The cabin was filled with a strange, rustling, coughing sound. It was laughter. It was Boaz’s laughter. What made it so strange was that Boaz had never laughed in that particular way before — had never laughed before at the things he was laughing at now.
He was laughing at the ferocious mess he was in — at the way he had pretended all his army life that he had understood everything that was going on, and that everything that was going on was just fine.
He was laughing at the dumb way he had let himself be used — by God knows who for God knows what.
“Holy smokes, buddy,” he said out loud, “what we doing way out here in space? What we doing in these here clothes? Who’s steering this fool thing? How come we climbed into this tin can? How come we got to shoot somebody when we get to where we’re going? How come he got to try and shoot us? How come?” said Boaz. “Buddy,” he said, “you tell me how come?”
Unk woke up, swung the muzzle of his Mauser around to Boaz.
Boaz went right on laughing. He took the control box out of his pocket, and he threw it on the floor. “I don’t want it, buddy,” he said. “That’s O.K. you went and tore its insides out. I don’t want it.”
And then he yelled, “I don’t want none of this crap!”
chapter eight
IN A HOLLYWOOD NIGHT CLUB
HARMONIUM — The only known form of life on the planet Mercury. The harmonium is a cave-dweller. A more gracious creature would be hard to imagine.
— A Child’s Cyclopedia
of Wonders and Things to Do.
The planet Mercury sings like a crystal goblet. It sings all the time.
One side of Mercury faces the Sun. That side has always faced the Sun. That side is a sea of white-hot. dust.
The other side faces the nothingness of space eternal. That side has always faced the nothingness of space eternal. That side is a forest of giant blue-white crystals, aching cold.
It is the tension between the hot hemisphere of day-without-end and the cold hemisphere of night-without-end that makes Mercury sing.
Mercury has no atmosphere, so the song it sings is for the sense of touch.
The song is a slow one. Mercury will hold a single note in the song for as long as an Earthling millennium. There are those who think that the song was quick, wild, and brilliant once — excruciatingly various. Possibly so.
There are creatures in the deep caves of Mercury.
The song their planet sings is important to them, for the creatures are nourished by vibrations. They feed on mechanical energy.
The creatures cling to the singing walls of their caves.
In that way, they eat the song of Mercury.
The caves of Mercury are cozily warm in their depths.
The walls of the caves in their depths are phosphorescent. They give off a jonquil-yellow light.
The creatures in the caves are translucent. When they cling to the walls, light from the phosphorescent walls comes right through them. The yellow light from the walls, however, is turned, when passed through the bodies of the creatures, to a vivid aquamarine.
The creatures in the caves look very much like small and spineless kites. They are diamond-shaped, a foot high and eight inches wide when fully mature.
They have no more thickness than the skin of a toy balloon.
Each creature has four feeble suction cups — one at each of its corners. These cups enable it to creep, something like a measuring worm, and to cling, and to feel out the places where the song of Mercury is best.
Having found a place that promises a good meal, the creatures lay themselves against the wall like wet wallpaper.
There is no need for a circulatory system in the creatures. They are so thin that life-giving vibrations can make all their cells tingle without intermediaries.
The creatures do not excrete.
The creatures reproduce by flaking. The young, when shed by a parent, axe indistinguishable from dandruff.
There is only one sex.
Every creature simply sheds flakes of his own kind, and his own kind is like everybody else’s kind.