Limits by Larry Niven (books to read for 13 year olds txt) 📕

be the one they’d have examine the connector if there was any inquiry at all. And I had no obvious motive for killing Jack; just the opposite, except for Jill and McLeve I was regarded as Jack’s only friend.

Once that was done I had only to wait.

The shuttle arrived empty. Halfey went outside, all right, but in a sealed cherry picker; he wasn’t exposed to vacuum for more than a few moments, and apparently I’d made my substitute just strong enough to hold.

They docked the shuttle, but not in the usual place, and they braced it in.

It was time for a mutiny. I wasn’t the only one being Shanghaied on this trip. I went looking for Halfey. First, though, I’d need a reaction pistol. And a projectile. A ball-point pen ought to do nicely. Any court in the world would call it self-defense.

“I’m a public benefactor, I am,” I muttered to myself.

Jill’s quarters were near the store room. When I came out with the pistol, she saw me. “Hi,” she said.

“Hi.” I started to go on.

“You never talk to me anymore.”

“Let’s say I got your message.”

“That was a long time ago. I was upset. So were you. It’s different now…”

“Different. Sure.” I was bitter and I sounded it. “Different. You’ve got that lying bastard Halfey to console you, that’s how it’s different.” That hurt her, and I was glad of it.

“We need him, Corky. We all need him, and we always did. We wouldn’t have got much done without him.”

“True enough—”

“And he was driving all of you nuts, wasn’t he? Until I—helped him sleep.”

“I thought you were in love with him.”

She looked sad. “I like him, but no, I’m not in love with him.” She was standing in the doorway of her quarters. “This isn’t going to work, is it? The Plan. Not enough of you will come. We can’t do it, can we.”

“No.” Might as well tell her the truth. “It never would have worked, and it won’t work now even if all of us aboard come along. Margin’s too thin, Jill. I wish it would, but no.”

“I suppose you’re right. But I’m going to try anyway.”

“You’ll kill yourself.”

She shrugged. “Why not? What’s left anyway?” She went back into her room.

I followed. “You’ve got a lot to live for. Think of the baby fur seals you could save. And there’s always me.”

“You?”

“I’ve been in love with you since the first time I saw you.”

She shook her head sadly. “Poor Corky. And I treated you just like all the others, back then when—. I wish you’d stay with us.”

“I wish you’d come back to Earth with me. Or even Moonbase. We might make a go of Moonbase. Hang on until things change down there. New administration. Maybe they’ll want a space program, and Moonbase would be a good start. I’ll stay at Moonbase if you’ll come.”

“Will you?” She looked puzzled, and scared, and I wanted to take and hold her. “Let’s talk about it. Want a drink?”

“No, thank you.”

“I do.” She poured herself something. “Sure you won’t join me?”

“All right.”

She handed me something cold, full of shaved ice. It tasted like Tang. We began to talk, about life on Earth—or even on Moonbase. She mixed us more drinks, Tang powder and water from a pitcher and vodka and shaved ice. Presently I felt good. Damned good.

One thing led to another, and I was holding her, kissing her, whispering to her—

She broke free and went over to close and lock her door. As she came back toward me she was unbuttoning the top of her blouse.

And I passed out.

When I woke I didn’t know. Now, ninety years later, I still don’t. For ninety years it has driven me nuts, and now I’ll never know.

All that’s certain is that I woke half dressed, alone in her bed, and her clothes were scattered on the deck. I had a thundering hangover and an urgent thirst. I drank from the water pitcher on her table—

It wasn’t water. It must have been my own 100 proof vodka. Next to it was a jar of Tang and a bowl that had held shaved ice—and a bottle holding more vodka. She’d been feeding me vodka and Tang and shaved ice.

No wonder I had a hangover worthy of being bronzed as a record.

I went outside. There was something wrong.

The streams weren’t running correctly. They stood at an angle. At first I thought it was me. Then they sloshed.

The Shack was under acceleration.

There were a dozen others screaming for blood outside the operations building. One was a stranger—the shuttle pilot. The door was locked, and Halfey was talking through a loudspeaker.

“Too late,” he was saying. “We don’t have enough thrust to get back to the L-4 point. We’re headed for the Belt, and you might as well get used to the idea. We’re going.”

There was a cheer. Not everyone hated the idea. Eventually those who did understood: Halfey had drained the shuttle fuel and stored it somewhere. No escape that way.

No other shuttles in lunar orbit. Nothing closer than Canaveral, which was days away even if there were anything ready to launch. Nothing was going to match orbits with us.

We were headed for the Moon, and we’d whip around it and go for the Belt, and that was as inevitable as the tides.

When we understood all that they unlocked the doors.

An hour later the alarms sounded. “Outside. Suit up. Emergency outside!” McLeve’s voice announced.

Those already in their suits went for the airlocks. I began half-heartedly putting on mine, in no hurry. I was sure I’d never get my swollen, pulsing head inside the helmet.

Jack Halfey dashed past, suited and ready. He dove for the airlock.

Halfey. The indispensable man. With a defective connector for an air intake.

I fumbled with the fasteners. One of the construction people was nearby and I got his help. He couldn’t understand my frantic haste.

“Bastards kidnapped us,” he muttered. “Let them do the frigging work. Not me.”

I didn’t want to argue with him, I just wanted