sailing out to the stars with trade goods, but you leave your launching motor safely at home. Why is everybody looking at me funny?"
"Don't take it wrong," said Morris. "But how does a paunchy bartender come to know so much about flying an interstellar trading ship?"
"What?" I didn't understand him.
"'Why did the Monk ship have to dive so deep into the solar system?"
"Oh, that. That's the solar wind. You get the same problem around any yellow sun. With a light-sail you can get push from the solar wind as well as from light pressure. The trouble is, the solar wind is just stripped hydrogen atoms. Light bounces from a light-sail, but the solar wind just hits the sail and sticks."
Morris nodded thoughtfully. Louise was blinking as if she had double vision.
"You can't tack against it. Tilting the sail does from nothing. To use the solar wind for braking you have to bore straight in, straight toward the sun," I explained.
Morris nodded. I saw that his eyes were as glassy as Louise's eyes.
"Oh," I said. "Damn, I must be stupid today. Morris, that was the third pill."
"Right," said Morris, still nodding, still glassy-eyed. "That must have been the unusual, really unusual profession you wanted. Crewman on an interstellar liner. Jesus."
And he should have sounded disgusted, but he sounded envious.
His elbows were on the table, his chin rested on his fists. It is a position that distorts the mouth, making one's expression unreadable. But I didn't like what I could read in Morris's eyes.
There was nothing left of the square and honest man I had let into my apartment at noon. Morris was a patriot now, and an altruist, and a fanatic, He must have the stars for his nation and for all mankind. Nothing must stand in his way. Least of all, me.
Reading minds again, Fraser? Maybe being captain of an interstellar liner involves having to read the minds of the crew, to be able to put down a mutiny before some idiot can take a heat point to the mpH glip habbabub, or however a Monk would say it, it has something to do with straining the breathing-air.
My urge to acrobatics had probably come out of the same pill. Free fall training. There was a lot in that pill.
This was the profession I should have hidden. Not the Palace Torturer, who was useless to a government grown too subtle to need such techniques; but the captain of an interstellar liner, a prize too valuable to men who have not yet reached beyond the Moon.
And I had been the last to know it. Too late, Frazer-
"Captain," I said. "Not crew."
"Pity. A crewman would know more about how to put a ship together. Frazer, how big a crew are you equipped to rule?"
"Eight and five."
"'Thirteen?'
"Yes."
"Then why did you say eight and five?"
The question caught me off balance. Hadn't I...? Oh. "That's the Monk numbering system. Base eight., Actually, base two, but they group the digits in threes to get base eight."
"Base two. Computer numbers."
"Are they?"
"Yes. Frazer, they must have been using computers for a long time. Aeons."
"All right." I noticed for the first time that Louise had collected our glasses and gone to make fresh drinks. Good, I could use one. She'd left her own, which was half full. Knowing she wouldn't mind, I took a swallow.
It was soda water.
With a lime in it. It had looked just like our gin and tonics. She must be back on the diet. Except that when Louise resumed a diet, she generally announced it to all and sundry
Morris was still on the subject. "You use a crew of thirteen. Are they Monk or human or something else?"
"Monk," I said without having to think.
"Too bad. Are there humans in space?"
"No. A lot of two-feet, but none of them are like any of the others, and none of them are quite like us."
Louise came back with our drinks, gave them to us, and sat down without a word.
"You said earlier that a species that can't develop space flight is no better than animals."
"According to the Monks," I reminded him.
"Right. It seems a little extreme
"Don't take it wrong," said Morris. "But how does a paunchy bartender come to know so much about flying an interstellar trading ship?"
"What?" I didn't understand him.
"'Why did the Monk ship have to dive so deep into the solar system?"
"Oh, that. That's the solar wind. You get the same problem around any yellow sun. With a light-sail you can get push from the solar wind as well as from light pressure. The trouble is, the solar wind is just stripped hydrogen atoms. Light bounces from a light-sail, but the solar wind just hits the sail and sticks."
Morris nodded thoughtfully. Louise was blinking as if she had double vision.
"You can't tack against it. Tilting the sail does from nothing. To use the solar wind for braking you have to bore straight in, straight toward the sun," I explained.
Morris nodded. I saw that his eyes were as glassy as Louise's eyes.
"Oh," I said. "Damn, I must be stupid today. Morris, that was the third pill."
"Right," said Morris, still nodding, still glassy-eyed. "That must have been the unusual, really unusual profession you wanted. Crewman on an interstellar liner. Jesus."
And he should have sounded disgusted, but he sounded envious.
His elbows were on the table, his chin rested on his fists. It is a position that distorts the mouth, making one's expression unreadable. But I didn't like what I could read in Morris's eyes.
There was nothing left of the square and honest man I had let into my apartment at noon. Morris was a patriot now, and an altruist, and a fanatic, He must have the stars for his nation and for all mankind. Nothing must stand in his way. Least of all, me.
Reading minds again, Fraser? Maybe being captain of an interstellar liner involves having to read the minds of the crew, to be able to put down a mutiny before some idiot can take a heat point to the mpH glip habbabub, or however a Monk would say it, it has something to do with straining the breathing-air.
My urge to acrobatics had probably come out of the same pill. Free fall training. There was a lot in that pill.
This was the profession I should have hidden. Not the Palace Torturer, who was useless to a government grown too subtle to need such techniques; but the captain of an interstellar liner, a prize too valuable to men who have not yet reached beyond the Moon.
And I had been the last to know it. Too late, Frazer-
"Captain," I said. "Not crew."
"Pity. A crewman would know more about how to put a ship together. Frazer, how big a crew are you equipped to rule?"
"Eight and five."
"'Thirteen?'
"Yes."
"Then why did you say eight and five?"
The question caught me off balance. Hadn't I...? Oh. "That's the Monk numbering system. Base eight., Actually, base two, but they group the digits in threes to get base eight."
"Base two. Computer numbers."
"Are they?"
"Yes. Frazer, they must have been using computers for a long time. Aeons."
"All right." I noticed for the first time that Louise had collected our glasses and gone to make fresh drinks. Good, I could use one. She'd left her own, which was half full. Knowing she wouldn't mind, I took a swallow.
It was soda water.
With a lime in it. It had looked just like our gin and tonics. She must be back on the diet. Except that when Louise resumed a diet, she generally announced it to all and sundry
Morris was still on the subject. "You use a crew of thirteen. Are they Monk or human or something else?"
"Monk," I said without having to think.
"Too bad. Are there humans in space?"
"No. A lot of two-feet, but none of them are like any of the others, and none of them are quite like us."
Louise came back with our drinks, gave them to us, and sat down without a word.
"You said earlier that a species that can't develop space flight is no better than animals."
"According to the Monks," I reminded him.
"Right. It seems a little extreme
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