HEAV'N HEAV'N

Eric Frank Russel

He swungwide the cast-iron doors, peered into the fire-clay tunnel, and drew a deep breath. It was like lookinginto the business end of a spaceship. The doors shouldhave opened upon heat and thunder and beyond the tun- nel the stars. A shuddering in the floor. Silver buttons upon his jacket, little silver comets on his col ar andshoulder straps.

"So!" rasped a voice. "Always you open the doors thenpose like one paralyzed. What is dumfounding about anoven?"

The uniform with its buttons and comets faded away,leaving him dressed in soiled white overal s. The floor was creaky but firm. The stars had gone as if they hadnever been.

"Nothing, Monsieur Trabaud."

"Attention then! Prepare the heat as you have beenshown."

"Yes, Monsieur Trabaud."

Taking an armful of fragrant pine branches from the nearby stack, he shoved them between the doors, useda long iron rake to poke them to the back of the tunnel. Then another bundle and another. He picked from the floor a dozen smal , sticky pinecones, tossed them one by one in among the packed branches. Then he contem-plated the result. A rocket primed with cones and needles.Buthow absurd.

"Jules!"

"Yes, Monsieur Trabaud."

Snatching hurriedly at pine-branches, twigs and tinylogs, he stuffed them between the doors until the tunnelwas ful . That was done.

Everything was ready.

The ship required only the starting spark. Eagle eyes high in the bow must watch for the ground staff to scurry clear of the coming blast.

Then the touch of askil ed, experienced finger upon a crimson button.

Afterthat a howl from below, a gigantic trembling, a slow up-ward climb becoming faster, faster, faster.

"Name of a dog! Now he is transfixed yet again. ThatI should be afflicted with such a dreamer."

Brushing past him, Trabaud thrust a flambeau of blaz-ing paper into the fil ed oven, slammed shut the doors. He turned upon the other, his heavy black eyebrowsfrowning. "Jules Rioux, you are of the age sixteen. Yes?"

"Yes, Monsieur Trabaud."

"Therefore you are old enough to know that to bake bread there must be hotness within this sacred oven.And for that we must have fire; and to have fire we mustapply a flame. Is that not so?"

"Yes, Monsieur Trabaud," he agreed shamefacedly.

"Then why should I have to tel you these thingsagain and again and again?"

"I am an imbecile, Monsieur."

"If that were so, I could understand; I could forgiveyou. The good God makes fools in order to create pity."Seating himself on a dusty and bulging sack, Trabaud putforth a hairy arm, drew the other to him, went on in con-fidential tones. "Your brain wanders like a rejected lover in a strange country. Tel me, my little, who is this girl?"

"Girl?"

"This woman, this divine creature who fil s your mind."

"There is no woman, Monsieur."

"No woman?" Trabaud was frankly astonished. "Yousicken with desire and yet there is no woman?"

"No, Monsieur."

"Then of what do you dream?"

"Of the stars, Monsieur."

"A thousand thunders!" Trabaud spread hands in muteappeal and gazed prayerful y at the ceiling. "An appren-tice baker. Of what does he dream? Of the stars!"

"I cannot help myself, Monsieur."

"Of course you cannot; you are but sixteen." He gavean expressive shrug. "I wil ask you two things.

How can there be people if no man makes bread? And howcan anyone go among the stars if there are no people?"

"I do not know, Monsieur."

"There are ships flying between the stars," continuedTrabaud, "for one reason only - because here we havelife." Leaning to one side he picked up a yard-long loaf, yeasty and golden-crusted. "And this sustains life."

"Yes, Monsieur."

"Do you think that I would not like to adventureamong the stars?"

asked Trabaud.

"You,Monsieur?" Jules stared at him wide-eyed.

"Of a certainty. But I am old and gray-haired and Ihave risen to different eminence. There are many things I cannot do, shal never do.

But I have become a greatartist; I make beautiful bread."

"Yes, Monsieur."

"Not," emphasized Trabaud, wagging an admonitoryfinger, "not the machine-excreted pap of the electric bak-ery at Besancon, but real hand-made bread prepared toperfection. I make it with care, and with love; that isthe secret. Upon each batch I bestow a little of my soul.It is the artist in me. You understand?"

"I understand, Monsieur."

"So, Jules, the citizens do not attend merely to buybread. True, it reads above my window: Pierre Trabaud -Roulanger,but that is no more than becoming modesty.The characteristic of the great artist is that he is modest."

"Yes, Monsieur Trabaud."

"I wil tel you, Jules, why the citizens bring their baskets the moment the scent of my opened oven goes down the road. It is because they are of the taste discern-ing; they are revolted by the crudities of the electric bakery.They come here to purchase my masterpieces. Is that notso, Jules?"

"Yes, Monsieur."

"Then be content. In due time you, too, wil be an artist. Meanwhile let us forget the stars; they are for others."

With that, Trabaud left his sack and commenced spreading a thin layer of flour over a zinc-topped table.

Jules stood silently watching the oven doors frombehind which came cracks and splits and hissing sounds.An odor of burning pine fil ed the bakery and invadedthe street. After a while he opened the doors and a greatblast of heat came out, ful and fierce like the flame trailof a rocket.

Heav'n, heav'n, gonna walk al over God's heav'n.

Colonel Pinet's monocle glittered as he leaned over the counter, pointed to the supposedly hidden tray andsaid, "One of those also, if you please."

"They are not for sale, M. le Colonel," declaredTrabaud.

"Why are they not?'

"They are the errors of Jules; one more minute and | they would have been charcoal. I do not sel blunders.Who wishes to eat charcoal?"

"I do," Pinet informed. "That is the unresolved differ-ence between myself and my wife. She cooks lightly. I amnever served with a wel -

scorched tidbit. Permit me toenjoy one of Jules' mistakes."

"Monsieur-"

"I insist."

"Madame would never accept such a miserable loaf."

"Madame has an appointment with her hairdresser, andhas commissioned me to do the shopping,"

Colonel Pinettold him. "I propose to do it in my own way. You wil per-ceive, my dear Trabaud, that I am an opportunist. Wil you be good enough to serve me with an appetizing cinder, or must I seek one from the electric bakery?"

Trabaud flinched, glowered, selected the least scorchedloaf from the tray, wrapped it to hide it from other eyes,handed it over with bad grace. "The good God preserveme. This Jules gains me one customer but then he wil lose me a hundred."

"He causes you to suffer?" inquired Pinet.

"It is perpetual agony, M. le Colonel. I am compel edto watch him al the time. I have but to turn my back ---so," ---he turned his back to demonstrate-"and, pouf! his mind is off his work and floating among the stars likea runaway bal oon."

"The stars, you say?"

"Yes, M. le Colonel. He is a space conqueror chainedto earth by unfortunate circumstances. Of that material I must make a baker."

"And what are these circumstances of which youspeak?"

"His mother said to him, Trabaud requires an appren-tice; this is your chance. You wil leave school and becomea baker.' So he came to me. He is obedient, you under-stand-so long as he happens to be with us upon thisworld."

"Mothers," said Pinet. He polished his monocle, screwedit back into his eye. "My mother wished me to bea beautifier of poodles. She said it was a genteel occupa- tion; there was money in it. Her society friends would rush to me with their pet lapdogs." His long, slenderfingers made clipping and curling motions while his face registered acute disdain. "I asked myself: what am Ithat I should manicure a dog? I enlisted in the Terraforce and was drafted to Mars.

My mother was prostratedby the news."

"Alas," said Trabaud, al sympathy.

"Today she brags that her son is an officer of thefour-comet rank.

Such are mothers. They have no logic."

"It is perhaps as wel ," Trabaud suggested. "Else some of us might never have been born."

"You wil show me this star-gazer, ordered Pinet.

"Jules!" bawled Trabaud, cupping hands around mouthand aiming toward the bakery at back. "Jules, comehere."

No reply.

"You see?" Trabaud made a gesture of defeat. "The problem is formidable." He went into the bakery.

His voice rang out, loud, impatient. "I cal ed you; why did you not answer? M. le Colonel wishes to see you at once. Brush back your hair and make haste."

Jules appeared, his manner reluctant, his hands and hair white with flour. His gray eyes were dear and steady as he looked at the inquisitive Colonel Pinet.

"So!" commented Pinet, examining him with interest. "You hunger for the stars. Why?"

"Why does one desire anything?" said Jules. He gave a deep shrug.

"It is my nature."

"An excel ent answer," approved Pinet. "It is ofone's nature. A thousand people entrust themselves hourly to a single pilot's hands.

They are safe. Why? Because what he does is of his nature." He studied Jules slowly from head to feet. "Yet you bake bread."

"Someone must bake it," put in Trabaud. "We can-not al be star-roamers."

"Silence!" commanded Pinet. "You conspire with a woman to slaughter a soul; therefore you are an assas-sin. That is to be expected. You come from the Cotesdu Rhone where assassins swarm like flies."

"M. le Colonel, I resent-"

"You are wil ing to continue to serve this murderer?" Pinet demanded of Jules.

"Monsieur Trabaud has been kind. You wil pardonme-"

"Of course he has been kind," interjected Pinet. "He is a sly one. Al the Trabauds are sly ones." He threw a broad wink at Trabaud but Jules caught it and felt vastly relieved. "One thing is demanded of al recruits," continued Pinet, more seriously. "Do you have any idea what that may be?"

"Intel igence, M. le Colonel," suggested Jules.

"Yes, of course; but it is not sufficient. It is required that a recruit should hunger and thirst for the Space Service."

"Which is as it should be," offered Trabaud. "One works hardest and best at the things for which one has some enthusiasm. If I were to care nothing about bread, I would now be a dirty-handed tobacco-spitter at the electric bakery."

"Every year ten thousand aspirants arrive at theSpace Col ege," Pinet informed Jules. "Of these, more than eight thousand fail to pass through. Their en- thusiasm is not enough to support four years of inten-sive study and single-minded concentration. So theyfail. It is disgusting, do you agree?"

"Yes, M. le Colonel, it is disgusting," confirmedJules, frowning.

"Hah!" said Pinet, showing satisfaction. "Then let usdeprive this vulture Trabaud of his prey. We shal find for him another one who is of the nature to bake."

"Monsieur-?"

"I wil recommend you to the col ege; I ask of youonly one thing in return."

 Jules went momentarily breathless. "Oh, M. le Colo-nel! What do you wish?"

"I ask you, Jules, not to disgust me."

He sat in the cabin, his eyes sunken and red-rimmed,while the Fantome whistled through space. In twentytough, hectic years he had builded* a ladder and climbedit to a captaincy. His present reputation was that of beingone of the most conscientious commanders in the service. It was firmly founded upon a motto that had sustainedhim through al his most trying times.

"/ ask you, Jules, not to disgust me."

His mother and Colonel Pinet had both died proud;and he was a captain.

As navigator, copilot and pilot he had served in thebow, where he'd always wanted to be, visibly plunginginto the vast starfield that he loved so much. There had been regular hours of sleep, rest and work, the latterfil ed with the constant, never-ending thril of thingsthat could be seen, watched, studied.

(* Author’s word – not an error in scanning) Now he'd exchanged al that for imprisonment amid-ships, nothing around him but dul titanium al oy wal s, little before him save a desk smothered with papers.

Al his waking hours, al his resting hours and part ofhis sleeping time, he answered questions, made decisions,wrote entries in official books, fil ed a thousand and oneofficial forms. Beaucomp de papierasserie in the idiom of ,France-Sud.

One hour after supper, "Your pardon, Captain. The fat man from Dusseldorf is mad drunk again. He has injured a steward who tried to restrain him. Permission requested to lock him in the brig." '

"Granted."

Or in the middle of a nervy, restless sleep an imperativeshake of his shoulder fol owed by, "You pardon, Captain. Tubes ten and eleven have cracked their linings. Permis-sion requested to cut off power for two hours while re-pairs are carried out."

"Granted. Have the duty navigator bring me the currentcoordinates immediately you're ready to resume progress."

Two hours later another shoulder shake. "Apologies for disturbing you, Captain. Repairs have been com-pleted. Here are our present coordinates."

Questions.

Form-fil ing.

Requests, reports, demands, crises, decisions, answers,orders, commands. Continual harassment

More paperwork.

"Your pardon, Captain. Two passengers, Wil iamArcher and Marion White, wish to be married. When would it be convenient for you to conduct the service?"

"Have they passed the medical examiner?"

"Yes Captain."

"Has the groom a ring?"

"No, Captain."

"Ascertain the correct size and supply him from the ship's store at the standard charge of twenty dol ars."

"And the service, Captain?"

"At four bel s. Let me know whether that time suitsthem."

Paper work again. Duplicated copies of two birth certificates, two emigration certificates, two health cer-tificates, two entry warrants.

Copies in triplicate ofmarriage certificates for Earth Government, Sinus Gov-ernment and Space Service Record Office. One originalcopy for the bride.

And so it went on, every conceivable problem greator petty, at al hours without let-up. Upon landing after a long run, it was considered normal for the cap-tain to be the only one to stagger down the ramp, whirly-minded with constant nerve-testing and serious lackof sleep.

Sometimes he was tempted to take action todemote himself, except that-

"I ask you, Jules, not to disgust me."

The Fantome came down at Bathalbar, on the planet Dacedes, system of Sinus. The run had numbered twohundred eighty-five Earth-days.

Landing formalities over, Captain Jules Rioux leftthe ship, wandered hazily to Mama Kretschmer's. That was routine and in accordance with best psychologicaladvice.

A ship's commander needs deep, potent sleep and plenty of it. But first he must expunge from his mind al thoughts of the vessel, the journey, and everything pertaining thereto. He must so condition himself men-tal y that he wil slumber like a child, deeply, happily, right around the clock. The preliminary technique wasto discard past problems and walk into one's ownheaven.

Mama Kertschmer, a big-bosomed hausfrau fromBavaria, nodded familiarly, said, "Der Kapitan Roo. I am pliss. You vant der sem as effer?"

"If you please, Madame Kretschmer."

He went into the back room. The front one, big,crowded and noisy, held commanders who'd got in several days ahead and already were feeling their oats. The backroom, soundproofed, with heavily cushioned recliningchairs, contained three semicomatose officers of his ownrank. He did not speak to these. They offered no greeting,seemed unaware of his entry. They were knocking at thedoors of paradise.

 In short time Mama brought him a glass of navy rum, neat, warmed to blood heat, spiked with a few drops of oil of cinnamon. He lay back, settled himself comfortably and sought for the land of peace.

The spiced rum glowed within his bowels, fumed in-to his head. The silence bore down upon his eyelids.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he moved away from this timeof exhaustion and walked into that other world.

Women with broad, rosy-cheeked peasant faces, littlelacework caps on their hair, baskets on their arms. Longiron trays sliding over pine ash and coming out loadedwith loaves, long ones, flat ones, curly ones, plaited ones.

A chatter of feminine voices reciting vil age gossipamid an ineffable fragrance of pine-smoke and fresh-bakedbread.

END.

Taken from

Now & Beyond

Eight great science fiction adventures