\n By ROBERT F. YOUNG\n
\n\n [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from\n
\n Worlds of Tomorrow April 1963\n
\n Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that\n
\n the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]\n
\n Every man's mind is a universe with countless\n
\n places in which he can hide—even from himself!\n
\n The dance that the chocoletto girl was performing was an expurgated\n version of the kylee sex ritual which the Louave maidens of Dubhe 7\n practiced on the eve of their betrothal. Expurgated or not, however,\n it was still on the lascivious side. The G-string that constituted\n the chocoletto girl's entire costume put her but one degree above the\n nakedness which the original dance demanded. Nathan Blake's voice was\n slightly thick when he summoned the waiter who was hovering in the\n shadows at the back of the room. \"Is she free?\" he asked.\n
\n\n \"I do not know, mensakin. Perhaps.\"\n
\n\n Blake resumed watching. The girl's movements were a delicate blend of\n love and lust. Her face accompanied her body, eyes half-lidded one\n moment to match the languid motion of her limbs, wide and feral the\n next to match the furious bump and grind of her hips. For a chocoletto\n she was light-skinned—more bronze, really, than brown. But then,\n the word \"chocoletto\", coined by the early beche-la-mer traders, was\n misleading, and few of the natives of Dubhe 4's southern-most continent\n lived up to it completely.\n
\n\n She was beautiful too. Her high-cheekboned face was striking—the eyes\n dark-brown and wide-apart, the mouth sensuous, the teeth showing in a\n vivid white line between the half-parted purple lips. And her body was\n splendid. Blake had never seen anyone quite like her.\n
\n\n He beckoned to her when the dance was over and, after slipping into\n a white thigh-length tunic, she joined him at his table. She ordered\n Martian wine in a liquid voice, and sipped it with a finesse that\n belied her cannibalistic forebears. \"You wish a night?\" she asked.\n
\n\n Blake nodded. \"If you are free.\"\n
\n\n \"Three thousand quandoes.\"\n
\n\n He did not haggle, but counted out the amount and handed it to her. She\n slipped the bills into a thigh sheath-purse, told him her hut number\n and stood up to leave. \"I will meet you there in an hour,\" she said.\n
\n\n Her hut was as good a place to wait for her as any. After buying a\n bottle of native whiskey at the bar, Blake went out into the Dubhe 4\n night and made his way through the labyrinthine alleys of the native\n sector. In common with all chocoletto huts, Eldoria's was uncared for\n on the outside, and gave a false impression of poverty. He expected to\n find the usual hanger-on waiting in the anteroom, and looked forward to\n booting him out into the alley. Instead he found a young girl—\n
\n\n A human girl.\n
\n\n He paused in the doorway. The girl was sitting cross-legged on a small\n mat, a book open on her lap. Xenophon's\n \n Anabasis\n \n . Her hair made him\n think of the copper-colored sunrises of Norma 9 and her eyes reminded\n him of the blue tarns of Fornax 6. \"Come in,\" she said.\n
\n\n After closing the door, he sat down opposite her on the guest mat.\n Behind her, a gaudy arras hid the hut's other room. \"You are here to\n wait for Eldoria?\" she asked.\n
\n\n Blake nodded. \"And you?\"\n
\n\n She laughed. \"I am here because I live here,\" she said.\n
\n\n He tried to assimilate the information, but could not. Perceiving his\n difficulty, the girl went on, \"My parents indentured themselves to the\n Great Starway Cartel and were assigned to the rubber plantations of\n Dubhe 4. They died of yellow-water dysentery before their indenture ran\n out, and in accordance with Interstellar Law I was auctioned off along\n with the rest of their possessions. Eldoria bought me.\"\n
\n\n Five years as a roving psycheye had hardened Blake to commercial\n colonization practices; nevertheless, he found the present example of\n man's inhumanity to man sickening.\n
\n\n \"How old are you?\" Blake asked.\n
\n\n \"Fourteen.\"\n
\n\n \"And what are you going to be when you grow up?\"\n
\n\n \"Probably I shall be a psychiatrist. Eldoria is sending me to the\n mission school now, and afterward she is going to put me through an\n institute of higher learning. And when I come of age, she is going to\n give me my freedom.\"\n
\n\n \"I see,\" Blake said. He indicated the book on her lap. \"Homework?\"\n
\n\n She shook her head. \"In addition to my courses at the mission school, I\n am studying the humanities.\"\n
\n\n \"Xenophon,\" Blake said. \"And I suppose Plato too.\"\n
\n\n \"And Homer and Virgil and Aeschylus and Euripides and all the rest of\n them. When I grow up I shall be a most well-educated person.\"\n
\n\n \"I'm sure you will be,\" Blake said, looking at the arras.\n
\n\n \"My name is Deirdre.\"\n
\n\n \"Nathan,\" Blake said. \"Nathan Blake.\"\n
\n\n \"Eldoria will be arriving soon. I must go and prepare her dais.\"\n
\n\n She got up, parted the arras, and slipped into the next room. Shame\n flamed in Blake's cheeks, and for a moment he considered leaving; then\n he remembered Eldoria's dance, and he went right on sitting where he\n was.\n
\n\n Presently the girl returned, and not long afterward the cloying scent\n of native incense crept beneath the arras and permeated the anteroom.\n She sat sideways on the mat this time, and he caught her face in\n profile. There was a suggestion of saintliness in the line of the nose\n and chin, a suggestion made all the more poignant by the slender column\n of the neck. He shifted uncomfortably on the guest mat. She had taken\n up the\n \n Anabasis\n \n again, and silence was pounding silent fists upon the\n walls.\n
\n\n He was relieved when Eldoria finally arrived. She ushered him into\n the next room immediately. It was slightly larger than the anteroom,\n and much more richly appointed. A thick carpet the color of Martian\n waterways lay upon the floor, contrasting pleasantly with the golden\n tapestries that adorned all four walls. The sleeping dais was oval\n and took up nearly half the floor space. It was strewn with scarlet\n cushions.\n
\n\n Blake sat down upon it. Nervously he watched Eldoria slip out of her\n white street robe, his eyes moving back and forth from her smooth dark\n skin to the arras. The incense thickened around him.\n
\n\n She noticed the back-and-forth movement of his eyes. \"You need not fear\n the little one,\" she said, laying her hand upon his knee. \"She will not\n enter.\"\n
\n\n \"It's not that so much,\" Blake said.\n
\n\n \"What?\" The warm bronze shoulder was touching his....\n
\n\n He rose up once in the night, thinking to find his hotel bed. His next\n awakening was in the grayness of dawn, and he got up and dressed and\n moved silently to the doorway. The girl slept just without the arras on\n a thin sleeping-mat, and he had to step over her to gain the anteroom.\n In sleep, a strand of her copper-colored hair had tumbled down across\n her forehead and lay like a lovely flower upon the virginal whiteness\n of her skin. There was something saintly about her quiet face.\n
\n\n When he reached the alley he began to run, and he did not stop running\n till the chocoletto sector was far behind him.\n
\n\n The hill was a memory-image and Aldebaran 12 rain-country hills were\n notoriously steep. Blake was breathing hard when he reached the crest.\n
\n\n Before him lay a memory-image of a section of Deneb 1 wasteland. The\n image extended for no more than half a mile, but Blake was annoyed\n that he should have remembered even that much of the wretched terrain.\n Ideally, a man's mind-country should have been comprised only of the\n places and times he wanted to remember. Practically, however, that was\n far from being the case.\n
\n\n He glanced back down into the rain-pocked valley that he had just\n crossed. The rain and the mist made for poor visibility. He could only\n faintly distinguish the three figures of his pursuers. The trio seemed\n a little closer now.\n
\n\n Ever since he had first set foot into his mind, some ten hours ago,\n they had been on his trail, but for some reason he had been unable\n to bring himself to go back and find out who they were and what they\n wanted. Hence he was as vexed with himself as he was with them.\n
\n\n After resting for a few minutes, he descended the hill and started\n across the Deneb 1 wasteland. It was a remarkably detailed\n materialization, and his quarry's footprints stood out clearly in the\n duplicated sand.\n
\n\n Sabrina York did not even know the rudiments of the art of throwing\n off a mind-tracker. It would have done her but little good if she\n had, for twelve years as a psycheye had taught Blake all the tricks.\n Probably she had taken it for granted that the mere act of hiding out\n in her tracker's mind was in itself a sufficient guarantee of her\n safety. After all, she had no way of knowing that he had discovered her\n presence.\n
\n\n Mind-country was as temporally inconsecutive as it was topographically\n incongruous, so Blake was not surprised when the Deneb 1 wasteland gave\n way to an expanse of boyhood meadow. Near the meadow was the house\n where Blake had lived at a much later date. In reality, the places were\n as far apart in miles as they were in years, but here in the country\n of his mind they existed side by side, surrounded by heterogeneous\n landscapes from all over the civilized sector of the galaxy and by the\n sharply demarcated spectra of a hundred different suns. A few of the\n suns were in the patchwork sky—Sirius, for example, and its twinkling\n dwarf companion. Most of them, however, were present only in their\n remembered radiance. To add to the confusion, scattered night memories\n interrupted the hodge-podge horizon with columns of darkness, and here\n and there the gray column of a dawn or dusk memory showed.\n
\n\n The house was flanked on one side by a section of a New Earth spaceport\n and on the other by an excerpt of an Ex-earth city-block. Behind it\n flowed a brief blue stretch of Martian waterway.\n
\n\n Sabrina's footsteps led up to the front door, and the door itself was\n ajar. Perhaps she was still inside. Perhaps she was watching him even\n now through one of the remembered windows. He scanned them with a\n professional eye, but saw no sign of her.\n
\n\n Warily he stepped inside, adjusting the temperature of his all-weather\n jacket to the remembered air-conditioning. His father was sitting in\n the living room, smoking, and watching 3V. He had no awareness of\n Blake. At Blake's entry he went right on smoking and watching as though\n the door had neither opened nor closed. He would go right on smoking\n and watching till Blake died and the conglomeration of place-times\n that constituted Blake's mind-world ceased to be. Ironically, he was\n watching nothing. The 3V program that had been in progress at the time\n of the unconscious materialization had failed to come through.\n
\n\n The memory was a treasured one—the old man had perished in a 'copter\n crash several years ago—and for a long while Blake did not move.\n He had never been in his own mind before. Consequently he was more\n affected than he might otherwise have been. Finally, stirring himself,\n he walked out into the kitchen. On a shelf above the sink stood a gaily\n colored box of his mother's favorite detergent with a full-length\n drawing of Vera Velvetskin, the company's blond and chic visual symbol,\n on the front. His mother was standing before the huge automatic range,\n preparing a meal she had served twenty-three years ago. He regarded her\n with moist eyes. She had died a dozen years before his father, but the\n wound that her death had caused had never healed. He wanted to go up\n behind her and touch her shoulder and say, \"What's for supper, mom?\"\n but he knew it would do no good. For her he had no reality, not only\n because he was far in her future, but because in his mind-world she was\n a mortal and he, a god—a picayune god, perhaps, but a real one.\n
\n\n As he was about to turn away, the name-plate on the range caught his\n eye, and thinking that he had read the two words wrong, he stepped\n closer so that he could see them more clearly. No, he had made no\n mistake: the first word was \"Sabrina\", and the second was \"York\".\n
\n\n He stepped back. Odd that a kitchen range should have the same name as\n his quarry. But perhaps not unduly so. Giving appliances human names\n had been common practice for centuries. Even a name like \"Sabrina\n York\", while certainly not run-of-the-mill, was bound to be duplicated\n in real life. Nevertheless a feeling of uneasiness accompanied him when\n he left the kitchen and climbed the stairs to the second floor.\n
\n\n He went through each room systematically, but saw no sign of Sabrina\n York. He lingered for some time in his own room, wistfully watching his\n fifteen-year-old self lolling on the bed with a dog-eared copy of\n \n The\n Galaxy Boys and the Secret of the Crab Nebula\n \n , then he stepped back\n out into the hall and started to descend the stairs.\n
\n\n At the head of the stairs a narrow window looked out over the front\n yard and thence out over the meadow. He glanced absently through the\n panes, and came to an abrupt halt. His three pursuers were wading\n through the long meadow grass less than a quarter of a mile away—not\n close enough as yet for him to be able to make out their faces, but\n close enough for him to be able to see that two of them were wearing\n dresses and that the third had on a blue skirt and blouse, and a kepi\n to match. He gasped. It simply hadn't occurred to him that his pursuers\n might be women. To his consternation he discovered that he was even\n more loath to go back and accost them than he had been before. He\n actually had an impulse to flee.\n
\n\n He controlled it and descended the stairs with exaggerated slowness,\n leaving the house by way of the back door. He picked up Sabrina's trail\n in the back yard and followed it down to the Martian waterway and\n thence along the bank to where the waterway ended and a campus began.\n Not the campus of the university which he had visited two days ago to\n attend his protegee's graduation. It was not a place-time that he cared\n to revisit, nor a moment that he cared to relive, but Sabrina's trail\n led straight across the artificially stunted grass toward the little\n bench where he and Deirdre Eldoria had come to talk after the ceremony\n was over. He had no choice.\n
\n\n The bench stood beneath a towering American elm whose feathery branches\n traced green arabesques against the blue June sky. A set of footprints\n slightly deeper than its predecessors indicated that Sabrina had\n paused by the trunk. Despite himself Blake paused there too. Pain\n tightened his throat when he looked at Deirdre's delicate profile\n and copper-colored hair, intensified when he lowered his eyes to the\n remembered blueness of her graduation dress. The diamond brooch that he\n had given her as a graduation present, and which she had proudly pinned\n upon her bodice for the whole wide world to see, made him want to\n cry. His self-image of two weeks ago shocked him. There were lines on\n the face that did not as yet exist, and the brown hair was shot with\n streaks of gray that had yet to come into being. Lord, he must have\n been feeling old to have pictured himself like that!\n
\n\n Deirdre was speaking. \"Yes,\" she was saying, \"at nine o'clock. And I\n should very much like for you to come.\"\n
\n\n Blake Past shook his head. \"Proms aren't for parents. You know that\n as well as I do. That young man you were talking with a few minutes\n ago—he's the one who should take you. He'd give his right arm for the\n chance.\"\n
\n\n \"I'll thank you not to imply that you're my father. One would think\n from the way you talk that you are centuries old!\"\n
\n\n \"I'm thirty-eight,\" Blake Past said, \"and while I may not be your\n father, I'm certainly old enough to be. That young man—\"\n
\n\n A pink flush of anger climbed into Deirdre Eldoria's girlish cheeks.\n \"What right has\n \n he\n \n got to take me! Did\n \n he\n \n scrimp and go without\n in order to put me through high school and college? Has\n \n he\n \n booked\n passage for me to New Earth and paid my tuition to Trevor University?\"\n
\n\n \"Please,\" Blake Past said, desperation deepening his voice. \"You're\n only making everything worse. After majoring in Trevorism, you\n certainly ought to realize by now that there was nothing noble about my\n buying you after Eldoria died. I only did it to ease my conscience—\"\n
\n\n \"What do\n \n you\n \n know about conscience?\" Deirdre demanded. \"Conscience\n is a much more complex mechanism than most laymen realize. Guilt\n feelings aren't reliable criteria. They can stem from false\n causes—from ridiculous things like a person's inability to accept\n himself for what he is.\" Abruptly she dropped the subject. \"Don't you\n realize, Nate,\" she went on a little desperately, \"that I'm leaving\n tomorrow and that we won't see each other again for years and years?\"\n
\n\n \"I'll come to New Earth to visit you,\" Blake said. \"Venus is only a few\n days distant on the new ships.\"\n
\n\n She stood up. \"You won't come—I know you won't.\" She stamped her foot.\n \"And you won't come to the prom either. I know that too. I knew it all\n along. Sometimes I'm tempted to—\" Abruptly she broke off. \"Very well\n then,\" she went on, \"I'll say good-by now then.\"\n
\n\n Blake Past stood up too. \"No, not yet. I'll walk back to the sorority\n house with you.\"\n
\n\n She tossed her head, but the sadness in her tarn-blue eyes belied her\n hauteur. \"If you wish,\" she said.\n
\n\n Blake Present watched them set out side by side toward the remembered\n halls of learning that showed in the distance. There had been other\n people present on the campus that afternoon, but as they had failed to\n register on Blake Past's mind, they did not exist for Blake Present.\n All that existed for Blake Present were the diminishing figures of the\n girl and the man, and the pain that was constricting his throat.\n
\n\n Wretchedly he turned away. As he did so he saw the three shadows lying\n at his feet and knew that his pursuers had at last caught up to him.\n
\n\n His first reaction when he faced them was amazement. His next reaction\n was shock. His third was fear.\n
\n\n His amazement resulted from recognition. One of the three women arrayed\n before him was Miss Stoddart, his boyhood Sunday-school teacher.\n Standing next to her in a familiar blue uniform was Officer Finch,\n the police woman who had maintained law and order in the collective\n elementary school he had attended. Standing next to Officer Finch was\n blond and chic Vera Velvetskin, whose picture he had seen on box after\n countless box of his mother's favorite detergent.\n
\n\n His shock resulted from the expressions on the three faces. Neither\n Miss Stoddart nor Officer Finch ever particularly liked him, but they\n had never particularly disliked him either. This Miss Stoddart and this\n Officer Finch disliked him, though. They hated him. They hated him so\n much that their hatred had thinned out their faces and darkened their\n eyes. More shocking yet, Vera Velvetskin, who had never existed save\n in some copywriter's mind, hated him too. In fact, judging from the\n greater thinness of her face and the more pronounced darkness of her\n eyes, she hated him even more than Miss Stoddart and Officer Finch did.\n
\n\n His fear resulted from the realization that his mind-world contained\n phenomena it had no right to contain—not if he was nearly as\n well-adjusted as he considered himself to be. The three women standing\n before him definitely were not memory-images. They were too vivid, for\n one thing. For another, they were aware of him. What were they, then?\n And what were they doing in his mind?\n
\n\n He asked the two questions aloud.\n
\n\n Three arms were raised and three forefingers were pointed accusingly at\n his chest. Three pairs of eyes burned darkly. \"You ask us that?\" Miss\n Stoddart said. \"Callous creature who did a maiden's innocence affront!\"\n said Officer Finch. \"And sought sanctuary in ill-fitting robes of\n righteousness!\" said Vera Velvetskin. The three faces moved together,\n blurred and seemed to blend into one. The three voices were raised in\n unison: \"You know who we are, Nathan Blake.\n \n You\n \n know who we are!\"\n
\n\n Blake stared at them open-mouthed. Then he turned and fled.\n
\n\n It had taken man a long time to discover that he was a god in his\n own right and that he too was capable of creating universes. Trivial\n universes, to be sure, when compared with the grandeur and scope of the\n objective one, and peopled with ghosts instead of human beings; but\n universes nonetheless.\n
\n\n The discovery came about quite by accident. After projecting himself\n into a patient's memory one day, a psychologist named Trevor suddenly\n found himself clinging to the slope of a traumatically distorted\n mountain. His patient was beside him.\n
\n\n The mountain proved to be an unconscious memory-image out of the\n patient's boyhood, and its country proved to be the country of the\n patient's mind. After many trials and errors, Trevor managed to get\n both himself and his patient back to the objective world, and not long\n afterward he was able to duplicate the feat on another case.\n
\n\n The next logical step was to enter his own mind, and this he also\n succeeded in doing.\n
\n\n It was inevitable that Trevor should write a book about his discovery\n and set about founding a new school of psychology. It was equally\n inevitable that he should acquire enemies as well as disciples.\n However, as the years passed and the new therapy which he devised cured\n more and more psychoses, the ranks of his disciples swelled and those\n of his enemies shrank. When, shortly before his death, he published a\n paper explaining how anyone could enter his or her own mind-world at\n will, his niche in the Freudian hall of fame was assured.\n
\n\n The method employed an ability that had been evolving in the human mind\n for millennia—the ability to project oneself into a past moment—or,\n to use Trevor's term, a past \"place-time.\" Considerable practice was\n required before the first transition could be achieved, but once it\n was achieved, successive transitions became progressively easier.\n Entering another person's mind-world was of course a more difficult\n undertaking, and could be achieved only after an intensive study of\n a certain moment in that person's past. In order to return to the\n objective world, it was necessary in both cases to locate the most\n recently materialized place-time and take one step beyond it.\n
\n\n By their very nature, mind-countries were confusing. They existed on\n a plane of reality that bore no apparent relationship to the plane\n of the so-called objective universe. In fact, so far as was known,\n this secondary—or subjective—reality was connected to so-called\n true reality only through the awareness of the various creators. In\n addition, these countries had no outward shape in the ordinary sense of\n the word, and while most countries contained certain parallel images,\n these images were subject to the interpretation of the individual\n creator. As a result they were seldom identical.\n
\n\n It was inevitable that sooner or later some criminal would hit upon\n the idea of hiding out in his own mind-world till the statute of\n limitations that applied to his particular crime ran out, and it was\n equally inevitable that others should follow suit. Society's answer was\n the psyche-police, and the psyche-police hadn't been in action very\n long before the first private psycheye appeared.\n
\n\n Blake was one of a long line of such operators.\n
\n\n So far as he knew, the present case represented the first time a\n criminal had ever hidden out in the pursuer's mind. It would have been\n a superb stratagem indeed if, shortly after her entry, Sabrina York\n had not betrayed her presence. For her point of entry she had used\n the place-time materialization of the little office Blake had opened\n on Ex-earth at the beginning of his career. Unaccountably she had\n ransacked it before moving into a co-terminous memory-image.\n
\n\n Even this action wouldn't have given her away, however, if the office\n hadn't constituted a sentimental memory. Whenever Blake accepted a case\n he invariably thought of the bleak and lonely little room with its\n thin-gauge steel desk and battered filing cabinets, and when he had\n done so after accepting his case—or was it before? He couldn't quite\n remember—the mental picture that had come into his mind had revealed\n open drawers, scattered papers and a general air of disarray.\n
\n\n He had suspected the truth immediately, and when he had seen the\n woman's handkerchief with the initials \"SB\" embroidered on it lying\n by one of the filing cabinets he had known definitely that his quarry\n was hiding out in his mind. Retiring to his bachelor quarters, he had\n entered at the same place-time and set off in pursuit.\n
\n\n Her only advantage lost, Sabrina York was now at his mercy. Unless\n she discovered his presence and was able to locate his most recently\n materialized place-time before he over-took her, her capture was\n assured.\n
\n\n Only two things bothered Blake. The little office was far in his past,\n and it was unlikely that anyone save the few intimate acquaintances\n whom he had told about it were aware that it had ever existed. How,\n then, had a total stranger such as Sabrina York learned enough about it\n to enable her to use it as a point of entry?\n
\n\n The other thing that bothered him was of a much more urgent nature.\n He had been in enough minds and he had read enough on the subject\n of Trevorism to know that people were sometimes capable of creating\n beings considerably higher on the scale of mind-country evolution\n than ordinary memory-ghosts. One woman whom he had apprehended in her\n own mind had created a walking-talking Virgin Mary who watched over\n her wherever she went. And once, after tracking down an ex-enlisted\n man, he had found his quarry holed up in the memory-image of an army\n barracks with a ten-star general waiting on him hand and foot. But\n these, and other, similar, cases, had to do with mal-adjusted people,\n and moreover, the super-image in each instance had been an image that\n the person involved had\n \n wanted\n \n to create. Therefore, even assuming\n that Blake was less well-adjusted than he considered himself to be, why\n had he created three such malevolent super-images as Miss Stoddart,\n Officer Finch, and Vera Velvetskin?\n
\n\n They followed him off the campus into a vicarious memory-image of\n Walden Pond, Thoreau's shack, and the encompassing woods. Judging from\n the ecstatic \"oh's\" and \"ah's\" they kept giving voice to, the place\n delighted them. Once, glancing back over his shoulder, he saw them\n standing in front of Thoreau's shack, looking at it as though it were a\n doll's house. Not far away, Thoreau was sitting in under a tall pine,\n gazing up into the branches at a bird that had come through only as a\n vague blur of beak and feathers.\n
\n\n Blake went on. Presently the Walden Pond memory-image gave way to a\n memory-image of an English park which the ex-Earth government had set\n aside as a memorial to the English poets and which had impressed Blake\n sufficiently when he had visited it in his youth to have found a place\n for itself in the country of his mind. It consisted of reconstructions\n of famous dwellings out of the lives of the poets, among them, a\n dwelling out of the life of a poet who was not in the strictest sense\n of the word English at all—the birthplace of Robert Burns. Oddly\n enough, it was Burns's birthplace that had impressed Blake most. Now\n the little cottage stood out in much more vivid detail than any of the\n other famous dwellings.\n
\n\n Sabrina York must have been attracted to the place, for her footprints\n showed that she had turned in at the gate, walked up the little path\n and let herself in the door.\n
\n\n They also showed that she had left by the same route, so there was no\n reason for Blake to linger. As a matter of fact, the fascination that\n had brought the place into being had been replaced by an illogical\n repugnance. But repugnance can sometimes be as compelling a force as\n fascination, and Blake not only lingered but went inside as well.\n
\n\n He remembered the living room distinctly—the flagstone floor, the huge\n grill-fronted hearth, the deeply recessed window, the rack of cups and\n platters on the wall; the empty straight-backed chair standing sternly\n in a corner, the bare wooden table—\n
\n\n He paused just within the doorway. The chair was no longer empty, the\n table no longer bare.\n
\n\n A man sat on the former and a bottle of wine stood on the latter.\n Moreover, the room showed signs of having been lived in for a long\n time. The floor was covered with tracked-in dirt and the walls were\n blackened from smoke. The grill-work of the hearth was begrimed with\n grease.\n
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\n\n \n In language translation, you may get a literally accurate\n word-for-word translation ... but miss the meaning entirely. And in\n space-type translation ... the effect may be the same!\n \n
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\n\n The cell had been put together more efficiently than any Korvin had\n ever been in. But that was only natural, he told himself sadly; the\n Tr'en were an efficient people. All the preliminary reports had agreed\n on that; their efficiency, as a matter of fact, was what had made\n Korvin's arrival a necessity. They were well into the atomic era, and\n were on the verge of developing space travel. Before long they'd be\n settling the other planets of their system, and then the nearer stars.\n Faster-than-light travel couldn't be far away, for the magnificently\n efficient physical scientists of the Tr'en—and that would mean, in\n the ordinary course of events, an invitation to join the Comity of\n Planets.\n
\n\n An invitation, the Comity was sure, which the Tr'en would not accept.\n
\n\n Korvin stretched out on the cell's single bunk, a rigid affair which\n was hardly meant for comfort, and sighed. He'd had three days of\n isolation, with nothing to do but explore the resources of his own\n mind. He'd tried some of the ancient Rhine experiments, but that was\n no good; he still didn't show any particular psi talents. He couldn't\n unlock the cell door with his unaided mind; he couldn't even alter the\n probability of a single dust-mote's Brownian path through the somewhat\n smelly air. Nor could he disappear from his cell and appear, as if by\n magic, several miles away near the slightly-damaged hulk of his ship,\n to the wonder and amazement of his Tr'en captors.\n
\n\n He could do, as a matter of fact, precisely nothing. He wished quietly\n that the Tr'en had seen fit to give him a pack of cards, or a book, or\n even a folder of tourist pictures. The Wonders of Tr'en, according to\n all the advance reports, were likely to be pretty boring, but they'd\n have been better than nothing.\n
\n\n In any decently-run jail, he told himself with indignation, there\n would at least have been other prisoners to talk to. But on Tr'en\n Korvin was all alone.\n
\n\n True, every night the guards came in and gave him a concentrated\n lesson in the local language, but Korvin failed to get much pleasure\n out of that, being unconscious at the time. But now he was equipped to\n discuss almost anything from philosophy to plumbing, but there was\n nobody to discuss it with. He changed position on the bunk and stared\n at the walls. The Tr'en were efficient; there weren't even any\n imperfections in the smooth surface to distract him.\n
\n\n He wasn't tired and he wasn't hungry; his captors had left him with a\n full stock of food concentrates.\n
\n\n But he was almightily bored, and about ready to tell anything to\n anyone, just for the chance at a little conversation.\n
\n\n As he reached this dismal conclusion, the cell door opened. Korvin got\n up off the bunk in a hurry and spun around to face his visitor.\n
\n\n The Tr'en was tall, and slightly green.\n
\n\n He looked, as all the Tr'en did, vaguely humanoid—that is, if you\n don't bother to examine him closely. Life in the universe appeared to\n be rigidly limited to humanoid types on oxygen planets; Korvin didn't\n know why, and neither did anybody else. There were a lot of theories,\n but none that accounted for all the facts satisfactorily. Korvin\n really didn't care about it; it was none of his business.\n
\n\n The Tr'en regarded him narrowly through catlike pupils. \"You are\n Korvin,\" he said.\n
\n\n It was a ritual, Korvin had learned. \"You are of the Tr'en,\" he\n replied. The green being nodded.\n
\n\n \"I am Didyak of the Tr'en,\" he said. Amenities over with, he relaxed\n slightly—but no more than slightly—and came into the cell, closing\n the door behind him. Korvin thought of jumping the Tr'en, but decided\n quickly against it. He was a captive, and it was unwise to assume that\n his captors had no more resources than the ones he saw: a small\n translucent pistollike affair in a holster at the Tr'en's side, and a\n small knife in a sheath at the belt. Those Korvin could deal with; but\n there might be almost anything else hidden and ready to fire on him.\n
\n\n \"What do you want with me?\" Korvin said. The Tr'en speech—apparently\n there was only one language on the planet—was stiff and slightly\n awkward, but easily enough learned under drug hypnosis; it was the\n most rigorously logical construction of its kind Korvin had ever come\n across. It reminded him of some of the mathematical metalanguages he'd\n dealt with back on Earth, in training; but it was more closely and\n carefully constructed than even those marvels.\n
\n\n \"I want nothing with you,\" Didyak said, leaning against the\n door-frame. \"You have other questions?\"\n
\n\n Korvin sighed. \"What are you doing here, then?\" he asked. As\n conversation, it wasn't very choice; but it was, he admitted, better\n than solitude.\n
\n\n \"I am leaning against the door,\" Didyak said. The Tr'en literalist\n approach to the smallest problems of everyday living was a little hard\n to get the hang of, Korvin told himself bitterly. He thought for a\n second.\n
\n\n \"Why did you come to me?\" he said at last.\n
\n\n Didyak beamed at him. The sight was remarkably unpleasant, involving\n as it did the disclosure of the Tr'en fifty-eight teeth, mostly\n pointed. Korvin stared back impassively. \"I have been ordered to come\n to you,\" Didyak said, \"by the Ruler. The Ruler wishes to talk with\n you.\"\n
\n\n It wasn't quite \"talk\"; that was a general word in the Tr'en language,\n and Didyak had used a specific meaning, roughly: \"gain information\n from, by peaceful and vocal means.\" Korvin filed it away for future\n reference. \"Why did the Ruler not come to me?\" Korvin asked.\n
\n\n \"The Ruler is the Ruler,\" Didyak said, slightly discomfited. \"You are\n to go to him. Such is his command.\"\n
\n\n Korvin shrugged, sighed and smoothed back his hair. \"I obey the\n command of the Ruler,\" he said—another ritual. Everybody obeyed the\n command of the Ruler. If you didn't, you never had a second chance to\n try.\n
\n\n But Korvin meant exactly what he'd said. He was going to obey the\n commands of the Ruler of the Tr'en—and remove the Tr'en threat from\n the rest of the galaxy forever.\n
\n\n That, after all, was his job.\n
\n\n The Room of the Ruler was large, square and excessively brown. The\n walls were dark-brown, the furnishings—a single great chair, several\n kneeling-benches and a small table near the chair—were light-brown,\n of some metallic substance, and even the drapes were tan. It was,\n Korvin decided, much too much of a bad idea, even when the color\n contrast of the Tr'en themselves were figured in.\n
\n\n The Ruler himself, a Tr'en over seven feet tall and correspondingly\n broad, sat in the great chair, his four fingers tapping gently on the\n table near him, staring at Korvin and his guards. The guards stood on\n either side of their captive, looking as impassive as jade statues,\n six and a half feet high.\n
\n\n Korvin wasn't attempting to escape. He wasn't pleading with the Ruler.\n He wasn't defying the Ruler, either. He was just answering questions.\n
\n\n The Tr'en liked to have everything clear. They were a logical race.\n The Ruler had started with Korvin's race, his name, his sex—if\n any—and whether or not his appearance were normal for humanity.\n
\n\n Korvin was answering the last question. \"Some men are larger than I\n am,\" he said, \"and some are smaller.\"\n
\n\n \"Within what limits?\"\n
\n\n Korvin shrugged. \"Some are over eight feet tall,\" he said, \"and others\n under four feet.\" He used the Tr'en measurement scale, of course; it\n didn't seem necessary, though, to mention that both extremes of height\n were at the circus-freak level. \"Then there is a group of humans,\" he\n went on, \"who are never more than a foot and a half in height, and\n usually less than that—approximately nine or ten inches. We call\n these\n \n children\n \n ,\" he volunteered helpfully.\n
\n\n \"Approximately?\" the Ruler growled. \"We ask for precision here,\" he\n said. \"We are scientific men. We are exact.\"\n
\n\n Korvin nodded hurriedly. \"Our race is more ... more approximate,\" he\n said apologetically.\n
\n\n \"Slipshod,\" the Ruler muttered.\n
\n\n \"Undoubtedly,\" Korvin agreed politely. \"I'll try to do the best I can\n for you.\"\n
\n\n \"You will answer my questions,\" the Ruler said, \"with exactitude.\" He\n paused, frowning slightly. \"You landed your ship on this planet,\" he\n went on. \"Why?\"\n
\n\n \"My job required it,\" Korvin said.\n
\n\n \"A clumsy lie,\" the Ruler said. \"The ship crashed; our examinations\n prove that beyond any doubt.\"\n
\n\n \"True,\" Korvin said.\n
\n\n \"And it is your job to crash your ship?\" the Ruler said. \"Wasteful.\"\n
\n\n Korvin shrugged again. \"What I say is true,\" he announced. \"Do you\n have tests for such matters?\"\n
\n\n \"We do,\" the Ruler told him. \"We are an exact and a scientific race. A\n machine for the testing of truth has been adjusted to your physiology.\n It will be attached to you.\"\n
\n\n Korvin looked around and saw it coming through the door, pushed by two\n technicians. It was large and squat and metallic, and it had wheels,\n dials, blinking lights, tubes and wires, and a seat with armrests and\n straps. It was obviously a form of lie-detector—and Korvin felt\n himself marveling again at this race. Earth science had nothing to\n match their enormous command of the physical universe; adapting a\n hypnopædic language-course to an alien being so quickly had been\n wonder enough, but adapting the perilously delicate mechanisms that\n necessarily made up any lie-detector machinery was almost a miracle.\n The Tr'en, under other circumstances, would have been a valuable\n addition to the Comity of Nations.\n
\n\n Being what they were, though, they could only be a menace. And\n Korvin's appreciation of the size of that menace was growing hourly.\n
\n\n He hoped the lie-detector had been adjusted correctly. If it showed\n him telling an untruth, he wasn't likely to live long, and his\n job—not to mention the strongest personal inclinations—demanded most\n strongly that he stay alive.\n
\n\n He swallowed hard. But when the technicians forced him down into the\n seat, buckled straps around him, attached wires and electrodes and\n elastic bands to him at appropriate places and tightened some final\n screws, he made no resistance.\n
\n\n \"We shall test the machine,\" the Ruler said. \"In what room are you?\"\n
\n\n \"In the Room of the Ruler,\" Korvin said equably.\n
\n\n \"Are you standing or sitting?\"\n
\n\n \"I am sitting,\" Korvin said.\n
\n\n \"Are you a\n \n chulad\n \n ?\" the Ruler asked. A\n \n chulad\n \n was a small native\n pet, Korvin knew, something like a greatly magnified deathwatch\n beetle.\n
\n\n \"I am not,\" he said.\n
\n\n The Ruler looked to his technicians for a signal, and nodded on\n receiving it. \"You will tell an untruth now,\" he said. \"Are you\n standing or sitting?\"\n
\n\n \"I am standing,\" Korvin said.\n
\n\n The technicians gave another signal. The Ruler looked, in his frowning\n manner, reasonably satisfied. \"The machine,\" he announced, \"has been\n adjusted satisfactorily to your physiology. The questioning will now\n continue.\"\n
\n\n Korvin swallowed again. The test hadn't really seemed extensive enough\n to him. But, after all, the Tr'en knew their business, better than\n anyone else could know it. They had the technique and the logic and\n the training.\n
\n\n He hoped they were right.\n
\n\n The Ruler was frowning at him. Korvin did his best to look receptive.\n \"Why did you land your ship on this planet?\" the Ruler said.\n
\n\n \"My job required it,\" Korvin said.\n
\n\n The Ruler nodded. \"Your job is to crash your ship,\" he said. \"It is\n wasteful but the machines tell me it is true. Very well, then; we\n shall find out more about your job. Was the crash intentional?\"\n
\n\n Korvin looked sober. \"Yes,\" he said.\n
\n\n The Ruler blinked. \"Very well,\" he said. \"Was your job ended when the\n ship crashed?\" The Tr'en word, of course, wasn't\n \n ended\n \n , nor did it\n mean exactly that. As nearly as Korvin could make out, it meant\n \"disposed of for all time.\"\n
\n\n \"No,\" he said.\n
\n\n \"What else does your job entail?\" the Ruler said.\n
\n\n Korvin decided to throw his first spoke into the wheel. \"Staying\n alive.\"\n
\n\n The Ruler roared. \"Do not waste time with the obvious!\" he shouted.\n \"Do not try to trick us; we are a logical and scientific race! Answer\n correctly.\"\n
\n\n \"I have told the truth,\" Korvin said.\n
\n\n \"But it is not—not the truth we want,\" the Ruler said.\n
\n\n Korvin shrugged. \"I replied to your question,\" he said. \"I did not\n know that there was more than one kind of truth. Surely the truth is\n the truth, just as the Ruler is the Ruler?\"\n
\n\n \"I—\" The Ruler stopped himself in mid-roar. \"You try to confuse the\n Ruler,\" he said at last, in an approximation of his usual one. \"But\n the Ruler will not be confused. We have experts in matters of\n logic\"—the Tr'en word seemed to mean\n \n right-saying\n \n —\"who will advise\n the Ruler. They will be called.\"\n
\n\n Korvin's guards were standing around doing nothing of importance now\n that their captor was strapped down in the lie-detector. The Ruler\n gestured and they went out the door in a hurry.\n
\n\n The Ruler looked down at Korvin. \"You will find that you cannot trick\n us,\" he said. \"You will find that such fiddling\"—\n \n chulad-like\n \n Korvin\n translated—\"attempts will get you nowhere.\"\n
\n\n Korvin devoutly hoped so.\n
\n\n The experts in logic arrived shortly, and in no uncertain terms Korvin\n was given to understand that logical paradox was not going to confuse\n anybody on the planet. The barber who did, or didn't, shave himself,\n the secretary of the club whose members were secretaries, Achilles and\n the tortoise, and all the other lovely paradox-models scattered around\n were so much primer material for the Tr'en. \"They can be treated\n mathematically,\" one of the experts, a small emerald-green being, told\n Korvin thinly. \"Of course, you would not understand the mathematics.\n But that is not important. You need only understand that we cannot be\n confused by such means.\"\n
\n\n \"Good,\" Korvin said.\n
\n\n The experts blinked. \"Good?\" he said.\n
\n\n \"Naturally,\" Korvin said in a friendly tone.\n
\n\n The expert frowned horribly, showing all of his teeth. Korvin did his\n best not to react. \"Your plan is a failure,\" the expert said, \"and you\n call this a good thing. You can mean only that your plan is different\n from the one we are occupied with.\"\n
\n\n \"True,\" Korvin said.\n
\n\n There was a short silence. The expert beamed. He examined the\n indicators of the lie-detector with great care. \"What is your plan?\"\n he said at last, in a conspiratorial whisper.\n
\n\n \"To answer your questions, truthfully and logically,\" Korvin said.\n
\n\n The silence this time was even longer.\n
\n\n \"The machine says that you tell the truth,\" the experts said at last,\n in a awed tone. \"Thus, you must be a traitor to your native planet.\n You must want us to conquer your planet, and have come here secretly\n to aid us.\"\n
\n\n Korvin was very glad that wasn't a question. It was, after all, the\n only logical deduction.\n
\n\n But it happened to be wrong.\n
\n\n \"The name of your planet is Earth?\" the Ruler asked. A few minutes had\n passed; the experts were clustered around the single chair. Korvin was\n still strapped to the machine; a logical race makes use of a traitor,\n but a logical race does not trust him.\n
\n\n \"Sometimes,\" Korvin said.\n
\n\n \"It has other names?\" the Ruler said.\n
\n\n \"It has no name,\" Korvin said truthfully. The Tr'en idiom was like the\n Earthly one; and certainly a planet had no name. People attached names\n to it, that was all. It had none of its own.\n
\n\n \"Yet you call it Earth?\" the Ruler said.\n
\n\n \"I do,\" Korvin said, \"for convenience.\"\n
\n\n \"Do you know its location?\" the Ruler said.\n
\n\n \"Not with exactitude,\" Korvin said.\n
\n\n There was a stir. \"But you can find it again,\" the Ruler said.\n
\n\n \"I can,\" Korvin said.\n
\n\n \"And you will tell us about it?\" the Ruler went on.\n
\n\n \"I will,\" Korvin said, \"so far as I am able.\"\n
\n\n \"We will wish to know about weapons,\" the Ruler said, \"and about plans\n and fortifications. But we must first know of the manner of decision\n on this planet. Is your planet joined with others in a government or\n does it exist alone?\"\n
\n\n Korvin nearly smiled. \"Both,\" he said.\n
\n\n A short silence was broken by one of the attendant experts. \"We have\n theorized that an underling may be permitted to make some of his own\n decisions, leaving only the more extensive ones for the master. This\n seems to us inefficient and liable to error, yet it is a possible\n system. Is it the system you mean?\"\n
\n\n Very sharp, Korvin told himself grimly. \"It is,\" he said.\n
\n\n \"Then the government which reigns over several planets is supreme,\"\n the Ruler said.\n
\n\n \"It is,\" Korvin said.\n
\n\n \"Who is it that governs?\" the Ruler said.\n
\n\n The key question had, at last, been asked. Korvin felt grateful that\n the logical Tr'en had determined to begin from the beginning, instead\n of going off after details of armament first; it saved a lot of time.\n
\n\n \"The answer to that question,\" Korvin said, \"cannot be given to you.\"\n
\n\n \"Any question of fact has an answer,\" the Ruler snapped. \"A paradox is\n not involved here; a government exists, and some being is the\n governor. Perhaps several beings share this task; perhaps machines do\n the work. But where there is a government, there is a governor. Is\n this agreed?\"\n
\n\n \"Certainly,\" Korvin said. \"It is completely obvious and true.\"\n
\n\n \"The planet from which you come is part of a system of planets which\n are governed, you have said,\" the Ruler went on.\n
\n\n \"True,\" Korvin said.\n
\n\n \"Then there is a governor for this system,\" the Ruler said.\n
\n\n \"True,\" Korvin said again.\n
\n\n The ruler sighed gently. \"Explain this governor to us,\" he said.\n
\n\n Korvin shrugged. \"The explanation cannot be given to you.\"\n
\n\n The Ruler turned to a group of his experts and a short muttered\n conversation took place. At its end the Ruler turned his gaze back to\n Korvin. \"Is the deficiency in you?\" he said. \"Are you in some way\n unable to describe this government?\"\n
\n\n \"It can be described,\" Korvin said.\n
\n\n \"Then you will suffer unpleasant consequences if you describe it to\n us?\" the Ruler went on.\n
\n\n \"I will not,\" Korvin said.\n
\n\n It was the signal for another conference. With some satisfaction,\n Korvin noticed that the Tr'en were becoming slightly puzzled; they\n were no longer moving and speaking with calm assurance.\n
\n\n The plan was taking hold.\n
\n\n The Ruler had finished his conference. \"You are attempting again to\n confuse us,\" he said.\n
\n\n Korvin shook his head earnestly. \"I am attempting,\" he said, \"not to\n confuse you.\"\n
\n\n \"Then I ask for an answer,\" the Ruler said.\n
\n\n \"I request that I be allowed to ask a question,\" Korvin said.\n
\n\n The Ruler hesitated, then nodded. \"Ask it,\" he said. \"We shall answer\n it if we see fit to do so.\"\n
\n\n Korvin tried to look grateful. \"Well, then,\" he said, \"what is your\n government?\"\n
\n\n The Ruler beckoned to a heavy-set green being, who stepped forward\n from a knot of Tr'en, inclined his head in Korvin's direction, and\n began. \"Our government is the only logical form of government,\" he\n said in a high, sweet tenor. \"The Ruler orders all, and his subjects\n obey. In this way uniformity is gained, and this uniformity aids in\n the speed of possible action and in the weight of action. All Tr'en\n act instantly in the same manner. The Ruler is adopted by the previous\n Ruler; in this way we are assured of a common wisdom and a steady\n judgment.\"\n
\n\n \"You have heard our government defined,\" the Ruler said. \"Now, you\n will define yours for us.\"\n
\n\n Korvin shook his head. \"If you insist,\" he said, \"I'll try it. But you\n won't understand it.\"\n
\n\n The Ruler frowned. \"We shall understand,\" he said. \"Begin. Who governs\n you?\"\n
\n\n \"None,\" Korvin said.\n
\n\n \"But you are governed?\"\n
\n\n Korvin nodded. \"Yes.\"\n
\n\n \"Then there is a governor,\" the Ruler insisted.\n
\n\n \"True,\" Korvin said. \"But everyone is the governor.\"\n
\n\n \"Then there is no government,\" the Ruler said. \"There is no single\n decision.\"\n
\n\n \"No,\" Korvin said equably, \"there are many decisions binding on all.\"\n
\n\n \"Who makes them binding?\" the Ruler asked. \"Who forces you to accept\n these decisions? Some of them must be unfavorable to some beings?\"\n
\n\n \"Many of them are unfavorable,\" Korvin said. \"But we are not forced to\n accept them.\"\n
\n\n \"Do you act against your own interests?\"\n
\n\n Korvin shrugged. \"Not knowingly,\" he said. The Ruler flashed a look at\n the technicians handling the lie-detector. Korvin turned to see their\n expression. They needed no words; the lie-detector was telling them,\n perfectly obviously, that he was speaking the truth. But the truth\n wasn't making any sense. \"I told you you wouldn't understand it,\" he\n said.\n
\n\n \"It is a defect in your explanation,\" the Ruler almost snarled.\n
\n\n \"My explanation is as exact as it can be,\" he said.\n
\n\n The Ruler breathed gustily. \"Let us try something else,\" he said.\n \"Everyone is the governor. Do you share a single mind? A racial mind\n has been theorized, though we have met with no examples—\"\n
\n\n \"Neither have we,\" Korvin said. \"We are all individuals, like\n yourselves.\"\n
\n\n \"But with no single ruler to form policy, to make decisions—\"\n
\n\n \"We have no need of one,\" Korvin said calmly.\n
\n\n \"Ah,\" the Ruler said suddenly, as if he saw daylight ahead. \"And why\n not?\"\n
\n\n \"We call our form of government\n \n democracy\n \n ,\" Korvin said. \"It means\n the rule of the people. There is no need for another ruler.\"\n
\n\n One of the experts piped up suddenly. \"The beings themselves rule each\n other?\" he said. \"This is clearly impossible; for, no one being can\n have the force to compel acceptance of his commands. Without his\n force, there can be no effective rule.\"\n
\n\n \"That is our form of government,\" Korvin said.\n
\n\n \"You are lying,\" the expert said.\n
\n\n One of the technicians chimed in: \"The machine tells us—\"\n
\n\n \"Then the machine is faulty,\" the expert said. \"It will be corrected.\"\n
\n\n Korvin wondered, as the technicians argued, how long they'd take\n studying the machine, before they realized it didn't have any defects\n to correct. He hoped it wasn't going to be too long; he could foresee\n another stretch of boredom coming. And, besides, he was getting\n homesick.\n
\n\n It took three days—but boredom never really had a chance to set in.\n Korvin found himself the object of more attention than he had hoped\n for; one by one, the experts came to his cell, each with a different\n method of resolving the obvious contradictions in his statements.\n
\n\n Some of them went away fuming. Others simply went away, puzzled.\n
\n\n On the third day Korvin escaped.\n
\n\n It wasn't very difficult; he hadn't thought it would be. Even the most\n logical of thinking beings has a subconscious as well as a conscious\n mind, and one of the ways of dealing with an insoluble problem is to\n make the problem disappear. There were only two ways of doing that,\n and killing the problem's main focus was a little more complicated.\n That couldn't be done by the subconscious mind; the conscious had to\n intervene somewhere. And it couldn't.\n
\n\n Because that would mean recognizing, fully and consciously, that the\n problem\n \n was\n \n insoluble. And the Tr'en weren't capable of that sort of\n thinking.\n
\n\n Korvin thanked his lucky stars that their genius had been restricted\n to the physical and mathematical. Any insight at all into the mental\n sciences would have given them the key to his existence, and his\n entire plan, within seconds.\n
\n\n But, then, it was lack of that insight that had called for this\n particular plan. That, and the political structure of the Tr'en.\n
\n\n The same lack of insight let the Tr'en subconscious work on his\n escape without any annoying distractions in the way of deep\n reflection. Someone left a door unlocked and a weapon nearby—all\n quite intent, Korvin was sure. Getting to the ship was a little more\n complicated, but presented no new problems; he was airborne, and then\n space-borne, inside of a few hours after leaving the cell.\n
\n\n He set his course, relaxed, and cleared his mind. He had no psionic\n talents, but the men at Earth Central did; he couldn't receive\n messages, but he could send them. He sent one now.\n
\n\n \n Mission accomplished; the Tr'en aren't about to come\n marauding out into space too soon. They've been given food\n for thought—nice indigestible food that's going to stick in\n their craws until they finally manage to digest it. But they\n can't digest it and stay what they are; you've got to be\n democratic, to some extent, to understand the idea. What\n keeps us obeying laws we ourselves make? What keeps us\n obeying laws that make things inconvenient for us? Sheer\n self-interest, of course—but try to make a Tr'en see it!\n \n
\n\n \n With one government and one language, they just weren't\n equipped for translation. They were too efficient physically\n to try for the mental sciences at all. No mental sciences,\n no insight into my mind or their own—and that means no\n translation.\n \n
\n\n \n But—damn it—I wish I were home already.\n \n
\n\n \n I'm bored absolutely stiff!\n \n
\n\n The Callisto-bound\n \n Leo\n \n needed\n
\n a cook. What it got was a piping-voiced\n
\n Jonah who jinxed it straight into Chaos.\n
\n [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from\n
\n Planet Stories Summer 1942.\n
\n Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that\n
\n the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]\n
\n We picked up our new cook on Phobos. Not Phoebus or Phoebe; I mean\n Phobos, Mars' inner moon. Our regular victual mangler came down with\n acute indigestion—tasted some of his own cooking, no doubt—when we\n were just one blast of a jet-tube out of Sand City spaceport. But since\n we were rocketing under sealed orders, we couldn't turn back.\n
\n\n So we laid the\n \n Leo\n \n down on Phobos' tiny cradle-field and bundled\n our ailing grub-hurler off to a hospital, and the skipper said to me,\n \"Mister Dugan,\" he said, \"go out and find us a cook!\"\n
\n\n \"Aye, sir!\" I said, and went.\n
\n\n Only it wasn't that easy. In those days, Phobos had only a handful\n of settlers, and most of them had good-paying jobs. Besides, we were\n at war with the Outer Planets, and no man in his right senses wanted\n to sign for a single-trip jump on a rickety old patrolship bound for\n nobody-knew-where. And, of course, cooks are dime-a-dozen when you\n don't need one, but when you've got to locate one in a hurry they're as\n difficult to find as petticoats in a nudist camp.\n
\n\n I tried the restaurants and the employment agencies, but it was no\n dice. I tried the hotels and the tourist homes and even one or two\n of the cleaner-looking joy-joints. Again I drew a blank. So, getting\n desperate, I audioed a plaintive appeal to the wealthy Phobosian\n colonists, asking that one of the more patriotic sons-of-riches donate\n a chef's services to the good old I.P.S., but my only response was a\n loud silence.\n
\n\n So I went back to the ship. I said, \"Sorry, sir. We're up against it. I\n can't seem to find a cook on the whole darned satellite.\"\n
\n\n The skipper scowled at me from under a corduroy brow and fumed, \"But\n we've got to have a cook, Dugan! We can't go on without one!\"\n
\n\n \"In a pinch,\" I told him, \"\n \n I\n \n might be able to boil a few pies, or\n scramble us a steak or something, Skipper.\"\n
\n\n \"Thanks, Dugan, but that won't do. On this trip the men must be fed\n regularly and well. Makeshift meals are O.Q. on an ordinary run, but\n when you're running the blockade—\"\n
\n\n He stopped abruptly. But too late; I had caught his slip of the tongue.\n I stared at him. I said, \"The blockade, sir? Then you've read our\n orders?\"\n
\n\n The Old Man nodded soberly.\n
\n\n \"Yes. You might as well know, Lieutenant. Everyone will be told as soon\n as the\n \n Leo\n \n lifts gravs again. My orders were to be opened four hours\n after leaving Sand City. I read them a few minutes ago.\n
\n\n \"We are to attempt to run the Outer Planets Alliance blockade at any\n spot which reconnaisance determines as favorable. Our objective is\n Jupiter's fourth satellite, Callisto. The Solar Federation Intelligence\n Department has learned of a loyalist uprising on that moon. It is\n reported that Callisto is weary of the war, with a little prompting\n will secede from the Alliance and return to the Federation.\n
\n\n \"If this is true, it means we have at last found the foothold we have\n been seeking; a salient within easy striking distance of Jupiter,\n capital of the Alliance government. Our task is to verify the rumor\n and, if it be true, make a treaty with the Callistans.\"\n
\n\n I said, \"Sweet howling stars—some assignment, sir! A chance to end\n this terrible war ... form a permanent union of the entire Solar\n family ... bring about a new age of prosperity and happiness.\"\n
\n\n \"If,\" Cap O'Hara reminded me, \"we succeed. But it's a tough job. We\n can't expect to win through the enemy cordon unless our men are in top\n physical condition. And that means a sound, regular diet. So we must\n find a cook, or—\"\n
\n\n \"The search,\" interrupted an oddly high-pitched, but not unpleasant\n voice, \"is over. Where's the galley?\"\n
\n\n I whirled, and so did the Old Man. Facing us was an outlandish little\n figure; a slim, trim, natty little Earthman not more than five-foot-two\n in height; a smooth-cheeked young fellow swaddled in a spaceman's\n uniform at least three sizes too large. Into the holster of his harness\n was thrust a Haemholtz ray-pistol big enough to burn an army, and in\n his right hand he brandished a huge, gleaming carving-knife. He frowned\n at us impatiently.\n
\n\n \"Well,\" he repeated impatiently, \"where is it?\"\n
\n\n The Old Man stared.\n
\n\n \"W-who,\" he demanded dazedly, \"might you be?\"\n
\n\n \"I might be,\" retorted the little stranger, \"lots of people. But I came\n here to be your new cook.\"\n
\n\n O'Hara said, \"The new—What's your name, mister?\"\n
\n\n \"Andy,\" replied the newcomer. \"Andy Laney.\"\n
\n\n The Old Man's lip curled speculatively. \"Well, Andy Laney,\" he said,\n \"you don't look like much of a cook to\n \n me\n \n .\"\n
\n\n But the little mugg just returned the Old Man's gaze coolly. \"Which\n makes it even,\" he retorted. \"\n \n You\n \n don't look like much of a skipper\n to\n \n me\n \n . Do I get the job, or don't I?\"\n
\n\n The captain's grin faded, and his jowls turned pink. I stepped forward\n hastily. I said, \"Excuse me, sir, shall I handle this?\" Then, because\n the skipper was still struggling for words: \"You,\" I said to the little\n fellow, \"are a cook?\"\n
\n\n \"One of the best!\" he claimed complacently.\n
\n\n \"You're willing to sign for a blind journey?\"\n
\n\n \"Would I be here,\" he countered, \"if I weren't?\"\n
\n\n \"And you have your space certificate?\"\n
\n\n \"I—\" began the youngster.\n
\n\n \"Smart Aleck!\" That was the Old Man, exploding into coherence at last.\n \"Rat-tailed, clever-cracking little smart Aleck! Don't look like much\n of a skipper, eh? Well, my fine young rooster—\"\n
\n\n I said quickly, \"If you don't mind, sir, this is no time to worry over\n trifles. 'Any port in a storm,' you know. And if this young man\n \n can\n \n cook—\"\n
\n\n The skipper's color subsided. So did he, grumbling. \"Well, perhaps\n you're right, Dugan. All right, Slops, you're hired. The galley's\n on the second level, port side. Mess in three quarters of an\n hour. Get going! Dugan, call McMurtrie and tell him we lift gravs\n immediately—\n \n Slops!\n \n What are you doing at that table?\"\n
\n\n For the little fellow had sidled across the control-room and now, eyes\n gleaming inquisitively, was peering at our trajectory charts. At the\n skipper's roar he glanced up at us eagerly.\n
\n\n \"Vesta!\" he piped in that curiously high-pitched and mellow voice.\n \"Loft trajectory for Vesta! Then we're trying to run the Alliance\n blockade, Captain?\"\n
\n\n \"None of your business!\" bellowed O'Hara in tones of thunderous\n outrage. \"Get below instantly, or by the lavendar lakes of Luna I'll—\"\n
\n\n \"If I were you,\" interrupted our diminutive new chef thoughtfully, \"I'd\n try to broach the blockade off Iris rather than Vesta. For one thing,\n their patrol line will be thinner there; for another, you can come in\n through the Meteor Bog, using it as a cover.\"\n
\n\n \"\n \n Mr. Dugan!\n \n \"\n
\n\n The Old Man's voice had an ominous ring to it, one I had seldom heard.\n I sprang to attention and saluted smartly. \"Aye, sir?\"\n
\n\n \"Take this—this culinary tactician out of my sight before I forget I'm\n an officer and a gentleman. And tell him that when I want advice I'll\n come down to the galley for it!\"\n
\n\n A hurt look crept into the youngster's eyes. Slowly he turned and\n followed me from the turret, down the ramp, and into the pan-lined\n cubicle which was his proper headquarters. When I was turning to leave\n he said apologetically, \"I didn't mean any harm, Mr. Dugan. I was just\n trying to help.\"\n
\n\n \"You must learn not to speak out of turn, youngster,\" I told him\n sternly. \"The Old Man's one of the smartest space navigators who ever\n lifted gravs. He doesn't need the advice or suggestions of a cook.\"\n
\n\n \"But I was raised in the Belt,\" said the little chap plaintively. \"I\n know the Bog like a book. And I was right; our safest course\n \n is\n \n by\n way of Iris.\"\n
\n\n Well, there you are! You try to be nice to someone, and what happens?\n He tees off on you. I got a little sore I guess. Anyhow, I told the\n little squirt off, but definitely.\n
\n\n \"Now, listen!\" I said bluntly. \"You volunteered for the job. Now\n you've got to take what comes with it: orders! From now on, suppose\n you take care of the cooking and let the rest of us worry about the\n ship—Captain Slops!\"\n
\n\n And I left, banging the door behind me hard.\n
\n\n So we hit the spaceways for Vesta, and after a while the Old Man called\n up the crew and told them our destination, and if you think they were\n scared or nervous or anything like that, why, you just don't know\n spacemen. From oil-soaked old Jock McMurtrie, the Chief Engineer, all\n the way down the line to Willy, our cabin-boy, the\n \n Leo's\n \n complement\n was as thrilled as a sub-deb at an Academy hop.\n
\n\n John Wainwright, our First Officer, licked his chops like a fox in a\n hen-house and said, \"The blockade! Oboyoboy! Maybe we'll tangle with\n one of the Alliance ships, hey?\"\n
\n\n Blinky Todd, an ordinary with highest rating, said with a sort of\n macabre satisfaction, \"I hopes we\n \n do\n \n meet up with 'em, that's whut I\n does, sir! Never did have no love for them dirty, skulkin' Outlanders,\n that's whut I didn't!\"\n
\n\n And one of the black-gang blasters, a taciturn chap, said nothing—but\n the grim set of his jaw and the purposeful way he spat on his callused\n paws were mutely eloquent.\n
\n\n Only one member of the crew was absent from the conclave. Our new\n Slops. He was busy preparing midday mess, it seems, because scarcely\n had the skipper finished talking than the audio hummed and a cheerful\n call rose from the galley:\n
\n\n \"Soup's on! Come and get it!\"\n
\n\n Which we did. And whatever failings \"Captain Slops\" might have, he\n had not exaggerated when he called himself one of the best cooks in\n space. That meal, children, was a meal! When it comes to victuals\n I can destroy better than describe, but there was stuff and things\n and such-like, all smothered in gravy and so on, and huge quantities\n of this and that and the other thing, all of them unbelievably\n dee-luscious!\n
\n\n Beyond a doubt it was the finest feast we of the\n \n Leo\n \n had enjoyed in\n a 'coon's age. Even the Old Man admitted that as, leaning back from\n the table, he patted the pleasant bulge due south of his belt buckle.\n He rang the bell that summoned Slops from the galley, and the little\n fellow came bustling in apprehensively.\n
\n\n \"Was everything all right, sir?\" he asked.\n
\n\n \"Not only all right, Slops,\" wheezed Captain O'Hara, \"but perfect!\n Accept my congratulations on a superb meal, my boy. Did you find\n everything O.Q. in the galley?\"\n
\n\n \"Captain Slops\" blushed like a stereo-struck school-gal, and fidgeted\n from one foot to another.\n
\n\n \"Oh, thank you, sir! Thank you very much. Yes, the galley was in fine\n order. That is—\" He hesitated—\"there is one little thing, sir.\"\n
\n\n \"So? Well, speak up, son, what is it? I'll get it fixed for you right\n away.\" The Old Man smiled archly. \"Must have everything shipshape for a\n tip-top chef, what?\"\n
\n\n The young hash-slinger still hesitated bashfully.\n
\n\n \"But it's such a\n \n little\n \n thing, sir, I almost hate to bother you with\n it.\"\n
\n\n \"No trouble at all. Just say the word.\"\n
\n\n \"Well, sir,\" confessed Slops reluctantly, \"I need an incinerator in\n the galley. The garbage-disposal system in there now is old-fashioned,\n inconvenient and unsanitary. You see, I have to carry the waste down\n two levels to the rocket-chamber in order to expel it.\"\n
\n\n The skipper's brow creased.\n
\n\n \"I'm sorry, Slops,\" he said, \"but I don't see how we can do anything\n about that. Not just now, at any rate. That job requires equipment we\n don't have aboard. After this jump is over I'll see what I can do.\"\n
\n\n \"Oh, I realize we don't have the regular equipment,\" said Slops shyly,\n \"but I've figured out a way to get the same effect with equipment we\n do have. There's an old Nolan heat-cannon rusting in the storeroom.\n If that could be installed by the galley vent, I could use it as an\n incinerator.\"\n
\n\n I said, \"Hold everything, Slops! You can't do that! It's against\n regulations. Code 44, Section xvi, says, 'Fixed armament shall be\n placed only in gunnery embrasures insulated against the repercussions\n of firing charges, re-radiation, or other hazards accruent to heavy\n ordnance.'\"\n
\n\n Our little chef's face fell. \"Now, that's too bad,\" he said\n discouragedly. \"I was planning a special banquet for tomorrow, with\n roast marsh-duck and all the fixings, pinberry pie—but, oh, well!—if\n I have no incinerator—\"\n
\n\n The skipper's eyes bulged, and he drooled like a pup at a barbeque.\n He was a bit of a sybarite, was Captain David O'Hara; if there was\n anything he dearly loved to exercise his molars on it was Venusian\n marsh-duck topped with a dessert of Martian pinberry pie. He said:\n
\n\n \"We-e-ell, now, Mr. Dugan, let's not be too technical. After all, that\n rule was put in the book only to prevent persons which shouldn't ought\n to do so from having control of ordnance. But that isn't what Slops\n wants the cannon for, is it, son? So I don't see any harm in rigging\n up the old Nolan in the galley for incineration purposes. Did you say\n \n all\n \n the fixings, Slops?\"\n
\n\n Maybe I was mistaken, but for a moment I suspected I caught a queer\n glint in our little chef's eyes; it might have been gratitude, or, on\n the other hand, it might have been self-satisfaction. Whatever it was\n it passed quickly, and Captain Slops' soft voice was smooth as silk\n when he said:\n
\n\n \"Yes, Captain, all the fixings. I'll start cooking the meal as soon as\n the new incinerator is installed.\"\n
\n\n So that was that. During the night watch two men of the crew lugged\n the ancient Nolan heat cannon from stores and I went below to check. I\n found young Slops bent over the old cannon, giving it a strenuous and\n thorough cleaning. The way he was oiling and scrubbing at that antique\n reminded me of an apprentice gunner coddling his first charge.\n
\n\n I must have startled him, entering unexpectedly as I did, for when I\n said, \"Hi, there!\" he jumped two feet and let loose a sissy little\n piping squeal. Then, crimson-faced with embarrassment, he said, \"Oh,\n h-hello, Lieutenant. I was just getting my new incinerator shipshape.\n Looks O.Q., eh?\"\n
\n\n \"If you ask me,\" I said, \"it looks downright lethal. The Old Man must\n be off his gravs to let a young chuckle-head like you handle that toy.\"\n
\n\n \"But I'm only going to use it,\" he said plaintively, \"to dispose of\n garbage.\"\n
\n\n \"Well, don't dump your cans when there are any ships within range,\" I\n warned him glumly, \"or there'll be a mess of human scraps littering up\n the void. That gun may be a museum piece, but it still packs a wallop.\"\n
\n\n \"Yes, sir,\" said Slops meekly. \"I'll be careful how I use it, sir.\"\n
\n\n I had finished my inspection, and I sniggered as his words reminded me\n of a joke I'd heard at a spacemans' smoker.\n
\n\n \"Speaking of being careful, did you hear the giggler about the old maid\n at the Martian baths? Well, it seems this perennial spinster wandered,\n by accident, into the men's shower room and met up with a brawny young\n prospector—\"\n
\n\n Captain Slops said, \"Er—excuse me, Lieutenant, but I have to get this\n marsh-duck stuffed.\"\n
\n\n \"Plenty of time, Slops. Wait till you hear this; it will kill you. The\n old maid got flustered and said, 'Oh, I'm sorry! I must be in the wrong\n compartment—'\"\n
\n\n \"If you don't mind, Mr. Dugan,\" interrupted the cook loudly, \"I'm\n awfully busy. I don't have any time for—\"\n
\n\n \"The prospector looked her over carefully for a couple of seconds; then\n answered, 'That's O.Q. by me, sister. I won't—'\"\n
\n\n \"I—I've got to go now, Lieutenant,\" shouted Slops. \"Just remembered\n something I've got to get from stores.\" And without even waiting to\n hear the wallop at the end of my tale he fled from the galley, very\n pink and flustered.\n
\n\n So there was one for the log-book! Not only did our emergency chef lack\n a sense of humor, but the little punk was bashful, as well! Still, it\n was no skin off my nose if Slops wanted to miss the funniest yarn of a\n decade. I shrugged and went back to the control turret.\n
\n\n All that, to make an elongated story brief, happened on the first day\n out of Mars. As any schoolchild knows, it's a full hundred million from\n the desert planet to the asteroid belt. In those days, there was no\n such device as a Velocity-Intensifier unit, and the\n \n Leo\n \n , even though\n she was then considered a reasonably fast little patroller, muddled\n along at a mere 400,000 m.p.h. Which meant it would take us at least\n ten days, perhaps more, to reach that disputed region of space around\n Vesta, where the Federation outposts were sparse and the Alliance block\n began.\n
\n\n That period of jetting was a mingled joy and pain in the britches.\n Captain Slops was responsible for both.\n
\n\n For one thing, as I've hinted before, he was a bit of a panty-waist.\n It wasn't so much the squeaky voice or the effeminate gestures he cut\n loose with from time to time. One of the roughest, toughest scoundrels\n who ever cut a throat on Venus was \"High G\" Gordon, who talked like a\n boy soprano, and the meanest pirate who ever highjacked a freighter was\n \"Runt\" Hake—who wore diamond ear-rings and gold fingernail polish!\n
\n\n But it was Slops' general attitude that isolated him from the command\n and crew. In addition to being a most awful prude, he was a kill-joy.\n When just for a lark we begged him to boil us a pot of spaghetti, so we\n could pour a cold worm's nest into Rick Bramble's bed, he shuddered and\n refused.\n
\n\n \"Certainly not!\" he piped indignantly. \"You must be out of your minds!\n I never heard of such a disgusting trick! Of course, I won't be a party\n to it. Worms—Ugh!\"\n
\n\n \"Yeah!\" snorted Johnny Wainwright disdainfully, \"And\n \n ugh!\n \n to you,\n too. Come on, Joe, let's get out of here before we give Slops bad\n dreams and goose-flesh!\"\n
\n\n Nor was hypersensitiveness Slops' worst failing. If he was squeamish\n about off-color jokes and such stuff, he had no compunctions whatsoever\n against sticking his nose in where it didn't belong.\n
\n\n He was an inveterate prowler. He snooped everywhere and anywhere from\n ballast-bins to bunk-rooms. He quizzed the Chief about engine-room\n practices, the gunner's mate on problems of ballistics, even the\n cabin-boy on matters of supplies and distribution of same. He was not\n only an asker; he was a teller, as well. More than once during the next\n nine days he forced on the skipper the same gratuitous advice which\n before had enraged the Old Man. By sheer perseverance he earned the\n title I had tagged him with: \"Captain Slops.\"\n
\n\n I was willing to give him another title, too—Captain Chaos. God knows\n he created enough of it!\n
\n\n \"It's a mistake to broach the blockade at Vesta,\" he argued over and\n over again.\n
\n\n \"O.Q., Slops,\" the skipper would nod agreeably, with his mouth full\n of some temper-softening tidbit, \"you're right and I'm wrong, as you\n usually are. But I'm in command of the\n \n Leo\n \n , and you ain't. Now, run\n along like a good lad and bring me some more of this salad.\"\n
\n\n So ten days passed, and it was on the morning of the eleventh day out\n of Sand City that we ran into trouble with a capital trub. I remember\n that morning well, because I was in the mess-hall having breakfast with\n Cap O'Hara, and Slops was playing another variation on the old familiar\n theme.\n
\n\n \"I glanced at the chart this morning, sir,\" he began as he minced in\n with a platterful of golden flapjacks and an ewer of Vermont maple\n syrup, \"and I see we are but an hour or two off Vesta. I am very much\n afraid this is our last chance to change course—\"\n
\n\n \"And for that,\" chuckled the Old Man, \"Hooray! Pass them pancakes, son.\n Maybe now you'll stop shooting off about how we ought to of gone by way\n of Iris. Mmmm! Good!\"\n
\n\n \"Thank you, sir,\" said Slops mechanically. \"But you realize there is\n extreme danger of encountering enemy ships?\"\n
\n\n \"Keep your pants on, Slops!\"\n
\n\n \"Eh?\" The chef looked startled. \"Beg pardon, sir?\"\n
\n\n \"I said keep your pants on. Sure, I know. And I've took precautions.\n There's a double watch on duty, and men at every gun. If we do meet up\n with an Alliance craft, it'll be just too bad for them!\n
\n\n \"Yes, sirree!\" The Old Man grinned comfortably. \"I almost hope we\n do bump into one. After we burn it out of the void we'll have clear\n sailing all the way to Callisto.\"\n
\n\n \"But—but if there should be more than one, sir?\"\n
\n\n \"Don't be ridiculous, my boy. Why should there be?\"\n
\n\n \"Well, for one thing,\" wrangled our pint-sized cook, \"because rich\n ekalastron deposits were recently discovered on Vesta. For another,\n because Vesta's orbit is now going into aphelion stage, which will\n favor a concentration of raiders.\"\n
\n\n The skipper choked, spluttered, and disgorged a bite of half-masticated\n pancake.\n
\n\n \"Eka—Great balls of fire! Are you sure?\"\n
\n\n \"Of course, I'm sure. I told you days ago that I was born and raised in\n the Belt, Captain.\"\n
\n\n \"I know. But why didn't you tell me about Vesta before? I mean about\n the ekalastron deposits?\"\n
\n\n \"Why—why, because—\" said Slops. \"Because—\"\n
\n\n \"Don't give me lady-logic, you dope!\" roared the Old Man, an enraged\n lion now, his breakfast completely forgotten. \"Give me a sensible\n answer! If you'd told me\n \n that\n \n instead of just yipping and yapping\n about how via Iris was a nicer route I'd have listened to you! As it\n is, we're blasting smack-dab into the face of danger. And us on the\n most vital mission of the whole ding-busted war!\"\n
\n\n He was out of his seat, bustling to the audio, buzzing Lieutenant\n Wainwright on the bridge.\n
\n\n \"Johnny—that you? Listen, change traj quick! Set a new course through\n the Belt by way of Iris and the Bog, and hurry up, because—\"\n
\n\n What reason he planned to give I do not know, for he never finished\n that sentence. At that moment the\n \n Leo\n \n rattled like a Model AA\n spacesled in an ionic storm, rolled, quivered and slewed like a drunk\n on a freshly-waxed floor. The motion needed no explanation; it was\n unmistakeable to any spacer who has ever hopped the blue. Our ship had\n been gripped, and was now securely locked, in the clutch of a tractor\n beam!\n
\n\n What happened next was everything at once. Officers Wainwright and\n Bramble were in the turret, and they were both good sailors. They knew\n their duties and how to perform them. An instant after the\n \n Leo\n \n had\n been assaulted, the ship bucked and slithered again, this time with the\n repercussions of our own ordnance. Over the audio, which Sparks had\n hastily converted into an all-way, inter-ship communicating unit, came\n a jumble of voices. A call for Captain O'Hara to \"Come to the bridge,\n sir!\" ... the harsh query of Chief McMurtrie, \"Tractor beams on stern\n and prow, sir. Shall I attempt to break them?\" ... and a thunderous\n \n groooom!\n \n from the fore-gunnery port as a crew went into action ... a\n plaintive little shriek from somebody ... maybe from Slops himself....\n
\n\n Then on an ultra-wave carrier, drowning local noises beneath waves of\n sheer volume, came English words spoken with a foreign intonation. The\n voice of the Alliance commander.\n
\n\n \"Ahoy the\n \n Leo\n \n ! Calling the captain of the\n \n Leo\n \n !\"\n
\n\n O'Hara, his great fists knotted at his sides, called back, \"O'Hara of\n the\n \n Leo\n \n answering. What do you want?\"\n
\n\n \"Stand by to admit a boarding party, Captain. It is futile to resist.\n You are surrounded by six armed craft, and your vessel is locked in\n our tensiles. Any further effort to make combat will bring about your\n immediate destruction!\"\n
\n\n From the bridge, topside, snarled Johnny Wainwright, \"The hell with\n 'em, Skipper! Let's fight it out!\" And elsewhere on the\n \n Leo\n \n angry\n voices echoed the same defi. Never in my life had I felt such a\n heart-warming love for and pride in my companions as at that tense\n moment. But the Old Man shook his head, and his eyes were glistening.\n
\n\n \"It's no use,\" he moaned strickenly, more to himself than to me. \"I\n can't sacrifice brave men in a useless cause, Dugan. I've got to—\" He\n faced the audio squarely. To the enemy commander he said, \"Very good,\n sir! In accordance with the Rules of War, I surrender into your hands!\"\n
\n\n The firing ceased, and a stillness like that of death blanketed the\n \n Leo\n \n .\n
\n\n It was then that Andy Laney, who had lingered in the galley doorway\n like a frozen figuring, broke into babbling incredulous speech.\n
\n\n \"You—you're giving up like this?\" he bleated. \"Is this all you're\n going to do?\"\n
\n\n The Old Man just looked at him, saying never a word, but that glance\n would have blistered the hide off a Mercurian steelback. I'm more\n impetuous. I turned on the little idiot vituperatively.\n
\n\n \"Shut up, you fool! Don't you realize there's not a thing we can do but\n surrender? Dead, we're of no earthly use to anyone. Alive, there is\n always a chance one of us may get away, bring help. We have a mission\n to fulfil, an important one. Corpses can't run errands.\"\n
\n\n \"But—but if they take us prisoners,\" he questioned fearfully, \"what\n will they do with us?\"\n
\n\n \"A concentration camp somewhere. Perhaps on Vesta.\"\n
\n\n \"And the\n \n Leo\n \n ?\"\n
\n\n \"Who knows? Maybe they'll send it to Jupiter with a prize crew in\n command.\"\n
\n\n \"That's what I thought. But they mustn't be allowed to do that. We're\n marked with the Federation tricolor!\"\n
\n\n A sharp retort trembled on the tip of my tongue, but I never uttered\n it. Indeed, I swallowed it as comprehension dawned. There came to me\n the beginnings of respect for little Andy Laney's wisdom. He had been\n right about the danger of the Vesta route, as we had learned to our\n cost; now he was right on this other score.\n
\n\n The skipper got it, too. His jaw dropped. He said, \"Heaven help us,\n it's the truth! To reach Jupiter you've got to pass Callisto. If the\n Callistans saw a Federation vessel, they'd send out an emissary to\n greet it. Our secret would be discovered, Callisto occupied by the\n enemy....\"\n
\n\n I think he would have turned, then, and given orders to continue the\n fight even though it meant suicide for all of us. But it was too late.\n Already our lock had opened to the attackers; down the metal ramp we\n now heard the crisp cadence of invading footsteps. The door swung open,\n and the Alliance commandant stood smiling triumphantly before us.\n
\n\n Never had Mars seen such men as these, for they\n
\n came from black space, carrying weird weapons—to\n
\n fight for a race of which they had never heard.\n
\n [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from\n
\n Planet Stories Summer 1945.\n
\n Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that\n
\n the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]\n
\n Ro moved cautiously. He knew the jungles of Mars well, knew the\n dangers, the swift death that could come to an unwary traveler. Many\n times he had seen fellow Martians die by the razor fangs of Gin, the\n swamp snake. Their clear red skin had become blotched and purple, their\n eyeballs popped, their faces swollen by the poison that raced through\n their veins. And Ro had seen the bones of luckless men vomited from the\n mouths of the Droo, the cannibal plants. And others there had been,\n some friends of his, who had become game for beasts of prey, or been\n swallowed by hungry, sucking pools of quicksand. No, the jungles of\n Mars were not to be taken casually, no matter how light in heart one\n was at the prospect of seeing home once more.\n
\n\n Ro was returning from the north. He had seen the great villages of\n thatched huts, the strange people who lived in these huts instead of\n in caves, and wore coverings on their feet and shining rings in their\n ears. And having quenched his curiosity about these people and their\n villages, he was satisfied to travel home again.\n
\n\n He was a man of the world now, weary of exploring and ready to settle\n down. He was anxious to see his family again, his father and mother\n and all his brothers and sisters; to sit round a fire with them at the\n entrance to their cave and tell of the wondrous places he'd visited.\n And, most of all, he wanted to see Na, graceful, dark eyed Na, whose\n fair face had disturbed his slumber so often, appearing in his dreams\n to call him home.\n
\n\n He breathed a sigh of relief as he reached the jungle's edge. Before\n him lay a broad expanse of plain. And far in the distance rose the\n great cliffs and the hills that were his home.\n
\n\n His handsome face broadened into a smile and he quickened his pace to a\n trot. There was no need for caution now. The dangers on the plain were\n few.\n
\n\n The sun beat down on his bare head and back. His red skin glistened.\n His thick black hair shone healthily.\n
\n\n Mile after mile fell behind him. His long, well muscled legs carried\n him swiftly toward the distant hills. His movements were graceful,\n easy, as the loping of Shee, the great cat.\n
\n\n Then, suddenly, he faltered in his stride. He stopped running and,\n shielding his eyes from the sun's glare, stared ahead. There was a\n figure running toward him. And behind that first figure, a second gave\n chase.\n
\n\n For a long moment Ro studied the approaching creatures. Then he gasped\n in surprise. The pursued was a young woman, a woman he knew. Na! The\n pursuer was a squat, ugly rat man, one of the vicious Oan who lived in\n the cliffs.\n
\n\n Ro exclaimed his surprise, then his rage. His handsome face was grim as\n he searched the ground with his eyes. When he found what he sought—a\n round rock that would fit his palm—he stooped, and snatching up the\n missile, he ran forward.\n
\n\n At great speed, he closed the gap between him and the approaching\n figures. He could see the rat man plainly now—his fanged, frothy\n mouth; furry face and twitching tail. The Oan, however, was too intent\n on his prey to notice Ro at first, and when he did, it was too late.\n For the young Martian had let fly with the round stone he carried.\n
\n\n The Oan squealed in terror and tried to swerve from his course. The\n fear of one who sees approaching death was in his movements and his\n cry. He had seen many Oan die because of the strength and accuracy in\n the red men's arms.\n
\n\n Despite his frantic contortions, the stone caught him in the side. His\n ribs and backbone cracked under the blow. He was dead before he struck\n the ground.\n
\n\n With hardly a glance at his fallen foe, Ro ran on to meet the girl. She\n fell into his arms and pressed her cheek to his bare shoulder. Her dark\n eyes were wet with gladness. Warm tears ran down Ro's arm.\n
\n\n Finally Na lifted her beautiful head. She looked timidly at Ro, her\n face a mask of respect. The young Martian tried to be stern in meeting\n her gaze, as was the custom among the men of his tribe when dealing\n with women; but he smiled instead.\n
\n\n \"You're home,\" breathed Na.\n
\n\n \"I have traveled far to the north,\" answered Ro simply, \"and seen many\n things. And now I have returned for you.\"\n
\n\n \"They must have been great things you saw,\" Na coaxed.\n
\n\n \"Yes, great and many. But that tale can wait. Tell me first how you\n came to be playing tag with the Oan.\"\n
\n\n Na lowered her eyes.\n
\n\n \"I was caught in the forest below the cliffs. The Oan spied me and I\n ran. The chase was long and tiring. I was almost ready to drop when you\n appeared.\"\n
\n\n \"You were alone in the woods!\" Ro exclaimed. \"Since when do the women\n of our tribe travel from the cliffs alone?\"\n
\n\n \"Since a long time,\" she answered sadly. Then she cried. And between\n sobs she spoke:\n
\n\n \"Many weeks ago a great noise came out of the sky. We ran to the mouths\n of our caves and looked out, and saw a great sphere of shining metal\n landing in the valley below. Many colored fire spat from one end of it.\n
\n\n \"The men of our tribe snatched up stones, and holding one in their\n hands and one beneath their armpits, they climbed down to battle or\n greet our visitors. They had surrounded the sphere and were waiting,\n when suddenly an entrance appeared in the metal and two men stepped out.\n
\n\n \"They were strange men indeed; white as the foam on water, and clothed\n in strange garb from the neck down, even to coverings on their feet.\n They made signs of peace—with one hand only, for they carried\n weapons of a sort in the other. And the men of our tribe made the\n same one-handed sign of peace, for they would not risk dropping their\n stones. Then the white men spoke; but their tongue was strange, and our\n men signaled that they could not understand. The white men smiled, and\n a great miracle took place. Suddenly to our minds came pictures and\n words. The white men spoke with their thoughts.\n
\n\n \"They came from a place called Earth, they said. And they came in\n peace. Our men found they could think very hard and answer back with\n their own thoughts. And there was much talk and happiness, for friendly\n visitors were always welcome.\n
\n\n \"There were two more white ones who came from the sphere. One was a\n woman with golden hair, and the other, a man of age, with hair like\n silver frost.\n
\n\n \"There was a great feast then, and our men showed their skill at\n throwing. Then the white men displayed the power of their strange\n weapons by pointing them at a tree and causing flame to leap forth to\n burn the wood in two. We were indeed glad they came in peace.\n
\n\n \"That night we asked them to sleep with us in the caves, but they made\n camp in the valley instead. The darkness passed swiftly and silently,\n and with the dawn we left our caves to rejoin our new friends. But\n everywhere a red man showed himself, he cried out and died by the\n flame from the white men's weapons.\n
\n\n \"I looked into the valley and saw hundreds of Oan. They had captured\n our friends in the night and were using their weapons to attack us.\n There was a one-sided battle that lasted three days. Finally, under\n cover of night, we were forced to leave the caves. One by one we went,\n and those of us who lived still travel alone.\"\n
\n\n Ro groaned aloud as Na finished her tale. His homecoming was a meeting\n with tragedy, instead of a joyful occasion.\n
\n\n \"What of my father?\" he asked hopefully. \"He was a great warrior.\n Surely he didn't fall to the Oan?\"\n
\n\n \"He had no chance to fight,\" Na answered. \"Two of your brothers died\n with him on that first morning.\"\n
\n\n Ro squared his shoulders and set his jaw. He wiped a hint of tears from\n his eyes.\n
\n\n \"They shall pay,\" he murmured, and started off toward the cliffs again.\n
\n\n Na trailed behind him. Her face was grave with concern.\n
\n\n \"They are very many,\" she said.\n
\n\n \"Then there will be more to kill,\" answered Ro without turning.\n
\n\n \"They have the weapons of the white ones.\"\n
\n\n \"And the white ones, as well. They probably keep them alive to repair\n the weapons if they become useless. But when I have slain a few Oan, I\n will set the white ones free. They will help me to make more weapons.\n Together we will fight the rat men.\"\n
\n\n Na smiled. Ro was angry, but anger did not make him blind. He would\n make a good mate.\n
\n\n The sun was setting when the two Martians reached the cliffs. Below\n them was the valley in which lay the metal sphere. Ro could see it\n dimly outlined in the shadows, as Na had said. A distance away, in\n another clearing, he could see many Oan, flitting ghost-like from place\n to place.\n
\n\n There were no fires, for the Oan were more beast than man and feared\n flame; but Ro could make out four prone figures. They appeared to\n be white blots in the dimness. One had long, golden hair, like spun\n sunbeams; another's head was covered with a thatch like a cap of snow\n on a mountain peak.\n
\n\n \"You say they came from a place called Earth?\" Ro asked Na in wonder.\n
\n\n \"They traveled through space in their 'ship,'\" Na answered. \"They\n called themselves an expedition.\"\n
\n\n Ro was silent then. In a short time it would be dark enough to go down\n into the valley. When he had rescued the white ones, he would learn\n more about them.\n
\n\n He turned away from the valley to study Na. She was very beautiful.\n Her dark eyes seemed to sparkle and her hair shone in the twilight. He\n understood why she had crept into his dreams.\n
\n\n The darkness settled quickly. Soon Ro could barely make out the girl's\n features. It was time for him to leave.\n
\n\n He took a pouch from his waist and shook out a gold arm band. This he\n clasped on Na's wrist.\n
\n\n \"All men will know now that you are the mate of Ro,\" he whispered. And\n he kissed her, as was the custom of his tribe when a man took a wife.\n
\n\n Without another word he disappeared over the edge of the cliff. They\n had already made plans for their next meeting. There was no need for a\n prolonged farewell. They would be together soon—on the far side of the\n cliff—if all went well.\n
\n\n In his left hand and under his armpit Ro carried stones. They were of a\n good weight and would make short work of any Oan who was foolish enough\n to cross his path.\n
\n\n His right arm he kept free for climbing. His fingers found crevices\n to hold to in the almost smooth wall. His toes seemed to have eyes to\n pierce the darkness in finding footholds.\n
\n\n The climb was long and dangerous. Ro's skin glistened with sweat.\n He had lived in the cliffs all his life, and had made many perilous\n climbs, but never one on so dark a night. It seemed an eternity before\n he rested at the bottom.\n
\n\n Feeling his way cautiously, he moved toward the camp. He could sense\n the presence of many Oan close by. The hair at the base of his neck\n prickled. He prayed he wouldn't be seen. An alarm now would spoil his\n plan.\n
\n\n Ahead of him, he saw a clearing. That would be his destination. On\n the far side he would find the white ones. He took the stone from his\n armpit and moved on.\n
\n\n Suddenly he halted. A dim figure approached. It was one of the Oan, a\n guard. He was coming straight at Ro. The young Martian shrank back.\n
\n\n \"The rat men have eyes to cut the night.\" It was a memory of his\n mother's voice. She had spoken those words when he was a child, to keep\n him from straying too far.\n
\n\n The Oan was only a few feet away now, but his eyes were not cutting\n the night. Ro could see his large ears, hear his twitching tail. In a\n moment the beast would stumble over him.\n
\n\n Like a phantom, Ro arose from his crouch. The rat man was startled,\n frozen with fear. Ro drove his right arm around. The stone in his hand\n cracked the Oan's skull like an eggshell. Ro caught the body as it\n fell, lowered it noiselessly to the ground.\n
\n\n Breathing more easily, Ro moved on. He reached the edge of the small\n clearing without making a sound. Strewn on the ground were shapeless\n heaps. They would be the slumbering rat men. Ro suppressed an urge to\n spring amongst them and slay them as they slept.\n
\n\n He lay flat on his stomach and inched his way ahead. It was slow work,\n but safer. When a sound reached his ears he drew himself together and\n feigned sleep. In the dusk he appeared no different than the others.\n
\n\n His chest was scratched in a thousand places when he reached the far\n side, but he felt no pain. His heart was singing within him. His job\n was almost simple now. The difficult part was done.\n
\n\n Straining his eyes, he caught sight of a golden mass some feet away.\n Crouching low, he darted toward it. In a moment his outstretched hands\n contacted a soft body. It seemed to shrink from his touch. A tiny gasp\n reached his ears.\n
\n\n \"Be still,\" he thought. He remembered Na's words: '\n \n We spoke with our\n thoughts.\n \n ' \"Be still. I've come to free you.\" And then, because it\n seemed so futile, he whispered the words aloud.\n
\n\n Then his mind seemed to grow light, as though someone was sharing the\n weight of his brain. An urgent message to hurry—hurry reached him. It\n was as though he was\n \n feeling\n \n words, words spoken in the light, sweet\n voice of a girl. Pictures that were not actually pictures entered his\n mind. Waves of thought that took no definite form held a plain meaning.\n
\n\n His groping hands found the girl's arm and moved down to the strips of\n hide that bound her wrists. He fumbled impatiently with the heavy knots.\n
\n\n \"Don't move when you are free,\" he warned the girl as he worked. \"I\n must release the others first. When all is ready I will give a signal\n with my thoughts and you will follow me.\"\n
\n\n Once again his mind grew light. The girl's thoughts assured him she\n would follow his instructions.\n
\n\n Time passed quickly. To Ro, it seemed that his fingers were all thumbs.\n His breathing was heavy as he struggled with the knots. But finally the\n golden-haired girl was free.\n
\n\n Ro was more confident as he moved to untie the others. He worked more\n easily as each came free and he started on the next.\n
\n\n When they were ready, Ro signaled the four white people to follow him.\n They rose quietly and trailed him into the woods. The girl whispered\n something to one of the men. Ro turned and glared at her through the\n shadows.\n
\n\n The progress they made was slow, but gradually the distance between\n them and Oan camp grew. Ro increased his pace when silence was no\n longer necessary. The four white people stumbled ahead more quickly.\n
\n\n \"We journey out of the valley and around the face of the cliffs,\" Ro\n told them. \"After a short while, we will meet Na.\"\n
\n\n \"Who is Na?\" asked the girl.\n
\n\n \"She is the one I have chosen for my mate,\" Ro answered.\n
\n\n The white girl was silent. They traveled quite a distance without\n communicating. Each was busy with his own thoughts.\n
\n\n Finally the man with the silver hair asked, \"Why did you risk your life\n to rescue us?\"\n
\n\n \"With your help I will avenge the death of my father and brothers and\n the men of my tribe.\"\n
\n\n He stopped walking and stared around him for a landmark. They had\n traveled far along the foot of the cliff. According to the plan Na\n should have met them minutes ago.\n
\n\n Then he gave a glad cry. Squinting ahead he saw an approaching figure.\n It was—His cry took on a note of alarm. The figure was bent low\n under the weight of a burden. It was a rat man, and slung across his\n shoulders was a girl.\n
\n\n Ro's body tensed and quivered. A low growl issued from deep in his\n throat. He charged forward.\n
\n\n The Oan saw him coming and straightened, allowing the girl to fall. He\n set his twisted legs and bared his fangs. The fur on his back stood out\n straight as he prepared to meet the young Martian's attack.\n
\n\n Ro struck his foe head on. They went down in a frenzied bundle of fury.\n The rat man's tail lashed out to twist around Ro's neck. With frantic\n strength, Ro tore it away before it could tighten.\n
\n\n Ignoring the Oan's slashing teeth, the young Martian pounded heavy\n fists into his soft stomach. Suddenly shifting his attack, Ro wrapped\n his legs around the rat man's waist. His hands caught a furry throat\n and tightened.\n
\n\n Over and over they rolled. The Oan clawed urgently at the Martian's\n choking fingers. His chest made strange noises as it pleaded for the\n air that would give it life. But Ro's hands were bands of steel,\n tightening, ever tightening their deadly grip.\n
\n\n Then, as suddenly as it had started, it was over. The rat man quivered\n and lay still.\n
\n\n Ro dismounted the limp body. His face wore a wildly triumphant\n expression. It changed as he remembered the girl. He ran to her side.\n
\n\n Na was just opening her eyes. She stared around her fearfully, then\n smiled as she recognized Ro. The young Martian breathed a sigh of\n relief.\n
\n\n Na turned her head and saw the body of the rat man. She shuddered.\n
\n\n \"I was coming down the side of the mountain,\" she said. \"I saw him\n standing at the foot. The shadows were deceiving. I thought it was you.\n It wasn't until too late that I discovered my mistake.\"\n
\n\n Ro gathered the girl in his arms. He spoke softly to her to help her\n forget.\n
\n\n When she had recovered from her shock, the small group traveled on. Ro\n led them about a mile further along the base of the cliff, then up, to\n a cleverly concealed cave.\n
\n\n \"We will stay here,\" he told the others, \"until we are ready to attack\n the Oan.\"\n
\n\n \"But there are only six of us,\" one of the white men protested. \"There\n are hundreds of the beasts. We wouldn't have a chance.\"\n
\n\n Ro smiled.\n
\n\n \"We will speak of that when it is dawn again,\" he said with his\n thoughts. \"Now we must rest.\"\n
\n\n He sat in a corner of the cave and leaned back against the wall. His\n eyes were half shut and he pretended to doze. Actually he was studying\n the white ones.\n
\n\n The man with the silver hair seemed very old and weak, but very wise.\n The other men had hair as black as any Martian's, but their skin was\n pure white. They were handsome, Ro thought, in a barbaric sort of way.\n One was lean and determined, the other, equally determined, but stouter\n and less impressive. Ro then centered his attention on the girl. Her\n golden hair gleamed proudly, even in the dusk. She was very beautiful,\n almost as lovely as Na.\n
\n\n \"Tell me,\" he asked suddenly, \"where is this strange place you come\n from? And how is it that you can speak and cause others to speak with\n their minds?\"\n
\n\n It was the old man who answered.\n
\n\n \"We come from a place called Earth, many millions of miles away\n through space. My daughter, Charlotte, my two assistants, Carlson—\"\n the lean man nodded—\"Grimm—\" the stouter man acknowledged the\n introduction—\"and myself are an expedition. We came here to Mars to\n study.\"\n
\n\n Ro introduced himself and Na.\n
\n\n \"What manner of a place is this Earth?\" he asked, after the formalities.\n
\n\n \"Our part of Earth, America, is a great country. Our cities are built\n of steel and stone, and we travel about in space boats. Now tell me,\n what is it like here on Mars? Surely the whole planet isn't wilderness.\n What year is it?\"\n
\n\n \"You have seen what it is like here,\" Ro answered. \"As for 'year,' I\n don't understand.\"\n
\n\n \"A year is a measure of time,\" the old man explained. \"When we left\n Earth it was the year twenty-two hundred.\"\n
\n\n \"We have nothing like that here,\" said Ro, still puzzled. \"But tell me,\n about this speaking with the mind. Perhaps I shall understand that.\"\n
\n\n \"It's simple telepathy. We have mastered the science on Earth. It takes\n study from childhood, but once you have mastered the art, it is quite\n simple to transmit or receive thoughts from anyone. A mere matter of\n concentration. We—who speak different tongues—understand each other\n because of action we have in mind as we speak. We want the other to\n walk, we think of the other walking. A picture is transmitted and\n understood. It is a message in a Universal language.\"\n
\n\n Ro sighed.\n
\n\n \"I am afraid we are very backward here on Mars,\" he said wearily. \"I\n would like to learn more, but we must sleep now. Tomorrow will be a\n very busy day.\"\n
\n\n Ro slipped his arm about Na's shoulder and drew her closer. With their\n heads together they slept.\n
\n\n Ro awakened with the dawn. He was startled to find that Na had left his\n side. He rose quickly and strode to the mouth of the cave.\n
\n\n Na met him at the entrance. She was returning from a clump of trees\n a short distance away. Her arms were loaded with Manno, the fruit of\n Mars, and clusters of wild berries and grapes.\n
\n\n \"You see,\" she said, \"I will make you a good mate. Our table will be\n well provided for.\"\n
\n\n \"You will make no mate at all,\" Ro said sternly, \"and there will be no\n table if you wander off. Your next meeting with the Oan may not be so\n fortunate.\"\n
\n\n He glared at her for a moment, then smiled and helped her with her\n burden.\n
\n\n The others in the cave awakened. Ro noticed that Charlotte had slept\n beside Carlson, but moved away shyly now that it was daylight. He\n noticed, too, that Grimm was seeing the same thing and seemed annoyed.\n
\n\n Ro smiled. These young white men were no different than Martians where\n a girl was concerned.\n
\n\n When they had finished breakfast, they sat around the floor of the cave\n and spoke.\n
\n\n It was Carlson who asked, \"How do you expect the six of us to attack\n the rat men?\"\n
\n\n \"The Oan are cowards,\" Ro answered. \"They are brave only because they\n have your weapons. But now that you are free, you can make more of\n these sticks that shoot fire.\"\n
\n\n Grimm laughed.\n
\n\n \"It takes intricate machinery to construct a ray gun,\" he said. \"Here\n in this wilderness we have sticks and stones to work with.\"\n
\n\n Ro sprang to his feet to tower above the man. His handsome face was\n twisted in anger.\n
\n\n \"You're lying,\" he shouted aloud, forgetting that the white man\n couldn't understand his words. \"You're lying because you are afraid.\n You refuse to help me avenge my people because you are more of a coward\n than the Oan.\"\n
\n\n Grimm climbed to his feet and backed away. Ro advanced on him, his\n fists clenched.\n
\n\n The old man also rose. He placed a restraining hand on Ro's arm.\n
\n\n \"He's lying,\" said Ro with his thoughts.\n
\n\n \"Tell him I'm speaking the truth, professor,\" said Grimm aloud.\n
\n\n The professor repeated Grimm's words with his thoughts. \"It would be\n impossible to make new guns here,\" he said. \"But there is another way.\n I have thought about it all night.\"\n
\n\n Ro turned quickly.\n
\n\n \"What is it?\" he demanded.\n
\n\n \"The space sphere. There are weapons on our ship that are greater\n than ray guns. With those we could defeat the rat men.\" The professor\n shrugged, turned away. \"But how could we get into the ship? It is too\n well guarded.\"\n
\n\n Ro fell silent. He walked to the mouth of the cave and stared out. When\n he turned back to the others, his attention was centered on Na.\n
\n\n \"Perhaps the attraction you seem to hold for the Oan can be put to\n good use,\" he said aloud. \"The sphere is a distance away from the Oan\n camp. All of the rat men cannot be guarding it. Perhaps, by revealing\n yourself, you can lure the guards away from their post.\"\n
\n\n He repeated his plan to the others.\n
\n\n \"But they'll kill her,\" gasped Charlotte.\n
\n\n \"She will be a woman alone,\" said Ro. \"The Oan prefer to capture women\n when they can.\"\n
\n\n \"Then she'll be captured,\" the professor said. \"It's much too risky.\"\n
\n\n Ro laughed.\n
\n\n \"Do you think I will let her go alone? I will be close by. Na can lead\n the rat men through a narrow part of the valley. I will be above on the\n cliffs, waiting to pelt them with stones. Carlson or Grimm can be with\n me to roll an avalanche of rocks on their heads.\n
\n\n \"In the meantime, you can take over the unguarded sphere. The rest will\n be easy.\"\n
\n\n The professor smacked his fist into his palm.\n
\n\n \"It might work at that. Grimm can go with you. Carlson and Charlotte\n will go with me.\"\n
\n\n \"Why me?\" Grimm demanded. \"Why not Carlson? Or are you saving him for\n your daughter?\"\n
\n\n Carlson grabbed Grimm by the shoulder and spun him around. He drove a\n hard fist into the stout man's face.\n
\n\n Grimm stumbled backward. He fell at the cave's entrance. His hand,\n sprawled behind him to stop his fall, closed over a rock. He flung it\n at Carlson from a sitting position. It caught Carlson in the shoulder.\n
\n\n Gritting his teeth, Carlson charged at Grimm. But Ro moved more\n swiftly. He caught the white man and forced him back.\n
\n\n \"This is no time for fighting,\" he said. \"When the Oan are defeated you\n can kill each other. But not until then.\"\n
\n\n Grimm brushed himself off as he got to his feet\n
\n\n \"Okay,\" he sneered. \"I'll go with the red man. But when we meet again,\n it will be a different story.\"\n
\n\n Carlson turned to Ro.\n
\n\n \"I'll go with you,\" he said. \"Grimm can go with Charlotte and the\n professor.\"\n
\n\n When they had detailed their plan, the party left the cave. Ro led them\n into the thickest part of the forest and toward the Oan camp.\n
\n\n They moved swiftly. Before long they were at the narrow entrance to the\n valley. It was about a hundred yards long and twenty feet wide. The\n walls of the cliff rose almost straight up on both sides.\n
\n\n \"We leave you here,\" said Ro to the professor. \"Na will lead you to the\n sphere. She will remain hidden until you have circled away from her.\n Then she will reveal herself.\"\n
\n\n Ro looked at Na for a long moment before they parted. He grew very\n proud of what he saw. There was no fear in her eyes. Her small chin was\n firm.\n
\n\n He turned to Carlson. The young Earthman was looking at Charlotte in\n much the same way.\n
\n\n \"Come on,\" Ro said. \"If we spend the rest of the morning here, the Oan\n will try some strategy of their own.\"\n
\n\n Carlson seemed to come out of a trance. He swung around to trail Ro up\n the sloping part of the mountain. They climbed in silence.\n
\n\n Once Ro stopped to look down into the valley. But Na and the others\n were gone. He felt a pang of regret as he turned to move upward.\n
\n\n When they had reached the top, he and Carlson set to work piling rocks\n and boulders at the edge of the cliff. They chose the point directly\n over the narrowest part of the valley. If all went well, the Oan would\n be trapped. They would die under a hailstorm of rock.\n
\n\n \"You would have liked a more tender goodbye with Charlotte,\" Ro said to\n Carlson as they worked. \"Was it fear of Grimm that prevented it?\"\n
\n\n Carlson straightened. He weighed Ro's words before answering. Finally\n he said, \"I didn't want to make trouble. It was a bad time, and\n senseless, besides. Charlotte and I are planning to be married when we\n return to America. It's not as though Grimm was still in the running.\n I'm sure he'll see reason when we tell him. It's foolish to be enemies.\"\n
\n\n \"Why don't you take her for your wife here on Mars? That would end the\n trouble completely.\"\n
\n\n Carlson seemed surprised.\n
\n\n \"It wouldn't be legal. Who would perform the ceremony?\"\n
\n\n Ro seemed puzzled, then he laughed.\n
\n\n \"Last night I thought that we on Mars are backward. Now I'm not so\n sure. When we find our mates here, we take her. There is no one to\n speak of 'legal' or 'ceremony.' After all, it's a personal matter. Who\n can tell us whether it is 'legal' or not? What better ceremony than a\n kiss and a promise?\" He bent back to his work chuckling.\n
\n\n \"I could argue the point,\" Carlson laughed. \"I could tell you about a\n place called Hollywood. Marriage and divorce is bad enough there. Under\n your system, it would really be a mess. But I won't say anything. Here\n on Mars your kiss and a promise is probably as binding as any ceremony.\"\n
\n\n Ro didn't speak. He didn't concentrate and transmit his thoughts,\n but kept them to himself. The pictures he'd received from Carlson\n were confusing. The business at hand was more grim and important than\n untangling the puzzle.\n
\n\n BY ROBERT E. McDOWELL\n
\n\n Being space-wrecked and marooned is tough\n
\n enough. But to face the horrors of such a\n
\n planet as this was too much. Imagine Fawkes'\n
\n terrible predicament; plenty of food—and\n
\n twenty seven beautiful girls for companions.\n
\n [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from\n
\n Planet Stories Spring 1945.\n
\n Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that\n
\n the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]\n
\n Jonathan Fawkes opened his eyes. He was flat on his back, and a girl\n was bending over him. He detected a frightened expression on the\n girl's face. His pale blue eyes traveled upward beyond the girl. The\n sky was his roof, yet he distinctly remembered going to sleep on his\n bunk aboard the space ship.\n
\n\n \"You're not dead?\"\n
\n\n \"I've some doubt about that,\" he replied dryly. He levered himself to\n his elbows. The girl, he saw, had bright yellow hair. Her nose was\n pert, tip-tilted. She had on a ragged blue frock and sandals.\n
\n\n \"Is—is anything broken?\" she asked.\n
\n\n \"Don't know. Help me up.\" Between them he managed to struggle to his\n feet. He winced. He said, \"My name's Jonathan Fawkes. I'm a space pilot\n with Universal. What happened? I feel like I'd been poured out of a\n concrete mixer.\"\n
\n\n She pointed to the wreck of a small space freighter a dozen feet away.\n Its nose was buried in the turf, folded back like an accordion. It\n had burst open like a ripe watermelon. He was surprised that he had\n survived at all. He scratched his head. \"I was running from Mars to\n Jupiter with a load of seed for the colonists.\"\n
\n\n \"Oh!\" said the girl, biting her lips. \"Your co-pilot must be in the\n wreckage.\"\n
\n\n He shook his head. \"No,\" he reassured her. \"I left him on Mars. He\n had an attack of space sickness. I was all by myself; that was the\n trouble. I'd stay at the controls as long as I could, then lock her on\n her course and snatch a couple of hours' sleep. I can remember crawling\n into my bunk. The next thing I knew you were bending over me.\" He\n paused. \"I guess the automatic deflectors slowed me up or I would have\n been a cinder by this time,\" he said.\n
\n\n The girl didn't reply. She continued to watch him, a faint enigmatic\n smile on her lips. Jonathan glanced away in embarrassment. He wished\n that pretty women didn't upset him so. He said nervously, \"Where am I?\n I couldn't have slept all the way to Jupiter.\"\n
\n\n The girl shrugged her shoulders.\n
\n\n \"I don't know.\"\n
\n\n \"You don't know!\" He almost forgot his self-consciousness in his\n surprise. His pale blue eyes returned to the landscape. A mile across\n the plain began a range of jagged foothills, which tossed upward\n higher and higher until they merged with the blue saw-edge of a chain\n of mountains. As he looked a puff of smoke belched from a truncated\n cone-shaped peak. A volcano. Otherwise there was no sign of life: just\n he and the strange yellow-headed girl alone in the center of that vast\n rolling prairie.\n
\n\n \"I was going to explain,\" he heard her say. \"We think that we are on an\n asteroid.\"\n
\n\n \"We?\" he looked back at her.\n
\n\n \"Yes. There are twenty-seven of us. We were on our way to Jupiter, too,\n only we were going to be wives for the colonists.\"\n
\n\n \"I remember,\" he exclaimed. \"Didn't the Jupiter Food-growers\n Association enlist you girls to go to the colonies?\"\n
\n\n She nodded her head. \"Only twenty-seven of us came through the crash.\"\n
\n\n \"Everybody thought your space ship hit a meteor,\" he said.\n
\n\n \"We hit this asteroid.\"\n
\n\n \"But that was three years ago.\"\n
\n\n \"Has it been that long? We lost track of time.\" She didn't take her\n eyes off him, not for a second. Such attention made him acutely self\n conscious. She said, \"I'm Ann. Ann Clotilde. I was hunting when I saw\n your space ship. You had been thrown clear. You were lying all in a\n heap. I thought you were dead.\" She stooped, picked up a spear.\n
\n\n \"Do you feel strong enough to hike back to our camp? It's only about\n four miles,\" she said.\n
\n\n \"I think so,\" he said.\n
\n\n Jonathan Fawkes fidgeted uncomfortably. He would rather pilot a space\n ship through a meteor field than face twenty-seven young women. They\n were the only thing in the Spaceways of which he was in awe. Then he\n realized that the girl's dark blue eyes had strayed beyond him. A frown\n of concentration marred her regular features. He turned around.\n
\n\n On the rim of the prairie he saw a dozen black specks moving toward\n them.\n
\n\n She said: \"Get down!\" Her voice was agitated. She flung herself on her\n stomach and began to crawl away from the wreck. Jonathan Fawkes stared\n after her stupidly. \"Get down!\" she reiterated in a furious voice.\n
\n\n He let himself to his hands and knees. \"Ouch!\" he said. He felt like\n he was being jabbed with pins. He must be one big bruise. He scuttled\n after the girl. \"What's wrong?\"\n
\n\n The girl looked back at him over her shoulder. \"Centaurs!\" she said. \"I\n didn't know they had returned. There is a small ravine just ahead which\n leads into the hills. I don't think they've seen us. If we can reach\n the hills we'll be safe.\"\n
\n\n \"Centaurs! Isn't there anything new under the sun?\"\n
\n\n \"Well, personally,\" she replied, \"I never saw a Centaur until I was\n wrecked on this asteroid.\" She reached the ravine, crawled head\n foremost over the edge. Jonathan tumbled after her. He hit the bottom,\n winced, scrambled to his feet. The girl started at a trot for the\n hills. Jonathan, groaning at each step, hobbled beside her.\n
\n\n \"Why won't the Centaurs follow us into the hills?\" he panted.\n
\n\n \"Too rough. They're like horses,\" she said. \"Nothing but a goat could\n get around in the hills.\"\n
\n\n The gulley, he saw, was deepening into a respectable canyon, then a\n gorge. In half a mile, the walls towered above them. A narrow ribbon\n of sky was visible overhead. Yellow fern-like plants sprouted from the\n crevices and floor of the canyon.\n
\n\n They flushed a small furry creature from behind a bush. As it sped\n away, it resembled a cottontail of Earth. The girl whipped back her\n arm, flung the spear. It transfixed the rodent. She picked it up, tied\n it to her waist. Jonathan gaped. Such strength and accuracy astounded\n him. He thought, amazons and centaurs. He thought, but this is the year\n 3372; not the time of ancient Greece.\n
\n\n The canyon bore to the left. It grew rougher, the walls more\n precipitate. Jonathan limped to a halt. High boots and breeches, the\n uniform of Universal's space pilots, hadn't been designed for walking.\n \"Hold on,\" he said. He felt in his pockets, withdrew an empty cigarette\n package, crumpled it and hurled it to the ground.\n
\n\n \"You got a cigarette?\" he asked without much hope.\n
\n\n The girl shook her head. \"We ran out of tobacco the first few months we\n were here.\"\n
\n\n Jonathan turned around, started back for the space ship.\n
\n\n \"Where are you going?\" cried Ann in alarm.\n
\n\n He said, \"I've got a couple of cartons of cigarettes back at the\n freighter. Centaurs or no centaurs, I'm going to get a smoke.\"\n
\n\n \"No!\" She clutched his arm. He was surprised at the strength of her\n grip. \"They'd kill you,\" she said.\n
\n\n \"I can sneak back,\" he insisted stubbornly. \"They might loot the ship.\n I don't want to lose those cigarettes. I was hauling some good burley\n tobacco seed too. The colonists were going to experiment with it on\n Ganymede.\"\n
\n\n \"No!\"\n
\n\n He lifted his eyebrows. He thought, she is an amazon! He firmly\n detached her hand.\n
\n\n The girl flicked up her spear, nicked his neck with the point of it.\n \"We are going to the camp,\" she said.\n
\n\n Jonathan threw himself down backwards, kicked the girl's feet out from\n under her. Like a cat he scrambled up and wrenched the spear away.\n
\n\n A voice shouted: \"What's going on there?\"\n
\n\n He paused shamefacedly. A second girl, he saw, was running toward\n them from up the canyon. Her bare legs flashed like ivory. She was\n barefooted, and she had black hair. A green cloth was wrapped around\n her sarong fashion. She bounced to a stop in front of Jonathan, her\n brown eyes wide in surprise. He thought her sarong had been a table\n cloth at one time in its history.\n
\n\n \"A man!\" she breathed. \"By Jupiter and all its little moons, it's a\n man!\"\n
\n\n \"Don't let him get away!\" cried Ann.\n
\n\n \"Hilda!\" the brunette shrieked. \"A man! It's a man!\"\n
\n\n A third girl skidded around the bend in the canyon. Jonathan backed off\n warily.\n
\n\n Ann Clotilde cried in anguish: \"Don't let him get away!\"\n
\n\n Jonathan chose the centaurs. He wheeled around, dashed back the way\n he had come. Someone tackled him. He rolled on the rocky floor of the\n canyon. He struggled to his feet. He saw six more girls race around the\n bend in the canyon. With shouts of joy they flung themselves on him.\n
\n\n Jonathan was game, but the nine husky amazons pinned him down by sheer\n weight. They bound him hand and foot. Then four of them picked him up\n bodily, started up the canyon chanting: \"\n \n He was a rocket riding daddy\n from Mars.\n \n \" He recognized it as a popular song of three years ago.\n
\n\n Jonathan had never been so humiliated in his life. He was known in the\n spaceways from Mercury to Jupiter as a man to leave alone. His nose had\n been broken three times. A thin white scar crawled down the bronze of\n his left cheek, relic of a barroom brawl on Venus. He was big, rangy,\n tough. And these girls had trounced him. Girls! He almost wept from\n mortification.\n
\n\n He said, \"Put me down. I'll walk.\"\n
\n\n \"You won't try to get away?\" said Ann.\n
\n\n \"No,\" he replied with as much dignity as he could summon while being\n held aloft by four barbarous young women.\n
\n\n \"Let him down,\" said Ann. \"We can catch him, anyway, if he makes a\n break.\"\n
\n\n Jonathan Fawkes' humiliation was complete. He meekly trudged between\n two husky females, who ogled him shamelessly. He was amazed at the ease\n with which they had carried him. He was six feet three and no light\n weight. He thought enviously of the centaurs, free to gallop across the\n plains. He wished he was a centaur.\n
\n\n The trail left the canyon, struggled up the precipitate walls. Jonathan\n picked his way gingerly, hugged the rock. \"Don't be afraid,\" advised\n one of his captors. \"Just don't look down.\"\n
\n\n \"I'm not afraid,\" said Jonathan hotly. To prove it he trod the narrow\n ledge with scorn. His foot struck a pebble. Both feet went out from\n under him. He slithered halfway over the edge. For one sickening moment\n he thought he was gone, then Ann grabbed him by the scruff of his neck,\n hauled him back to safety. He lay gasping on his stomach. They tied a\n rope around his waist then, and led him the rest of the way to the top\n like a baby on a leash. He was too crestfallen to resent it.\n
\n\n The trail came out on a high ridge. They paused on a bluff overlooking\n the prairie.\n
\n\n \"Look!\" cried Ann pointing over the edge.\n
\n\n A half dozen beasts were trotting beneath on the plain. At first,\n Jonathan mistook them for horses. Then he saw that from the withers up\n they resembled men. Waists, shoulders, arms and heads were identical to\n his own, but their bodies were the bodies of horses.\n
\n\n \"Centaurs!\" Jonathan Fawkes said, not believing his eyes.\n
\n\n The girls set up a shout and threw stones down at the centaurs, who\n reared, pawed the air, and galloped to a safe distance, from which they\n hurled back insults in a strange tongue. Their voices sounded faintly\n like the neighing of horses.\n
\n\n Amazons and centaurs, he thought again. He couldn't get the problem\n of the girls' phenomenal strength out of his mind. Then it occurred\n to him that the asteroid, most likely, was smaller even than Earth's\n moon. He must weigh about a thirtieth of what he usually did, due to\n the lessened gravity. It also occurred to him that they would be thirty\n times as strong. He was staggered. He wished he had a smoke.\n
\n\n At length, the amazons and the centaurs tired of bandying insults\n back and forth. The centaurs galloped off into the prairie, the girls\n resumed their march. Jonathan scrambled up hills, skidded down slopes.\n The brunette was beside him helping him over the rough spots.\n
\n\n \"I'm Olga,\" she confided. \"Has anybody ever told you what a handsome\n fellow you are?\" She pinched his cheek. Jonathan blushed.\n
\n\n They climbed a ridge, paused at the crest. Below them, he saw a deep\n valley. A stream tumbled through the center of it. There were trees\n along its banks, the first he had seen on the asteroid. At the head of\n the valley, he made out the massive pile of a space liner.\n
\n\n They started down a winding path. The space liner disappeared behind\n a promontory of the mountain. Jonathan steeled himself for the coming\n ordeal. He would have sat down and refused to budge except that he knew\n the girls would hoist him on their shoulders and bear him into the camp\n like a bag of meal.\n
\n\n The trail debouched into the valley. Just ahead the space liner\n reappeared. He imagined that it had crashed into the mountain, skidded\n and rolled down its side until it lodged beside the stream. It reminded\n him of a wounded dinosaur. Three girls were bathing in the stream. He\n looked away hastily.\n
\n\n Someone hailed them from the space ship.\n
\n\n \"We've caught a man,\" shrieked one of his captors.\n
\n\n A flock of girls streamed out of the wrecked space ship.\n
\n\n \"A man!\" screamed a husky blonde. She was wearing a grass skirt. She\n had green eyes. \"We're rescued!\"\n
\n\n \"No. No,\" Ann Clotilde hastened to explain. \"He was wrecked like us.\"\n
\n\n \"Oh,\" came a disappointed chorus.\n
\n\n \"He's a man,\" said the green-eyed blonde. \"That's the next best thing.\"\n
\n\n \"Oh, Olga,\" said a strapping brunette. \"Who'd ever thought a man could\n look so good?\"\n
\n\n \"I did,\" said Olga. She chucked Jonathan under the chin. He shivered\n like an unbroken colt when the bit first goes in its mouth. He felt\n like a mouse hemmed in by a ring of cats.\n
\n\n A big rawboned brute of a girl strolled into the circle. She said,\n \"Dinner's ready.\" Her voice was loud, strident. It reminded him of\n the voices of girls in the honky tonks on Venus. She looked at him\n appraisingly as if he were a horse she was about to bid on. \"Bring him\n into the ship,\" she said. \"The man must be starved.\"\n
\n\n He was propelled jubilantly into the palatial dining salon of the\n wrecked liner. A long polished meturilium table occupied the center of\n the floor. Automatic weight distributing chairs stood around it. His\n feet sank into a green fiberon carpet. He had stepped back into the\n Thirty-fourth Century from the fabulous barbarian past.\n
\n\n With a sigh of relief, he started to sit down. A lithe red-head sprang\n forward and held his chair. They all waited politely for him to be\n seated before they took their places. He felt silly. He felt like\n a captive princess. All the confidence engendered by the familiar\n settings of the space ship went out of him like wind. He, Jonathan\n Fawkes, was a castaway on an asteroid inhabited by twenty-seven wild\n women.\n
\n\n As the meal boisterously progressed, he regained sufficient courage\n to glance timidly around. Directly across the table sat a striking,\n grey-eyed girl whose brown hair was coiled severely about her head. She\n looked to him like a stenographer. He watched horrified as she seized\n a whole roast fowl, tore it apart with her fingers, gnawed a leg. She\n caught him staring at her and rolled her eyes at him. He returned his\n gaze to his plate.\n
\n\n Olga said: \"Hey, Sultan.\"\n
\n\n He shuddered, but looked up questioningly.\n
\n\n She said, \"How's the fish?\"\n
\n\n \"Good,\" he mumbled between a mouthful. \"Where did you get it?\"\n
\n\n \"Caught it,\" said Olga. \"The stream's full of 'em. I'll take you\n fishing tomorrow.\" She winked at him so brazenly that he choked on a\n bone.\n
\n\n \"Heaven forbid,\" he said.\n
\n\n \"How about coming with me to gather fruit?\" cried the green-eyed\n blonde; \"you great big handsome man.\"\n
\n\n \"Or me?\" cried another. And the table was in an uproar.\n
\n\n The rawboned woman who had summoned them to dinner, pounded the table\n until the cups and plates danced. Jonathan had gathered that she was\n called Billy.\n
\n\n \"Quiet!\" She shrieked in her loud strident voice. \"Let him be. He can't\n go anywhere for a few days. He's just been through a wreck. He needs\n rest.\" She turned to Jonathan who had shrunk down in his chair. \"How\n about some roast?\" she said.\n
\n\n \"No.\" He pushed back his plate with a sigh. \"If I only had a smoke.\"\n
\n\n Olga gave her unruly black hair a flirt. \"Isn't that just like a man?\"\n
\n\n \"I wouldn't know,\" said the green-eyed blonde. \"I've forgotten what\n they're like.\"\n
\n\n Billy said, \"How badly wrecked is your ship?\"\n
\n\n \"It's strewn all over the landscape,\" he replied sleepily.\n
\n\n \"Is there any chance of patching it up?\"\n
\n\n He considered the question. More than anything else, he decided, he\n wanted to sleep. \"What?\" he said.\n
\n\n \"Is there any possibility of repairing your ship?\" repeated Billy.\n
\n\n \"Not outside the space docks.\"\n
\n\n They expelled their breath, but not for an instant did they relax\n the barrage of their eyes. He shifted position in embarrassment. The\n movement pulled his muscles like a rack. Furthermore, an overpowering\n lassitude was threatening to pop him off to sleep before their eyes.\n
\n\n \"You look exhausted,\" said Ann.\n
\n\n Jonathan dragged himself back from the edge of sleep. \"Just tired,\" he\n mumbled. \"Haven't had a good night's rest since I left Mars.\" Indeed\n it was only by the most painful effort that he kept awake at all. His\n eyelids drooped lower and lower.\n
\n\n \"First it's tobacco,\" said Olga; \"now he wants to sleep. Twenty-seven\n girls and he wants to sleep.\"\n
\n\n \"He is asleep,\" said the green-eyed blonde.\n
\n\n Jonathan was slumped forward across the table, his head buried in his\n arms.\n
\n\n \"Catch a hold,\" said Billy, pushing back from the table. A dozen girls\n volunteered with a rush. \"Hoist!\" said Billy. They lifted him like a\n sleepy child, bore him tenderly up an incline and into a stateroom,\n where they deposited him on the bed.\n
\n\n Ann said to Olga; \"Help me with these boots.\" But they resisted every\n tug. \"It's no use,\" groaned Ann, straightening up and wiping her bright\n yellow hair back from her eyes. \"His feet have swollen. We'll have to\n cut them off.\"\n
\n\n At these words, Jonathan raised upright as if someone had pulled a rope.\n
\n\n \"\n \n Cut off whose feet?\n \n \" he cried in alarm.\n
\n\n \"Not your feet, silly,\" said Ann. \"Your boots.\"\n
\n\n \"Lay a hand on those boots,\" he scowled; \"and I'll make me another pair\n out of your hides. They set me back a week's salary.\" Having delivered\n himself of this ultimatum, he went back to sleep.\n
\n\n Olga clapped her hand to her forehead. \"And this,\" she cried \"is what\n we've been praying for during the last three years.\"\n
\n\n The next day found Jonathan Fawkes hobbling around by the aid of a\n cane. At the portal of the space ship, he stuck out his head, glanced\n all around warily. None of the girls were in sight. They had, he\n presumed, gone about their chores: hunting, fishing, gathering fruits\n and berries. He emerged all the way and set out for the creek. He\n walked with an exaggerated limp just in case any of them should be\n hanging around. As long as he was an invalid he was safe, he hoped.\n
\n\n He sighed. Not every man could be waited on so solicitously by\n twenty-seven handsome strapping amazons. He wished he could carry it\n off in cavalier fashion. He hobbled to the creek, sat down beneath the\n shade of a tree. He just wasn't the type, he supposed. And it might be\n years before they were rescued.\n
\n\n As a last resort, he supposed, he could hide out in the hills or join\n the centaurs. He rather fancied himself galloping across the plains\n on the back of a centaur. He looked up with a start. Ann Clotilde was\n ambling toward him.\n
\n\n \"How's the invalid?\" she said, seating herself beside him.\n
\n\n \"Hot, isn't it?\" he said. He started to rise. Ann Clotilde placed the\n flat of her hand on his chest and shoved. \"\n \n Ooof!\n \n \" he grunted. He sat\n down rather more forcibly than he had risen.\n
\n\n \"Don't get up because of me,\" she informed him. \"It's my turn to cook,\n but I saw you out here beneath the trees. Dinner can wait. Jonathan do\n you know that you are irresistible?\" She seized his shoulders, stared\n into his eyes. He couldn't have felt any more uncomfortable had a\n hungry boa constrictor draped itself in his arms. He mopped his brow\n with his sleeve.\n
\n\n \"Suppose the rest should come,\" he said in an embarrassed voice.\n
\n\n \"They're busy. They won't be here until I call them to lunch. Your\n eyes,\" she said, \"are like deep mysterious pools.\"\n
\n\n \"Sure enough?\" said Jonathan with involuntary interest. He began to\n recover his nerve.\n
\n\n She said, \"You're the best looking thing.\" She rumpled his hair. \"I\n can't keep my eyes off you.\"\n
\n\n Jonathan put his arm around her gingerly. \"Ouch!\" He winced. He had\n forgotten his sore muscles.\n
\n\n \"I forgot,\" said Ann Clotilde in a contrite voice. She tried to rise.\n \"You're hurt.\"\n
\n\n He pulled her back down. \"Not so you could notice it,\" he grinned.\n
\n\n \"Well!\" came the strident voice of Billy from behind them. \"We're\n \n all\n \n glad to hear that!\"\n
\n\n Jonathan leaped to his feet, dumping Ann to the ground. He jerked\n around. All twenty-six of the girls were lined up on the path. Their\n features were grim. He said: \"I don't feel so well after all.\"\n
\n\n \"It don't wash,\" said Billy. \"It's time for a showdown.\"\n
\n\n Jonathan's hair stood on end. He felt rather than saw Ann Clotilde take\n her stand beside him. He noticed that she was holding her spear at a\n menacing angle. She said in an angry voice: \"He's mine. I found him.\n Leave him alone.\"\n
\n\n \"Where do you get that stuff?\" cried Olga. \"Share and share alike, say\n I.\"\n
\n\n \"We could draw straws for him,\" suggested the green-eyed blonde.\n
\n\n \"Look here,\" Jonathan broke in. \"I've got some say in the matter.\"\n
\n\n \"You have not,\" snapped Billy. \"You'll do just as we say.\" She took a\n step toward him.\n
\n\n Jonathan edged away in consternation.\n
\n\n \"He's going to run!\" Olga shouted.\n
\n\n Jonathan never stopped until he was back in the canyon leading to the\n plain. His nerves were jumping like fleas. He craved the soothing\n relaxation of a smoke. There was, he remembered, a carton of cigarettes\n at the wreck. He resumed his flight, but at a more sober pace.\n
\n\n At the spot where he and Ann had first crawled away from the centaurs,\n he scrambled out of the gulley, glanced in the direction of his space\n ship. He blinked his eyes, stared. Then he waved his arms, shouted and\n tore across the prairie. A trim space cruiser was resting beside the\n wreck of his own. Across its gleaming monaloid hull ran an inscription\n in silver letters: \"INTERSTELLAR COSMOGRAPHY SOCIETY.\"\n
\n\n Two men crawled out of Jonathan's wrecked freighter, glanced in\n surprise at Jonathan. A third man ran from the cruiser, a Dixon Ray\n Rifle in his hand.\n
\n\n \"I'm Jonathan Fawkes,\" said the castaway as he panted up, \"pilot for\n Universal. I was wrecked.\"\n
\n\n A tall elderly man held out his hand. He had a small black waxed\n mustache and Van Dyke. He was smoking a venusian cigarette in a\n yellow composition holder. He said, \"I'm Doctor Boynton.\" He had a\n rich cultivated voice, and a nose like a hawk. \"We are members of the\n Interstellar Cosmography Society. We've been commissioned to make a\n cursory examination of this asteroid. You had a nasty crack up, Mr.\n Fawkes. But you are in luck, sir. We were on the point of returning\n when we sighted the wreck.\"\n
\n\n \"I say,\" said the man who had run out of the cruiser. He was a prim,\n energetic young man. Jonathan noted that he carried the ray gun\n gingerly, respectfully. \"We're a week overdue now,\" he said. \"If you\n have any personal belongings that you'd like to take with you, you'd\n best be getting them aboard.\"\n
\n\n Jonathan's face broke into a grin. He said, \"Do any of you know how to\n grow tobacco?\"\n
\n\n They glanced at each other in perplexity.\n
\n\n \"I like it here,\" continued Jonathan. \"I'm not going back.\"\n
\n\n \"What?\" cried the three explorers in one breath.\n
\n\n \"I'm going to stay,\" he repeated. \"I only came back here after the\n cigarettes.\"\n
\n\n \"But it will be three years before the asteroid's orbit brings it back\n in the space lanes,\" said Doctor Boynton. \"You don't possibly expect to\n be picked up before then!\"\n
\n\n Jonathan shook his head, began to load himself with tools, tobacco\n seed, and cigarettes.\n
\n\n \"Odd.\" Doctor Boynton shook his head, turned to the others. \"Though if\n I remember correctly, there was quite an epidemic of hermits during\n the medieval period. It was an esthetic movement. They fled to the\n wilderness to escape the temptation of\n \n women\n \n .\"\n
\n\n Jonathan laughed outright.\n
\n\n \"You are sure you won't return, young man?\"\n
\n\n He shook his head. They argued, they cajoled, but Jonathan was adamant.\n He said, \"You might report my accident to Universal. Tell them to stop\n one of their Jupiter-bound freighters here when the asteroid swings\n back in the space ways. I'll have a load for them.\"\n
\n\n Inside the ship, Doctor Boynton moved over to a round transparent port\n hole. \"What a strange fellow,\" he murmured. He was just in time to see\n the castaway, loaded like a pack mule, disappear in the direction from\n which he had come.\n
\n\n Robinson Crusoe was going back to his man (?) Friday—all twenty-seven\n of them.\n
\n \n