Accidental Death

: Accidental Death

The most dangerous of weapons

is the one you don't know is loaded.





The wind howled out of the northwest, blind with snow and barbed with

ice crystals. All the way up the half-mile precipice it fingered and

wrenched away at groaning ice-slabs. It screamed over the top, whirled

snow in a dervish dance around the hollow there, piled snow into the

long furrow plowed ruler-straight through strea
lined hummocks of snow.



The sun glinted on black rock glazed by ice, chasms and ridges and

bridges of ice. It lit the snow slope to a frozen glare, penciled black

shadow down the long furrow, and flashed at the furrow's end on a thing

of metal and plastics, an artifact thrown down in the dead wilderness.



Nothing grew, nothing flew, nothing walked, nothing talked. But the

thing in the hollow was stirring in stiff jerks like a snake with its

back broken or a clockwork toy running down. When the movements stopped,

there was a click and a strange sound began. Thin, scratchy, inaudible

more than a yard away, weary but still cocky, there leaked from the

shape in the hollow the sound of a human voice.



"I've tried my hands and arms and they seem to work," it began. "I've

wiggled my toes with entire success. It's well on the cards that I'm all

in one piece and not broken up at all, though I don't see how it could

happen. Right now I don't feel like struggling up and finding out. I'm

fine where I am. I'll just lie here for a while and relax, and get some

of the story on tape. This suit's got a built-in recorder, I might as

well use it. That way even if I'm not as well as I feel, I'll leave a

message. You probably know we're back and wonder what went wrong.



"I suppose I'm in a state of shock. That's why I can't seem to get up.

Who wouldn't be shocked after luck like that?



"I've always been lucky, I guess. Luck got me a place in the Whale.

Sure I'm a good astronomer but so are lots of other guys. If I were ten

years older, it would have been an honor, being picked for the first

long jump in the first starship ever. At my age it was luck.



"You'll want to know if the ship worked. Well, she did. Went like a

bomb. We got lined up between Earth and Mars, you'll remember, and James

pushed the button marked 'Jump'. Took his finger off the button and

there we were: Alpha Centauri. Two months later your time, one second

later by us. We covered our whole survey assignment like that, smooth as

a pint of old and mild which right now I could certainly use. Better yet

would be a pint of hot black coffee with sugar in. Failing that, I could

even go for a long drink of cold water. There was never anything wrong

with the Whale till right at the end and even then I doubt if it was

the ship itself that fouled things up.



"That was some survey assignment. We astronomers really lived. Wait till

you see--but of course you won't. I could weep when I think of those

miles of lovely color film, all gone up in smoke.



* * * * *



"I'm shocked all right. I never said who I was. Matt Hennessy, from

Farside Observatory, back of the Moon, just back from a proving flight

cum astronomical survey in the starship Whale. Whoever you are who

finds this tape, you're made. Take it to any radio station or newspaper

office. You'll find you can name your price and don't take any wooden

nickels.



"Where had I got to? I'd told you how we happened to find Chang, hadn't

I? That's what the natives called it. Walking, talking natives on a blue

sky planet with 1.1 g gravity and a twenty per cent oxygen atmosphere at

fifteen p.s.i. The odds against finding Chang on a six-sun survey on the

first star jump ever must be up in the googols. We certainly were lucky.



"The Chang natives aren't very technical--haven't got space travel for

instance. They're good astronomers, though. We were able to show them

our sun, in their telescopes. In their way, they're a highly civilized

people. Look more like cats than people, but they're people all right.

If you doubt it, chew these facts over.



"One, they learned our language in four weeks. When I say they, I mean a

ten-man team of them.



"Two, they brew a near-beer that's a lot nearer than the canned stuff we

had aboard the Whale.



"Three, they've a great sense of humor. Ran rather to silly practical

jokes, but still. Can't say I care for that hot-foot and belly-laugh

stuff myself, but tastes differ.



"Four, the ten-man language team also learned chess and table tennis.



"But why go on? People who talk English, drink beer, like jokes and beat

me at chess or table-tennis are people for my money, even if they look

like tigers in trousers.



"It was funny the way they won all the time at table tennis. They

certainly weren't so hot at it. Maybe that ten per cent extra gravity

put us off our strokes. As for chess, Svendlov was our champion. He won

sometimes. The rest of us seemed to lose whichever Chingsi we played.

There again it wasn't so much that they were good. How could they be, in

the time? It was more that we all seemed to make silly mistakes when we

played them and that's fatal in chess. Of course it's a screwy

situation, playing chess with something that grows its own fur coat, has

yellow eyes an inch and a half long and long white whiskers. Could you

have kept your mind on the game?



"And don't think I fell victim to their feline charm. The children were

pets, but you didn't feel like patting the adults on their big grinning

heads. Personally I didn't like the one I knew best. He was

called--well, we called him Charley, and he was the ethnologist,

ambassador, contact man, or whatever you like to call him, who came back

with us. Why I disliked him was because he was always trying to get the

edge on you. All the time he had to be top. Great sense of humor, of

course. I nearly broke my neck on that butter-slide he fixed up in the

metal alleyway to the Whale's engine room. Charley laughed fit to

bust, everyone laughed, I even laughed myself though doing it hurt

me more than the tumble had. Yes, life and soul of the party, old

Charley ...



"My last sight of the Minnow was a cabin full of dead and dying men,

the sweetish stink of burned flesh and the choking reek of scorching

insulation, the boat jolting and shuddering and beginning to break up,

and in the middle of the flames, still unhurt, was Charley. He was

laughing ...



"My God, it's dark out here. Wonder how high I am. Must be all of fifty

miles, and doing eight hundred miles an hour at least. I'll be doing

more than that when I land. What's final velocity for a fifty-mile fall?

Same as a fifty thousand mile fall, I suppose; same as escape;

twenty-four thousand miles an hour. I'll make a mess ...



* * * * *



"That's better. Why didn't I close my eyes before? Those star streaks

made me dizzy. I'll make a nice shooting star when I hit air. Come to

think of it, I must be deep in air now. Let's take a look.



"It's getting lighter. Look at those peaks down there! Like great

knives. I don't seem to be falling as fast as I expected though. Almost

seem to be floating. Let's switch on the radio and tell the world hello.

Hello, earth ... hello, again ... and good-by ...



"Sorry about that. I passed out. I don't know what I said, if anything,

and the suit recorder has no playback or eraser. What must have happened

is that the suit ran out of oxygen, and I lost consciousness due to

anoxia. I dreamed I switched on the radio, but I actually switched on

the emergency tank, thank the Lord, and that brought me round.



"Come to think of it, why not crack the suit and breath fresh air

instead of bottled?



"No. I'd have to get up to do that. I think I'll just lie here a little

bit longer and get properly rested up before I try anything big like

standing up.



"I was telling about the return journey, wasn't I? The long jump back

home, which should have dumped us between the orbits of Earth and Mars.

Instead of which, when James took his finger off the button, the

mass-detector showed nothing except the noise-level of the universe.



"We were out in that no place for a day. We astronomers had to establish

our exact position relative to the solar system. The crew had to find

out exactly what went wrong. The physicists had to make mystic passes in

front of meters and mutter about residual folds in stress-free space.

Our task was easy, because we were about half a light-year from the sun.

The crew's job was also easy: they found what went wrong in less than

half an hour.



"It still seems incredible. To program the ship for a star-jump, you

merely told it where you were and where you wanted to go. In practical

terms, that entailed first a series of exact measurements which had to

be translated into the somewhat abstruse co-ordinate system we used

based on the topological order of mass-points in the galaxy. Then you

cut a tape on the computer and hit the button. Nothing was wrong with

the computer. Nothing was wrong with the engines. We'd hit the right

button and we'd gone to the place we'd aimed for. All we'd done was aim

for the wrong place. It hurts me to tell you this and I'm just attached

personnel with no space-flight tradition. In practical terms, one highly

trained crew member had punched a wrong pattern of holes on the tape.

Another equally skilled had failed to notice this when reading back. A

childish error, highly improbable; twice repeated, thus squaring the

improbability. Incredible, but that's what happened.



"Anyway, we took good care with the next lot of measurements. That's why

we were out there so long. They were cross-checked about five times. I

got sick so I climbed into a spacesuit and went outside and took some

photographs of the Sun which I hoped would help to determine hydrogen

density in the outer regions. When I got back everything was ready. We

disposed ourselves about the control room and relaxed for all we were

worth. We were all praying that this time nothing would go wrong, and

all looking forward to seeing Earth again after four months subjective

time away, except for Charley, who was still chuckling and shaking his

head, and Captain James who was glaring at Charley and obviously wishing

human dignity permitted him to tear Charley limb from limb. Then James

pressed the button.



"Everything twanged like a bowstring. I felt myself turned inside out,

passed through a small sieve, and poured back into shape. The entire bow

wall-screen was full of Earth. Something was wrong all right, and this

time it was much, much worse. We'd come out of the jump about two

hundred miles above the Pacific, pointed straight down, traveling at a

relative speed of about two thousand miles an hour.



"It was a fantastic situation. Here was the Whale, the most powerful

ship ever built, which could cover fifty light-years in a subjective

time of one second, and it was helpless. For, as of course you know, the

star-drive couldn't be used again for at least two hours.



"The Whale also had ion rockets of course, the standard

deuterium-fusion thing with direct conversion. As again you know, this

is good for interplanetary flight because you can run it continuously

and it has extremely high exhaust velocity. But in our situation it was

no good because it has rather a low thrust. It would have taken more

time than we had to deflect us enough to avoid a smash. We had five

minutes to abandon ship.



"James got us all into the Minnow at a dead run. There was no time to

take anything at all except the clothes we stood in. The Minnow was

meant for short heavy hops to planets or asteroids. In addition to the

ion drive it had emergency atomic rockets, using steam for reaction

mass. We thanked God for that when Cazamian canceled our downwards

velocity with them in a few seconds. We curved away up over China and

from about fifty miles high we saw the Whale hit the Pacific. Six

hundred tons of mass at well over two thousand miles an hour make an

almighty splash. By now you'll have divers down, but I doubt they'll

salvage much you can use.



"I wonder why James went down with the ship, as the saying is? Not that

it made any difference. It must have broken his heart to know that his

lovely ship was getting the chopper. Or did he suspect another human

error?



"We didn't have time to think about that, or even to get the radio

working. The steam rockets blew up. Poor Cazamian was burnt to a crisp.

Only thing that saved me was the spacesuit I was still wearing. I

snapped the face plate down because the cabin was filling with fumes. I

saw Charley coming out of the toilet--that's how he'd escaped--and I saw

him beginning to laugh. Then the port side collapsed and I fell out.



"I saw the launch spinning away, glowing red against a purplish black

sky. I tumbled head over heels towards the huge curved shield of earth

fifty miles below. I shut my eyes and that's about all I remember. I

don't see how any of us could have survived. I think we're all dead.



"I'll have to get up and crack this suit and let some air in. But I

can't. I fell fifty miles without a parachute. I'm dead so I can't stand

up."



* * * * *



There was silence for a while except for the vicious howl of the wind.

Then snow began to shift on the ledge. A man crawled stiffly out and

came shakily to his feet. He moved slowly around for some time. After

about two hours he returned to the hollow, squatted down and switched on

the recorder. The voice began again, considerably wearier.



"Hello there. I'm in the bleakest wilderness I've ever seen. This place

makes the moon look cozy. There's precipice around me every way but one

and that's up. So it's up I'll have to go till I find a way to go down.

I've been chewing snow to quench my thirst but I could eat a horse. I

picked up a short-wave broadcast on my suit but couldn't understand a

word. Not English, not French, and there I stick. Listened to it for

fifteen minutes just to hear a human voice again. I haven't much hope of

reaching anyone with my five milliwatt suit transmitter but I'll keep

trying.



"Just before I start the climb there are two things I want to get on

tape. The first is how I got here. I've remembered something from my

military training, when I did some parachute jumps. Terminal velocity

for a human body falling through air is about one hundred twenty m.p.h.

Falling fifty miles is no worse than falling five hundred feet. You'd be

lucky to live through a five hundred foot fall, true, but I've been

lucky. The suit is bulky but light and probably slowed my fall. I hit a

sixty mile an hour updraft this side of the mountain, skidded downhill

through about half a mile of snow and fetched up in a drift. The suit is

part worn but still operational. I'm fine.



"The second thing I want to say is about the Chingsi, and here it is:

watch out for them. Those jokers are dangerous. I'm not telling how

because I've got a scientific reputation to watch. You'll have to figure

it out for yourselves. Here are the clues:



(1) The Chingsi talk and laugh but after all they aren't human. On an

alien world a hundred light-years away, why shouldn't alien

talents develop? A talent that's so uncertain and rudimentary here

that most people don't believe it, might be highly developed out

there.



(2) The Whale expedition did fine till it found Chang. Then it hit a

seam of bad luck. Real stinking bad luck that went on and on till

it looks fishy. We lost the ship, we lost the launch, all but one

of us lost our lives. We couldn't even win a game of ping-pong.



"So what is luck, good or bad? Scientifically speaking, future chance

events are by definition chance. They can turn out favorable or not.

When a preponderance of chance events has occurred unfavorably, you've

got bad luck. It's a fancy name for a lot of chance results that didn't

go your way. But the gambler defines it differently. For him, luck

refers to the future, and you've got bad luck when future chance events

won't go your way. Scientific investigations into this have been

inconclusive, but everyone knows that some people are lucky and others

aren't. All we've got are hints and glimmers, the fumbling touch of a

rudimentary talent. There's the evil eye legend and the Jonah, bad luck

bringers. Superstition? Maybe; but ask the insurance companies about

accident prones. What's in a name? Call a man unlucky and you're

superstitious. Call him accident prone and that's sound business sense.

I've said enough.



"All the same, search the space-flight records, talk to the actuaries.

When a ship is working perfectly and is operated by a hand-picked crew

of highly trained men in perfect condition, how often is it wrecked by a

series of silly errors happening one after another in defiance of

probability?



"I'll sign off with two thoughts, one depressing and one cheering. A

single Chingsi wrecked our ship and our launch. What could a whole

planetful of them do?



"On the other hand, a talent that manipulates chance events is bound to

be chancy. No matter how highly developed it can't be surefire. The

proof is that I've survived to tell the tale."



* * * * *



At twenty below zero and fifty miles an hour the wind ravaged the

mountain. Peering through his polarized vizor at the white waste and the

snow-filled air howling over it, sliding and stumbling with every step

on a slope that got gradually steeper and seemed to go on forever, Matt

Hennessy began to inch his way up the north face of Mount Everest.



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