Free Futures Past by James White

well, and sometimes better than the people whose specialty it was. He made good tea, too, so naturally he was well liked. It was everyone's considered opinion that he was a born genius. But he was very shy and hesitant, and when he did say something, especially if it was on a technical subject, you got the impression that he'd given it all the consideration one usually gives only to a move in chess. He had a really brilliant mind, though like most of us on that project he was quite young, so we couldn't understand this shyness of his.
       "One night, however, he let his hair down. We had gone out to retrieve the spools and tapes from a rocket that had been blown some distance from the camp. We had quite a job finding it, too. The thing was buried under about ten feet of snow and we had to use a mine detector. When the job was finished we were tired, cold and hungry, and had a mile or more to walk back to our hut. Misfortunes and confidences seem to go together. It happened something like this ..."
       The two men shifted their packs higher as they approached a particularly steep snow drift. Their breath drifted behind them, slowly dissipating in the brittle air. There was no moon, but the snowfield was lit softly by the subdued fitful glow of the Aurora, and the sharp, coldly burning stars that crowded thickly in the sable sky. It was a beautiful night. The men plodded wearily to the top of the drift and stopped. Allen said, "I'd better check the direction again. These pint-sized mountain ranges have got me all crossed up." He fished out a compass. Mathewson just grunted, glad of the rest.
       Mathewson had been leaning on his ski-stick, regaining his breath, and looking down at his dimly-seen snowshoes, thinking of that badly overworked joke about "Tennis, anyone?" when he suddenly realized that his feat were cold and that Allen hadn't said a word for over ten minutes. He looked up. After a few seconds he coughed deliberately and tried to whistle in an exaggerated attempt to attract attention.
       Allen was standing motionless with his head thrown back, looking at that glorious sky. His attention as far as Mathewson could see, was focused in the region of a first-magnitude star which the doctor guessed was Fomalhaut. The compass, held loosely in a clumsy mitten, had slipped and thudded softly into the powdery snow, but the man remained a statue. And he looked as if he would so remain until the next blizzard blew up and covered him. In the dim light his expression couldn't be discerned, but he obviously was in the grip of some strong emotion. His eyes seemed to be wet, but that might have been due to the cold. Seeing him like that made Mathewson feel uncomfortable, as if in some way he was eavesdropping. He shuffled up to Allen, feeling just like a bull on the threshold of a china shop, and shook his elbow gently.
       "Penny for your thoughts."
       Stammering, Allen came abruptly back to earth. Then he spoke rapidly as if nothing had happened.
       "Uh—er—if we follow that star," he pointed, "for about twenty minutes, we'll be home. We should see the lights from the top of that big drift ahead."
       "You must have been a boy scout in your young and formative period," bantered Mathewson. If Allen didn't feel like telling him anything he certainly wasn't going to pry. He went on, hamming it strongly, "Sir, I place myself completely in your hands."
       "Onward!" said Allen, and humming a rousing fanfare which was horribly off key, led the way down the slope. He was himself again.
       They had been trudging for ten minutes and the yellow lights of the camp were well in sight ahead when Allen spoke again. He seemed queerly hesitant.
       "I hear you're for Australia when you finish here, Doc?"
       "That's right," said Mathewson.
       There was no point in denying it, the doctor knew. The fact that he was shortly to take charge of the satellite vehicle project at Woomera was supposed to be top secret, but