To Save Earth — Inside the Classic

There had been times when all of them--mad and near-mad--had forgotten that they hurtled through space, that they were men and that they were growing old. Occasionally they had even forgotten that the destiny of mankind might lie in their hands like a fragile flower to be preserved or crushed.

But now came a moment six years one month and five days after their departure from Earth. The sole planet of Sirius loomed green and blue in the ship's magni-screen. The sight of the shining planet was like a heavenly trumpet call, a signal for resurrection.

The inhabitants stirred, rubbed their eyes, and tried to exhume forgotten hopes and memories from the lethargy of their minds....

"What do you think?" asked Lieutenant Washington.

Captain Jeffrey Torkel, gaunt-faced and gray, stiffened his lean body. At this moment all memory had left him, like a wind-tossed balloon leaping out of his skull.

_It's happened again_, he thought. _I've forgotten. Oh God, why must I keep forgetting?_

"Tell me what you think, Captain," said a balding, dark-skinned man clad in khakis.

Captain Torkel stared at the blue-green, cloud-mottled image in the screen. Where was he? Certainly not in South Dakota. Certainly not on a field of golden, bristling wheat. No, he had the feeling that much time had passed since those boyhood days on the Dakota farm.

He glanced at the strange man who had spoken to him. The balloon snapped back into his skull. Memory returned.

_At least it wasn't gone for a week this time_, he thought. _Thank you, God._

"You must be thinking _something_," persisted the man who had become Lieutenant Washington.

The captain rubbed his gray stubble of beard. "I guess I'm thinking that we're afraid and bewildered. We're not as full of strength and hope as saviors of the race should be. Sure, what we find here today will mean either life or death for the race. But the concept has been with us for too long. It's already made us half-mad. And the same part of our minds is afraid to hope lest it be disappointed. After all, the planet might be radioactive or uninhabitable, or--"

"But, Lord, Captain! Even with the sub-spatial drive it's taken us six years to get here. If there's a God who answers prayers, it's _got_ to be a good planet. Sirius has only one planet. This is the last chance left for the race. And look at it, Captain! The blue places must be water and the green must be land. It's bigger than Earth, but it looks almost like it!"

Captain Torkel nodded. "Whether it's good or bad, we still can't win, really. If it's bad, humanity dies and we stay on the ship for the rest of our lives. If it's good, we'll still be on it for twelve more years--six years back to Earth and another six to return here."

Lieutenant Washington began to shake. "I don't know if I could take twelve more years in space. Twelve years of eating and sleeping and playing chess in the silence and nothing but darkness outside, and trying to find a micro-movie we haven't seen a hundred times--all that, over and over--" He closed his eyes. "I don't think the others could take it either. They'd probably become like Kelly."

Kelly was the mad one.

"We have no other choice, Lieutenant. If the planet's habitable, we have to take the news back."

The lieutenant shuddered. "I--I need a drink," he faltered. "I know. I said I wasn't going to drink today. I'm not either. Not much. I want to be on my feet when we hit that planet. But--excuse me, Captain."

Captain Torkel watched the gaunt officer stride to the aft compartment. He suddenly realized that the lieutenant was bald. The top of his Negroid skull shone like a dark egg. When had _that_ happened? Only a short time ago, it seemed, the lieutenant had been a young man with soft thick hair. _Those six years did it_, thought Captain Torkel, _those six dark, silent, crazy years._

The lieutenant returned a few seconds later, calmer now, reeking with the stench of laboratory alcohol spilled on his jacket.

Captain Torkel, as always, pretended not to notice the stench.

"Captain," said Lieutenant Washington deeply.

"Suppose the astrophysicists back on Earth were wrong. They said the sun would blow up in exactly twelve years, two months and fifteen days. How could they get it that close? Suppose this planet _is_ habitable, suppose it _could_ be a new home for humanity. And suppose we start back home with the news, and then the sun turns into a nova ahead of schedule--say, in twelve years, two months and _three_ days, when we're still a week away."