committed to an institution.We wouldn't want that tohappen, would we, Mr. Wordsley?"
"Why are you doing this tome?" Mr. Wordsley asked strickenly.
"To tell the truth, I do notpropose to have any more of myvoyages blighted with yourmoon-calfing, day-dreaming andletting the ertholaters stink upthe bridge. Besides—" CaptainDeCastros patted his shoulderalmost affectionately. "—besides,I can't stand you, Mr.Wordsley."
Mr. Wordsley nodded. He wento