The Voyage of Vanishing Men

Eventually the ship came back, and Braun with it. Nobody knew much more than that. No official announcements were made, no actual denials or accusations. Rumor hinted at ugliness, and an investigation going on. People made the usual wild and extravagant guesses, and there were the formless whispers that start nowhere and end nowhere.

Braun put his back to the bar and looked over the crowd soberly, one by one. This must have happened to him many times before, as it probably would again. Braun had his own way of dealing with such situations, and maybe he was right.

"I don't know what happened," he said slowly. "I'll say it again, just once. I don't know. If you don't like it, I'm here, waiting. One at a time, or the whole ratpack of you. How do you want it?"

In any real, deadly brawl, voices are rarely raised. There is no loud and explosive discussion. Instead, all movement jells, crystallizes in utter silence. Something breaks it. Something like a flung beermug. Then comes a five-ring circus of action.

Braun ducked. The beermug struck in foaming, splintering destruction. The backbar mirror dissolved in a chiming avalanche of glass.

Cutter led the rush. Braun's back was braced to the bar. He seemed oddly relaxed, almost happy. Somebody heaved another beermug. It missed, but most of the beer splashed into Braun's face and trickled slowly down him.

"I like beer," he said, "but not that well."

Like a spring letting go, Braun snapped out to meet them. His long arms caught Cutter and hoisted him high, then hurled him bodily over the stick and into the stacked glassware.

By then, if not before, you eased toward the light switch and cut it. Darkness slammed down like a solid barrier. But other solids moved through it, colliding, grunting, swearing, shouting, sometimes groaning. Gradually, the tumult died out of itself.

When the lights came on again, Braun still stood at the bar, though several places further down. The darkness had been kind to him. With everyone against him, he could work freely. And at saloon brawling, he was a master craftsman. Casualties held to a minimum, but there were plenty of cotton and catgut, splint and plaster cases. Cutter was still out, cold, and went to the hospital with the others. Not everyone joins in a rough-house, and enough clear-headed witnesses remained to spare Braun any risk of charges. His fists were red and raw, but he seemed unhurt, bodily.

Somebody offered him a drink. But Braun just stood and looked at it, then raised his head to glance up where the backbar mirror had been.

"Someday, they'll use stainless steel for that," he said. "Then half the fun will be gone."

Slowly his face screwed up tight, the leathery skin wrinkling like a withered apple. Eyes closed, he hammered a raw fist on the bar till blood spurted. He was like a hurt child trying to hurt himself more to get even with fate.

"I had friends on the Venture IV," he cried wildly. "A lot of good friends. What happened to them? Where are they?..."

Calming down, he started talking. His voice was oddly detached, and so low you could hardly hear him.

"I was the ninth man," he said. "The rest were all techs, of one kind or another. I was the only spacetramp aboard. I've often wondered why they picked me, but somebody must have had a good reason. Maybe I was the catalyst. Each of the others could do one job extremely well. I could take over and do anything in an emergency--not as well, but a scratch job to keep the show on the road. And when the 'ologies' developed friction, I was the lubricant--the guy with no axe to grind who kept the other's axes sharpened and tempered."

Braun stopped and flung himself at the drink. He seemed to need it. But he was under control again, almost too much under control.

"We were way out--somewhere," he continued. "About as far as the others ever got. You can't express it in miles or in time, because neither of them have the right meaning. Not out there."

He stopped again. His eyes seemed to be staring beyond the outer limits of darkness, beyond the mystical barrier of the speed of light itself....

"The ship came out of warp automatically. Robot machinery was set for that, to bring us out at intervals--though nobody could be sure just how it would function. Ordinary time-intervals do not exist, and time itself is a random factor--out there. They tell me we were gone more than five years, here. For us, it was weeks. Most of the time we were in suspended animation, of course, with automatic controls to handle the ship and rouse one or more of us at intervals. Usually the ship was out of the warp and stopped when we were awakened. Twice, both in the early stages, it was not like that.