Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Space Science Fiction July 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
LET'EM BREATHE SPACE!
BY LESTER DEL REY
ILLUSTRATED BY EBERLE
Eighteen men and two women in the closed world of a spaceship for five months can only spell tension and trouble—butin this case, the atmosphere was literally poisoned.
Five months out from Earth, we were half-way to Saturn andthree-quarters of the way to murder. At least, I was. I was sick ofthe feuding, the worries and the pettiness of the other nineteenaboard. My stomach heaved at the bad food, the eternal smell ofpeople, and the constant sound of nagging and complaints. For ten leadpennies, I'd have gotten out into space and tried walking back toEarth. Sometimes I thought about doing it without the pennies.
But I knew I wasn't that tough, in spite of what I looked. I'd beenbuilt to play fullback, and my questionable brunet beauty had beenroughed up by the explosion years before as thoroughly as dockfighting on all the planets could have done. But sometimes I figuredall that meant was that there was more of me to hurt, and that I'd hadmore experience screaming when the anodyne ran out.
Anyhow, whole-wheat pancakes made with sourdough for the ninth"morning" running was too damned much! I felt my stomach heave overagain, took one whiff of the imitation maple syrup, and shoved themess back fast while I got up faster.
It was a mistake. Phil Riggs, our scrawny, half-pint meteorologist,grinned nastily and reached for the plate. "'Smatter, Paul? Don't youlike your breakfast? It's good for you—whole wheat contains bran. Thestaff of life. Man, after that diet of bleached paste...."
There's one guy like that in every bunch. The cook was mad at us forgriping about his coffee, so our group of scientists on this cockeyedSaturn Expedition were getting whole wheat flour as punishment, whileCaptain Muller probably sat in his cabin chuckling about it. In ouragreement, there was a clause that we could go over Muller's head onsuch things with a unanimous petition—but Riggs had spiked that. Theidiot liked bran in his flour, even for pancakes!
Or else he was putting on a good act for the fun of watching the restof us suffer.
"You can take your damned whole wheat and stuff it—" I started. ThenI shrugged and dropped it. There were enough feuds going on aboard thecranky old Wahoo! "Seen Jenny this morning, Phil?"
He studied me insolently. "She told Doc Napier she had some stuffgrowing in hydroponics she wanted to look at. You're wasting your timeon that babe, boy!"
"Thanks for nothing," I muttered at him, and got out before I reallydecided on murder. Jenny Sanderson was our expedition biologist. Anatural golden blonde, just chin-high on me, and cute enough to earnher way through a Ph. D. doing modelling. She had a laugh that wouldmelt a brass s