Not that he ever dared admit it aloud. When people asked him what it was like he told them — using one of the carefully memorized speeches from the textbooks.
With an effort he pulled his mind away from the thought and back to the table surrounded by guests and relatives. The dinner was in his honor, so he tried to live up to it. The brandy helped. He finished most of it, then excused himself as soon as he could.
The family house was old enough to have a pocket-sized backyard. He went there, alone, and put his back against the dark building still warm from the heat of the day. The unaccustomed brandy felt good, and when he looked up the stars wheeled in circles until he closed his eyes.
Stars. He had always looked at the stars. From the time he had been a child they had been his interest and his drive. Everything he had ever done or studied had that one purpose behind it. To be one of the select few to fly the space lanes. A pilot.
He had entered the academy when he was seventeen, the minimum age. By the time he was eighteen he knew the whole thing was a fake.
He had tried to ignore the truth, to find some other explanation. But it was no good. Everything he knew, everything he was taught in the school added up to one thing. And that was an impossible conclusion.
It was inescapable and horrible so finally he had put it to the test.
It happened in physiology class, where they were working out problems in relation to orientation and consciousness in acceleration, using Paley's theorem. He had raised his hand timidly, but Eagle-Eye Cherniki had spotted it and growled him to his feet. Once he was committed the words came out in a rush.
"Professor Cherniki, if we accept Paley's theorem, in a problem like this with only minimal escape-G, we go well below the consciousness threshold. And the orientation factor as well, it seems to me. . that, well…"
"Mr. Bork, just what are you trying to say?" Cherniki's voice had the cold incision of a razor's edge.
Jon took the plunge. "There can be only one conclusion. Any pilot who takes off in a ship will be knocked out or unable to orientate enough to work the controls."
The classroom rocked with laughter and Jon felt his face warm and redden. Even Cherniki allowed himself a cold grin when he answered.
"Very good. But if what you say is true, then it is impossible to fly in space — and we do it every day. I think you will find that in the coming semester we will go into the question of changing thresholds under stress. That should—"
"No, sir," Jon broke in. "The texts do not answer this question— if anything they avoid it. I've read every text for this course as well as other related texts—"
"Mr. Bork, are you calling me a liar?" Cherniki's voice was as frigid as his eyes. A dead hush fell over the classroom. "You are dismissed from this class. Go to your quarters and remain there until you are sent for."
Trying not to stumble, Jon went across the room and out the door. Every eye was fixed on him and he felt like a prisoner on the last mile. Instead of getting an answer to his question it looked as if he had got himself in deep trouble. Sitting in his room he tried not to think of the consequences.
He had never been certain he could get into pilot training — even though it had been his only ambition. Just about one out of one hundred made it that far, the rest ending up in the thousand other jobs of the space fleet. Very few washed completely out of the Academy; the entrance requirements were so high that deadheads never got that far. Of course, there were exceptions — and it was beginning to look like he was one of them.
When the intercom finally called him to the president's office he was almost ready for it. He still jumped when it barked for him then he got up quickly and left taking the elevator to the executive level. The cold-faced secretary nodded him in, and he was alone with the Admiral.
Admiral Sikelm had retired from active service when he took over the presidency of the Academy. He had never lost the manner or voice of command and everyone on campus referred to him only as "the Admiral." Jon had never been this close to him before and was struck speechless. The Admiral, however, did no barking or growling, just talked quietly to put him at ease.
"I have seen Professor Cherniki and he told me what happened in class. I have also listened to the taped recording of your conversation with him."
This doubly surprised Jon, it was the first he had heard that the classes contained concealed recorders. The Admiral went on, with the very last words Jon had expected to hear.
"Congratulations, Mr. Bork, you have been accepted for pilot training. Your classes begin next week — if you wish to continue training?" Jon started to talk, but the Admiral stopped him with an upraised palm. "I want you to listen first before you give me your answer. As you have already discovered, space flight is not all that it appears to be.
