Rocket Summer: Ray Bradbury SF Collection (Illustrated). Ray Bradbury

fell silent Nibley shifted around. He walked around in front of Kroll so Kroll would see him. "Captain?"

      Kroll didn't even look at him.

      Nibley said, "Maybe I can help."

      "You?"

      "You heard about me, captain! You heard about me."

      "What about you?"

      "You can't wait a month for another auxiliary computator to come through from Earth. You got to push off tonight, to Jupiter, to get to your family and the colony and all that, captain, sure!" Nibley was hasty, he sort of fidgeted around, his voice high, and excited. "An' if your only computator conks out in the middle of the asteroids, well, you know what that means. Bang! No more ship! No more you. No more colony on Jupiter! Now, you know about me, my ability, you know, you heard."

      Kroll was cool and quiet and far away. "I heard about you, old man. I heard lots. They say you got a funny brain and do things machines can't do. I don't know. I don't like the idea."

      "But you got to like the idea, captain. I'm the only one can help you now!"

      "I don't trust you. I heard about your drinking that time and wrecking that ship. I remember that."

      "But I'm not drinking now. See. Smell my breath, go ahead! You see?"

      Kroll stood there. He looked at the ship and he looked at the sky and then at Nibley. Finally he sighed. "Old man, I'm leaving right now. I might just as well take you along as leave you. You might do some good. What can I lose?"

      "Not a damned thing, Captain, and you won't be sorry," cried Nibley.

      "Step lively, then!"

      They went to the Rocket, Kroll running, Nibley hobbling along after.

      Trembling excitedly, Nibley stumbled into the Rocket. Everything had a hot mist over it. First time on a rocket in—ten years, by god. Good. Good to be aboard again. He smelled it. It smelled fine. It felt fine. Oh, it was very fine indeed. First time since that trouble he got into off the planet Venus ... he brushed that thought away. That was over and past.

      He followed Kroll up through the ship to a small room in the prow.

      Men ran up and down the rungs. Men who had families out there on Jupiter and were willing to go through the asteroids with a faulty radar set-up to reach those families and bring them the necessary cargo of machinery and food they needed to go on.

      Out of a warm mist, old Nibley heard himself being introduced to a third man in the small room.

      "Douglas, this is Nibley, our auxiliary computating machine."

      "A poor time for joking, Captain."

      "It's no joke," cried Nibley. "Here I am."

      Douglas eyed Nibley with a very cold and exact eye. "No," he said. "No. I can't use him. I'm computant-mechanic."

      "And I'm captain," said Kroll.

      Douglas looked at Kroll. "We'll shove through to Jupiter with just our leaky set of radar-computators; that's the way it'll have to be. If we're wrecked halfway, well, we're wrecked. But I'll be damned if I go along with a decrepit son-of-a-witch-doctor!"

      Nibley's eyes watered. He sucked in on himself. There was a pain round his heart and he was suddenly chilled.

      Kroll started to speak, but a gong rattled and banged and a voice shouted, "Stations! Gunners up! Hammocks! Takeoff!"

      "Takeoff!"

      "Stay here!" Kroll snapped it at the old man. He leaped away and down the rungs of the ladder, leaving Nibley alone in the broad shadow of the bitter-eyed Douglas. Douglas looked him up and down in surly contempt. "So you know arcs, parabolas and orbits as good as my machines, do you?"

      Nibley nodded, angry now that Kroll was gone:

      "Machines," shrilled Nibley. "Can't do everything! They ain't got no intuition. Can't understand sabotage and hatreds and arguments. Or people. Machines're too damn slow!"

      Douglas lidded his eyes. "You—you're faster?"

      "I'm faster," said Nibley.

      Douglas flicked his cigarette toward a wall-disposal slot.

      "Predict that orbit!"

      Nibley's eyes jerked. "Gonna miss it!"

      The cigarette lay smouldering on the deck.

      Douglas scowled at the cigarette.

      Nibley made wheezy laughter. He minced to his shock-hammock, zipped into it. "Not bad, not bad, eh?"

      The ship rumbled.

      Angrily, Douglas snatched up the cigarette, carried it to his own hammock, rolled in, zipped the zipper, then, deliberately, he flicked the cigarette once more. It flew.

      "Another miss," predicted Nibley.

      Douglas was still glaring at the floored cigarette when the Rocket burst gravity and shot up into space toward the asteroids.

      * * * * *

      Mars dwindled into the sun. Asteroids swept silently down the star-tracks, all metal, all invisible, shifting and shifting to harry the Rocket—

      Nibley sprawled by the great thick visiport feeling the computators giving him competition under the floor in the level below, predicting meteors and correcting the Terra's course accordingly.

      Douglas stood behind Nibley, stiff and quiet. Since he was computant-mechanic, Nibley was his charge. He was to protect Nibley from harm. Kroll had said so. Douglas didn't like it at all.

      Nibley was feeling fine. It was like the old days. It was good. He laughed. He waved at nothing outside the port. "Hi, there!" he called. "Meteor," he explained in an aside to Douglas. "You see it?"

      "Lives at stake and you sit there playing."

      "Nope. Not playin'. Just warmin' up. I can see 'em beatin' like hell all up and down the line, son. God's truth."

      "Kroll's a damned fool," said Douglas. "Sure, you had a few lucky breaks in the old days before they built a good computator. A few lucky breaks and you lived off them. Your day's done."

      "I'm still good."

      "How about the time you swilled a quart of rot-gut and almost killed a cargo of civilian tourists? I heard about that. All I have to say is one word and your ears'd twitch. Whiskey."

      At the word, saliva ran alarmingly in Nibley's mouth. He swallowed guiltily. Douglas, snorting, turned and started from the room. Nibley grabbed a monkey-wrench on impulse, heaved it. The wrench hit the wall and fell down. Nibley wheezed, "Wrench got an orbit like everything. Fair bit of computation I did. One point over and I'd have flanked that crumb!"

      There was silence now, as he hobbled back and sat wearily to stare into the stars. He felt all of the ship's men around him. Vague warm electrical stirrings of fear, hope, dismay, exhaustion. All their orbits coming into a parallel trajectory now. All living in the same path with him. And the asteroids smashed down with an increasing swiftness. In a very few hours the main body of missiles would be encountered.

      Now, as he stared into space he felt a dark orbit coming into conjunction with his own. It was an unpleasant orbit. One that touched him with fear. It drew closer. It was dark. It was very close now.

      A moment later a tall man in a black uniform climbed the rungs from below and stood looking at Nibley.

      "I'm Bruno," he said. He was a nervous fellow, and kept looking around, looking around, at the walls, the deck, at Nibley. "I'm food specialist on board. How come you're up here? Come down to mess later. Join me in a game of Martian chess."

      Nibley said, "I'd beat the hell out of you. Wouldn't pay. It's against orders for me to be down below, anyways."

      "How come?"

      "Never you never mind. Got things to do up here. I notice