The Impossible Voyage Home Part 3

"I'll bet!" muttered the pilot. "Get warm in a hurry. I've got work to do."

"You just go ahead," she said. "We'll set here and toast our toes. We don't aim to interfere."

"I'll stay," said the pilot hastily. "Let's have the present." He'd made a tactical error--he should have ignored the noise that went s.h.i.+mmering through the hull when the old man had pounded with a rock. No, it was nice to think he could have, but impossible. Patience was one of the things the aged did have and the young didn't.

Amantha set the package down. The pilot scrambled ahead of her and got the navigator's instruments off the desk and into the drawer.

She opened and displayed the contents.

"I baked it for you," she said. "It's a cake."

He could see what it was. "Hate cake," he said. "Can't eat it."

"You'll eat this. Ca.n.a.lberry shortcake."

"Ca.n.a.lberry?" he asked, wrinkling his face. He smelled it and changed expressions in the middle of a wrinkle. Resolutely, he turned away from it and saw Ethan clearly, perhaps for the first time. It was the old man who had tried to bribe him a few days ago. They weren't as innocent as they seemed. What were they trying to do?

"Ain't you even going to taste it?" she urged.

He shuddered suspiciously. It smelled good, though he had told the truth about hating the stuff. Under other circ.u.mstances, he might have nibbled at a piece for politeness' sake.

"Can't. Doctor's orders."

"Diabetic? Didn't think they let them in s.p.a.ce-service," said Amantha.

"Funny, it's the same with Ethan. He can't eat sweets, either." She looked at her creation. "Seems a shame to bring it so far to somebody who can't touch it. Do you mind if I cut myself a slice?"

"Go ahead, Grandma."

"Amantha," she corrected him and brought out a knife and two small plates. He wondered if there was any significance. _Two_ plates.

She laid a slice on the plate and poked at it with a fork that was also in the package. She put the fork down and picked up the cake.

"It don't taste right unless you eat it the way it was meant to be," she said.

He watched her in anguish. His nose quivered and his stomach rumbled. He shouldn't have let them in.

A crumb fell to the floor and Amantha reached for it. She straightened up, a berry in her hand.

"Ca.n.a.lberries," she said. "They're nearly all gone. Used to be you could hardly go anywhere without stepping in them."

She crushed the berry and the rich aroma swept devastatingly through the air.

"Sure you won't have some?" she asked, slicing the cake and placing it in front of him. When he finished that, he cut another, and another, until the cake was gone.

The pilot settled logily in a chair and dozed off. Amantha and Ethan watched him in silence.

The pilot got up and began to stretch lazily without seeming to notice them. The laziness disappeared and the stretch changed into a jerk that seemed to elongate his body. He sprang out of the compartment and went leaping down the corridor. When he came to the hatch, he didn't hesitate. The ladder was too slow. He jumped.

He landed on the sand, sinking in to his knees. He extricated himself and went bounding over the field.

"Never saw ca.n.a.lberries take so long," muttered Amantha. "Don't know what's wrong. Nothing's as good as it used to be."

She shook off her hat and closed the airlock.

"You don't need those nose plugs any more, Ethan. Come on, let's see if you remember."

Several hours later, she twirled unfamiliar k.n.o.bs and, by persistence and beginner's luck, managed to get the person she wanted.

"You the commander?" Since he had a hara.s.sed look, she a.s.sumed he was.

"Thought you might be worried about that poor boy."

"Madam, what do you want?" He scowled at the offscreen miscreant who had mistakenly summoned him. "I'm chasing criminals. I haven't got time to chat about old times."

"Don't sa.s.s me. I thought you might want to know how to stop that poor boy from running around."

The commander sat down. "What young man?" he asked calculatingly.

"Don't know his name," said Amantha. "He ran out of the s.h.i.+p before we could ask him."

"So _you're_ the poisoner," said the commander coldly. "If he dies, neither your age nor your s.e.x will make any difference."

"Just ca.n.a.lberries," Amantha a.s.sured him. "Reckon you wouldn't know about them."

"What are you talking about?"

"Ca.n.a.lberries. Used to be lots of them. Males, men and animals, just can't help eating them. Don't bother women or any other kind of females.

Biologists used to tell us it was a seed-scattering device. Guess so.

Won't hurt him none. Try bicarb and vinegar. It'll fix him up."

"For your sake, I hope it will!" said the commander. "He's in a bad way." He stabbed a pencil at her and his voice became stern. "If you follow directions, I'm sure I can get you off lightly."

"Think we will?" said Amantha.

The commander hurried on. "It's hard to find a s.h.i.+p in s.p.a.ce. Stay where you are or, if you can, turn around and come back--_slowly_. We'll send a s.h.i.+p up and transfer a competent pilot to bring you down. Do you hear?"

"Real plain. You got good radios on these s.h.i.+ps."

He smothered a growl. "Your lives are in danger. We're not going to chase out and rescue you unless you cooperate." It was an understatement. If they observed radio silence, search s.h.i.+ps would never find them. They might not think of it, but he wouldn't bet. They were smart enough to steal the s.h.i.+p.

There was another thing. From what he'd learned from records, they were close to the exposure limit. Any moment now, they might go berserk, turning their course fatally toward the Sun. He had to be careful what he said.

"We'll get you out of this, but only if you help. I refuse to sacrifice men and waste their flight time, which is more precious than any s.h.i.+p, merely to save two senile incompetents. Is this clear?"

"I suppose," said Amantha. "We've got to go home."