Baby Is Three Read Online Free PDF Page B

through, and I took my hand off the scanner.
    “That second plate,” I explained, “works for me and certified people only. There’s no way for an uncertified person to get into the launching court unless I bring him in personally. It’s as simple as that. When the certified are good and ready, they go. If they want to go Out with a banquet and a parade beforehand, they can. If they want to roll out of bed some night and slip Out quietly, they can. Most of ’em do it quietly. Come on and have a look at the ships.”
    We crossed the court to the row of low doorways along the far wall. I opened one at random and we stepped into the ship.
    “It’s just a room!”
    “They all say that,” I chuckled. “I suppose you expected a planettype space job, only more elaborate.”
    “I thought they’d at least
look
like ships. This is a double room out of some luxury hotel.”
    “It’s that, and then some.” I showed him around—the capacious food lockers, the automatic air recirculators, and, most comforting of all, the synthesizer, which meant food, fuel, tools and materials converted directly from energy to matter.
    “Curbstone’s more than a space station, Jud. It’s a factory, for one thing. When you decide to go on your way, you’ll flip that lever by the door. (You’ll be catapulted out—you won’t feel it, because of the stasis generator and artificial gravity.) As soon as you’re gone, another ship will come up from below into this slot. By the time you’re clear of Curbstone’s gravitic field and slip into hyperdrive, the new ship’ll be waiting for passengers.”
    “And that will be going on for six thousand years?”
    “More or less.”
    “That’s a powerful lot of ships.”
    “As long as Outbounders keep the quota, it is indeed. Nine hundred thousand—including forty-six per cent failure.”
    “Failure,” said Jud. He looked at me and I held his gaze.
    “Yes,” I said. “The forty-six per cent who are not expected to get where they are going. The ones who materialize inside solid matter. The ones who go into the space-time nexus and never come out. The ones who reach their assigned synaptic junction and wait, and wait, and wait until they die of old age because no one gets to them soon enough. The ones who go mad and kill themselves or their shipmates.” I spread my hands. “The forty-six per cent.”
    “You can convince a man of danger,” said Judson evenly, “but nobody ever believed he was really and truly going to die. Death is something that happens to other people. I won’t be one of the forty-six per cent.”
    That was Judson. I wish he was still here.
    I let the remark lie there on the thick carpet and went on with my guided tour. I showed him the casing of the intricate beam-power apparatus that contained the whole reason for the project, and gave him a preliminary look at the astrogational and manual maneuvering equipment and controls. “But don’t bother your pretty little head about it just now, I added. “It’ll all be crammed into you before you get certified.”
    We went back to the court, closing the door of the ship behind us.
    “There’s a lot of stuff piled into those ships,” I observed, “but the one thing that can’t be packed in sardine-size is the hyper-drive. I suppose you know that.”
    “I’ve heard something about it. The initial kick into second-order space comes from the station here, doesn’t it? But how is the ship returned to normal space on arrival?”
    “That’s technology so refined it sounds like mysticism,” I answered. “I don’t begin to understand it. I can give you an analogy, though. It takes a power source, a compression device, and valving to fill a pneumatic tire. It takes a plain nail to let the air out again. See what I mean?”
    “Vaguely. Anyway, the important thing is that Outbound is strictly one way. Those ships never come back. Right?”
    “So right.”
    One of the doors behind us opened, and a girl stepped out