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eBook Category: Science Fiction
eBook Description: A man does not step into the same river twice. He never goes through the same door. To Kurt Yardley, this is amply borne out by the train of circumstance which follows the forced landing of his freighter Charib on the bleakly inhospitable plains of an unlisted planet. Life has evolved without a familiar organic base and is ready to defend itself against the encroachment of another species. Its very structure could bring unimaginable wealth to metal-hungry cultures and there are those on Charib who are prepared to sidestep the Inter Galactic Code of consideration for all forms of life in pursuit of personal gain. Yardley, fighting for survival on two fronts, faces his personal moment of truth in a confrontation which takes him to the threshold of destruction. In Asia Vance, a blonde navigation executive, finds reason to make a new start in human relations which have previously gone badly for him. Commitment is giving hostages to fortune and, in the struggle for existence, puts a handicap weight on the sensitive. When he is finally brought to face a replay of an old situation, he cannot, by his own efforts, exorcise the ghosts of his past.

eBook Publisher: Golden Apple, Wallasey, Published: UK, 1967
Fictionwise Release Date: June 2004

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Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: eReader (PDB) [205 KB] , ePub (EPUB) [247 KB] , Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [168 KB] , Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [639 KB] , Palm Doc (PDB) [192 KB] , Microsoft Reader (LIT) [361 KB] , Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [217 KB] , hiebook (KML) [522 KB] , Sony Reader (LRF) [299 KB] , iSilo (PDB) [157 KB] , Mobipocket (PRC) [196 KB] , Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [277 KB] , OEBFF Format (IMP) [254 KB]
Words: 57457
Reading time: 164-229 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
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All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

Commander Kurt Yardley of the freighter M.M. Charib cleared an ivorine tablet and began again. Twice, the long chain of calculation had proved the computer wrong. But he was still prepared to believe that he had made an error somewhere along the line. In spite of everything that would imply, he would be glad to find himself at fault; though it would put the finger on him and suggest to himself--the severest critic--that fatigue, effort syndrome or some other factor was unfitting him for the command.

Even admitting that as a possibility was disturbing. They were forty-three days, seventeen hours and thirty-one minutes, Earth time, outward bound on a routine run from Earth Terminal to Freya Six and personal weariness should hardly enter the picture.

He went methodically through the figures, checking against navigation tables, taking new sights on the familiar stellar features; patiently accepting the routine labour which earlier navigators had been compelled to employ as standard practice. Almost an hour later, with only a few minutes left before the change of watch, he was back at the same point--with precisely the same row of digits on the memo.

There were at least three possibilities. The manual gear could have developed a fault. He could have made the same mistake each time. The robot navigator could be wrong. Even in a service where an open mind was a necessity for survival, he did not suppose that the stars themselves would rearrange their positions to confuse the issue. But to question the robot navigator seemed to be a doubt of the same order. If the sealed unit was at fault, the sixteen of them on Charib might as well start an epitaph competition with no worthwhile prize. Excepting the outside, improbable chance, they were scheduled as flotsam in some sargasso of space debris.

It was only a long ingrained habit of caution which had prompted Kurt Yardley to run a check in the first place. Ever since his first voyage as a watch keeping officer, he had spent part of each tour of duty keeping his hand in, on the old system of manual correlation. Sealed navigation units like Charib's were, theoretically, incapable of variation. But it passed time and gave his computer mind something to bite on. Mathematics was a hobby and he had a natural flair which years of training had developed into a formidable expertise.

He went thoughtfully to the chart spread and tapped the glowing, translucent planetarium. Nothing there could resolve the dilemma. Choice was so balanced that it destroyed the will like a classic Behaviourist laboratory experiment. He could put the situation squarely to the executive officers at the morning conference. Or he could keep it to himself until it became apparent to the rest of the navigators. Even leave it until it was discovered by Barlow himself. That one would make enough of it, as if no one had ever read a stellar fix before.

He switched out the panel light and the shiny curved surface became a distorting mirror which lengthened his already long, intellectual's face. "He thinks too much, such men are dangerous." Grey eyes, thick, fair hair drawn out, in the reflection, to a ludicrous topknot.

Certainly if he announced it now, there would be polite disbelief from some. Without intending it, he would alienate the majority of them by his brusque, uncompromising manner. He lacked the motivation for setting out to please a group. For the last few years, he had increasingly come to the point where he no longer bothered to try. But over the years of command, another habit had grown up which solved the matter for him now. He had come to the belief that the regulations embodied a great deal of simple wisdom. He went by the book.

Looked at that way, the first course was the correct one. It was his duty to bring all information to the daily briefing.

No one else was able to follow the mathematical steps which led to the conclusions; but they would have to accept them. It meant preparing the ship for a very long haul. Just how long was anybody's guess. They would miss Freya Six by anything up to a million Earth miles. There was a possible landfall on Talos-three years distant. And a thousand possibilities of missing altogether and joining the asteroids.

He could visualise Barlow's expression. It would imply, "Yardley's past it. Knocking forty. Time he was on the beach."

Captain Jon T. Barlow had his supporters. Yardley was not one of them; he believed that, in spite of the easy popularity, his chief officer was a phoney. Gregarious without real friendliness; back slapping, practical jokery with an undertow of malice. He was tall and heavily built, inclined to get portly on a long trip. Dark brown, almost luminous eyes, dark brown hair with incipient side burns. Straight nose and full, fleshy lips.