the _Star Lord_ can deal with anything thathyperspace has to offer."
Jasperson adjusted the set of his jacket over his plump stomach while hewaited for an answer, and Captain Evans stared at him.
"Is that why you're wearing a pistol?" he said dryly. "To help the shipfight her battles?"
"This?" His face reddened as he patted his bulging pockets. "Oh, it'sjust a habit. I don't like being without protection; I always wear a gunin one pocket and my recorder in the other."
"You'll scarcely be in any danger on the ship, Burl. Better leave it inyour cabin."
"All right. But about the Ripples--you aren't going to take themseriously, are you?"
"I wish you'd be a little more frank, Mr. Chairman. Has the Star Linesuddenly lost confidence in me?"
"No, no, nothing of the sort! We've every confidence in you, of course.But I've been hearing rumors, hints that we may have to make a slowcrossing, and I've been wondering. But then, I'm sure that a man of yourintelligence doesn't take the Ripples any more seriously than I do."
"I don't know what gossip you have been hearing," said the Captain,hesitantly. "'Ripples' is probably a very inaccurate and inadequate namefor the phenomenon. Thakura might equally well have called them rapids,falls, bumps, spaces, holes, or discontinuities."
"Then why did he choose to call them Ripples?"
"Probably because he didn't know exactly what they are. The wholeproblem is a very complicated one."
"Complicated nonsense, I call it. Well, we won't quarrel, my dearJosiah, but don't let them hold us back. Remember, we're out to breakall records!"
* * * * *
Under the artificial sky, crowds of people streamed into theadministration building of Satellite Y. The jumping-off place for allrockets and ships going to and from the stars, Y-port was a world of itsown, dedicated to only one purpose, the launching and berthing of ships.
It was a quiet and orderly place as a rule, and its small permanentcolony of workmen and officials lived a spartan existence except fortheir yearly vacations on Earth. But today it seemed as if half theearth's people, friends and relatives of the passengers, had chosen tomake the port a holiday spot of their own, to help celebrate thelaunching of the _Star Lord_ on her maiden voyage. The rocket ferrybetween Y-port and Earth had had to triple its number of runs in thepast week, and this morning's rocket had brought in the last of thepassengers for Almazin III.
Alan Chase trudged wearily along with the crowd entering the building,trying to close his ears to the hundreds of chattering voices. He wastall and very thin, and his white skin clothed his bones like brittlepaper. Walking was an effort, and he tried to move with an even step sohe would not have to gasp for breath as he moved slowly forward with theline before the Customs desk. In his weakness, the gaiety around himseemed artificial, and the noise of voices was unendurable.
Just ahead of him in line was a young man in an obviously new suit; thepretty girl holding to his arm still had a few grains of rice shining inher hair.
"That will be all," said the Inspector. "I hope you and Mrs. Hall have avery happy honeymoon. Next!"
He gritted his teeth to stop his trembling as the Inspector reached forthe passport, glanced at a notation, then looked up.
"I'll have to ask you to step in and see Dr. Willoughby, our ship'sdoctor. It will only take a moment, Dr. Chase."
"But I'm not infectious!"
"But there seems to be some question of fitness. In cases like yours theStar Line likes to have a final check, just to make sure you'll be ableto stand the trip. We're responsible, after all. Last door on my right."
Close to exhaustion, Alan walked down the hall to the last door andstepped inside. A healthy, rugged man with prominent black eyes lookedat him with a speculative glance.
"And what can I do for you?"
Holding out his passport, Alan sank down into a chair, glad of a chanceto rest, while Dr. Willoughby studied the document, then looked up, theroutine smile wiped off his face.
"Well! So you're Dr. Alan Chase. I've been much interested in the papersyou've been publishing recently. But this is bad news, Dr. Chase. Isuppose you had an independent check on the diagnosis?"
"Not even one of our freshmen could have missed it, but I had itconfirmed by Simmons and von Kramm."
"Then there's no question. How did you pick it up, doctor? Neosarcoma isstill rather a rare disease, and it's not supposed to be veryinfectious."
Alan tried to speak casually, although just looking at the rugged goodhealth of the man opposite him made him feel weaker.
"No, it's not very infectious. But after medical school, I went intoresearch instead of practice, and I worked on neosarcoma for nearly fiveyears, trying to devise a competitive chemical antagonist. Then, as usedto happen so often in the old days, I finally picked it up myself--a labinfection."
* * * * *
The older man nodded. "Well, you're doing the right thing now in goingto Almazin III. I've made some study of the disease myself, as you mayknow, and I entirely agree with your theory that it is caused by avirus, and kept active by radiation. Since the atomic wars, theincreased radioactivity of the earth undoubtedly stimulates mitosis ofthe malignant cells. It feeds the disease, and kills the man. But on aplanet like Almazin III where the radiation index is close to zero, themitosis of the sarcoma cells stops abruptly, virus or no virus."
"I'm glad to hear that," said Alan. "I've read some of your papers onthe subject, and the evidence sounds pretty convincing."
"It's conclusive. If you arrive in time you've nothing to worry about.I've seen men as badly off as you, with malignant growths well advanced,who migrated to Almazin III and recovered within a year. Withoutradioactivity to maintain it, the disease seems to be arrestedimmediately, and if the tissue damage has not gone too far, the tumorregresses and eventually disappears. Once you're cured, you can comeback to earth and take up your work where you left off. Well, let'scheck you over."
The examination was brief. Dr. Willoughby initialed the passport, andoffered his hand.
"You should stand the trip all right. But I'm glad you didn't put it offany longer than you did. Another two months of earth's emanations, andI'm afraid I couldn't have certified you. It's lucky for you that the_Star Lord_ is the fastest ship in space. That's all, Dr. Chase. I'll beseeing you on board."
In the swiftly moving elevator cage Alan ascended the slender pylon tothe boarding platform, crowded by a group of quarreling children incharge of an indifferent nursemaid.
The Chief Steward, rustling in starched whites, stepped forward at theport, clicked his heels, and curved his thin lips into a smile.
"How do you do, sir. The Star Line wishes you a happy voyage. Will yoube kind enough to choose?"
Following his nod, Alan looked down at the silver tray extended for hisinspection, and then stepped back as a heavy perfume assaulted hisnostrils.
"What are those?"
"Carnations, sir, for the gentlemen's coats, and rose corsages for theladies' gowns. Compliments of the Star Line."
"But they're white!"
"Yes, sir. The white flowers, the only kind we are able to grow inY-port, are symbols of the white light of the stars, we like to think."
"What idiot gave the Star Line that idea?" said Dr. Chase. "You knowstars are all colors--white, green, yellow, blue, and even red. Butwhite carnations are a symbol of death."
Steward Davis lowered his tray. "Then you don't care to wear one, sir?"
"Not until I have to," said Alan. "Now please call some one to show memy cabin."
"Band playing in the lounge, sir. Tea is being served in the Moon Room,and the Bar is open until just before takeoff."
"Thanks, but I've been ill. I just want to find my cabin."
"Boy!" called Steward Davis. "Show this gentleman to 31Q."
* * * * *
Alan followed the pageboy through a complex of corridors, ascendingspirals o
f stairs, down a hall, and to the door of Cabin 31Q. The boythrew open the door and Alan stepped in, then halted in shockeddisbelief at sight of a white-haired old man who was just lifting ashirt from an opened suitcase.
"I am Dr. Chase. Isn't this Cabin 31Q?"
The old man beamed, his pink skin breaking into a thousand tinywrinkles. "That's right. 31Q it is."
"Then what are you doing here?"
"Have you no powers of observation? Unpacking, of course. I was assignedto this cabin."
Staggering over to a