The Black Tide

  Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  Transcriber's Note:

  This etext was produced from IF Worlds of Science Fiction March 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.

  The BLACK TIDE

  By Arthur G. Stangland

  Illustrated by Ed Valigursky

  _Space in its far dark reaches can be fickle with a man; it can shatter his dreams, fill him with fear and hate. It can also cure a man--if he is strong enough._

  * * * * *

  It filled all the ebony depths of space. Twirling slowly in awesomemajesty, the meteor scintillated like a massive black diamond. Andwith its onrush came a devastating sense of doom. He lookedeverywhere. To the front, to the side, and below--there was no escape.Transfixed, he stared at the great rock flashing in the fire of myriadsuns as it--

  Bill Staker, passenger rocket captain for Interplanetary Lines, camefully awake in his New York hotel room. For a minute, he lay unmovingon his bed, savoring the delicious sensation of weight. No queazystirring in the pit of his belly for lack of gravity, no forcedsquinting because of muscular re-orientation.

  With a muttered curse he unwound himself from his covers and sat up.For a moment he rested his head in his hands, thinking, only anightmare, thank God, only a nightmare.

  He lifted his head, and found cold sweat on his hands. Then sighing inrelief he swung his feet over the edge of his bed.

  A glance at the clock showed 10:45 p.m. Monday, June 10th, 2039.Heavily, he clumped across the room in the peculiar flat-footed gaitof a spaceman accustomed to magnetic contact shoes. Cigarette in handhe sank into a heavy chair, touched a button on the arm, then sat backto watch the telescreen.

  It was a rehash of the day's news. In nasal tones a senator wasaccusing the Republicrats of raising taxes. Then followed scenes froma spectacular fire. Suddenly, Bill's drooping eyelids popped open.

  _The small meteor ripped through the_ Space Bird's_crew compartment, blinding the radar scope and severing communicationwith Earth_.]

  A commentator was saying, "... the two rockets of the Staker SpaceMining Company, ready for a scouting trip to the asteroid BetaQuadrant."

  A close-up of Tom Staker followed. Tall, rangy, with blond hair likestraw in the wind. Bill laid his cigarette in a tray and with criticalinterest leaned forward to look at his brother.

  "We figure to find uranium," Tom was saying, with a glance toward thevertical rockets, "all through the Beta Quadrant. Our departure iswaiting on the return of my brother, Bill, from his Mars-to-Earthrun."

  A reporter asked Tom, "Private enterprise is unique in these days ofvirtual monopolies. What's the story behind it?"

  "Well, our great-grandfather, George Staker, believed passionately inprivate enterprise," Tom began. "Somewhere around 1952 or 1953 heestablished a trust fund for his third generation descendants tofinance any project they think worthwhile. And he got an ironcladguarantee from the government that the trust fund for privateenterprise would be honored in the future. You see, my ancestor wasquite a romanticist. In one of his books entitled 'The Philosophy ofScience' he says 'People of this dawning Atomic Age little realizethey are living in a vast dream. A dream that is slowly takingobjective shape. A tool here, a part there, a plan on some draftingtable. Men of ideas are pointing the way, structuring the inner dreamworld of a generation. Even today's science fiction literaturecontains important ideas for the dreams-become-reality of tomorrow.'"Tom finished up, "With our Project Venture, Bill and I are going tobring a dream into reality--making a little on the side, of course!"

  The commentator ended his interview with: "And so, we await with greatinterest the carrying out of George Staker's dream, a man whoseTwentieth Century ideas of private enterprise have blown a breath offresh air into an age of dull dreams and little imagination."

  Bill Staker pressed the control button, darkening the screen. "Dreamboy. Tom, you damned fool." He got up and scuffed into the bathroom tostare into the mirror. Twenty-five years old, and already lines weregrooving both sides of his nostrils. Tousled black hair like brushhanging over a high bank, and ridged creases in his forehead. Littlelumps of flesh bulging over the corners of his mouth from constanttension. The tension of outwitting space on each trip 'tween theplanets. But worst of all was the look in his gray eyes. The look thatnever went away anymore. The look of a man who has spent too much timestaring into the enigma of the Universe and--thinking.

  "I'm scared--scared as hell!" he blurted at his reflection. "And if Idon't get hold of myself, I'm through--washed up!"

  Space was no place for a man with imagination--too much imagination.You stared into the empty blackness here, you stared into the inkyblackness there, behind you the Earth a tiny pinpoint, the Earth thatmeant rock solid footing, the caress of wind and land in alldirections. But out there in the aching void you raced for Mars like amouse scuttling across a lighted floor. Raced because of what youcouldn't see, couldn't fathom. Yet, you knew _It_ was out there,staring back inscrutably.

  He rubbed the flat of his hand across his right cheek, sighing fromemotional weariness. Then he scuffed back into the room. On the way hecollected a bottle of bourbon, mixer and glass, and dropped into thebig chair.

  As he worked on the bottle, all the anxiety and apprehension in himfaded. Once he stared at the bottom of his empty glass. Funny how aguy could panic all of a sudden. He remembered it clearly now. Ridinginto town yesterday from the rocket port, he started brooding overdetails of Project Venture. Suddenly, an overwhelming black tide offear worse than he had ever experienced confronted him. Like a man onthe verge of insanity he licked his dry lips, staring about him andfeeling as if something strange and terrible were taking possession ofhis mind. And in the middle of his spell a cloud blacker than spaceitself started reaching for him. That was when he yelled to thestartled bus driver to let him out at this hotel. Maybe he could gethold of himself here.

  Now, his arms sprawled over the sides of the heavy chair, he driftedoff into a snoring stupor.

  * * * * *

  In the morning he awoke to a splitting headache. Somehow it helped tohold his head between both hands and swear at it in a running mutter.Finally he roused himself to go to the bathroom for a cold shower.Afterward, donning his powder blue Captain's uniform, he went down tobreakfast.

  He dawdled over crisp bacon and eggs, glanced at morning editions, andall the while the ashes of last night's emotional holocaust driftedthrough him. Drifted in fitful vagrant thoughts. He should have saidno that first day a year ago. The big law firm made a great to do overthe old document from his ancestor. Unique, they said. The chance of alifetime. And by the end of the first meeting Tom was all fired up.Mining atomic power metals in the asteroid belt would bring thebiggest returns, he said. They would be the only ones allowed tocompete with the Asteroid Mining Corporation monopoly. And now Tom wasbuilding up public excitement in the venture, as if it were a circus.The damned fool. Why had he let his brother talk him into--

  Suddenly, his line of thought snapped, and he was acutely aware ofstaring eyes.

  He looked to his left, then felt a warm flush technicolor his cheeks.

  "Christy!"

  Her blond curls making a soft halo around her jauntily raked hat, thespace hostess from his ship gave him a warm smile. She was adequatelystacked, Bill reflected, but there was levelheaded firmness andresolution in her too. That was why she was hard to handle.

  "Good morning, Bill."

  He didn't like the accusing
gleam in her eye but he was glad to seeher.

  "Sit down, Christy. Have some coffee." He held her hands a moment,then eased her into the opposite chair.

  He tried disarming her with a show of great enthusiasm. But the wayshe settled herself into the seat, all the while regarding him withthose clear penetrating blue eyes, told him she was going on no snipehunt.

  "When you kissed me goodbye at the port yesterday, Bill, you said youwere going directly to the field to be with Tom." It wasn't astatement--it was an accusation.

  With an elaborate show of casualness he shrugged his shoulders. "Well,I was fagged out from this last trip. Decided I'd do better getting afull night's rest by myself at a hotel."

  The waiter brought her coffee, and she left it to cool. She folded herlong tapering fingers on the table, and a delicate lift to her finebrows gave her an expression of sympathetic concern.

  Her smile was regretful. "Rocket men don't drink, Bill. You know ittoo. Bad for muscular coordination."

  He said in some surprise, "You mean it's that loud?"

  "Uh-huh." Christy leaned forward. "What is it, Bill? You haven't beenyourself for weeks. You looked haggard yesterday and when you left theship you were almost running, as if trying to escape from something.And now this strange avoidance of Tom. He got hold of me this morningearly, wanting to know where you were. And I guess it's prettyimportant that he sees you, Bill. Seems there's been trouble at thefield."

  It was as if someone had prodded him in an agonizingly sore place andhe reacted instinctively. He let his knife clatter on his plate, awarethat he was dramatizing himself.

  "When I'm ready for a woman's sticking her nose into my affairs, I'llsend her a special invitation!"

  Christy's delicate nostrils flared, and her bosom rose and fellrapidly. Then she seemed to get hold of herself. "I'm sorry if you gotthat impression, Bill. I was only trying to help you both."

  Cherishing his irritation, Bill went on, "Seems to me you're bendingover backward helping Tom, playing messenger, private eye--"

  Christy broke in with a catch in her throat, "Oh, Bill, please! Let'snot quarrel as soon as we get back."

  Bill shoved his dishes aside, the tone of her voice reaching into himto dampen down the fires of anger. Then he managed a slow faint grin.

  "Okay, Christy." He reached for the check, saying, "Well, if you canstand my company, would you like to come along out to the field?"

  With her eyes glistening, she answered, "I'd love to."

  * * * * *

  The private rocket landing field of the Staker Space Mining Companywas an hour's drive north of the city. Three miles from the field theymade out the two gleaming snouts of the rockets pointing skyward. Thenas they approached the edge of the field, Bill turned off toward a twostory frame structure that served as office and warehouse.

  Bill said, "Might as well check to see if Tom is in the officefirst."

  At the door Bill poked his head in and shouted up the stairwell,"Hi--Tom?"

  A chair scraped, and footsteps sounded across the upstairs floor."Yeah--that you, Bill? C'mon up!"

  They found Tom at a desk before a wide window view of the field. Onthe office walls hung big graphs of fuel consumption curves,trajectory plots from Earth to the asteroid belt, ballisticscomputations, oxygen consumption curves per unit metabolism per man.

  Christy looking at the rockets, said, "Gee, Tom, they look beautiful.Like monsters straining their tethers."

  Tom looked up at the girl's profile, and to Bill who was watching, hebore the look of a man savoring what he saw.

  "Yes, they are. That first one's mine, the _Space Bird_. The other isBill's, the _Space Dragon_."

  Bill cast a professional eye over the charts and graphs on the wall,while far down in his subconscious a sharp twinge of jealousyfulminated, tangling with his fears of space in a hybrid monstrosity.Then like lava in a plugged volcano his obsession found a new outlet.The fear of space now came up disguised as hatred for Tom.

  In an unusually calm voice Bill said, "Well, I see you have everythingjust about completed."

  "Yeah," Tom glanced up with a significant look. "Someone else wasinterested in those charts and graphs too the other day. Someone whodidn't bother to use the door."

  "What d'you mean--somebody break in?"

  Tom nodded. "Yep. Jimmied a window downstairs. But I don't think theygot anything, because the door to the office was still locked when thewatchman surprised them. They got away in the dark."

  Christy's eyes grew large and round. "Who do you suppose it was?"

  Hitching his long body erect, Tom said with a gesture of his right hand,"Well, there's only one outfit interested in our destination--and that'sAsteroid Mining."

  "Good heavens," Christy said in great surprise. "You don't mean a bigcorporation like that would stoop so low?"

  Tom smiled at her. "With a monopoly on power metals Asteroid has beengouging the world. People have become resigned to the situation. Butif we can supply uranium ore cheaper there's going to be a clamor forprivate enterprise again. Under the present system private enterprisehas been withering on the vine. This is our big chance and the publicis pulling for us."

  Bill's hold on his temper slipped another notch. "Yeah, I saw thatinterview with the television news you had. Saw it last night." Hefolded his arms across his chest. "If that's your conception ofwinning support for our venture then you better take up circusadvertising."

  For a moment Tom looked like a man who's taken a bucket of ice waterin the face. Then his feet hit the floor. "Say, now, wait a minute,Bill!" he said, half in anger. "Who d'you think's been shouldering thebig share of Project Venture--while you've hung on to your job and apretty salary?"

  "Didn't we agree you'd spend full time on the Project while I actedas consultant between trips?" Bill shot back.

  "Yeah, I quit a fair job as first officer on a freighter to handleit."

  "And you are guaranteed fair wages and a fat slice of any profits wemake," Bill snapped. "The thing I didn't like in that interview ofyours was that starry-eyed eyewash about our ancestor being a man ofvision, a philosopher and a dreamer. That's a helluva tag to put onus--'The Dream Boys'! Good God!"

  Tom stood up, facing his brother in icy silence. Finally he said, "Isthat all you've got to offer--a lotta carping criticism?"

  The planes of Bill's cheeks flattened under the downward pull at hismouth corners. The black ugly tide was running in him now and he couldnot stop its sweep. His fear of space, the frantic will to escape fromit again, all the irritation and anger were deep currents and he was amere piece of flotsam tossing on the advancing wave of the black tide.

  He said, "No, damn you. I've got something else in my craw too. It'sChristy. I've seen the way you look at her, and I know that whenevermy back is turned you're doing your damnedest to break us up!"

  Tom's face turned gray and suddenly his eyes were wide open. Knotsstood out on the points of his jaws.

  In a strange half choked voice he said, "That's a blasted lie--and youknow it. It's an excuse to cover up for your own peculiar behaviorlately. I think--"

  Christy broke in with. "Bill--Tom, for heaven's sake stop it!" Herbeseeching eyes were glancing sharply from one to the other in growingpanic.

  Bill stood lightly on his feet, his fingers curling and uncurling intoballed fists.

  Tom went on, a bleak look in his eyes. "I think you've been in a softberth too long. The monopoly you work for has softened you, taken outthe guts a man needs to stand on his own feet--"

  Bill suddenly stiffened. His right shot out in a hard, sharp blow thatcrashed against Tom's chin. Tom grunted, a surprised look in his eyes,and sagged to the floor.

  For a moment Bill stood over him, nostrils flaring, his whole bodytense and waiting. But Tom was too groggy to get up.

  "Oh, Bill, how could you!" Christy cried out, dropping to her kneesbeside Tom.

  Bill strode with measured step to the door. There he turned, andlook
ing back with a sneer, said, "Sweet dreams, Dream Boy!"

  * * * * *

  In a luxurious office of Asteroid Mining Corporation on thetwenty-third floor of a Manhattan skyscraper a furious official of thecorporation faced an uncomfortable underling.

  "I've heard of some pretty crude tricks in my time, Heilman, butbreaking into the Staker Company's office like a common house thieftakes the tin medal for low grade brains!" the official ranted,pounding his desk. "I suppose you thought that was an excellent way toadvance yourself in the corporation, eh? Finesse, Heilman, finesse.That's what it takes in matters like this. Asteroid Mining, before itgot the monopoly, stopped competition, but not by commonhousebreaking--"

  "But--but I thought," Heilman explained lamely, "that we could get acopy of their trajectory and then deal with them after they got out tothe quadrant. You know, fire a 'meteor' at them, blanket them withradio jamming, ruin their radar sighting--"

  The official snorted and leaned disgustedly back in his leather chair."No, no you big dumb ox! You're retired from the team, benched. Nowyou can sit on the sidelines and watch how the first string fix Stakerand Company."

  * * * * *

  When Bill asked for his key, the clerk handed him the key and afaintly lavender tinted envelope.

  Mystified by the feminine handwriting, Bill sat in a lobby chair, andtore