Chapter 4

Len Mattern stayed with the Perseus over three years. Gradually, from things he observed himself, from things his shipmates told him, he learned what little there was to be known about hyperspace. Everything was different there from normspace; even the mechanical properties of things changed. However, Jumping was safe enough, as long as the spaceships didn’t stop. As long as they were only passing through that other universe, they were, in a sense, not actually there, so that the elements of which they were composed would not change, although, to the senses, they seemed to.

Unless, of course, the ship collided with something. Then everything became very real. That was what the pact was for--to make sure they didn’t collide. Every spaceship had, locked in the captain’s cabin, charts of that other universe--charts which gave, in normspace terms, the coordinates of the hyperspace worlds. That way, when a ship made the Jump, there would be no danger of her materializing inside one of the alien planets and destroying both. Even touching one of the hyper-worlds could have a disastrous effect. Only the captains were ever permitted to see these charts; they would be far too dangerous in irresponsible hands.

Len might have grown old in the Perseus’ service, if the Hesperia System hadn’t been one of her stops, and if he hadn’t seen Lyddy there.

Hesperia was a small, rose-pink sun surrounded by four planets and the debris of what once was a fifth. Most solar systems in the Galaxy had asteroid belts like that; some time later, Len found out why. Three of Hesperia’s four planets were barren rocks. The fourth, Erytheia, was mostly water, calm water, sometimes blue, sometimes--when the sun was high--violet-tinged. There was land, a small continent in the north, where it was always spring, a slightly larger continent in the south, where it was always summer, and that large island in the west which was said to have a climate better than spring and summer combined.

The atmosphere of Erytheia was what they call Earth type--that is, Man could breathe on it. A very inadequate description, though, because men could breathe the atmosphere of Ziegler’s Planet, too, only sometimes it almost seemed worthwhile to stop living in order to stop having to breathe Ziegler’s air. Erytheia’s atmosphere was gentler and purer than the air of Earth. The native fruits were edible and the local life-forms were small and amiable. But there wasn’t enough land for the establishment of a self-supporting colony; it would have bred itself into poverty within a few generations.

What else could be done with a small paradise in a remote sector of space but turn it into a high-class brothel and gambling casino? Only the very rich could afford to travel so far to look at scenery, and by the time they reached their destination, scenery wasn’t enough. They wanted some excitement.

Naturally, the Perseus would stop at Hesperia. Naturally, Mattern would see Lyddy, who was one of the seven wonders of that system. She wasn’t too many years out from Earth then, and he had never dreamed any woman could be that beautiful.

She was long-necked and slender, unlike the women of the Far Planets, who were mostly squat-built and bred for labor. It seemed to him he had seen her before--in a vision, a dream, who knew where? Certainly never in reality. But he could understand why men would travel light-years for her.

The prices she charged were also astronomical. Still, if he put away his money carefully, in a couple of years he ought to be able to save up enough for a night with her. It was a goal, and he’d never had a goal before, even such a small one; everything had been just aimless drifting. He got a tridi of her and put it up inside the door of his locker and was happy dreaming of her, even if it meant being kidded about her by his shipmates.

When he made the next Jump, he knew for certain that the creatures of hyperspace not only spoke to him through his mind, but could enter it and read it if they chose. He felt very naked and vulnerable. Why couldn’t the others on his ship also see the creatures, so that he would not be the sole focus of their attentions?

“Do what we ask,” the hyperspacers--the xhindi, they called themselves--said softly, “and you will have enough from just a single voyage to have her for a week, a month, a year. Do what we ask and you can have her for all eternity.”

“But all I want is just one night!” he protested.

And they had laughed, and one with a honey-sweet mind had said, “Is that all you want, really all?” Then they began naming the things a man could want--and they certainly seemed to have a full knowledge of humanity and its most secret desires.

Afterward, Len had started to think. It would be nice to have Lyddy all to himself--for a while, anyway. It would be nice to be able to buy her pretty dresses and jewelry. There were other things that would also be nice. Maybe he could have his teeth fixed and his leg straightened. His stepfather had broken it the night his mother died and it had never set properly. With money, he could do a lot of things. He hadn’t realized there was so much in the universe to be wanted.

Now his wages began to look as picayune as once they had seemed large. He could make more elsewhere, he told himself; he might not be educated, but he had a good mind, plus rapidly dwindling principles. He didn’t need the hyperspacers, though. There were plenty of illegal ways of making money within the framework of normspace activities. So he left the secure monotony of the starship to seek an enterprise which would bring in quick and copious profits.

His first step was to go see a rather disreputable acquaintance of his, Captain Ludolf Schiemann. Schiemann was an ancient spaceman from Earth, who owned and commanded a ramshackle craft of prehistoric design, held together with spit and spells.

Schiemann operated out of Capella IV with cargoes of whatever he could get. He was able to make a living with the Valkyrie only because he would take on jobs that no sane skipper would touch. Some were dangerous; most were illegal into the bargain. The risks were out of all proportion to the profit, which was why the only helper he’d been able to get was Balas--a big, powerful man, not old but mad. He’d been a deckhand on one of the big starships and had broken too early to be entitled to a pension.

Mattern had met old Schiemann at a bar in Burdon, the capital of Capella IV, and had had a few drinks with him whenever the Perseus and the Valkyrie had happened to hit port at the same time. Schiemann had a favorite joke he kept repeating over and over: “If you ever get sick of the Perseus, Lennie--sick of good food and hot water and decent quarters--you can always come to the Valkyrie. I’ll take care of you.”

Now Mattern went to him and said he’d like to take Schiemann up on that offer.

The old man’s pale green eyes protruded even further from his head. “You want to leave the Perseus for a berth on my ship! You’re madder than Balas!”

“Not a berth, Pop,” Mattern told him. “A share of her--a half share.”

Schiemann grinned. “Now you must think I’m crazy, to hand over half my ship just like that. Maybe you’d like me to sign her over to you entirely.” And he puffed savagely upon his Venuswood pipe.

“Look,” Len said, “let’s not kid ourselves. You’re a crook, Pop, but such a lousy crook that you make it look as if crime really doesn’t pay. And I’ll tell you what’s wrong with the way you operate. You have no organization, no system, no imagination. I have ‘em all. You contribute the ship; I’ll contribute my know-how. Together, we’ll make a fortune.”

“Modest, aren’t you?” the old man jeered. “What kind of know-how do you get working as a deckhand on a starboat? All right, maybe you’re the universe’s best metal polisher, but--”

“Look, Pop,” Len interrupted, “I’ll make a deal with you. We work together for a year. If you don’t pull in at least three times the amount you got before, as just your share, my half of the ship reverts to you. What could be fairer than that?”

Schiemann still wasn’t convinced that he was not being played for a sucker. Being what he was, he could never expose himself to a court battle, no matter how much justice might be on his side in a particular instance. But he didn’t think Len could be so rotten as to figure on something like that. Besides, the old captain couldn’t help liking the boy. So he agreed, saying as he did so, “I should have my head examined.” But before the fourth voyage was out, he realized that he had never done a wiser thing in his life. Under Len’s direction, the Valkyrie as a business enterprise was cleaning up.

Only in relative terms, of course. It took six months, over a dozen voyages, before Len managed to save enough for that night with Lyddy. And every time he made the Jump in the Valkyrie, the hyperspacers told him, “One night won’t be enough,” and the honey-minded one had insisted, “You must want more than that. You must. Who could be satisfied with so little?”

Finally, the night came. It was wonderful, it was ecstasy, it was everything he had dreamed of--but it was too short. “Good-by, honey,” Lyddy said as he left, “come back and see me again.”

“When you have some more money,” she meant. And it was all over.

For her, not for him. He found he couldn’t get her out of his mind. One night was not enough. The xhindi had been right. Now he wanted her for his own, for the rest of his life if not for all eternity.

He had no romantic fancies that she would be willing to go off with him for the sake of true love and himself alone. He had seen himself too often in the mirror panel on the door of his tiny cabin, and he looked there now, with a chill objectivity. Undersized, crippled, pallid with the unhealthy color that comes from spending too little time in any kind of sunlight, Len Mattern was twenty-four and looked forty. Not even an ordinary woman of the planets could love him, let alone a love goddess.