The Potter of Firsk and Other Stories by Jack Vance Read Free Book Online Page B

her, Cap.”
    Chiram shook his head. “Not large enough. Don’t forget we’ve got a markedly large galaxy—several times average size. That’s what I’m watching for. Of course,” and his voice blurred, “this may not even be our home universe. It might be a different set of galaxies entirely. There’s no way of knowing…If we run directly into an exceptionally large galaxy, with approximately the right configuration—we’ll turn off the power.”
    “Look,” said Bob, “there’s a big one out there, see it? That looks about like ours, too.” His voice rose. “That’s it, Cap!”
    Chiram said irresolutely, “Well, Bob, I don’t know. She’s a long way to the side…Of course, we’ve come a long way, but if we once turn off our course, and we’ve made a mistake—then we’re goners for sure.”
    “We’re goners if we drive past,” said Galt.
    Chiram wavered in a hell of indecision. Jay saw his mouth twitch. He reached, took a firm grip on the field control.
    Jay said suddenly, “That’s not it: this isn’t even the right universe.”
    Galt turned an angry red face down. “Shut up!”
    Chiram paid no heed. His hand tightened on the field cut-off.
    Jay said, “Captain, I can prove it. Listen!”
    Chiram turned his head. “How can you prove it?”
    “By the gyroscope.” He spoke hurriedly, over Galt’s contemptuous snort, trying to wash down Chiram’s wall of hostility with words.
    “The gyroscope holds a steady axis. It points in a constant direction. When we were a few weeks out I saw a degree of deflection. I misinterpreted the reading. I thought it indicated an error in course. I was wrong; it was showing how far around we had traveled. One three hundred and sixtieth. I just looked at it again. It read seventy-five degrees to the other side—or two eighty-five degrees around. In other words, we’ve come more than three-quarters of the way. And when the gyro is back at zero again we’ll know we’re home.”
    Chiram narrowed his eyes, surveyed Jay—looked at him, through him, beyond. Galt’s angry mouth pushed out doubtfully, his color faded. He glanced to the big galaxy, now passing close by amidships.
    Chiram asked, “What does the gyro read now?”
    Jay ran, raised the dust lid. “Two eighty-six.”
    Chiram said, “We’ll go on. Dead ahead.”
    “Dead ahead,” said Galt.
    Chiram smiled grimly. “I hope not.”
    They passed the universe, and off into a new ocean of blackness. It was the old routine—except now there was a restless watchfulness aboard. Chiram watched the gyro as carefully as Jay; steadily the lubber-line ticked around, day after day after day. 290—300—310—320.
    Galt spent his time on the bridge deck, watching ahead, hardly coming down to eat. No more chess—Julius played solitaire, slowly, with careful attention to each card.
    330, and Chiram joined Galt’s restless watch.
    340. “We should be getting close,” said Galt, staring into the bottomless blackness.
    Chiram said, “We’ll be there when we get there.”
    350. Galt bent forward, hands pressed to the chart table, head on a level with his elbows.
    “It’s light! Light!”
    Chiram came to stare at the pale glow dead ahead.
    “There it is.” He cut off the acceleration; they plunged free at constant speed. For the first time since the start of the voyage the partner-ship Tuck appeared; they had almost forgotten its existence.
    At 355 galaxies swept past like the first suburbs of a city.
    At 357 they felt as if they were riding down familiar streets.
    358. They looked here and there expectantly. There was quick movement of feet on the deck, the restless movement of heads. Chiram kept saying, “Too soon, too soon…There’s a long way to go yet…”
    359. Chiram had tacitly relaxed his orders to Jay, and all four stood on the bridge deck together pointing, looking, muttering.
    360. “There! The big one! Golly, it looks almost like the face of someone you know!”
    Dead ahead lay the great