Rogue Ship Read online

  Rogue Ship

  A. E. Van Vogt

  Recommended by Paul Cook as one of the most important SF novels.

  Rogue Ship

  A. E. Van Vogt

  DEDICATION

  For Ford McCormack, friend, logician, technical expert, man of many parts, who seems to be as much at home in the exotic universe of translight speeds as on the stage of important little theaters – to whom I am indebted for some of the concepts and for nearly all of what is scientifically exact in this fantastic story.

  1

  Out of the corner of one eye, young Lesbee saw Ganarette climbing the steps that led to the spaceship's bridge. He felt vaguely annoyed. Ganarette, at nineteen, was a big, husky youth with a square jaw and belligerent manner. Like Lesbee himself, he had been born on the ship. As a non-officer, he was not allowed on the bridge and it was that, entirely aside from his own personal dislike of Ganarette, that annoyed Lesbee about the intrusion.

  Besides, he was scheduled to go off duty in five minutes.

  Ganarette mounted the final step, and climbed gingerly down to the cushiony floor. He must have been intent on his descent, for when he looked up and saw the black, starry heavens, he gasped and then stood teetering a dozen feet from Lesbee, staring into the darkness. His reaction startled Lesbee. It hadn't struck him before, but there were actually people on this ship whose only view of space had been by way of the visiscreen.

  The sheer, stark reality of the plastiglass bridge, with its effect of standing there in the dark, empty space itself, must be mind-staggering. Lesbee had a vague feeling of superiority. He had been allowed on the bridge since early childhood.

  To him, what was out there seemed as natural and ordinary as the ship itself.

  He saw that Ganarette was recovering from his initial shock. 'So,' Ganarette said, 'this is what it's really like. Which is Centaurus?'

  Stiffly, Lesbee pointed out the very bright star which was visible beyond the sight lines of the astrogation devices. Since nonmilitary personnel were never permitted on the bridge, he wondered if he were obligated to report the youth's intrusion.

  He felt reluctant to do so, first of all because it might antagonize the other young people aboard. As the captain's son, be was already being treated as a person set apart. If he definitely aligned himself with the ship authority, he might find himself even more cut off.

  He had a sudden mental picture of himself repeating his father's lonely existence.

  He shook his head ever so slightly, silently rejecting that way of life.

  In a few minutes his period of duty for the day would be over. At that point he would lead Ganarette gently but firmly down the steps and give him as friendly a warning as possible. He saw that the youth was looking at him with a faint, cynical smile.

  'Doesn't look very close. Boy, they sure pulled a trick on the colonists, pretending the ship was going to make the trip at the speed of light or faster and get there in four years.' Ganarette's tone was sarcastic.

  'Nine more years,' Lesbee said, 'and we'll be there.'

  'Yeah!' Cynically. "That I have to see.' He broke off. 'And which is Earth?'

  Lesbee led him to the other side of the bridge to a sighting device that was always aimed at Earth's sun.

  The pale star held Ganarette's interest for nearly a minute. His face changed; gloom was written there. He slumped a little, then whispered, 'It's so far away, so very far away. If we started back now, you and I would be forty years old when we got there.'

  He whirled and firmly grasped Lesbee's shoulders. Think of it!' he said. 'Forty years old. Half of our lifetime gone, but still a chance to have a little fun – if we turned back this instant.'

  Lesbee freed himself from the clamping fingers. He was disturbed. It was more than a year since he had heard that kind of talk from any of the younger folk. Ever since his father initiated the lectures on the importance of this, the second voyage to Alpha Centauri, the wilder spirits among the young people had quieted down.

  Ganarette seemed to realize that his action had been foolish.

  He stepped back with a sheepish grin. Once more he became satiric. He said, 'But of course it would be silly to turn back now when we're only nine years from Centaurus, a mere eighteen years farther from Earth, there and return.'

  Lesbee did not ask, return to what? Long ago, most of those aboard had ceased to regard the original purpose of the voyage as having meaning. There was the sun, wasn't there, with no visible change? And so there must be an Earth to return to. Lesbee knew that among the young people his father was considered to be an old fool who dared not go back to face the ridicule of his fellow scientists. The pride of this foolish old man was continuing to force a shipload of people to spend the equivalent of a normal lifetime in space. Lesbee had often felt the horror at such a prospect that Ganarette was now expressing, and he could not help but share some of the condemnation of his father.

  Trembling, he looked at his watch. He was relieved to see that it was time to switch on the automatic pilot. His duty period was over. He turned, manipulated the control switches, counted the lights that went on, cross-checked with the two physicists in the engine room, and then, as he always did, made a second count of the lights. They were still exactly right. For twelve hours now, electronic machinery would guide the ship. Then Carson would assume the watch for six hours. The first officer would be followed, after twelve more hours, by the second officer who, in turn, would be succeeded by Browne, the third officer. And then, when still another twelve hours of automatic flight had gone by, it would be his turn again.

  Such was the pattern of his life, and so it had been since his fourteenth birthday. It was certainly not a hard existence. The ship's top officers actually had an easy time of it. But each man was jealous of his duty stint, and always showed up on the dot. A few years ago, Browne had even had himself wheeled to the upper deck in a wheelchair and then assisted to the bridge by his son, who had remained with his sick father during the entire six hours.

  Such devotion to duty puzzled young Lesbee, and so he had made one of his rare efforts to communicate with his father, asking him what could have motivated Browne. The old man smiled at him quizzically, and explained, 'Going on watch is the status symbol of every officer, so don't ever regard it lightly. They don't, as Browne is demonstrating. We are the official ruling class, my boy. Treat all those men with respect, use their formal titles, and in return they'll recognize your status. Whatever benefits accrue to the nobility aboard this ship will depend on how well we maintain such amenities.'

  Lesbee had already discovered that several of the benefits were that the prettiest girls smiled at him, and came running when he smiled back.

  Recalling the smiles of one girl in particular, he emerged from his reverie and realized that he would barely have time to wash up before the movie started.

  He grew aware that Ganarette was looking at the clock on the low-built control board. The young man faced Lesbee. 'O.K., John,' he said, 'you might as well get it now. Five minutes after the motion picture starts my group is taking over the ship. We intend to make you captain, but only on the condition that you agree to turn back to Earth. We won't hurt any of the old fogies – if they behave. If they act up, there'll be as much trouble as they want. If you try to warn anybody, we shall reconsider our plan to make you captain.'

  Ignoring Lesbee's dumbfounded reaction, he went on, 'Our problem is to make sure that we don't do anything that might arouse suspicion. That means everybody, including you, should carry on as always. What do you normally do when you leave the bridge?'

  'I go to my quarters and wash up,' said Lesbee, truthfully.

  He was beginning to recover from the enormous shock of the other man's pronouncement. He grew aware that he was in
a state of anguish, and that amazingly what he felt was an awful anxiety that 'these fools' – he muttered the words under his breath – would somehow mess up their mutiny, and this mad voyage would continue on into infinity. As he realized his instant sympathy with the rebels, Lesbee swallowed, and abruptly felt confused.

  Before he could recover, Ganarette said reluctantly, 'All right – but I'll go with you.'

  'Maybe it'd be better if I skipped going home,' said Lesbee doubtfully.

  'And have your father become suspicious! Nothing doing!'

  Lesbee was uneasy. He was, he realized, falling in with the plot. He sensed unknown dangers in that direction. Yet the emotion that had broken through from a hidden depth of his being, was still driving him on. He said in a conspiratorial tone, 'That would be preferable to having him wonder what I'm doing with you. He doesn't like you.'

  'Oh, he doesn't!' Ganarette sounded belligerent, but suddenly he looked unsure of himself. 'All right, we'll go straight down to the theater. But remember what I said. Watch yourself. Be as surprised as the others, but be prepared to step in and take command.'

  He impulsively put his hand on Lesbee's arm. 'We've got to win,' he said. 'My God, we've got to.'

  As they went down into the ship a minute later, Lesbee found that he was somehow tightening his muscles, bracing himself as for a struggle.

  2

  Lesbee sank into his seat. As he sat there, he grew aware that all around him in the theater, people were fumbling their way to their places. He had time for doubt, for second thought. If he was going to do anything, he would have to act swiftly.

  Ganarette, who had been in the aisle whispering to another young man, crushed into the seat beside him. He leaned toward Lesbee. 'Only a few minutes now, as soon as everybody is in. When the doors close, we'll let the lights go off and the picture get started. Then in the darkness I'll make my way to the stage. The moment the lights go on, you join me.'

  Lesbee nodded, but he was unhappy. Only a short time had gone by since the great rush of sympathy for the rebellion, but now that feeling was fading, replaced by an uneasy fear of consequences. He had no conscious picture of what might happen. It was an overall and growing sense of doom.

  A buzzer sounded. 'Ah,' whispered Ganarette, 'the picture is going to start.'

  The time was passing inexorably. The internal pressure to act was strong in Lesbee. He had a terrible conviction that he was ruining himself with the authority group aboard, and that on the other hand the mutineers merely intended to use him during the early stages of their rebellion, that later he would be discarded. Abruptly, he was convinced that he had nothing to gain by their victory.

  In a sudden desperation, he stirred in his seat, and looked around tensely, wondering if he couldn't escape.

  He gave that up after one quick look. His eyes had accustomed to the night of the theater and it wasn't really dark at all. Over to one side he could see Third Officer Browne and his wife sitting together. The older man caught his distracted gaze and nodded.

  Lesbee grimaced an acknowledging smile, then turned away. Beside him, Ganarette said, 'Where's Carson?'

  It was Lesbee's seeking gaze that found First Officer Carson sitting near the back of the theater, and it was he who located the second officer slumped down in one of the seats near the front. Of the senior officers of the ship only Captain Lesbee himself had not yet arrived. That was a little disquieting but Lesbee took assurance from the fact that the theater had its normal packed appearance.

  Three times a 'week' there was a show. Three times a week the eight hundred people on the ship gathered in this room and gazed silently at the scenes of far-off Earth that glided over the screen. Seldom did anyone miss the show. His father would be along any minute.

  Lesbee settled himself to the inevitability of what was about to happen. On the screen a light flickered, and then there was a burble of music. A voice said something about an 'important trial,' and then there were several panels of printed words and a list of technical experts. At that point Lesbee's mind and gaze wandered back to his father's reserved seat.

  It was still empty.

  The shock of that was not an ordinary sensation. It was an impact, astonishment mingled with a sense of imminent disaster, the sudden tremendous conviction that his father knew of the plot.

  He felt his first disappointment. It was an anguish of bitter emotion, the realization that the trip would go on. His feelings caught him by surprise. He still hadn't realized the depth and intensity of his own frustration aboard this ship, seven thousand and eight hundred days out from Earth. He whirled to word-lash Ganarette for having made such a mess of the plot.

  Lips parted, he hesitated. If the rebellion were destined to fail, it wouldn't do to have made a single favorable remark about it. With a sigh he settled back in his seat. The anger passed and he could feel the disappointment fading. Rising in its place was acceptance of the inevitability of the future.

  On the screen somebody was standing before a jury and saying,'... the crime of this man is treason. The laws of Earth do not pause inside the stratosphere or at the moon or at Mars-'

  Once again the words and the scene couldn't hold Lesbee. His gaze flashed to Captain Lesbee's seat. A sigh escaped from his lips as he saw that his father was in the act of sitting down. So he hadn't really suspected. His late arrival was a meaningless accident.

  Within seconds the lights would flash on and the young rebels would take over the ship.

  Curiously, now that there was no chance of his doing anything, he was able for the first time to give his attention to the motion picture. It was as if his mind were anxious to escape from the sense of guilt that was beginning to build up inside his body. He looked outside rather than in.

  The scene was still a courtroom. A very pale young man was standing before a judge who wore a black cap, and the judge was saying, 'Have you any final words before sentence is pronounced upon you?'

  The reply was haltingly delivered: 'Nothing, sir... except we were so far out... It didn't seem as if we had any connection with Earth – After seven years, it just didn't seem possible that the laws of Earth had any meaning -'

  It struck Lesbee that the theater was deathly quiet, and that the rebellion was many minutes overdue. It was then as he listened to the final words of the judge that he realized that there would be no rebellion, and why. The judge in that remote Earth court was saying:

  'I have no alternative but to sentence you to death... for mutiny.'

  It was several hours later when Lesbee made his way to the projection room. 'Hello, Mr. Jonathan,' he said to the slim, middle-aged man who was busily putting away his cans.

  Jonathan acknowledged the greeting politely. But his face showed wonder that the captain's son should have sought him out. His expression was a reminder to Lesbee that it didn't pay to neglect any one aboard a ship, not even people you considered unimportant.

  'Odd picture you showed there at the beginning,' he said casually.

  'Yeah.' The cans were being shoved into their protective cases. 'Kind of surprised me when your dad phoned up and asked me to show it. Very old, you know. From the early days of interplanetary travel.'

  Lesbee did not trust himself to speak. He nodded, pretended to inspect the room, and then went out – scarcely looking where he was going.

  For an hour he wandered around the ship and, gradually, a coherent purpose formed in his mind. He must see his father.

  That was unique because he had not spoken to his father except in monosyllables since his mother's death.

  3

  He found the old man in the spacious living room of the apartment the two of them shared. At seventy-odd, John Lesbee had learned to keep his counsel, so he merely glanced up when his son entered, greeted him courteously, and resumed reading.

  A minute went by before the father grew aware that his son had not gone on to his own bedroom. He glanced up again, surprised now. 'Yes?' he said. 'Anything I can do for you?'

/>   Young Lesbee hesitated. A formless emotion was upon him, a desire to be at peace with the other. He had never forgiven his father for the death of his mother.

  He said abruptly, 'Dad, why did Mother kill herself?'

  Captain Lesbee put down his book. He seemed suddenly paler, though the color was hard to judge on a face that was naturally gray-white. He drew a slow, deep breath. 'We-e-l-ll,' he said, 'what a question!' His voice sounded breathless, and his eyes were bright.

  'I think I should know,' Lesbee persisted.

  There was silence – that lengthened. The lined face of the old man continued to be colorless; his eyes remained unnaturally bright.

  Lesbee II went on, 'She used to talk to me in a bitter way, all against you, but I never understood it.'

  Captain Lesbee was nodding, half to himself. He seemed to have come to a decision, for he straightened. 'I took advantage of her,' he said evenly. 'She was my ward, and as she grew older she became attractive to me as a woman and I felt desire. Under normal circumstances I should have kept such feelings to myself, and she would normally have gone off and married some young man of her own generation. But I convinced myself that she would at least be alive if she went with me. In this way, I betrayed her trust in me, which was that of a child for a father and not that of a woman for her lover.'

  Since he had never thought of his mother as being particularly young, Lesbee II found it difficult to grasp that this was what had caused her to have such intense emotions. Yet he recognized that he had been given an honest statement. Nonetheless, it was a moment for all the truth, not just a part of it, and so he went on: 'She used to call you stupid and' – he hesitated – 'and other things. One thing you're not is stupid. But, sir, Mother swore to me that the death of Mr. Tellier was not an accident, as you said. She, uh, called you a murderer.'