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<s>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep> UNBORN TOMORROW BY MACK REYNOLDS Unfortunately , there was onlyone thing he could bring backfrom the wonderful future ...and though he didn't want to... nevertheless he did.... Illustrated by Freas Betty looked up fromher magazine. She saidmildly, You're late. Don't yell at me, Ifeel awful, Simon toldher. He sat down at his desk, passedhis tongue over his teeth in distaste,groaned, fumbled in a drawer for theaspirin bottle. He looked over at Betty and said,almost as though reciting, What Ineed is a vacation. What, Betty said, are you goingto use for money? Providence, Simon told herwhilst fiddling with the aspirin bottle,will provide. Hm-m-m. But before providingvacations it'd be nice if Providenceturned up a missing jewel deal, say.Something where you could deducethat actually the ruby ring had gonedown the drain and was caught in theelbow. Something that would netabout fifty dollars. Simon said, mournful of tone,Fifty dollars? Why not make it fivehundred? I'm not selfish, Betty said. AllI want is enough to pay me thisweek's salary. Money, Simon said. When youtook this job you said it was the romancethat appealed to you. Hm-m-m. I didn't know mostsleuthing amounted to snoopingaround department stores to check onthe clerks knocking down. Simon said, enigmatically, Nowit comes. <doc-sep> THE FROZEN PLANET By Keith Laumer [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] It is rather unusual, Magnan said, to assign an officer of your rankto courier duty, but this is an unusual mission. Retief sat relaxed and said nothing. Just before the silence grewawkward, Magnan went on. There are four planets in the group, he said. Two double planets,all rather close to an unimportant star listed as DRI-G 33987. They'recalled Jorgensen's Worlds, and in themselves are of no importancewhatever. However, they lie deep in the sector into which the Soettihave been penetrating. Now— Magnan leaned forward and lowered his voice—we have learnedthat the Soetti plan a bold step forward. Since they've met noopposition so far in their infiltration of Terrestrial space, theyintend to seize Jorgensen's Worlds by force. Magnan leaned back, waiting for Retief's reaction. Retief drewcarefully on his cigar and looked at Magnan. Magnan frowned. This is open aggression, Retief, he said, in case I haven't mademyself clear. Aggression on Terrestrial-occupied territory by an alienspecies. Obviously, we can't allow it. Magnan drew a large folder from his desk. A show of resistance at this point is necessary. Unfortunately,Jorgensen's Worlds are technologically undeveloped areas. They'refarmers or traders. Their industry is limited to a minor role intheir economy—enough to support the merchant fleet, no more. The warpotential, by conventional standards, is nil. Magnan tapped the folder before him. I have here, he said solemnly, information which will change thatpicture completely. He leaned back and blinked at Retief. <doc-sep></s>

Councillor Magnan dispatches Retief on a mission to deliver information to Jorgensen’s Worlds, notifying them that the aliens, the Soettis, are planning to attack them and to deliver a battle plan and the instructions for converting their anti-acceleration field into a powerful weapon to defend themselves. As a precaution, Retief checks out a needler to take with him. At the airport, he is told that the flight to Jorgensen’s World is fully booked and that he should try again in a couple of weeks; by then, the alien invasion will be over. Under pressure, the clerk tells Retief that the ship is booked for a VIP, and all tourist reservations are canceled. Retief goes to the gate for the flight and punches the ticket taker, forcing his way onto the airship. Retief makes his way to a room full of expensive luggage and is discovered by Mr. Tony, the man who has claimed the room. When Mr. Tony’s henchmen try to force Retief out of the room, he hefts a large trunk at them and then tosses all the luggage into the hallway. Next, the Captain appears and tries to throw Retief off the ship, but Retief claims the right of the passage under Section Three, Paragraph One of the Uniform Code. The henchmen and the Captain give up for now. At dinner, the wait staff ignore Retief, but the chef, Chip, provides him with an excellent meal. Chip dislikes the Captain and Mr. Tony, but he knows they won’t replace him because of his excellent culinary skills. Chip befriends Retief and explains the situation to him. He doesn’t know exactly what the Captain and Mr. Tony are up to, but they make frequent trips to Jorgensen’s Worlds and cut off all tourist travel to the planet. They travel to Jorgensen’s Worlds every few weeks but never pick up any cargo. They allow the Soettis, the aliens who are planning an attack on the Worlds, to board the ships and inspect them because the Soettis are in control of the travel lanes to the planet. When Skaw, a Soetti, demands Retief’s travel papers, Retief attacks him and kills him. The Captain is terrified that the Soettis will kill all of them, and Retief urges him to show some backbone. Retief knows the Soettis won’t make a big deal of the death because they don’t want to draw attention to themselves on the eve of their launch against the Worlds. Later, Chip informs Retief that the Captain has ordered a change of course to skip Jorgensen’s Worlds and travel on to Alabaster. Retief must reach the Jorgensen’s population ASAP with news of the impending alien attack, so he goes to the Captain’s cabin, catching him off guard, and makes him change the orders for the crew, keeping the ship on track to the Worlds. To prevent the Captain from changing the order, Retief stays with him in his cabin and uses the threat of his needler as a deterrent.

<s> THE FROZEN PLANET By Keith Laumer [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] It is rather unusual, Magnan said, to assign an officer of your rankto courier duty, but this is an unusual mission. Retief sat relaxed and said nothing. Just before the silence grewawkward, Magnan went on. There are four planets in the group, he said. Two double planets,all rather close to an unimportant star listed as DRI-G 33987. They'recalled Jorgensen's Worlds, and in themselves are of no importancewhatever. However, they lie deep in the sector into which the Soettihave been penetrating. Now— Magnan leaned forward and lowered his voice—we have learnedthat the Soetti plan a bold step forward. Since they've met noopposition so far in their infiltration of Terrestrial space, theyintend to seize Jorgensen's Worlds by force. Magnan leaned back, waiting for Retief's reaction. Retief drewcarefully on his cigar and looked at Magnan. Magnan frowned. This is open aggression, Retief, he said, in case I haven't mademyself clear. Aggression on Terrestrial-occupied territory by an alienspecies. Obviously, we can't allow it. Magnan drew a large folder from his desk. A show of resistance at this point is necessary. Unfortunately,Jorgensen's Worlds are technologically undeveloped areas. They'refarmers or traders. Their industry is limited to a minor role intheir economy—enough to support the merchant fleet, no more. The warpotential, by conventional standards, is nil. Magnan tapped the folder before him. I have here, he said solemnly, information which will change thatpicture completely. He leaned back and blinked at Retief. <doc-sep>All right, Mr. Councillor, Retief said. I'll play along; what's inthe folder? Magnan spread his fingers, folded one down. First, he said. The Soetti War Plan—in detail. We were fortunateenough to make contact with a defector from a party of renegadeTerrestrials who've been advising the Soetti. He folded anotherfinger. Next, a battle plan for the Jorgensen's people, worked out bythe Theory group. He wrestled a third finger down. Lastly; an UtterTop Secret schematic for conversion of a standard anti-accelerationfield into a potent weapon—a development our systems people have beenholding in reserve for just such a situation. Is that all? Retief said. You've still got two fingers sticking up. Magnan looked at the fingers and put them away. This is no occasion for flippancy, Retief. In the wrong hands, thisinformation could be catastrophic. You'll memorize it before you leavethis building. I'll carry it, sealed, Retief said. That way nobody can sweat it outof me. Magnan started to shake his head. Well, he said. If it's trapped for destruction, I suppose— I've heard of these Jorgensen's Worlds, Retief said. I remember anagent, a big blond fellow, very quick on the uptake. A wizard withcards and dice. Never played for money, though. Umm, Magnan said. Don't make the error of personalizing thissituation, Retief. Overall policy calls for a defense of thesebackwater worlds. Otherwise the Corps would allow history to follow itsnatural course, as always. When does this attack happen? Less than four weeks. That doesn't leave me much time. I have your itinerary here. Your accommodations are clear as far asAldo Cerise. You'll have to rely on your ingenuity to get you the restof the way. That's a pretty rough trip, Mr. Councillor. Suppose I don't make it? Magnan looked sour. Someone at a policy-making level has chosen to putall our eggs in one basket, Retief. I hope their confidence in you isnot misplaced. This antiac conversion; how long does it take? A skilled electronics crew can do the job in a matter of minutes. TheJorgensens can handle it very nicely; every other man is a mechanic ofsome sort. Retief opened the envelope Magnan handed him and looked at the ticketsinside. Less than four hours to departure time, he said. I'd better notstart any long books. You'd better waste no time getting over to Indoctrination, Magnansaid. Retief stood up. If I hurry, maybe I can catch the cartoon. The allusion escapes me, Magnan said coldly. And one last word. TheSoetti are patrolling the trade lanes into Jorgensen's Worlds; don'tget yourself interned. I'll tell you what, Retief said soberly. In a pinch, I'll mentionyour name. You'll be traveling with Class X credentials, Magnan snapped. Theremust be nothing to connect you with the Corps. They'll never guess, Retief said. I'll pose as a gentleman. You'd better be getting started, Magnan said, shuffling papers. You're right, Retief said. If I work at it, I might manage asnootful by takeoff. He went to the door. No objection to my checkingout a needler, is there? Magnan looked up. I suppose not. What do you want with it? Just a feeling I've got. Please yourself. Some day, Retief said, I may take you up on that. II Retief put down the heavy travel-battered suitcase and leaned on thecounter, studying the schedules chalked on the board under the legendALDO CERISE—INTERPLANETARY. A thin clerk in a faded sequined blouseand a plastic snakeskin cummerbund groomed his fingernails, watchingRetief from the corner of his eye. Retief glanced at him. The clerk nipped off a ragged corner with rabbitlike front teeth andspat it on the floor. Was there something? he said. Two twenty-eight, due out today for the Jorgensen group, Retief said.Is it on schedule? The clerk sampled the inside of his right cheek, eyed Retief. Filledup. Try again in a couple of weeks. What time does it leave? I don't think— Let's stick to facts, Retief said. Don't try to think. What time isit due out? The clerk smiled pityingly. It's my lunch hour, he said. I'll beopen in an hour. He held up a thumb nail, frowned at it. If I have to come around this counter, Retief said, I'll feed thatthumb to you the hard way. The clerk looked up and opened his mouth. Then he caught Retief's eye,closed his mouth and swallowed. Like it says there, he said, jerking a thumb at the board. Lifts inan hour. But you won't be on it, he added. Retief looked at him. Some ... ah ... VIP's required accommodation, he said. He hookeda finger inside the sequined collar. All tourist reservations werecanceled. You'll have to try to get space on the Four-Planet Line shipnext— Which gate? Retief said. For ... ah...? For the two twenty-eight for Jorgensen's Worlds, Retief said. Well, the clerk said. Gate 19, he added quickly. But— Retief picked up his suitcase and walked away toward the glare signreading To Gates 16-30 . Another smart alec, the clerk said behind him. <doc-sep>The alien clicked both pincers with a sharp report, and in the sameinstant Retief half-turned to the left, leaned away from the alienand drove his right foot against the slender leg above the bulbousknee-joint. Skaw screeched and floundered, greenish fluid spatteringfrom the burst joint. I told you he was brittle, Retief said. Next time you invite piratesaboard, don't bother to call. Jesus, what did you do! They'll kill us! the captain gasped, staringat the figure flopping on the floor. Cart poor old Skaw back to his boat, Retief said. Tell him to passthe word. No more illegal entry and search of Terrestrial vessels inTerrestrial space. Hey, Chip said. He's quit kicking. The captain bent over Skaw, gingerly rolled him over. He leaned closeand sniffed. He's dead. The captain stared at Retief. We're all dead men, hesaid. These Soetti got no mercy. They won't need it. Tell 'em to sheer off; their fun is over. They got no more emotions than a blue crab— You bluff easily, Captain. Show a few guns as you hand the body back.We know their secret now. What secret? I— Don't be no dumber than you got to, Cap'n, Chip said. Sweaties dieeasy; that's the secret. Maybe you got a point, the captain said, looking at Retief. All theygot's a three-man scout. It could work. He went out, came back with two crewmen. They hauled the dead aliengingerly into the hall. Maybe I can run a bluff on the Soetti, the captain said, looking backfrom the door. But I'll be back to see you later. You don't scare us, Cap'n, Chip said. Him and Mr. Tony and all hisgoons. You hit 'em where they live, that time. They're pals o' theseSweaties. Runnin' some kind o' crooked racket. You'd better take the captain's advice, Chip. There's no point in yourgetting involved in my problems. They'd of killed you before now, Mister, if they had any guts. That'swhere we got it over these monkeys. They got no guts. They act scared, Chip. Scared men are killers. They don't scare me none. Chip picked up the tray. I'll scout arounda little and see what's goin' on. If the Sweaties figure to do anythingabout that Skaw feller they'll have to move fast; they won't trynothin' close to port. Don't worry, Chip. I have reason to be pretty sure they won't doanything to attract a lot of attention in this sector just now. Chip looked at Retief. You ain't no tourist, Mister. I know that much.You didn't come out here for fun, did you? That, Retief said, would be a hard one to answer. IV Retief awoke at a tap on his door. It's me, Mister. Chip. Come on in. The chef entered the room, locking the door. You shoulda had that door locked. He stood by the door, listening,then turned to Retief. You want to get to Jorgensen's perty bad, don't you, Mister? That's right, Chip. Mr. Tony give the captain a real hard time about old Skaw. TheSweaties didn't say nothin'. Didn't even act surprised, just took theremains and pushed off. But Mr. Tony and that other crook they callMarbles, they was fit to be tied. Took the cap'n in his cabin andtalked loud at him fer half a hour. Then the cap'n come out and givesome orders to the Mate. Retief sat up and reached for a cigar. Mr. Tony and Skaw were pals, eh? He hated Skaw's guts. But with him it was business. Mister, you got agun? A 2mm needler. Why? The orders cap'n give was to change course fer Alabaster. We'reby-passin' Jorgensen's Worlds. We'll feel the course change any minute. Retief lit the cigar, reached under the mattress and took out ashort-barreled pistol. He dropped it in his pocket, looked at Chip. Maybe it was a good thought, at that. Which way to the Captain'scabin? <doc-sep></s>

The Soettis are involved in some kind of illegal activity with the Captain and Mr. Tony. The Soettis, nicknamed Sweaties, by humans who dislike them, are an alien species who have been moving deep into the sector where the Jorgensen’s Worlds are located. The Soettis are unattractive creatures with skinny legs like a lobster’s and a big chest shaped somewhat like a turnip. They have rubbery heads, and you can see their pulse beating when they get upset. They have tiny arms with toothed pincers at the ends and threaten humans with them. These pincers are incredibly strong and can cut through steel. It has been learned that they are planning to seize Jorgensen’s Worlds by force, a move of open aggression against Terrestrial territory that cannot be overlooked. The headquarters where Retief works has obtained the Soetti War Plan from a defector of Terrestrials who have actually been providing advice to the Soettis, so the plan is for Retief to travel personally to Jorgensen’s Worlds to provide them with this information and also with the schematics that will enable them to convert their anti-acceleration field into a powerful weapon to protect the planets. Reaching the Jorgensen’s Worlds will be challenging because the Soettis are on patrol in the trade lanes where the airships travel to the Worlds. The Soettis look down on Terrestrials and try to assert themselves over them. The Soettis can speak English, so they can communicate with the Terrestrials.The Captain is afraid of the Soettis and worries that when Retief harms Skaw, the Soetties will kill all of the humans. Retief intends for Skaw to go back and tell the other Soettis that they can no longer enter the Terrestrials’ airships and search them. When Skaw dies, the Captain is certain they are done for, but Retief tells him to bluff and show guns when they return the body, and the Soettis will back down. Surprisingly, the Soettis don’t say anything about Skaw’s death, but Mr. Tony is furious. Retief thinks it is good to know that the Soettis are easy to kill.

<s> THE FROZEN PLANET By Keith Laumer [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] It is rather unusual, Magnan said, to assign an officer of your rankto courier duty, but this is an unusual mission. Retief sat relaxed and said nothing. Just before the silence grewawkward, Magnan went on. There are four planets in the group, he said. Two double planets,all rather close to an unimportant star listed as DRI-G 33987. They'recalled Jorgensen's Worlds, and in themselves are of no importancewhatever. However, they lie deep in the sector into which the Soettihave been penetrating. Now— Magnan leaned forward and lowered his voice—we have learnedthat the Soetti plan a bold step forward. Since they've met noopposition so far in their infiltration of Terrestrial space, theyintend to seize Jorgensen's Worlds by force. Magnan leaned back, waiting for Retief's reaction. Retief drewcarefully on his cigar and looked at Magnan. Magnan frowned. This is open aggression, Retief, he said, in case I haven't mademyself clear. Aggression on Terrestrial-occupied territory by an alienspecies. Obviously, we can't allow it. Magnan drew a large folder from his desk. A show of resistance at this point is necessary. Unfortunately,Jorgensen's Worlds are technologically undeveloped areas. They'refarmers or traders. Their industry is limited to a minor role intheir economy—enough to support the merchant fleet, no more. The warpotential, by conventional standards, is nil. Magnan tapped the folder before him. I have here, he said solemnly, information which will change thatpicture completely. He leaned back and blinked at Retief. <doc-sep>He turned back to the window. And all because a pirate named DevilGarrett built a vast power plant to use to garner more power! You know, Anne, as a mockery, and a warning, I think I'll propose thatthis planet be officially named ... 'Garrett'! She looked up at him, and there was laughter bright in her eyes, andtugging at her mouth. Yes, there ought to be a reason, she murmured.Star wavered. She was so darn close. After a minute, she turned her head, and looked up at him. Star, howsoon will there be those gardens and woods you described? I mean,how long before Garrett can be turned into that kind of world youdescribed? Why ... under pressure, we can do it in six months. Why? Not half quick enough, she murmured happily, but it'll have to do,Star. Laughing, she turned her face up to his. Have you ever thoughtthat planet Garrett will be wonderful for a honeymoon? <doc-sep>All right, Mr. Councillor, Retief said. I'll play along; what's inthe folder? Magnan spread his fingers, folded one down. First, he said. The Soetti War Plan—in detail. We were fortunateenough to make contact with a defector from a party of renegadeTerrestrials who've been advising the Soetti. He folded anotherfinger. Next, a battle plan for the Jorgensen's people, worked out bythe Theory group. He wrestled a third finger down. Lastly; an UtterTop Secret schematic for conversion of a standard anti-accelerationfield into a potent weapon—a development our systems people have beenholding in reserve for just such a situation. Is that all? Retief said. You've still got two fingers sticking up. Magnan looked at the fingers and put them away. This is no occasion for flippancy, Retief. In the wrong hands, thisinformation could be catastrophic. You'll memorize it before you leavethis building. I'll carry it, sealed, Retief said. That way nobody can sweat it outof me. Magnan started to shake his head. Well, he said. If it's trapped for destruction, I suppose— I've heard of these Jorgensen's Worlds, Retief said. I remember anagent, a big blond fellow, very quick on the uptake. A wizard withcards and dice. Never played for money, though. Umm, Magnan said. Don't make the error of personalizing thissituation, Retief. Overall policy calls for a defense of thesebackwater worlds. Otherwise the Corps would allow history to follow itsnatural course, as always. When does this attack happen? Less than four weeks. That doesn't leave me much time. I have your itinerary here. Your accommodations are clear as far asAldo Cerise. You'll have to rely on your ingenuity to get you the restof the way. That's a pretty rough trip, Mr. Councillor. Suppose I don't make it? Magnan looked sour. Someone at a policy-making level has chosen to putall our eggs in one basket, Retief. I hope their confidence in you isnot misplaced. This antiac conversion; how long does it take? A skilled electronics crew can do the job in a matter of minutes. TheJorgensens can handle it very nicely; every other man is a mechanic ofsome sort. Retief opened the envelope Magnan handed him and looked at the ticketsinside. Less than four hours to departure time, he said. I'd better notstart any long books. You'd better waste no time getting over to Indoctrination, Magnansaid. Retief stood up. If I hurry, maybe I can catch the cartoon. The allusion escapes me, Magnan said coldly. And one last word. TheSoetti are patrolling the trade lanes into Jorgensen's Worlds; don'tget yourself interned. I'll tell you what, Retief said soberly. In a pinch, I'll mentionyour name. You'll be traveling with Class X credentials, Magnan snapped. Theremust be nothing to connect you with the Corps. They'll never guess, Retief said. I'll pose as a gentleman. You'd better be getting started, Magnan said, shuffling papers. You're right, Retief said. If I work at it, I might manage asnootful by takeoff. He went to the door. No objection to my checkingout a needler, is there? Magnan looked up. I suppose not. What do you want with it? Just a feeling I've got. Please yourself. Some day, Retief said, I may take you up on that. II Retief put down the heavy travel-battered suitcase and leaned on thecounter, studying the schedules chalked on the board under the legendALDO CERISE—INTERPLANETARY. A thin clerk in a faded sequined blouseand a plastic snakeskin cummerbund groomed his fingernails, watchingRetief from the corner of his eye. Retief glanced at him. The clerk nipped off a ragged corner with rabbitlike front teeth andspat it on the floor. Was there something? he said. Two twenty-eight, due out today for the Jorgensen group, Retief said.Is it on schedule? The clerk sampled the inside of his right cheek, eyed Retief. Filledup. Try again in a couple of weeks. What time does it leave? I don't think— Let's stick to facts, Retief said. Don't try to think. What time isit due out? The clerk smiled pityingly. It's my lunch hour, he said. I'll beopen in an hour. He held up a thumb nail, frowned at it. If I have to come around this counter, Retief said, I'll feed thatthumb to you the hard way. The clerk looked up and opened his mouth. Then he caught Retief's eye,closed his mouth and swallowed. Like it says there, he said, jerking a thumb at the board. Lifts inan hour. But you won't be on it, he added. Retief looked at him. Some ... ah ... VIP's required accommodation, he said. He hookeda finger inside the sequined collar. All tourist reservations werecanceled. You'll have to try to get space on the Four-Planet Line shipnext— Which gate? Retief said. For ... ah...? For the two twenty-eight for Jorgensen's Worlds, Retief said. Well, the clerk said. Gate 19, he added quickly. But— Retief picked up his suitcase and walked away toward the glare signreading To Gates 16-30 . Another smart alec, the clerk said behind him. <doc-sep></s>

Jorgensen’s Worlds are a group of four planets, or actually two double planets, and are located close to an unimportant star known as DRI-G 33987. These planets are freezing cold and are undeveloped and mostly populated with farmers and traders. They have a small amount of industry, just enough to support their merchant fleet. However, the governing body in this sector of space has received word that an alien race, the Soetti, has plans to seize Jorgensen’s Worlds. The governing body isn’t going to sit by and let the aliens take over Terrestrial-occupied territory. Retief is on a mission to deliver information to Jorgensen’s Worlds that will enable them to defend themselves from the alien attack, providing them with the Soettis War Plan, a battle plan for the planets, and the schematics that will enable them, in a matter of minutes, to convert their anti-acceleration fields into a powerful weapon. Reaching Jorgensen’s Worlds will be challenging because the Soetti are patroling the trade lanes to the planet. Their successful defense against the Soetti hinges on Retief’s reaching the planets in time for them to make the conversions before the aliens' attack.

<s>II The stunning injustice of that accusation came close to costing ChipWarren his life. For a split second he stood motionless in the doorway,gaping lips forming denial. Words which were never to be uttered, forsuddenly a raw-boned miner wrenched a Moeller from its holster, leveledand fired. The hot tongue of death licked hungrily at the young spaceman's cheek,scorched air crackled in his eardrums. Now was no time to squanderin vain argument. Chip ducked, spun, and hurled himself through thedoorway. There still remained one hope. That he might catch the realmurderer, and in that way clear himself.... But the door led to a small, deserted vestibule, and it to an alleywaybehind Xu'ul's Solarest. Viewing that maze of byways and passages, Chipknew his hope was futile. There remained but one thing to do. Get outof here. But quick! It was no hard task. The labyrinth swallowed him as it had engulfed thescarred killer; in a few minutes even the footsteps of his pursuerscould no longer be heard. And Chip worked his cautious way back to thespaceport, and to the bin wherein was cradled the Chickadee . Syd Palmer looked up in surprise as Chip let himself in theelectro-lock. The chubby engineer gasped, Salvation, look what the catdrug in! His high-flying Nibs! What's the matter, Chip? Night-life toomuch for you? Never mind that now! panted Chip. Is this tin can ready to roll?Warm the hypos. We're lifting gravs— Palmer said anxiously, Now, wait a minute! The men haven't quitefinished plating the hull, Chip! Can't help that! We've got important business. In a very fewminutes— Ahh! There he goes now! Chip had gone to the perilens themoment he entered the ship; now he saw in its reflector that which hehad expected. The gushing orange spume of a spaceship roaring from itscradle. Hurry, Syd! There were a lot of things Syd Palmer wanted to ask. He wanted to know who went where ; he was bursting with curiosity about the importantbusiness which had brought his pal back from town in such a rush; hiskeen eye also had detected a needle-gun burn on Chip's coat-sleeve. Buthe was too good a companion to waste time now on such trivia. O.Q., he snapped. It's your pigeon! And he disappeared. They heard his voice calling to the workmen, thescuff of equipment being disengaged from the Chickadee's hull, thethin, high whine of warming hypatomics. Salvation looked at Warrenquizzically. It smells, he ventured gently, like trouble. It is trouble, Chip told him. Plenty trouble! In that case— said the old man mildly—I guess I'd better get therotor stripped for action. He stepped to the gunnery turret, droppedthe fore-irons and stripped their weapon for action. 'Be ye men ofpeace,' he intoned, 'but gird firmly thy loins for righteous battle!'Thus saith the Lord God which is Jehovah. Selah! Then came Syd's cry from the depths of the hyporoom. All set, Chip! Lift gravs! Warren's finger found a stud. And with a gusty roar the Chickadee rocketed into space on a pillar of flame. <doc-sep>III From a billion miles away, from a bourne unguessable thousands oflight-years distant, came the faint, far whisper of a voice. Nearer andnearer it came, and ever faster, till it throbbed upon Chip's eardrumswith booming savagery. —coming to, now. Good! We'll soon find out— Chip opened his eyes, too dazed, at first, to understand the situationin which he found himself. Gone was the familiar control-turret of the Chickadee , gone the bulger into which he had so hastily clambered. Helay on the parched, rocky soil of a—a something. A planetoid, perhaps.And he was surrounded by a motley crew of strangers: scum of all theplanets that circle the Sun.... Then recollection flooded back upon him, sudden and complete. Thechase ... the call of the fateful Lorelei ... the crash! New strength,born of anger, surged through him. He lifted his head. My—my companions? he demanded weakly. The leader of those who encircled him, a mighty hulk of a man, massiveof shoulder and thigh, black-haired, with an unshaven blue jaw,raven-bright eyes and a jutting, aquiline nose like the beak of a hawk,loosed a satisfied grunt. Ah! Back to normal, eh, sailor? Damn near time! Climbing to his feet sent a swift wave of giddiness through Chip—buthe managed it. He fought down the vertigo which threatened to overwhelmhim, and confronted the big man boldly. What, he stormed, is the meaning of this? The giant stared at him for a moment, his jaw slack. Then hisraven-bright eyes glittered; he slapped a trunklike thigh and guffawedin boisterous mirth. Hear that? he roared to his companions. Quite a guy, ain't he?'What's the meanin' o' this?' he asks! Game little fightin' cock, hey?Then he sobered abruptly, and a grim light replaced the amusement inhis eyes. Here was not a man to be trifled with, Chip realized. Histone assumed a biting edge. The meanin' is, my bucko, he answeredmirthlessly, that you've run afoul o' your last reef. Unless you havea sane head on your shoulders, and you're willing to talk fast andstraight! Talk? Don't stall. We've already unloaded your bins. We found it. And a nicehaul, too. Thanks for lettin' us know it was on the way. The burly onechuckled coarsely. We'd have took it, anyway, but you helped mattersout by comin' to us. Johnny Haldane had been right, then. Chip remembered his friend'sominous warning. —if your message was intercepted, you may haveplayed into the hands of— He said slowly, Then you are theLorelei's men? The who? Never mind that, bucko, just talk. That ekalastron—where didit come from? And it occurred to Warren suddenly that although the big man did holdthe whip hand, he was still not in possession of the most importantsecret of all! While the location of the ekalastron mine remained asecret, a deadlock existed. And if I won't tell—? he countered shrewdly. Why, then, sailor— The pirate leader's hamlike fists tightened, anda cold light glinted in his eyes—why, then I guess maybe I'll have tobeat it out o' you! <doc-sep> THE FROZEN PLANET By Keith Laumer [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] It is rather unusual, Magnan said, to assign an officer of your rankto courier duty, but this is an unusual mission. Retief sat relaxed and said nothing. Just before the silence grewawkward, Magnan went on. There are four planets in the group, he said. Two double planets,all rather close to an unimportant star listed as DRI-G 33987. They'recalled Jorgensen's Worlds, and in themselves are of no importancewhatever. However, they lie deep in the sector into which the Soettihave been penetrating. Now— Magnan leaned forward and lowered his voice—we have learnedthat the Soetti plan a bold step forward. Since they've met noopposition so far in their infiltration of Terrestrial space, theyintend to seize Jorgensen's Worlds by force. Magnan leaned back, waiting for Retief's reaction. Retief drewcarefully on his cigar and looked at Magnan. Magnan frowned. This is open aggression, Retief, he said, in case I haven't mademyself clear. Aggression on Terrestrial-occupied territory by an alienspecies. Obviously, we can't allow it. Magnan drew a large folder from his desk. A show of resistance at this point is necessary. Unfortunately,Jorgensen's Worlds are technologically undeveloped areas. They'refarmers or traders. Their industry is limited to a minor role intheir economy—enough to support the merchant fleet, no more. The warpotential, by conventional standards, is nil. Magnan tapped the folder before him. I have here, he said solemnly, information which will change thatpicture completely. He leaned back and blinked at Retief. <doc-sep></s>

Chip is the chef on the airship that is traveling to Jorgensen’s Worlds. His role as chef enables him to have contact with the Captain, crew, and passengers, which makes him extremely valuable to Retief. In addition, he likes Retief since he stands up to Mr. Tony and the Captain, neither of whom Chip can stand. When the serving staff ignore Retief, Chip serves Retief and later continues serving him meals in his room. When Retief is threatened by one of Mr. Tony’s goons wielding a knife, Chip passes a knife from the kitchen to Retief to defend himself. Most importantly, Chip shares his wealth of knowledge with Retief and assists him. Chip informs Retief that Mr. Tony and the Captain are involved in some kind of crooked business deal with each other, adding that there haven’t been any tourist to Jorgensen’s Worlds for the last six to eight months. He also tells Retief about the Soettis boarding the ship and searching it. At the end of the story when Retief is holding the Captain in his cabin to prevent him from changing the orders and bypassing Jorgensen’s Worlds, Chip keeps an eye on what is going on with the rest of the passengers to report back to Retief. Without Chip’s help, Retief might not have been as successful in thwarting the Captain and Mr. Tony’s plan to bypass Jorgensen’s Worlds.

<s>Five minutes passed before the door rattled and burst open. Retief looked up. A gaunt leathery-skinned man wearing white ducks, ablue turtleneck sweater and a peaked cap tilted raffishly over one eyestared at Retief. Is this the joker? he grated. The thick-necked man edged past him, looked at Retief and snorted,That's him, sure. I'm captain of this vessel, the first man said. You've got twominutes to haul your freight out of here, buster. When you can spare the time from your other duties, Retief said,take a look at Section Three, Paragraph One, of the Uniform Code.That spells out the law on confirmed space on vessels engaged ininterplanetary commerce. A space lawyer. The captain turned. Throw him out, boys. Two big men edged into the cabin, looking at Retief. Go on, pitch him out, the captain snapped. Retief put his cigar in an ashtray, and swung his feet off the bunk. Don't try it, he said softly. One of the two wiped his nose on a sleeve, spat on his right palm, andstepped forward, then hesitated. Hey, he said. This the guy tossed the trunk off the wall? That's him, the thick-necked man called. Spilled Mr. Tony'spossessions right on the deck. Deal me out, the bouncer said. He can stay put as long as he wantsto. I signed on to move cargo. Let's go, Moe. You'd better be getting back to the bridge, Captain, Retief said.We're due to lift in twenty minutes. The thick-necked man and the Captain both shouted at once. TheCaptain's voice prevailed. —twenty minutes ... uniform Code ... gonna do? Close the door as you leave, Retief said. The thick-necked man paused at the door. We'll see you when you comeout. III Four waiters passed Retief's table without stopping. A fifth leanedagainst the wall nearby, a menu under his arm. At a table across the room, the Captain, now wearing a dress uniformand with his thin red hair neatly parted, sat with a table of malepassengers. He talked loudly and laughed frequently, casting occasionalglances Retief's way. A panel opened in the wall behind Retief's chair. Bright blue eyespeered out from under a white chef's cap. Givin' you the cold shoulder, heh, Mister? Looks like it, old-timer, Retief said. Maybe I'd better go join theskipper. His party seems to be having all the fun. Feller has to be mighty careless who he eats with to set over there. I see your point. You set right where you're at, Mister. I'll rustle you up a plate. Five minutes later, Retief cut into a thirty-two ounce Delmonico backedup with mushrooms and garlic butter. I'm Chip, the chef said. I don't like the Cap'n. You can tell him Isaid so. Don't like his friends, either. Don't like them dern Sweaties,look at a man like he was a worm. You've got the right idea on frying a steak, Chip. And you've got theright idea on the Soetti, too, Retief said. He poured red wine into aglass. Here's to you. Dern right, Chip said. Dunno who ever thought up broiling 'em.Steaks, that is. I got a Baked Alaska coming up in here for dessert.You like brandy in yer coffee? Chip, you're a genius. Like to see a feller eat, Chip said. I gotta go now. If you needanything, holler. Retief ate slowly. Time always dragged on shipboard. Four days toJorgensen's Worlds. Then, if Magnan's information was correct,there would be four days to prepare for the Soetti attack. It was atemptation to scan the tapes built into the handle of his suitcase. Itwould be good to know what Jorgensen's Worlds would be up against. Retief finished the steak, and the chef passed out the baked Alaska andcoffee. Most of the other passengers had left the dining room. Mr. Tonyand his retainers still sat at the Captain's table. As Retief watched, four men arose from the table and sauntered acrossthe room. The first in line, a stony-faced thug with a broken ear, tooka cigar from his mouth as he reached the table. He dipped the lightedend in Retief's coffee, looked at it, and dropped it on the tablecloth. The others came up, Mr. Tony trailing. You must want to get to Jorgensen's pretty bad, the thug said in agrating voice. What's your game, hick? Retief looked at the coffee cup, picked it up. I don't think I want my coffee, he said. He looked at the thug. Youdrink it. The thug squinted at Retief. A wise hick, he began. With a flick of the wrist, Retief tossed the coffee into the thug'sface, then stood and slammed a straight right to the chin. The thugwent down. Retief looked at Mr. Tony, still standing open-mouthed. You can take your playmates away now, Tony, he said. And don'tbother to come around yourself. You're not funny enough. Mr. Tony found his voice. Take him, Marbles! he growled. The thick-necked man slipped a hand inside his tunic and brought out along-bladed knife. He licked his lips and moved in. Retief heard the panel open beside him. Here you go, Mister, Chip said. Retief darted a glance; a well-honedfrench knife lay on the sill. Thanks, Chip, Retief said. I won't need it for these punks. Thick-neck lunged and Retief hit him square in the face, knocking himunder the table. The other man stepped back, fumbling a power pistolfrom his shoulder holster. Aim that at me, and I'll kill you, Retief said. Go on, burn him! Mr. Tony shouted. Behind him, the captain appeared,white-faced. Put that away, you! he yelled. What kind of— Shut up, Mr. Tony said. Put it away, Hoany. We'll fix this bumlater. Not on this vessel, you won't, the captain said shakily. I got mycharter to consider. Ram your charter, Hoany said harshly. You won't be needing it long. Button your floppy mouth, damn you! Mr. Tony snapped. He looked atthe man on the floor. Get Marbles out of here. I ought to dump theslob. He turned and walked away. The captain signaled and two waiters cameup. Retief watched as they carted the casualty from the dining room. The panel opened. I usta be about your size, when I was your age, Chip said. Youhandled them pansies right. I wouldn't give 'em the time o' day. How about a fresh cup of coffee, Chip? Retief said. Sure, Mister. Anything else? I'll think of something, Retief said. This is shaping up into one ofthose long days. <doc-sep>The alien clicked both pincers with a sharp report, and in the sameinstant Retief half-turned to the left, leaned away from the alienand drove his right foot against the slender leg above the bulbousknee-joint. Skaw screeched and floundered, greenish fluid spatteringfrom the burst joint. I told you he was brittle, Retief said. Next time you invite piratesaboard, don't bother to call. Jesus, what did you do! They'll kill us! the captain gasped, staringat the figure flopping on the floor. Cart poor old Skaw back to his boat, Retief said. Tell him to passthe word. No more illegal entry and search of Terrestrial vessels inTerrestrial space. Hey, Chip said. He's quit kicking. The captain bent over Skaw, gingerly rolled him over. He leaned closeand sniffed. He's dead. The captain stared at Retief. We're all dead men, hesaid. These Soetti got no mercy. They won't need it. Tell 'em to sheer off; their fun is over. They got no more emotions than a blue crab— You bluff easily, Captain. Show a few guns as you hand the body back.We know their secret now. What secret? I— Don't be no dumber than you got to, Cap'n, Chip said. Sweaties dieeasy; that's the secret. Maybe you got a point, the captain said, looking at Retief. All theygot's a three-man scout. It could work. He went out, came back with two crewmen. They hauled the dead aliengingerly into the hall. Maybe I can run a bluff on the Soetti, the captain said, looking backfrom the door. But I'll be back to see you later. You don't scare us, Cap'n, Chip said. Him and Mr. Tony and all hisgoons. You hit 'em where they live, that time. They're pals o' theseSweaties. Runnin' some kind o' crooked racket. You'd better take the captain's advice, Chip. There's no point in yourgetting involved in my problems. They'd of killed you before now, Mister, if they had any guts. That'swhere we got it over these monkeys. They got no guts. They act scared, Chip. Scared men are killers. They don't scare me none. Chip picked up the tray. I'll scout arounda little and see what's goin' on. If the Sweaties figure to do anythingabout that Skaw feller they'll have to move fast; they won't trynothin' close to port. Don't worry, Chip. I have reason to be pretty sure they won't doanything to attract a lot of attention in this sector just now. Chip looked at Retief. You ain't no tourist, Mister. I know that much.You didn't come out here for fun, did you? That, Retief said, would be a hard one to answer. IV Retief awoke at a tap on his door. It's me, Mister. Chip. Come on in. The chef entered the room, locking the door. You shoulda had that door locked. He stood by the door, listening,then turned to Retief. You want to get to Jorgensen's perty bad, don't you, Mister? That's right, Chip. Mr. Tony give the captain a real hard time about old Skaw. TheSweaties didn't say nothin'. Didn't even act surprised, just took theremains and pushed off. But Mr. Tony and that other crook they callMarbles, they was fit to be tied. Took the cap'n in his cabin andtalked loud at him fer half a hour. Then the cap'n come out and givesome orders to the Mate. Retief sat up and reached for a cigar. Mr. Tony and Skaw were pals, eh? He hated Skaw's guts. But with him it was business. Mister, you got agun? A 2mm needler. Why? The orders cap'n give was to change course fer Alabaster. We'reby-passin' Jorgensen's Worlds. We'll feel the course change any minute. Retief lit the cigar, reached under the mattress and took out ashort-barreled pistol. He dropped it in his pocket, looked at Chip. Maybe it was a good thought, at that. Which way to the Captain'scabin? <doc-sep>Nagurski brought out a pipe. He would have a pipe, I decided. No, not always. I was like you at first. Fresh from the cosmic energytest lab, suspicious of everything, trying to tell the old hands whatto do. But I learned that they are pretty smart boys; they know whatthey are doing. You can rely on them absolutely. I leaned forward, elbows on knees. Let me tell you a thing,Nagurski. Your trust of these damn-fool spacemen is why you are nolonger a captain. You can't trust anything out here in space, much lesshuman nature. Even I know that much! He was pained. If you don't trust the men, they won't trust you, Gav. They don't have to trust me. All they have to do is obey me or, byJupiter, get frozen stiff and thawed out just in time for court-marshalback home. Listen, I continued earnestly, these men aren't going tothink of me—of us , the officers, as their leaders. As far as thecrew is concerned, Ordinary Spaceman Quade is the best man on thisship. He is a good man, Nagurski said. You mustn't be jealous of hisstatus. The dog growled. He must have sensed what I almost did to Nagurski. Never mind that for now, I said wearily. What was your idea forgetting our exploration parties through this transphasia? There's only one idea for that, said Quade, ducking his long headand stepping through the connecting hatch. With the Captain'spermission.... Go ahead, Quade, tell him, Nagurski invited. There's only one way to wade through transphasia with anyreliability, Quade told me. You keep some kind of physical contactwith the spaceship. Parties are strung out on guide line, like we were,but the cable has to be run back and made fast to the hull. How far can we run it back? Quade shrugged. Miles. How many? We have three miles of cable. As long as you can feel, taste, see,smell or hear that rope anchoring you to home, you aren't lost. Three miles isn't good enough. We don't have enough fuel to changesites that often. You can't use the drive in a gravitational field, youknow. What else can we do, Captain? Nagurski asked puzzledly. You've said that the spaceship is our only protection fromtransphasia. Is that it? Quade gave a curt nod. Then, I told them, we will have to start tearing apart this ship. <doc-sep></s>

Mr. Tony is a tall, florid man with expensive clothes and a massive paunch. He is also used to getting his way. The Captain and Mr. Tony are involved in an illegal deal with the Soettis, so the two men are business associates, although they don’t much like each other. Together, they have cut off all tourism to Jorgensen’s Worlds for the past six to eight months; the airlines won’t provide any bookings for passengers; however, the Captain’s airship has at least a dozen empty rooms. Mr. Tony has several henchmen working for him who do his “dirty business” of roughhandling anyone who interferes with Mr. Tony’s business. Whatever their business is, it involves frequent trips to Jorgensen’s Worlds without taking any cargo there. Mr. Tony seems to hold power over the Captain. The Captain is a thin, leathery-skinned man who wears white ducks, a blue turtleneck, and a peaked cap that he tilts rakishly over one eye. He isn’t a very strong person or leader. He tries to get Mr. Tony’s men to throw Retief off the ship, but they refuse to do so when Retief warns them not to try and when they realize he is the person who picked up Mr. Tony’s trunk and threw it. The Captain has ordered Retief to get off the ship but backs down when the men refuse to touch Retief. He apparently tells the wait staff in the restaurant to refuse service to Retief because they all ignore him. And when the Captain warns Mr. Tony’s henchmen not to shoot Retief on his airship because it could threaten his charter, one of them talks back and tells him he won’t need it for long. Retief has the distinct impression that Mr. Tony has something on the Captain that forces the Captain to cooperate with him and places him at a lower level than Mr. Tony.

<s>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep> THE MADMAN FROM EARTH BY KEITH LAUMER You don't have to be crazy to be an earth diplomat—but on Groac it sure helps! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, March 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I The Consul for the Terrestrial States, Retief said, presents hiscompliments, et cetera, to the Ministry of Culture of the GroacianAutonomy, and with reference to the Ministry's invitation to attend arecital of interpretive grimacing, has the honor to express regret thathe will be unable— You can't turn this invitation down, Administrative Assistant Meuhlsaid flatly. I'll make that 'accepts with pleasure'. Retief exhaled a plume of cigar smoke. Miss Meuhl, he said, in the past couple of weeks I've sat throughsix light-concerts, four attempts at chamber music, and god knows howmany assorted folk-art festivals. I've been tied up every off-dutyhour since I got here— You can't offend the Groaci, Miss Meuhl said sharply. Consul Whafflewould never have been so rude. Whaffle left here three months ago, Retief said, leaving me incharge. Well, Miss Meuhl said, snapping off the dictyper. I'm sure I don'tknow what excuse I can give the Minister. Never mind the excuses, Retief said. Just tell him I won't bethere. He stood up. Are you leaving the office? Miss Meuhl adjusted her glasses. I havesome important letters here for your signature. I don't recall dictating any letters today, Miss Meuhl, Retief said,pulling on a light cape. <doc-sep> HOW TO MAKE FRIENDS By JIM HARMON Illustrated by WEST [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine October 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Every lonely man tries to make friends. Manet just didn't know when to stop! William Manet was alone. In the beginning, he had seen many advantages to being alone. It wouldgive him an unprecedented opportunity to once and for all correlateloneliness to the point of madness, to see how long it would take himto start slavering and clawing the pin-ups from the magazines, to beginteaching himself classes in philosophy consisting of interminablelectures to a bored and captive audience of one. He would be able to measure the qualities of peace and decide whetherit was really better than war, he would be able to get as fat and asdirty as he liked, he would be able to live more like an animal andthink more like a god than any man for generations. But after a shorter time than he expected, it all got to be a tearingbore. Even the waiting to go crazy part of it. Not that he was going to have any great long wait of it. He was alreadytalking to himself, making verbal notes for his lectures, and he hadcut out a picture of Annie Oakley from an old book. He tacked it up andwinked at it whenever he passed that way. Lately she was winking back at him. Loneliness was a physical weight on his skull. It peeled the flesh fromhis arms and legs and sandpapered his self-pity to a fine sensitivity. No one on Earth was as lonely as William Manet, and even William Manetcould only be this lonely on Mars. Manet was Atmosphere Seeder Station 131-47's own human. All Manet had to do was sit in the beating aluminum heart in the middleof the chalk desert and stare out, chin cupped in hands, at the flat,flat pavement of dirty talcum, at the stars gleaming as hard in theblack sky as a starlet's capped teeth ... stars two of which were moonsand one of which was Earth. He had to do nothing else. The wholegimcrack was cybernetically controlled, entirely automatic. No one wasneeded here—no human being, at least. The Workers' Union was a pretty small pressure group, but it didn'ttake much to pressure the Assembly. Featherbedding had been carefullyspecified, including an Overseer for each of the Seeders to honeycombMars, to prepare its atmosphere for colonization. They didn't give tests to find well-balanced, well-integrated peoplefor the job. Well-balanced, well-integrated men weren't going toisolate themselves in a useless job. They got, instead, William Manetand his fellows. The Overseers were to stay as long as the job required. Passenger fareto Mars was about one billion dollars. They weren't providing commuterservice for night shifts. They weren't providing accommodationsfor couples when the law specified only one occupant. They weren'tproviding fuel (at fifty million dollars a gallon) for visits betweenthe various Overseers. They weren't very providential. But it was two hundred thousand a year in salary, and it offeredwonderful opportunities. It gave William Manet an opportunity to think he saw a spaceship makinga tailfirst landing on the table of the desert, its tail burning asbright as envy. <doc-sep></s>

Following the departure of Consul Whaffle, Retief has taken over as Consul for the Terrestrial States with the Terrestrial Consulate General on the planet Groac. His administrative assistant, Miss Yolanda Meuhl, wants him to attend Groacian cultural events, but Retief is more interested in addressing the nine-year-old mystery of the disappearance of a Terrestrial cruiser, the ISV Terrific--an event which was followed by a coup d'etat enacted by the current Groacian government. Much to Miss Meuhl's dismay, Retief shirks his cultural duties and makes his way to the Foreign Office Archives, whereupon he is promptly barred from entering by a pale-featured Archivist speaking in the throat-bladder vibrations of the native Groacians. Because of the Archivist's insistence that outworlders cannot access the archives, Retief begins walking back to the Consulate and stops at a bar for a drink. At the, a drunken Groacian approaches Retief and threatens to cage him and put him on display as a freak. The bartender orders the drunken Groacian out of the bar, and Retief follows him, ultimately beating him up for information. When Retief returns to the Consulate, Miss Meuhl informs him that two angry Groaci await him in his office. One is Fith, an employee of the Terrestrial Desk at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs; the other is Shluh, a representative of the Internal Police. They are there to investigate reports that Retief has assaulted a Groacian national--an accusation Retief ignores in order to launch into his own accusations that the Groaci were engaged in a cover-up of the whereabouts of the ISV Terrific. Miss Meuhl continually interjects, expresses horror at Retief's claims, and apologizes to the Groacians on behalf of the Terrestrial Consulate. Despite the persistent denials of the Groacians, Retief continues his accusations, suggesting the coup d'etat was an effort to silence government officials with knowledge of the truth of what happened to the cruiser and its crew. Then he reveals what he discovered from the drunken Groacian: The crew of the ISV Terrific had been caged and paraded through the streets of Groac and then neglected until they died. Fith and Shluh finally admit the truth and offer to show Retief the hidden cruiser in order to show their contrition. When Retief sees the ship, he once again accuses the Groacians of attempting to mislead him, saying that this is a lifeboat, and he demands to see the actual ship. Fith has had enough and threatens to arrest Retief, who yields and goes back to the Consulate. There, Miss Meuhl is at her wits end. Retief orders her to barricade herself inside the office while he goes to the Foreign Ministry to gather more evidence. When he returns, Miss Meuhl informs him she has reported him to Regional Headquarters, and Retief learns he has been relieved of his post. Soon after, the Groacians appoint Miss Meuhl to his position, and Fith and Shluh enter to arrest him.

<s> THE MADMAN FROM EARTH BY KEITH LAUMER You don't have to be crazy to be an earth diplomat—but on Groac it sure helps! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, March 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I The Consul for the Terrestrial States, Retief said, presents hiscompliments, et cetera, to the Ministry of Culture of the GroacianAutonomy, and with reference to the Ministry's invitation to attend arecital of interpretive grimacing, has the honor to express regret thathe will be unable— You can't turn this invitation down, Administrative Assistant Meuhlsaid flatly. I'll make that 'accepts with pleasure'. Retief exhaled a plume of cigar smoke. Miss Meuhl, he said, in the past couple of weeks I've sat throughsix light-concerts, four attempts at chamber music, and god knows howmany assorted folk-art festivals. I've been tied up every off-dutyhour since I got here— You can't offend the Groaci, Miss Meuhl said sharply. Consul Whafflewould never have been so rude. Whaffle left here three months ago, Retief said, leaving me incharge. Well, Miss Meuhl said, snapping off the dictyper. I'm sure I don'tknow what excuse I can give the Minister. Never mind the excuses, Retief said. Just tell him I won't bethere. He stood up. Are you leaving the office? Miss Meuhl adjusted her glasses. I havesome important letters here for your signature. I don't recall dictating any letters today, Miss Meuhl, Retief said,pulling on a light cape. <doc-sep>Instead, Kraft Gerding smiled a smile as frosty as his mustache andsaid, I understand that my younger brother has been talking with you,Miss McCall. Quite proper, I know. But I must warn you against mixingbusiness with pleasure. Orison jumped up, tossing the paper into her wastebasket. I quit! sheshouted. You can take this crazy bank ... into bankruptcy, for all Icare. I'm not going to perch up here, target for every uncaged idiot infinance, and listen to another word. Dearest lady, my humblest pardon, Kraft Gerding said, bowing again,a bit lower. Your work is splendid; your presence is Taft Bank's mostcharming asset; my only wish is to serve and protect you. To this end,dear lady, I feel it my duty to warn you against my brother. A word tothe wise.... N'est-ce pas? Orison said. Well, Buster, here's a word to thefoolish. Get lost. Kraft Gerding bowed and flashed his gelid smile. Until we meet again? I'll hold my breath, Orison promised. The elevator is just behindyou. Push a button, will you? And bon voyage . Kraft Gerding called the elevator, marched aboard, favored Orison witha cold, quick bow, then disappeared into the mysterious heights abovefifth floor. First the unspeakable Auga Vingt, then the obnoxious Kraft Gerding.Surely, Orison thought, recovering the Wall Street Journal from herwastebasket and smoothing it, no one would convert a major Midwesternbank into a lunatic asylum. How else, though, could the behaviorof the Earmuffs be explained? Could madmen run a bank? Why not, shethought. History is rich in examples of madmen running nations, banksand all. She began again to read the paper into the microphone. If shefinished early enough, she might get a chance to prowl those Off-Limitsupper floors. Half an hour further into the paper, Orison jumped, startled by thesudden buzz of her telephone. She picked it up. Wanji e-Kal, Datto.Dink ger-Dink d'summa. Orison scribbled down this intelligence in bemused Gregg beforereplying, I'm a local girl. Try me in English. Oh. Hi, Miss McCall, the voice said. Guess I goofed. I'm in kindaclutch. This is Wanji. I got a kite for Mr. Dink Gerding. If you seehim, tell him the escudo green is pale. Got that, doll? Yes, Mr. Wanji. I'll tell Mr. Gerding. Orison clicked the phone down.What now, Mata Hari? she asked herself. What was the curious languageMr. Wanji had used? She'd have to report the message to Washington bytonight's pillow, and let the polyglots of Treasury Intelligence puzzleit out. Meanwhile, she thought, scooting her chair back from her desk,she had a vague excuse to prowl the upper floors. The Earmuffs couldonly fire her. Orison folded the paper and put it in the Out basket. Someone wouldbe here in a moment with something new to read. She'd best get going.The elevator? No. The operators had surely been instructed to keep heroff the upstairs floors. But the building had a stairway. III The door on the sixth floor was locked. Orison went on up the stairs toseven. The glass of the door there was painted black on the inside, andthe landing was cellar-dark. Orison closed her eyes for a moment. Therewas a curious sound. The buzzing of a million bees, barely within thefringes of her hearing. Somehow, a very pleasant sound. She opened her eyes and tried the knob. The door opened. Orison was blinded by the lights, brilliant as noonday sun. The roomextended through the entire seventh floor, its windows boarded shut,its ceiling a mass of fluorescent lamps. Set about the floor weregalvanized steel tanks, rectangular and a little bigger than bathtubs.Orison counted the rows of tanks. Twelve rows, nine tiers. One hundredand eight tanks. She walked closer. The tubs were laced together bystrands of angel-hair, delicate white lattices scintillating withpink. She walked to the nearest of the tubs and looked in. It was halffull of a greenish fluid, seething with tiny pink bubbles. For a momentOrison thought she saw Benjamin Franklin winking up at her from theliquid. Then she screamed. The pink bubbles, the tiny flesh-colored flecks glinting light fromthe spun-sugar bridges between the tanks, were spiders. Millionsupon millions of spiders, each the size of a mustard-seed; crawling,leaping, swinging, spinning webs, seething in the hundred tanks. Orisonput her hands over her ears and screamed again, backing toward thestairway door. Into a pair of arms. I had hoped you'd be happy here, Miss McCall, Kraft Gerding said.Orison struggled to release herself. She broke free only to haveher wrists seized by two Earmuffs that had appeared with the elderGerding. It seems that our Pandora doesn't care for spiders, hesaid. Really, Miss McCall, our little pets are quite harmless. Werewe to toss you into one of these tanks.... Orison struggled againsther two sumo -sized captors, whose combined weights exceeded hers bysome quarter-ton, without doing more than lifting her feet from thefloor. ... your flesh would be unharmed, though they spun and dartedall around you. Our Microfabridae are petrovorous, Miss McCall. Ofcourse, once they discovered your teeth, and through them a skeleton ofcalcium, a delicacy they find most toothsome, you'd be filleted withinminutes. Elder Compassion wouldn't like your harming the girl, Sire, one ofthe earmuffed sumo -wrestlers protested. Elder Compassion has no rank, Kraft Gerding said. Miss McCall, youmust tell me what you were doing here, or I'll toss you to the spiders. Dink ... Dink! Orison shouted. My beloved younger brother is otherwise engaged than in the rescue ofdamsels in distress, Kraft said. Someone, after all, has to mind thebank. I came to bring a message to Dink, Orison said. Let me go, youacromegalic apes! The message? Kraft Gerding demanded. Something about escudo green. Put me down! <doc-sep>Bam, Bam, Bam, the blood pounded in his ears. Like repeated blows of ahammer they shook his booming head. No longer was Torp above him. Hewas in the corner of the laboratory, a crumpled blood-smeared heap ofbruised flesh and bone. He was unfettered and the blood was caked uponhis skull and in his matted hair. Torp must have thought he had killedhim with those savage blows upon the head. Even Torp, thought Thig ruefully, gave way to the primitive rage of hisancestors at times; but to that very bit of unconscious atavism he nowowed his life. A cool-headed robot of an Orthan would have efficientlyused the blaster to destroy any possibility of remaining life in hisunconscious body. Thig rolled slowly over so that his eye found the door into the controlroom. Torp would be coming back again to dispose of their bodiesthrough the refuse lock. Already the body of Kam was gone. He wonderedwhy he had been left until last. Perhaps Torp wished to take culturesof his blood and tissues to determine whether a disease was responsiblefor his sudden madness. The cases of fragile instruments were just above his head. Associationof memories brought him the flash of the heavy blaster in its rackbeneath them. His hand went up and felt the welcome hardness of theweapon. He tugged it free. In a moment he was on his knees crawling across the plates of the decktoward the door. Halfway across the floor he collapsed on his face,the metal of the gun making a harsh clang. He heard the feet of Torpscuffle out of silence and a choked cry in the man's throat squalledout into a senseless whinny. Thig raised himself up on a quivering elbow and slid the black lengthof the blaster in front of him. His eyes sought the doorway and staredfull into the glaring vacant orbs of his commander. Torp leaned therewatching him, his breath gurgling brokenly through his deep-bittenlips. The clawing marks of nails, fingernails, furrowed his face andchest. He was a madman! The deadly attack of Thig; his own violent avenging of Kam's death, andnow the apparent return of the man he had killed come to life had allserved to jolt his rigidly trained brain from its accustomed groove.The shock had been too much for the established thought-processes ofthe Orthan. So Thig shot him where he stood, mercifully, before that vacant madstare set him, too, to gibbering and shrieking. Then he stepped overthe skeleton-thing that had been Torp, using the new strength thatvictory had given him to drive him along. He had saved a world's civilization from extinction! The thoughtsobered him; yet, somehow, he was pleased that he had done so. Afterall, it had been the Earthwoman and the children he had been thinkingof while he battled Kam, a selfish desire to protect them all. He went to the desk where Torp had been writing in the ship's log andread the last few nervously scrawled lines: Planet 72-P-3 unfit for colonization. Some pernicious disease thatstrikes at the brain centers and causes violent insanity is existentthere. Thig, just returned from a survey of the planet, went mad anddestroyed Kam. In turn I was forced to slay him. But it is not ended.Already I feel the insidious virus of.... And there his writing ended abruptly. Thig nodded. That would do it. He set the automatic pilot for theplanet Ortha. Unless a rogue asteroid or a comet crossed the ship'spath she would return safely to Ortha with that mute warning of dangeron 72-P-3. The body of Torp would help to confirm his final message. Then Thig crossed the cabin to the auxiliary life boat there, one ofa half-dozen space ships in miniature nested within the great ship'shull, and cut free from the mother vessel. He flipped the drive lever, felt the thrumming of the rockets drivinghim from the parent ship. The sensation of free flight against his newbody was strangely exhilerating and heady. It was the newest of theemotions he had experienced on Earth since that day, so many monthsbefore, when he had felt the warmness of Ellen's lips tight against his. Thig flipped the drive lever, felt the thrumming of therockets driving him from the parent ship. He swung about to the port, watched the flaming drive-rockets of thegreat exploratory ship hurl it toward far-away Ortha, and there was noregret in his mind that he was not returning to the planet of his firstexistence. He thought of the dull greys and blacks of his planet, of themonotonous routine of existence that had once been his—and his heartthrilled to the memories of the starry nights and perfect exciting dayshe had spent on his three month trip over Earth. He made a brief salute to the existence he had known, turned with atiny sigh, and his fingers made brief adjustments in the controls. Therocket-thrum deepened, and the thin whistle of tenuous air clutchingthe ship echoed through the hull-plates. He thought of many things in those few moments. He watched theroundness of Earth flatten out, then take on the cup-like illusionthat all planets had for an incoming ship. He reduced the drive of hisrockets to a mere whisper, striving to control the impatience thatcrowded his mind. He shivered suddenly, remembering his utter callousness the first timehe had sent a space ship whipping down toward the hills and valleysbelow. And there was a sickness within him when he fully realized that,despite his acquired memory and traits, he was an alien from outerspace. He fingered the tiny scars that had completely obliterated the slightdifferences in his appearance from an Earthman's, and his fingerstrembled a bit, as he bent and stared through the vision port. He saida brief prayer in his heart to a God whose presence he now felt verydeeply. There were tears in the depths of his eyes, then, and memorieswere hot, bitter pains. <doc-sep></s>

The story takes place on the planet Groac, which is populated by the native Groaci. The Groaci is a skinny, pale species with a throat-bladder that vibrates when speaking with a glottal dialect in an unusual syntax. They are a sensitive race, according to Miss Meuhl, and they hide their heads and hurry along at any sign of trouble. Consul Retief has an office in the Terrestrial Consulate General and attends cultural events such as light-concerts, chamber music, and folk-art festivals. Retief suggests that these events are mere distractions from more underhanded business happening on the planet, which explains why visas are handed out for only a few terrestrial businessmen, traveling to outlying districts is forbidden, and social contacts must be limited to the diplomatic circle. Groac also has a moon that foreigners cannot visit. In addition to the Consulate General, other important government agencies exist including the Foreign Office Archives, the Ministry of Culture of the Groacian Autonomy, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and the Internal Police (called peace-keepers). Close to the Consulate General is the bar where Retief goes, seeking a cold drink and information. The bartender stands in the bar-pit and dispenses a Groacian beverage he insists is poisonous to foreigners due to its lead content. Retief brandishes a thick gold piece to act as a filter. Later, Fith and Shluh lead Retief to a crevasse nine miles from the supposed landing point of the ISV Terrific. Due to the large veins of high-grade iron ore, Terrestrial investigators had been unable to detect the cruiser's presence, which had been disguised by a roof of heavy timbers. Retief enters the cruiser via a narrow companionway and sees dust all over the deck, stanchions, instrument panels, sheared bolts, and scraps of wire and paper strewn about the control compartment.

<s>Save the protests, Fith. You have some explaining to do. And I don'tthink your story will be good enough. It is for you to explain! This person who was beaten— Not beaten. Just rapped a few times to loosen his memory. Then you admit— It worked, too. He remembered lots of things, once he put his mind toit. Fith rose; Shluh followed suit. I shall ask for your immediate recall, Mr. Consul. Were it not foryour diplomatic immunity, I should do more— Why did the government fall, Fith? It was just after the task forcepaid its visit, and before the arrival of the first Terrestrialdiplomatic mission. This is an internal matter! Fith cried, in his faint Groacian voice.The new regime has shown itself most amiable to you Terrestrials. Ithas outdone itself— —to keep the Terrestrial consul and his staff in the dark, Retiefsaid. And the same goes for the few terrestrial businessmen you'vevisaed. This continual round of culture; no social contacts outside thediplomatic circle; no travel permits to visit out-lying districts, oryour satellite— Enough! Fith's mandibles quivered in distress. I can talk no more ofthis matter— You'll talk to me, or there'll be a task force here in five days to dothe talking, Retief said. You can't! Miss Meuhl gasped. Retief turned a steady look on Miss Meuhl. She closed her mouth. TheGroaci sat down. Answer me this one, Retief said, looking at Shluh. A few yearsback—about nine, I think—there was a little parade held here. Somecurious looking creatures were captured. After being securely caged,they were exhibited to the gentle Groaci public. Hauled through thestreets. Very educational, no doubt. A highly cultural show. Funny thing about these animals. They wore clothes. They seemed tocommunicate with each other. Altogether it was a very amusing exhibit. Tell me, Shluh, what happened to those six Terrestrials after theparade was over? <doc-sep>Retief rose, went to the communicator, assisted Miss Meuhl aside. Listen carefully, Fith, he said. Your bluff has been called. Youdon't come in and we don't come out. Your camouflage worked for nineyears, but it's all over now. I suggest you keep your heads and resistthe temptation to make matters worse than they are. Miss Meuhl, Fith said, a peace squad waits outside your consulate.It is clear you are in the hands of a dangerous lunatic. As always, theGroaci wish only friendship with the Terrestrials, but— Don't bother, Retief said. You know what was in those files I lookedover this morning. Retief turned at a sound behind him. Miss Meuhl was at the door,reaching for the safe-lock release.... Don't! Retief jumped—too late. The door burst inward. A crowd of crested Groaci pressed into the room,pushed Miss Meuhl back, aimed scatter guns at Retief. Police ChiefShluh pushed forward. Attempt no violence, Terrestrial, he said. I cannot promise torestrain my men. You're violating Terrestrial territory, Shluh, Retief said steadily.I suggest you move back out the same way you came in. I invited them here, Miss Meuhl spoke up. They are here at myexpress wish. Are they? Are you sure you meant to go this far, Miss Meuhl? A squadof armed Groaci in the consulate? You are the consul, Miss Yolanda Meuhl, Shluh said. Would it not bebest if we removed this deranged person to a place of safety? You're making a serious mistake, Shluh, Retief said. Yes, Miss Meuhl said. You're quite right, Mr. Shluh. Please escortMr. Retief to his quarters in this building— I don't advise you to violate my diplomatic immunity, Fith, Retiefsaid. As chief of mission, Miss Meuhl said quickly, I hereby waiveimmunity in the case of Mr. Retief. Shluh produced a hand recorder. Kindly repeat your statement, Madam,officially, he said. I wish no question to arise later. Don't be a fool, woman, Retief said. Don't you see what you'reletting yourself in for? This would be a hell of a good time for you tofigure out whose side you're on. I'm on the side of common decency! You've been taken in. These people are concealing— You think all women are fools, don't you, Mr. Retief? She turned tothe police chief and spoke into the microphone he held up. That's an illegal waiver, Retief said. I'm consul here, whateverrumors you've heard. This thing's coming out into the open, whateveryou do. Don't add violation of the Consulate to the list of Groacianatrocities. Take the man, Shluh said. <doc-sep>Fith made a choked noise and spoke rapidly to Shluh in Groacian. Shluhretracted his eyes, shrank down in his chair. Miss Meuhl opened hermouth, closed it and blinked rapidly. How did they die? Retief snapped. Did you murder them, cut theirthroats, shoot them or bury them alive? What amusing end did you figureout for them? Research, maybe? Cut them open to see what made themyell.... No! Fith gasped. I must correct this terrible false impression atonce. False impression, hell, Retief said. They were Terrans! A simplenarco-interrogation would get that out of any Groacian who saw theparade. Yes, Fith said weakly. It is true, they were Terrestrials. But therewas no killing. They're alive? Alas, no. They ... died. Miss Meuhl yelped faintly. I see, Retief said. They died. We tried to keep them alive, of course. But we did not know whatfoods— Didn't take the trouble to find out, either, did you? They fell ill, Fith said. One by one.... We'll deal with that question later, Retief said. Right now, I wantmore information. Where did you get them? Where did you hide the ship?What happened to the rest of the crew? Did they 'fall ill' before thebig parade? There were no more! Absolutely, I assure you! Killed in the crash landing? No crash landing. The ship descended intact, east of the city. The ...Terrestrials ... were unharmed. Naturally, we feared them. They werestrange to us. We had never before seen such beings. Stepped off the ship with guns blazing, did they? Guns? No, no guns— They raised their hands, didn't they? Asked for help. You helped them;helped them to death. How could we know? Fith moaned. How could you know a flotilla would show up in a few months lookingfor them, you mean? That was a shock, wasn't it? I'll bet you had abrisk time of it hiding the ship, and shutting everybody up. A closecall, eh? We were afraid, Shluh said. We are a simple people. We feared thestrange creatures from the alien craft. We did not kill them, but wefelt it was as well they ... did not survive. Then, when the warshipscame, we realized our error. But we feared to speak. We purged ourguilty leaders, concealed what had happened, and ... offered ourfriendship. We invited the opening of diplomatic relations. We madea blunder, it is true, a great blunder. But we have tried to makeamends.... Where is the ship? The ship? What did you do with it? It was too big to just walk off and forget.Where is it? The two Groacians exchanged looks. We wish to show our contrition, Fith said. We will show you theship. Miss Meuhl, Retief said. If I don't come back in a reasonable lengthof time, transmit that recording to Regional Headquarters, sealed. Hestood, looked at the Groaci. Let's go, he said. <doc-sep></s>

Fith is a Groacian who works with the Terrestrial Desk at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. His associate, Shluh, is the police chief of the Internal Police. While both are Groacians, they speak to Retief in a lisping Terran and wear heavy eye-shields and elaborately-decorated crest ornaments indicating their rank. Fith does most of the talking as he attempts to convince Retief to cease his inquiries into the ISV Terrific, and Shluh is there primarily as a tool with which to threaten Retief. When the two Groacians first meet Retief, they accuse him of attacking a Groacian national, which Retief admits to, but he quickly reveals what the national confessed to him about the fate of ISV Terrific's crew. Although Miss Meuhl is sympathetic to the supposed sensitive nature of the Groaci, Retief distrusts them wholly, and when Fith and Shluh eventually confess to hiding the ISV Terrific, he further distrusts their sincerity of contrition and accuses them of showing him a lifeboat instead of the missing cruiser. This accusation infuriates Fith, who threatens to have Shluh's attending officers arrest Retief on the spot. Later, following Retief's break-in at the Foreign Ministry, Fith appoints Miss Meuh as Consul for the Terrestrial States and orders Shluh to arrest Retief.

<s>Most of the cousins gasped as the truth began to percolate through. I knew from the very beginning, Conrad finished, that I didn'thave to do anything at all. I just had to wait and you would destroyyourselves. I don't understand, Bartholomew protested, searching the faces of thecousins closest to him. What does he mean, we have never existed?We're here, aren't we? What— Shut up! Raymond snapped. He turned on Martin. You don't seemsurprised. The old man grinned. I'm not. I figured it all out years ago. At first, he had wondered what he should do. Would it be better tothrow them into a futile panic by telling them or to do nothing? Hehad decided on the latter; that was the role they had assigned him—towatch and wait and keep out of things—and that was the role he wouldplay. You knew all the time and you didn't tell us! Raymond spluttered.After we'd been so good to you, making a gentleman out of you insteadof a criminal.... That's right, he snarled, a criminal! An alcoholic,a thief, a derelict! How do you like that? Sounds like a rich, full life, Martin said wistfully. What an exciting existence they must have done him out of! But then, hecouldn't help thinking, he—he and Conrad together, of course—had donethem out of any kind of existence. It wasn't his responsibility,though; he had done nothing but let matters take whatever course wasdestined for them. If only he could be sure that it was the bettercourse, perhaps he wouldn't feel that nagging sense of guilt insidehim. Strange—where, in his hermetic life, could he possibly havedeveloped such a queer thing as a conscience? Then we've wasted all this time, Ninian sobbed, all this energy, allthis money, for nothing! But you were nothing to begin with, Martin told them. And then,after a pause, he added, I only wish I could be sure there had beensome purpose to this. He didn't know whether it was approaching death that dimmed his sight,or whether the frightened crowd that pressed around him was growingshadowy. I wish I could feel that some good had been done in letting you bewiped out of existence, he went on voicing his thoughts. But I knowthat the same thing that happened to your worlds and my world willhappen all over again. To other people, in other times, but again. It'sbound to happen. There isn't any hope for humanity. One man couldn't really change the course of human history, he toldhimself. Two men, that was—one real, one a shadow. Conrad came close to the old man's bed. He was almost transparent. No, he said, there is hope. They didn't know the time transmitterworks two ways. I used it for going into the past only once—just thisonce. But I've gone into the future with it many times. And— hepressed Martin's hand—believe me, what I did—what we did, you andI—serves a purpose. It will change things for the better. Everythingis going to be all right. <doc-sep>Retief turned. A tall Groacian vibrated his mandibles in a gestureof contempt. From his bluish throat coloration, it was apparent thecreature was drunk. To choke in your upper sac, the bartender hissed, extending his eyestoward the drunk. To keep silent, litter-mate of drones. To swallow your own poison, dispenser of vileness, the drunkwhispered. To find a proper cage for this zoo-piece. He waveredtoward Retief. To show this one in the streets, like all freaks. Seen a lot of freaks like me, have you? Retief asked, interestedly. To speak intelligibly, malodorous outworlder, the drunk said. Thebarkeep whispered something, and two customers came up to the drunk,took his arms and helped him to the door. To get a cage! the drunk shrilled. To keep the animals in their ownstinking place. I've changed my mind, Retief said to the bartender. To be gratefulas hell, but to have to hurry off now. He followed the drunk out thedoor. The other Groaci released him, hurried back inside. Retief lookedat the weaving alien. To begone, freak, the Groacian whispered. To be pals, Retief said. To be kind to dumb animals. To have you hauled away to a stockyard, ill-odored foreign livestock. To not be angry, fragrant native, Retief said. To permit me to chumwith you. To flee before I take a cane to you! To have a drink together— To not endure such insolence! The Groacian advanced toward Retief.Retief backed away. To hold hands, Retief said. To be palsy-walsy— The Groacian reached for him, missed. A passer-by stepped around him,head down, scuttled away. Retief backed into the opening to a narrowcrossway and offered further verbal familiarities to the drunken local,who followed, furious. Retief backed, rounded a corner into a narrowalley-like passage, deserted, silent ... except for the followingGroacian. Retief stepped around him, seized his collar and yanked. The Groacianfell on his back. Retief stood over him. The downed native half-rose;Retief put a foot against his chest and pushed. To not be going anywhere for a few minutes, Retief said. To stayright here and have a nice long talk. II There you are! Miss Meuhl said, eyeing Retief over her lenses. Thereare two gentlemen waiting to see you. Groacian gentlemen. Government men, I imagine. Word travels fast. Retief pulled off hiscape. This saves me the trouble of paying another call at the ForeignMinistry. What have you been doing? They seem very upset, I don't mind tellingyou. I'm sure you don't. Come along. And bring an official recorder. Two Groaci wearing heavy eye-shields and elaborate crest ornamentsindicative of rank rose as Retief entered the room. Neither offered acourteous snap of the mandibles, Retief noted. They were mad, all right. I am Fith, of the Terrestrial Desk, Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Mr.Consul, the taller Groacian said, in lisping Terran. May I presentShluh, of the Internal Police? Sit down, gentlemen, Retief said. They resumed their seats. MissMeuhl hovered nervously, then sat on the edge of a comfortless chair. Oh, it's such a pleasure— she began. Never mind that, Retief said. These gentlemen didn't come here tosip tea today. So true, Fith said. Frankly, I have had a most disturbing report,Mr. Consul. I shall ask Shluh to recount it. He nodded to the policechief. One hour ago, The Groacian said, a Groacian national was broughtto hospital suffering from serious contusions. Questioning of thisindividual revealed that he had been set upon and beaten by aforeigner. A Terrestrial, to be precise. Investigation by my departmentindicates that the description of the culprit closely matches that ofthe Terrestrial Consul. Miss Meuhl gasped audibly. Have you ever heard, Retief said, looking steadily at Fith, of aTerrestrial cruiser, the ISV Terrific , which dropped from sight inthis sector nine years ago? Really! Miss Meuhl exclaimed, rising. I wash my hands— Just keep that recorder going, Retief snapped. I'll not be a party— You'll do as you're told, Miss Meuhl, Retief said quietly. I'mtelling you to make an official sealed record of this conversation. Miss Meuhl sat down. Fith puffed out his throat indignantly. You reopen an old wound,Mr. Consul. It reminds us of certain illegal treatment at Terrestrialhands— Hogwash, Retief said. That tune went over with my predecessors, butit hits a sour note with me. All our efforts, Miss Meuhl said, to live down that terribleepisode! And you— Terrible? I understand that a Terrestrial task force stood off Groacand sent a delegation down to ask questions. They got some funnyanswers, and stayed on to dig around a little. After a week they left.Somewhat annoying to the Groaci, maybe—at the most. If they wereinnocent. IF! Miss Meuhl burst out. If, indeed! Fith said, his weak voice trembling. I must protestyour— <doc-sep> THE MADMAN FROM EARTH BY KEITH LAUMER You don't have to be crazy to be an earth diplomat—but on Groac it sure helps! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, March 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I The Consul for the Terrestrial States, Retief said, presents hiscompliments, et cetera, to the Ministry of Culture of the GroacianAutonomy, and with reference to the Ministry's invitation to attend arecital of interpretive grimacing, has the honor to express regret thathe will be unable— You can't turn this invitation down, Administrative Assistant Meuhlsaid flatly. I'll make that 'accepts with pleasure'. Retief exhaled a plume of cigar smoke. Miss Meuhl, he said, in the past couple of weeks I've sat throughsix light-concerts, four attempts at chamber music, and god knows howmany assorted folk-art festivals. I've been tied up every off-dutyhour since I got here— You can't offend the Groaci, Miss Meuhl said sharply. Consul Whafflewould never have been so rude. Whaffle left here three months ago, Retief said, leaving me incharge. Well, Miss Meuhl said, snapping off the dictyper. I'm sure I don'tknow what excuse I can give the Minister. Never mind the excuses, Retief said. Just tell him I won't bethere. He stood up. Are you leaving the office? Miss Meuhl adjusted her glasses. I havesome important letters here for your signature. I don't recall dictating any letters today, Miss Meuhl, Retief said,pulling on a light cape. <doc-sep></s>

The ISV Terrific, full name ISV Terrific B7 New Terra, was a Terrestrial cruiser gone missing nine years prior to the events of the story. The vessel landed on Groac and its crew was captured and paraded through the streets by the Groaci. The crew died of mysterious causes and the vessel was hidden in a cavern and undetectable by investigators thanks to large veins of high-grade iron ore under the planet's surface. After a Terrestrial investigation failed to uncover the cruiser, a Groacian coup d'etat replaced the government in the time before the establishment of the Terrestrial Consulate General. Fith and Shluh deny any wrongdoing related to the deaths of the crewmembers when Retief confronts them about the situation, insisting that the crew died because the Groaci were ignorant about the Terran diet. They do, however, admit that they hid the cruiser. When they lead Retief to the ship, he observes its state of disrepair: A thick layer of dust covers the deck, stanchions, acceleration couches, instrument panels, sheared bolts, and scraps of wire and paper strewn about the control compartment. Then, Retief accuses them of attempting to continue their deception by showing him a lifeboat instead of the actual cruiser. This enrages Fith. The disappearance of the ISV Terrific, the coup d'etat that followed, and the subsequent incompetent Terrestrial investigation had led Retief to conduct the investigation in the first place and ultimately reveal that the Groacians are trying to hide something more sinister.

<s> THE MADMAN FROM EARTH BY KEITH LAUMER You don't have to be crazy to be an earth diplomat—but on Groac it sure helps! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, March 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I The Consul for the Terrestrial States, Retief said, presents hiscompliments, et cetera, to the Ministry of Culture of the GroacianAutonomy, and with reference to the Ministry's invitation to attend arecital of interpretive grimacing, has the honor to express regret thathe will be unable— You can't turn this invitation down, Administrative Assistant Meuhlsaid flatly. I'll make that 'accepts with pleasure'. Retief exhaled a plume of cigar smoke. Miss Meuhl, he said, in the past couple of weeks I've sat throughsix light-concerts, four attempts at chamber music, and god knows howmany assorted folk-art festivals. I've been tied up every off-dutyhour since I got here— You can't offend the Groaci, Miss Meuhl said sharply. Consul Whafflewould never have been so rude. Whaffle left here three months ago, Retief said, leaving me incharge. Well, Miss Meuhl said, snapping off the dictyper. I'm sure I don'tknow what excuse I can give the Minister. Never mind the excuses, Retief said. Just tell him I won't bethere. He stood up. Are you leaving the office? Miss Meuhl adjusted her glasses. I havesome important letters here for your signature. I don't recall dictating any letters today, Miss Meuhl, Retief said,pulling on a light cape. <doc-sep>I wrote them for you. They're just as Consul Whaffle would have wantedthem. Did you write all Whaffle's letters for him, Miss Meuhl? Consul Whaffle was an extremely busy man, Miss Meuhl said stiffly.He had complete confidence in me. Since I'm cutting out the culture from now on, Retief said, I won'tbe so busy. Well! Miss Meuhl said. May I ask where you'll be if something comesup? I'm going over to the Foreign Office Archives. Miss Meuhl blinked behind thick lenses. Whatever for? Retief looked thoughtfully at Miss Meuhl. You've been here on Groacfor four years, Miss Meuhl. What was behind the coup d'etat that putthe present government in power? I'm sure I haven't pried into— What about that Terrestrial cruiser? The one that disappeared out thisway about ten years back? Mr. Retief, those are just the sort of questions we avoid with theGroaci. I certainly hope you're not thinking of openly intruding— Why? The Groaci are a very sensitive race. They don't welcome outworldersraking up things. They've been gracious enough to let us live downthe fact that Terrestrials subjected them to deep humiliation on oneoccasion. You mean when they came looking for the cruiser? I, for one, am ashamed of the high-handed tactics that were employed,grilling these innocent people as though they were criminals. We trynever to reopen that wound, Mr. Retief. They never found the cruiser, did they? Certainly not on Groac. Retief nodded. Thanks, Miss Meuhl, he said. I'll be back beforeyou close the office. Miss Meuhl's face was set in lines of grimdisapproval as he closed the door. <doc-sep>The screen crackled, the ten-second transmission lag having elapsed.Mr. Retief, the face on the screen said, I am Counsellor Pardy,DSO-1, Deputy Under-secretary for the region. I have received areport on your conduct which makes it mandatory for me to relieve youadministratively, vice Miss Yolanda Meuhl, DAO-9. Pending the findingsof a Board of Inquiry, you will— Retief reached out and snapped off the communicator. The triumphantlook faded from Miss Meuhl's face. Why, what is the meaning— If I'd listened any longer, I might have heard something I couldn'tignore. I can't afford that, at this moment. Listen, Miss Meuhl,Retief went on earnestly, I've found the missing cruiser. You heard him relieve you! I heard him say he was going to, Miss Meuhl. But until I've heardand acknowledged a verbal order, it has no force. If I'm wrong, he'llget my resignation. If I'm right, that suspension would be embarrassingall around. You're defying lawful authority! I'm in charge here now. Miss Meuhlstepped to the local communicator. I'm going to report this terrible thing to the Groaci at once, andoffer my profound— Don't touch that screen, Retief said. You go sit in that cornerwhere I can keep an eye on you. I'm going to make a sealed tape fortransmission to Headquarters, along with a call for an armed taskforce. Then we'll settle down to wait. Retief ignored Miss Meuhl's fury as he spoke into the recorder. The local communicator chimed. Miss Meuhl jumped up, staring at it. Go ahead, Retief said. Answer it. A Groacian official appeared on the screen. Yolanda Meuhl, he said without preamble, for the Foreign Minister ofthe Groacian Autonomy, I herewith accredit you as Terrestrial Consulto Groac, in accordance with the advices transmitted to my governmentdirect from the Terrestrial Headquarters. As consul, you are requestedto make available for questioning Mr. J. Retief, former consul, inconnection with the assault on two peace keepers and illegal entry intothe offices of the Ministry for Foreign Affairs. Why, why, Miss Meuhl stammered. Yes, of course. And I do want toexpress my deepest regrets— <doc-sep></s>

Miss Yolanda Meuhl is the Administrative Assistant of The Consul for the Terrestrial States Retief, the replacement for Consul Whaffle who left the post three months prior. Miss Meuhl wears glasses, uses a dictyper, and takes her position at the Consulate extremely seriously. She faithfully executes her duties as an administrative assistant without question, which leads her to develop a blind trust in authority as well as the Groaci race, according to Retief. Miss Meuhl considers the Groaci to be a sensitive race and defends them against Retief's constant accusations of misconduct. She threatens to report Retief to the Regional Headquarters when he continues to act against the guidelines set forth by the Corps. Her commitment to diplomatic relations ensures that she takes the side of the Groaci in nearly every matter; she even excuses when Fith and Shluh admit to hiding the Terrestrial cruiser. When Retief orders Miss Meuhl to lock herself inside the office while he goes to break into the Foreign Ministry, Miss Meuhl calls the Regional Headquarters and makes a full report of his actions. When he returns, Counsellor Pardy calls and relieves Retief of his post. Then, a Groacian official calls and appoints Miss Meuhl to the post vacated by Retief, which she accepts. She then allows the Groacian officials to enter the office in order to arrest Retief.

<s> THE FIVE HELLS OF ORION BY FREDERICK POHL Out in the great gas cloud of the Orion Nebula McCray found an ally—and a foe! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, January 1963. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] His name was Herrell McCray and he was scared. As best he could tell, he was in a sort of room no bigger than a prisoncell. Perhaps it was a prison cell. Whatever it was, he had no businessin it; for five minutes before he had been spaceborne, on the Long Jumpfrom Earth to the thriving colonies circling Betelgeuse Nine. McCraywas ship's navigator, plotting course corrections—not that there wereany, ever; but the reason there were none was that the check-sightingswere made every hour of the long flight. He had read off the azimuthangles from the computer sights, automatically locked on their beaconstars, and found them correct; then out of long habit confirmed thelocking mechanism visually. It was only a personal quaintness; he haddone it a thousand times. And while he was looking at Betelgeuse, Rigeland Saiph ... it happened. The room was totally dark, and it seemed to be furnished with acollection of hard, sharp, sticky and knobby objects of various shapesand a number of inconvenient sizes. McCray tripped over somethingthat rocked under his feet and fell against something that clatteredhollowly. He picked himself up, braced against something that smelleddangerously of halogen compounds, and scratched his shoulder, rightthrough his space-tunic, against something that vibrated as he touchedit. McCray had no idea where he was, and no way to find out. Not only was he in darkness, but in utter silence as well. No. Notquite utter silence. Somewhere, just at the threshold of his senses, there was somethinglike a voice. He could not quite hear it, but it was there. He sat asstill as he could, listening; it remained elusive. Probably it was only an illusion. But the room itself was hard fact. McCray swore violently and out loud. It was crazy and impossible. There simply was no way for him to getfrom a warm, bright navigator's cubicle on Starship Jodrell Bank tothis damned, dark, dismal hole of a place where everything was out tohurt him and nothing explained what was going on. He cried aloud inexasperation: If I could only see ! He tripped and fell against something that was soft, slimy and, likebaker's dough, not at all resilient. A flickering halo of pinkish light appeared. He sat up, startled. Hewas looking at something that resembled a suit of medieval armor. <doc-sep>A dropshaft deposited him on a walkway. The crowd, a rainbow of men inpajamas and robes, women in Neo-Sino dresses and goldleaf hats, swepthim against the rail. For a moment, squashed to the wire, he stared ahundred feet down at the river of automobiles. Phobos! he thoughtwildly. If the barrier gives, I'll be sliced in two by a dorsal finbefore I hit the pavement! The August twilight wrapped him in heat and stickiness. He could seeneither stars nor even moon through the city's blaze. The forest ofmulti-colored towers, cataracting half a mile skyward across moreacreage than his eyes reached, was impressive and all that, but—heused to stroll out in the rock garden behind his cottage and smoke apipe in company with Orion. On summer evenings, that is, when thetemperature wasn't too far below zero. Why did they tap me for this job? he asked himself in a surge ofhomesickness. What the hell is the Martian Embassy here for? He, Peter Matheny, was no more than a peaceful professor ofsociodynamics at Devil's Kettle University. Of course, he had advisedhis government before now—in fact, the Red Ankh Society had been hisidea—but still he was at ease only with his books and his chess andhis mineral collection, a faculty poker party on Tenthday night and anoccasional trip to Swindletown— My God , thought Matheny, here I am, one solitary outlander in thegreatest commercial empire the human race has ever seen, and I'msupposed to find my planet a con man! He began walking, disconsolately, at random. His lizardskin shirt andblack culottes drew glances, but derisive ones: their cut was fortyyears out of date. He should find himself a hotel, he thought drearily,but he wasn't tired; the spaceport would pneumo his baggage to himwhenever he did check in. The few Martians who had been to Earth hadgone into ecstasies over the automation which put any service you couldname on a twenty-four-hour basis. But it would be a long time beforeMars had such machines. If ever. The city roared at him. He fumbled after his pipe. Of course , he told himself, that's whythe Embassy can't act. I may find it advisable to go outside the law.Please, sir, where can I contact the underworld? He wished gambling were legal on Earth. The Constitution of the MartianRepublic forbade sumptuary and moral legislation; quite apart from therambunctious individualism which that document formulated, the articlewas a practical necessity. Life was bleak enough on the deserts,without being denied the pleasure of trying to bottom-deal some friendwho was happily trying to mark the cards. Matheny would have found afew spins of roulette soothing: it was always an intellectual challengeto work out the system by which the management operated a wheel. Butmore, he would have been among people he understood. The frightful thing about the Earthman was the way he seemed toexist only in organized masses. A gypsy snake oil peddler, ploddinghis syrtosaur wagon across Martian sands, just didn't have a prayeragainst, say, the Grant, Harding & Adams Public Relations Agency. <doc-sep>The weeks that followed were like a blur in Willard's mind. Though theship was utterly incapable of motion, the chance meteor that damagedit had spared the convertors and assimilators. Through constant careand attention the frail balance that meant life or death could be kept.The substance of waste and refuse was torn down and rebuilt as preciousfood and air. It was even possible to create more than was needed. When this was done, Willard immediately regretted it. For it would bethen that the days and the weeks would roll by endlessly. Sometimeshe thought he would go mad when, sitting at the useless controlboard, which was his habit, he would stare for hours and hours inthe direction of the Sun where he knew the Earth would be. A greatloneliness would then seize upon him and an agony that no man had everknown would tear at his heart. He would then turn away, full of despairand hopeless pain. Two years after Dobbin's death a strange thing happened. Willard wassitting at his accustomed place facing the unmoving vista of the stars.A chance glance at Orion's belt froze him still. A star had flickered!Distinctly, as if a light veil had been placed over it and then lifted,it dimmed and turned bright again. What strange phenomena was this? Hewatched and then another star faded momentarily in the exact fashion.And then a third! And a fourth! And a fifth! Willard's heart gave a leap and the lethargy of two years vanishedinstantly. Here, at last, was something to do. It might be only a fewminutes before he would understand what it was, but those few minuteswould help while away the maddening long hours. Perhaps it was a massof fine meteorites or a pocket of gas that did not disperse, or even amoving warp of space-light. Whatever it was, it was a phenomena worthinvestigating and Willard seized upon it as a dying man seizes upon thelast flashing seconds of life. Willard traced its course by the flickering stars and gradually plottedits semi-circular course. It was not from the solar system but,instead, headed toward it. A rapid check-up on his calculations causedhis heart to beat in ever quickening excitement. Whatever it was, itwould reach the Mary Lou . Again he looked out the port. Unquestionably the faint mass was nearinghis ship. It was round in shape and almost invisible. The stars,though dimmed, could still be seen through it. There was somethingabout its form that reminded him of an old-fashioned rocket ship. Itresembled one of those that had done pioneer service in the lanes fortyyears ago or more. Resembled one? It was one! Unquestionably, thoughhalf-invisible and like a piece of glass immersed in water, it was arocket ship. But the instruments on the control board could not lie. The presence ofany material body within a hundred thousand miles would be revealed.But the needle on the gauge did not quiver. Nothing indicated thepresence of a ship. But the evidence of his eyes was incontestable. Or was it? Doubt gripped him. Did the loneliness of all these yearsin space twist his mind till he was imagining the appearance of faintghost-like rocket ships? The thought shot through his mind like a thunder bolt. Ghost Ship!Was this the thing that Dobbin had seen before he died? But that wasimpossible. Ghost Ships existed nowhere but in legends and tall talestold by men drunk with the liquors of Mars. There is no ship there. There is no ship there, Willard told himselfover and over again as he looked at the vague outline of the ship, nowmotionless a few hundred miles away. Deep within him a faint voice cried, It's come—for me! but Willardstilled it. This was no fantasy. There was a scientific reason for it.There must be! Or should there be? Throughout all Earth history therehad been Ghost Ships sailing the Seven Seas—ships doomed to roamforever because their crew broke some unbreakable law. If this was truefor the ships of the seas, why not for the ships of empty space? He looked again at the strange ship. It was motionless. At least it wasnot nearing him. Willard could see nothing but its vague outline. Amoment later he could discern a faint motion. It was turning! The GhostShip was turning back! Unconsciously Willard reached out with his handas if to hold it back, for when it was gone he would be alone again. But the Ghost Ship went on. Its outline became smaller and smaller,fainter and fainter. Trembling, Willard turned away from the window as he saw the rocketrecede and vanish into the emptiness of space. Once more the dreadedloneliness of the stars descended upon him. <doc-sep></s>

Herrell McCray is a navigator on the Starship Jodrell Bank heading for the colonies circling Betelgeuse Nine when he is inexplicably abducted from his ship. He finds himself staring around a dark, silent room full of indeterminate objects. He believes he hears a faint voice in the distance, and suddenly a pinkish light illuminates his path of vision. He sees many familiar objects including a spacesuit, a child's rocking chair, a girl's bathing suit, and more; he wonders how he got there and why such objects are there with him. Three of the room's walls are made of a hard, organic compound, and from grates comprising the fourth wall pours a pungent air. As McCray's confidence returns, he wonders what happened to the Starship Jodrell Bank and begins to wonder if he is dead. When he remembers spacesuits come with radios, he tries contacting the ship to no avail and realizes he must be many lightyears away. Then, with sudden horror, he realizes that he cannot see his own body, and the room goes dark again. Outside the room, an alien named Hatcher runs a probe team tasked with observing McCray and running experiments on him in order to develop an understanding of the human species. Their probes are mandibles that can attach and detach from their round, jelly-like bodies and run errands and conduct scientific research. Hatcher makes his way to the supervising council of all probes to report the team's findings that McCray displayed paranormal powers when using his radio to establish contact with his ship. The council urges Hatcher to continue his studies with haste because a member of The Central Masses probe team has been captured by the Old Ones, an ancient species hostile to Hatcher's people. His team must put McCray through a series of tests in order to help them potentially discover a way to defend themselves against the Old Ones. As Hatcher considers the best way to establish communication with McCray without causing him harm, his assistant alerts him to the presence of a female human on the viewing console. Hatcher orders the assistant to bring her in as they may need another human in case McCray dies. Hours after his initial transmission was sent to the ship, McCray receives a response from the ship. He dispatches another transmission and begins to notice the room getting hotter as the air grows more toxic. Hatcher has started the survival portion of the test. McCray uses an ax to break his way out of the room and enters another dark room full of desks he assumes are some kind of workspaces for his captors. Suddenly, he hears a woman's voice crying out for the Jodrell Bank and makes his way toward her. Hatcher and his assistant discuss whether to abandon McCray and focus on the female since she appears to be more susceptible to communication, but they ultimately decide against it. McCray eventually finds the woman through a series of doors and hallways.

<s> THE FIVE HELLS OF ORION BY FREDERICK POHL Out in the great gas cloud of the Orion Nebula McCray found an ally—and a foe! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, January 1963. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] His name was Herrell McCray and he was scared. As best he could tell, he was in a sort of room no bigger than a prisoncell. Perhaps it was a prison cell. Whatever it was, he had no businessin it; for five minutes before he had been spaceborne, on the Long Jumpfrom Earth to the thriving colonies circling Betelgeuse Nine. McCraywas ship's navigator, plotting course corrections—not that there wereany, ever; but the reason there were none was that the check-sightingswere made every hour of the long flight. He had read off the azimuthangles from the computer sights, automatically locked on their beaconstars, and found them correct; then out of long habit confirmed thelocking mechanism visually. It was only a personal quaintness; he haddone it a thousand times. And while he was looking at Betelgeuse, Rigeland Saiph ... it happened. The room was totally dark, and it seemed to be furnished with acollection of hard, sharp, sticky and knobby objects of various shapesand a number of inconvenient sizes. McCray tripped over somethingthat rocked under his feet and fell against something that clatteredhollowly. He picked himself up, braced against something that smelleddangerously of halogen compounds, and scratched his shoulder, rightthrough his space-tunic, against something that vibrated as he touchedit. McCray had no idea where he was, and no way to find out. Not only was he in darkness, but in utter silence as well. No. Notquite utter silence. Somewhere, just at the threshold of his senses, there was somethinglike a voice. He could not quite hear it, but it was there. He sat asstill as he could, listening; it remained elusive. Probably it was only an illusion. But the room itself was hard fact. McCray swore violently and out loud. It was crazy and impossible. There simply was no way for him to getfrom a warm, bright navigator's cubicle on Starship Jodrell Bank tothis damned, dark, dismal hole of a place where everything was out tohurt him and nothing explained what was going on. He cried aloud inexasperation: If I could only see ! He tripped and fell against something that was soft, slimy and, likebaker's dough, not at all resilient. A flickering halo of pinkish light appeared. He sat up, startled. Hewas looking at something that resembled a suit of medieval armor. <doc-sep> Well, the old boy pursued, intohis subject now, that's where they'dbe, places like the Oktoberfest . Forone thing, a time traveler wouldn'tbe conspicuous. At a festival like thissomebody with a strange accent, orwho didn't know exactly how to wearhis clothes correctly, or was off theordinary in any of a dozen otherways, wouldn't be noticed. You couldbe a four-armed space traveler fromMars, and you still wouldn't be conspicuousat the Oktoberfest . Peoplewould figure they had D.T.'s. But why would a time travelerwant to go to a— Betty began. Why not! What better opportunityto study a people than when theyare in their cups? If you could goback a few thousand years, the thingsyou would wish to see would be aRoman Triumph, perhaps the Ritesof Dionysus, or one of Alexander'sorgies. You wouldn't want to wanderup and down the streets of, say,Athens while nothing was going on,particularly when you might be revealedas a suspicious character notbeing able to speak the language, notknowing how to wear the clothes andnot familiar with the city's layout.He took a deep breath. No ma'am,you'd have to stick to some greatevent, both for the sake of actualinterest and for protection against beingunmasked. The old boy wound it up. Well,that's the story. What are your rates?The Oktoberfest starts on Friday andcontinues for sixteen days. You cantake the plane to Munich, spend aweek there and— Simon was shaking his head. Notinterested. As soon as Betty had got her jawback into place, she glared unbelievinglyat him. Mr. Oyster was taken aback himself.See here, young man, I realizethis isn't an ordinary assignment,however, as I said, I am willing torisk a considerable portion of myfortune— Sorry, Simon said. Can't bedone. A hundred dollars a day plus expenses,Mr. Oyster said quietly. Ilike the fact that you already seemto have some interest and knowledgeof the matter. I liked the way youknew my name when I walked in thedoor; my picture doesn't appear oftenin the papers. No go, Simon said, a sad qualityin his voice. A fifty thousand dollar bonus ifyou bring me a time traveler. Out of the question, Simonsaid. But why ? Betty wailed. Just for laughs, Simon told thetwo of them sourly, suppose I tellyou a funny story. It goes likethis: I got a thousand dollars from Mr.Oyster (Simon began) in the wayof an advance, and leaving him withBetty who was making out a receipt,I hustled back to the apartment andpacked a bag. Hell, I'd wanted a vacationanyway, this was a natural. Onthe way to Idlewild I stopped off atthe Germany Information Offices forsome tourist literature. It takes roughly three and a halfhours to get to Gander from Idlewild.I spent the time planning thefun I was going to have. It takes roughly seven and a halfhours from Gander to Shannon andI spent that time dreaming up materialI could put into my reports toMr. Oyster. I was going to have togive him some kind of report for hismoney. Time travel yet! What alaugh! Between Shannon and Munich afaint suspicion began to simmer inmy mind. These statistics I read onthe Oktoberfest in the Munich touristpamphlets. Five million peopleattended annually. Where did five million peoplecome from to attend an overgrownfestival in comparatively remoteSouthern Germany? The tourist seasonis over before September 21st,first day of the gigantic beer bust.Nor could the Germans account forany such number. Munich itself hasa population of less than a million,counting children. And those millions of gallons ofbeer, the hundreds of thousands ofchickens, the herds of oxen. Whoponied up all the money for such expenditures?How could the averageGerman, with his twenty-five dollarsa week salary? In Munich there was no hotelspace available. I went to the Bahnhofwhere they have a hotel serviceand applied. They put my namedown, pocketed the husky bribe,showed me where I could check mybag, told me they'd do what theycould, and to report back in a fewhours. I had another suspicious twinge.If five million people attended thisbeer bout, how were they accommodated? The Theresienwiese , the fairground, was only a few blocksaway. I was stiff from the plane rideso I walked. <doc-sep>The officer picked up the dollar bill and fingered it with evidentinterest. He turned it over and studied the printing. United States ofAmerica, he read aloud. What are those? It's the name of the country I come from, Jeff said carefully.I—uh—got on the wrong train, apparently, and must have come furtherthan I thought. What's the name of this place? This is Costa, West Goodland, in the Continental Federation. Say, youmust come from an umpty remote part of the world if you don't knowabout this country. His eyes narrowed. Where'd you learn to speakFederal, if you come from so far? Jeff said helplessly, I can't explain, if you don't know about theUnited States. Listen, can you take me to a bank, or some place wherethey know about foreign exchange? The policeman scowled. How'd you get into this country, anyway? Yougot immigrate clearance? An angry muttering started among the bystanders. The policeman made up his mind. You come with me. At the police station, Jeff put his elbows dejectedly on the highcounter while the policeman talked to an officer in charge. Some menwhom Jeff took for reporters got up from a table and eased over tolisten. I don't know whether to charge them with fakemake, bumsy, peekage orlunate, the policeman said as he finished. His superior gave Jeff a long puzzled stare. Jeff sighed. I know it sounds impossible, but a man brought me insomething he claimed was a time traveler. You speak the same language Ido—more or less—but everything else is kind of unfamiliar. I belongin the United States, a country in North America. I can't believe I'mso far in the future that the United States has been forgotten. There ensued a long, confused, inconclusive interrogation. The man behind the desk asked questions which seemed stupid to Jeff andgot answers which probably seemed stupid to him. The reporters quizzed Jeff gleefully. Come out, what are youadvertising? they kept asking. Who got you up to this? The police puzzled over his driver's license and the other cards in hiswallet. They asked repeatedly about the lack of a Work License, whichJeff took to be some sort of union card. Evidently there was gravedoubt that he had any legal right to be in the country. In the end, Jeff and Ann were locked in separate cells for the night.Jeff groaned and pounded the bars as he thought of his wife, imprisonedand alone in a smelly jail. After hours of pacing the cell, he lay downin the cot and reached automatically for his silver pillbox. Then hehesitated. In past weeks, his insomnia had grown worse and worse, so that latelyhe had begun taking stronger pills. After a longing glance at thebig red and yellow capsules, he put the box away. Whatever tomorrowbrought, it wouldn't find him slow and drowsy. IV He passed a wakeful night. In the early morning, he looked up to see alittle man with a briefcase at his cell door. Wish joy, Mr. Elliott, the man said coolly. I am one of Mr. Bullen'sbarmen. You know, represent at law? He sent me to arrange your release,if you are ready to be reasonable. Jeff lay there and put his hands behind his head. I doubt if I'mready. I'm comfortable here. By the way, how did you know where I was? No problem. When we read in this morning's newspapers about a manclaiming to be a time traveler, we knew. All right. Now start explaining. Until I understand where I am, Bullenisn't getting me out of here. The lawyer smiled and sat down. Mr. Kersey told you yesterday—you'vegone back six years. But you'll need some mental gymnastics tounderstand. Time is a dimension, not a stream of events like a moviefilm. A film never changes. Space does—and time does. For example, ifa movie showed a burning house at Sixth and Main, would you expect tofind a house burning whenever you returned to that corner? You mean to say that if I went back to 1865, I wouldn't find the CivilWar was over and Lincoln had been assassinated? If you go back to the time you call 1865—which is most easilydone—you will find that the people there know nothing of a Lincoln orthat war. Jeff looked blank. What are they doing then? The little man spread his hands. What are the people doing now atSixth and Main? Certainly not the same things they were doing the dayof the fire. We're talking about a dimension, not an event. Don't yougrasp the difference between the two? Nope. To me, 1865 means the end of the Civil War. How else can youspeak of a point in time except by the events that happened then? Well, if you go to a place in three-dimensional space—say, a lakein the mountains—how do you identify that place? By looking forlandmarks. It doesn't matter that an eagle is soaring over a mountainpeak. That's only an event. The peak is the landmark. You follow me? So far. Keep talking. <doc-sep></s>

The story begins sometime during the Starship Jodrell Bank's Long Jump from Earth to the colonies surrounding Betegeuses Nine as it passes by Betelgeuse, Rigel, and Saiph. The rest of the action takes place in an unknown area of space within a great buried structure that is a massive labyrinth of dark rooms and hallways with unusual doors that seem to shift and change after passing through them. This is where Hatcher and his probe team observe McCray in his enclosure, which is no bigger than a prison cell, dark, and full of vaguely familiar objects: a spacesuit, a child's rocking chair, a chemistry set, a girl's bathing suit, an ax. Three of the walls are made of a hard, organic compound and the fourth is covered in grates from which a halogen-smelling air pours out into the room. Although everything is dark, Hatcher occasionally triggers a pinkish, halo-like light that allows McCray to examine his surroundings. Elsewhere in the structure is a place where the supervising council of all probes stays in permanent session, monitoring the work of all probe teams including the team at The Central Masses. When McCray breaks out of his initial enclosure, he finds himself in another dark room, large and bare. Using the beam from his suit lamp, he sees shelves, cupboard-like contraptions, and level surfaces that appeared to be waist-high workbenches attached to the walls and ceiling. He finds a gun on one of the benches. After finding the gun, he realizes the door he came through is gone; instead, there is an uneven, three-sided door he enters to find the unconscious woman on the other side.

<s> THE FIVE HELLS OF ORION BY FREDERICK POHL Out in the great gas cloud of the Orion Nebula McCray found an ally—and a foe! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, January 1963. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] His name was Herrell McCray and he was scared. As best he could tell, he was in a sort of room no bigger than a prisoncell. Perhaps it was a prison cell. Whatever it was, he had no businessin it; for five minutes before he had been spaceborne, on the Long Jumpfrom Earth to the thriving colonies circling Betelgeuse Nine. McCraywas ship's navigator, plotting course corrections—not that there wereany, ever; but the reason there were none was that the check-sightingswere made every hour of the long flight. He had read off the azimuthangles from the computer sights, automatically locked on their beaconstars, and found them correct; then out of long habit confirmed thelocking mechanism visually. It was only a personal quaintness; he haddone it a thousand times. And while he was looking at Betelgeuse, Rigeland Saiph ... it happened. The room was totally dark, and it seemed to be furnished with acollection of hard, sharp, sticky and knobby objects of various shapesand a number of inconvenient sizes. McCray tripped over somethingthat rocked under his feet and fell against something that clatteredhollowly. He picked himself up, braced against something that smelleddangerously of halogen compounds, and scratched his shoulder, rightthrough his space-tunic, against something that vibrated as he touchedit. McCray had no idea where he was, and no way to find out. Not only was he in darkness, but in utter silence as well. No. Notquite utter silence. Somewhere, just at the threshold of his senses, there was somethinglike a voice. He could not quite hear it, but it was there. He sat asstill as he could, listening; it remained elusive. Probably it was only an illusion. But the room itself was hard fact. McCray swore violently and out loud. It was crazy and impossible. There simply was no way for him to getfrom a warm, bright navigator's cubicle on Starship Jodrell Bank tothis damned, dark, dismal hole of a place where everything was out tohurt him and nothing explained what was going on. He cried aloud inexasperation: If I could only see ! He tripped and fell against something that was soft, slimy and, likebaker's dough, not at all resilient. A flickering halo of pinkish light appeared. He sat up, startled. Hewas looking at something that resembled a suit of medieval armor. <doc-sep>Hatcher hurried through the halls of the great buried structure inwhich he worked, toward the place where the supervising council of allprobes would be in permanent session. They admitted him at once. Hatcher identified himself and gave a quick, concise report: The subject recovered consciousness a short time ago and began toinspect his enclosure. His method of doing so was to put his ownmembers in physical contact with the various objects in the enclosure.After observing him do this for a time we concluded he might be unableto see and so we illuminated his field of vision for him. This appeared to work well for a time. He seemed relativelyundisturbed. However, he then reverted to physical-contact,manipulating certain appurtenances of an artificial skin we hadprovided for him. He then began to vibrate the atmosphere by means of resonating organsin his breathing passage. Simultaneously, the object he was holding, attached to the artificialskin, was discovered to be generating paranormal forces. The supervising council rocked with excitement. You're sure? demandedone of the councilmen. Yes, sir. The staff is preparing a technical description of the forcesnow, but I can say that they are electromagnetic vibrations modulatinga carrier wave of very high speed, and in turn modulated by thevibrations of the atmosphere caused by the subject's own breathing. Fantastic, breathed the councillor, in a tone of dawning hope. Howabout communicating with him, Hatcher? Any progress? Well ... not much, sir. He suddenly panicked. We don't know why; butwe thought we'd better pull back and let him recover for a while. The council conferred among itself for a moment, Hatcher waiting. Itwas not really a waste of time for him; with the organs he had left inthe probe-team room, he was in fairly close touch with what was goingon—knew that McCray was once again fumbling among the objects in thedark, knew that the team-members had tried illuminating the room forhim briefly and again produced the rising panic. Still, Hatcher fretted. He wanted to get back. Stop fidgeting, commanded the council leader abruptly. Hatcher, youare to establish communication at once. But, sir.... Hatcher swung closer, his thick skin quivering slightly;he would have gestured if he had brought members with him to gesturewith. We've done everything we dare. We've made the place homeyfor him— actually, what he said was more like, we've warmed thebiophysical nuances of his enclosure —and tried to guess his needs;and we're frightening him half to death. We can't go faster. Thiscreature is in no way similar to us, you know. He relies on paranormalforces—heat, light, kinetic energy—for his life. His chemistry is notours, his processes of thought are not ours, his entire organism iscloser to the inanimate rocks of a sea-bottom than to ourselves. Understood, Hatcher. In your first report you stated these creatureswere intelligent. Yes, sir. But not in our way. But in a way, and you must learn that way. I know. One lobster-clawshaped member drifted close to the councillor's body and raised itselfin an admonitory gesture. You want time. But we don't have time,Hatcher. Yours is not the only probe team working. The Central Massesteam has just turned in a most alarming report. Have they secured a subject? Hatcher demanded jealously. The councillor paused. Worse than that, Hatcher. I am afraid theirsubjects have secured one of them. One of them is missing. There was a moment's silence. Frozen, Hatcher could only wait. Thecouncil room was like a tableau in a museum until the councillor spokeagain, each council member poised over his locus-point, his membersdrifting about him. Finally the councillor said, I speak for all of us, I think. If theOld Ones have seized one of our probers our time margin is considerablynarrowed. Indeed, we may not have any time at all. You must doeverything you can to establish communication with your subject. But the danger to the specimen— Hatcher protested automatically. —is no greater, said the councillor, than the danger to every oneof us if we do not find allies now . <doc-sep>Hatcher returned to his laboratory gloomily. It was just like the council to put the screws on; they had areputation for demanding results at any cost—even at the cost ofdestroying the only thing you had that would make results possible. Hatcher did not like the idea of endangering the Earthman. It cannotbe said that he was emotionally involved; it was not pity or sympathythat caused him to regret the dangers in moving too fast towardcommunication. Not even Hatcher had quite got over the revoltingphysical differences between the Earthman and his own people. ButHatcher did not want him destroyed. It had been difficult enoughgetting him here. Hatcher checked through the members that he had left with the rest ofhis team and discovered that there were no immediate emergencies, so hetook time to eat. In Hatcher's race this was accomplished in ways notentirely pleasant to Earthmen. A slit in the lower hemisphere of hisbody opened, like a purse, emitting a thin, pussy, fetid fluid whichHatcher caught and poured into a disposal trough at the side of theeating room. He then stuffed the slit with pulpy vegetation the textureof kelp; it closed, and his body was supplied with nourishment foranother day. He returned quickly to the room. His second in command was busy, but one of the other team workersreported—nothing new—and asked about Hatcher's appearance before thecouncil. Hatcher passed the question off. He considered telling hisstaff about the disappearance of the Central Masses team member, butdecided against it. He had not been told it was secret. On the otherhand, he had not been told it was not. Something of this importance wasnot lightly to be gossiped about. For endless generations the threatof the Old Ones had hung over his race, those queer, almost mythicalbeings from the Central Masses of the galaxy. One brush with them, inages past, had almost destroyed Hatcher's people. Only by running andhiding, bearing one of their planets with them and abandoning it—withits population—as a decoy, had they arrived at all. Now they had detected mapping parties of the Old Ones dangerously nearthe spiral arm of the galaxy in which their planet was located, theyhad begun the Probe Teams to find some way of combating them, or offleeing again. But it seemed that the Probe Teams themselves might be betraying theirexistence to their enemies— Hatcher! The call was urgent; he hurried to see what it was about. It was hissecond in command, very excited. What is it? Hatcher demanded. Wait.... Hatcher was patient; he knew his assistant well. Obviously somethingwas about to happen. He took the moment to call his members back tohim for feeding; they dodged back to their niches on his skin, fittedthemselves into their vestigial slots, poured back their wastes intohis own circulation and ingested what they needed from the meal he hadjust taken.... Now! cried the assistant. Look! At what passed among Hatcher's people for a viewing console an imagewas forming. Actually it was the assistant himself who formed it, not acathode trace or projected shadow; but it showed what it was meant toshow. Hatcher was startled. Another one! And—is it a different species? Ormerely a different sex? Study the probe for yourself, the assistant invited. Hatcher studied him frostily; his patience was not, after all, endless.No matter, he said at last. Bring the other one in. And then, in a completely different mood, We may need him badly. Wemay be in the process of killing our first one now. Killing him, Hatcher? Hatcher rose and shook himself, his mindless members floating away likepuppies dislodged from suck. Council's orders, he said. We've got togo into Stage Two of the project at once. III Before Stage Two began, or before Herrell McCray realized it had begun,he had an inspiration. The dark was absolute, but he remembered where the spacesuit had beenand groped his way to it and, yes, it had what all spacesuits had tohave. It had a light. He found the toggle that turned it on and pressedit. Light. White, flaring, Earthly light, that showed everything—evenhimself. God bless, he said, almost beside himself with joy. Whatever thatpinkish, dancing halo had been, it had thrown him into a panic; nowthat he could see his own hand again, he could blame the weird effectson some strange property of the light. At the moment he heard the click that was the beginning of Stage Two. He switched off the light and stood for a moment, listening. For a second he thought he heard the far-off voice, quiet, calm andalmost hopeless, that he had sensed hours before; but then that wasgone. Something else was gone. Some faint mechanical sound that hadhardly registered at the time, but was not missing. And there was,perhaps, a nice new sound that had not been there before; a veryfaint, an almost inaudible elfin hiss. McCray switched the light on and looked around. There seemed to be nochange. And yet, surely, it was warmer in here. He could see no difference; but perhaps, he thought, he could smellone. The unpleasant halogen odor from the grating was surely strongernow. He stood there, perplexed. A tinny little voice from the helmet of the space suit said sharply,amazement in its tone, McCray, is that you? Where the devil are youcalling from? He forgot smell, sound and temperature and leaped for the suit. Thisis Herrell McCray, he cried. I'm in a room of some sort, apparentlyon a planet of approximate Earth mass. I don't know— McCray! cried the tiny voice in his ear. Where are you? This is Jodrell Bank calling. Answer, please! I am answering, damn it, he roared. What took you so long? Herrell McCray, droned the tiny voice in his ear, Herrell McCray,Herrell McCray, this is Jodrell Bank responding to your message,acknowledge please. Herrell McCray, Herrell McCray.... It kept on, and on. McCray took a deep breath and thought. Something was wrong. Either theydidn't hear him, which meant the radio wasn't transmitting, or—no.That was not it; they had heard him, because they were responding.But it seemed to take them so long.... Abruptly his face went white. Took them so long! He cast back in hismind, questing for a fact, unable to face its implications. When wasit he called them? Two hours ago? Three? Did that mean—did it possibly mean—that there was a lag of an houror two each way? Did it, for example, mean that at the speed of hissuit's pararadio, millions of times faster than light, it took hours to get a message to the ship and back? And if so ... where in the name of heaven was he? <doc-sep></s>

Hatcher is an alien of an unnamed race. He cannot be described as male because his race had no true males. He is three feet tall with a hard-shelled, circular body of jelly. His arms and legs are snakelike mandibles that can detach from his body, and he can control them with his brain from vast distances, although their effectiveness diminishes the further they travel from Hatcher's body. When they return to Hatcher's body, they rest in crevices in his skin. When he feeds, a slit appears at the bottom of his body and emits a thin, fetid fluid Hatcher throws away; he then places a nutrient-filled, kelp-like vegetable in the slit for sustenance. Hatcher is young, adventurous, scientifically gifted, knowledgeable, and enjoys playing sports. Although he does not feel the equivalent of human empathy, he also doesn't want harm to befall McCray and feels responsible for his proper care. Hatcher manages the probe team that observes McCray throughout the story, and he reports on McCray's behavior and his use of paranormal powers to the supervising council. Hatcher worries about hurrying to establish communication with McCray because he believes it will harm and perhaps even kill him, and later he wonders if communication is even possible at all with humans (later, he notes he is able to establish a minor level of communication with the female but wonders if others might be able to communicate with her). When Hatcher makes his report to the supervising council, they inform him of the return of the Old Ones, who have captured a member of The Central Masses Probe Team. He questions whether or not to tell his crew considering he was never explicitly told not to by the council. In many ways, Hatcher and McCray are similar although Hatcher is generally disgusted by the human body.

<s> THE FIVE HELLS OF ORION BY FREDERICK POHL Out in the great gas cloud of the Orion Nebula McCray found an ally—and a foe! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, January 1963. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] His name was Herrell McCray and he was scared. As best he could tell, he was in a sort of room no bigger than a prisoncell. Perhaps it was a prison cell. Whatever it was, he had no businessin it; for five minutes before he had been spaceborne, on the Long Jumpfrom Earth to the thriving colonies circling Betelgeuse Nine. McCraywas ship's navigator, plotting course corrections—not that there wereany, ever; but the reason there were none was that the check-sightingswere made every hour of the long flight. He had read off the azimuthangles from the computer sights, automatically locked on their beaconstars, and found them correct; then out of long habit confirmed thelocking mechanism visually. It was only a personal quaintness; he haddone it a thousand times. And while he was looking at Betelgeuse, Rigeland Saiph ... it happened. The room was totally dark, and it seemed to be furnished with acollection of hard, sharp, sticky and knobby objects of various shapesand a number of inconvenient sizes. McCray tripped over somethingthat rocked under his feet and fell against something that clatteredhollowly. He picked himself up, braced against something that smelleddangerously of halogen compounds, and scratched his shoulder, rightthrough his space-tunic, against something that vibrated as he touchedit. McCray had no idea where he was, and no way to find out. Not only was he in darkness, but in utter silence as well. No. Notquite utter silence. Somewhere, just at the threshold of his senses, there was somethinglike a voice. He could not quite hear it, but it was there. He sat asstill as he could, listening; it remained elusive. Probably it was only an illusion. But the room itself was hard fact. McCray swore violently and out loud. It was crazy and impossible. There simply was no way for him to getfrom a warm, bright navigator's cubicle on Starship Jodrell Bank tothis damned, dark, dismal hole of a place where everything was out tohurt him and nothing explained what was going on. He cried aloud inexasperation: If I could only see ! He tripped and fell against something that was soft, slimy and, likebaker's dough, not at all resilient. A flickering halo of pinkish light appeared. He sat up, startled. Hewas looking at something that resembled a suit of medieval armor. <doc-sep>Most of the cousins gasped as the truth began to percolate through. I knew from the very beginning, Conrad finished, that I didn'thave to do anything at all. I just had to wait and you would destroyyourselves. I don't understand, Bartholomew protested, searching the faces of thecousins closest to him. What does he mean, we have never existed?We're here, aren't we? What— Shut up! Raymond snapped. He turned on Martin. You don't seemsurprised. The old man grinned. I'm not. I figured it all out years ago. At first, he had wondered what he should do. Would it be better tothrow them into a futile panic by telling them or to do nothing? Hehad decided on the latter; that was the role they had assigned him—towatch and wait and keep out of things—and that was the role he wouldplay. You knew all the time and you didn't tell us! Raymond spluttered.After we'd been so good to you, making a gentleman out of you insteadof a criminal.... That's right, he snarled, a criminal! An alcoholic,a thief, a derelict! How do you like that? Sounds like a rich, full life, Martin said wistfully. What an exciting existence they must have done him out of! But then, hecouldn't help thinking, he—he and Conrad together, of course—had donethem out of any kind of existence. It wasn't his responsibility,though; he had done nothing but let matters take whatever course wasdestined for them. If only he could be sure that it was the bettercourse, perhaps he wouldn't feel that nagging sense of guilt insidehim. Strange—where, in his hermetic life, could he possibly havedeveloped such a queer thing as a conscience? Then we've wasted all this time, Ninian sobbed, all this energy, allthis money, for nothing! But you were nothing to begin with, Martin told them. And then,after a pause, he added, I only wish I could be sure there had beensome purpose to this. He didn't know whether it was approaching death that dimmed his sight,or whether the frightened crowd that pressed around him was growingshadowy. I wish I could feel that some good had been done in letting you bewiped out of existence, he went on voicing his thoughts. But I knowthat the same thing that happened to your worlds and my world willhappen all over again. To other people, in other times, but again. It'sbound to happen. There isn't any hope for humanity. One man couldn't really change the course of human history, he toldhimself. Two men, that was—one real, one a shadow. Conrad came close to the old man's bed. He was almost transparent. No, he said, there is hope. They didn't know the time transmitterworks two ways. I used it for going into the past only once—just thisonce. But I've gone into the future with it many times. And— hepressed Martin's hand—believe me, what I did—what we did, you andI—serves a purpose. It will change things for the better. Everythingis going to be all right. <doc-sep>The immense orderly confusion of the basic memory level lay beforeme. Abstracted from it, aloof and observant, the monitoringpersonality-fraction scanned the pattern, searching the polydimensionalcontinuum for evidence of an alien intrusion. And found it. As the eye instantaneously detects a flicker of motion amid an infinityof static detail, so my inner eye perceived the subtle traces of theprobing Gool mind, like a whispered touch deftly rearranging my buriedmotivations. I focused selectively, tuned to the recorded gestalt. It is a contact, Effulgent One! Softly, now! Nurture the spark well. It but trembles at thethreshold.... It is elusive, Master! It wriggles like a gorm-worm in the eatingtrough! A part of my mind watched as the memory unreeled. I listened to thevoices—yet not voices, merely the shape of concepts, indescribablyintricate. I saw how the decoy pseudo-personality which I hadconcretized for the purpose in a hundred training sessions had foughtagainst the intruding stimuli—then yielded under the relentless thrustof the alien probe. I watched as the Gool operator took over the motorcenters, caused me to crawl through the choking smoke of the devastatedcontrol compartment toward the escape hatch. Fire leaped up, blockingthe way. I went on, felt ghostly flames whipping at me—and then thehatch was open and I pulled myself through, forcing the broken leg.My blackened hand fumbled at the locking wheel. Then the blast asthe lifeboat leaped clear of the disintegrating dreadnought—and theworld-ending impact as I fell. At a level far below the conscious, the embattled pseudo-personalitylashed out again—fighting the invader. Almost it eluded me then, Effulgent Lord. Link with this lowly one! Impossible! Do you forget all my teachings? Cling, though you expendthe last filament of your life-force! Free from all distraction, at a level where comprehension and retentionare instantaneous and total, my monitoring basic personality fractionfollowed the skillful Gool mind as it engraved its commands deep inmy subconscious. Then the touch withdrew, erasing the scars of itspassage, to leave me unaware of its tampering—at a conscious level. Watching the Gool mind, I learned. The insinuating probe—a concept regarding which psychodynamicists hadtheorized—was no more than a pattern in emptiness.... But a pattern which I could duplicate, now that I had seen what hadbeen done to me. Hesitantly, I felt for the immaterial fabric of the continuum, warpingand manipulating it, copying the Gool probe. Like planes of paper-thincrystal, the polyfinite aspects of reality shifted into focus, aligningthemselves. Abruptly, a channel lay open. As easily as I would stretch out my handto pluck a moth from a night-flower, I reached across the unimaginablevoid—and sensed a pit blacker than the bottom floor of hell, and aglistening dark shape. There was a soundless shriek. Effulgence! It reached out—touchedme! <doc-sep></s>

Physically speaking, the probes refer to the snakelike mandibles that form the arms and legs of the alien race to which Hatcher belongs. These mandibles are able to detach themselves and travel vast distances away from the body, conducting experiments and running errands controlled remotely by the brain. When they return to the body, they settle into little grooves formed in the skin at the base of the globular host body. Hatcher manages the probe team responsible for observing McCray and running him through a series of tests. The supervising council oversees operations of all the various Probe Teams throughout the universe; the ultimate goal of all Probe Teams is to discover a way in which to defend their race against the hostile Old Ones who have recently resurfaced and captured a team member from The Central Masses Probe Team.

<s> THE FIVE HELLS OF ORION BY FREDERICK POHL Out in the great gas cloud of the Orion Nebula McCray found an ally—and a foe! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, January 1963. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] His name was Herrell McCray and he was scared. As best he could tell, he was in a sort of room no bigger than a prisoncell. Perhaps it was a prison cell. Whatever it was, he had no businessin it; for five minutes before he had been spaceborne, on the Long Jumpfrom Earth to the thriving colonies circling Betelgeuse Nine. McCraywas ship's navigator, plotting course corrections—not that there wereany, ever; but the reason there were none was that the check-sightingswere made every hour of the long flight. He had read off the azimuthangles from the computer sights, automatically locked on their beaconstars, and found them correct; then out of long habit confirmed thelocking mechanism visually. It was only a personal quaintness; he haddone it a thousand times. And while he was looking at Betelgeuse, Rigeland Saiph ... it happened. The room was totally dark, and it seemed to be furnished with acollection of hard, sharp, sticky and knobby objects of various shapesand a number of inconvenient sizes. McCray tripped over somethingthat rocked under his feet and fell against something that clatteredhollowly. He picked himself up, braced against something that smelleddangerously of halogen compounds, and scratched his shoulder, rightthrough his space-tunic, against something that vibrated as he touchedit. McCray had no idea where he was, and no way to find out. Not only was he in darkness, but in utter silence as well. No. Notquite utter silence. Somewhere, just at the threshold of his senses, there was somethinglike a voice. He could not quite hear it, but it was there. He sat asstill as he could, listening; it remained elusive. Probably it was only an illusion. But the room itself was hard fact. McCray swore violently and out loud. It was crazy and impossible. There simply was no way for him to getfrom a warm, bright navigator's cubicle on Starship Jodrell Bank tothis damned, dark, dismal hole of a place where everything was out tohurt him and nothing explained what was going on. He cried aloud inexasperation: If I could only see ! He tripped and fell against something that was soft, slimy and, likebaker's dough, not at all resilient. A flickering halo of pinkish light appeared. He sat up, startled. Hewas looking at something that resembled a suit of medieval armor. <doc-sep>Hatcher returned to his laboratory gloomily. It was just like the council to put the screws on; they had areputation for demanding results at any cost—even at the cost ofdestroying the only thing you had that would make results possible. Hatcher did not like the idea of endangering the Earthman. It cannotbe said that he was emotionally involved; it was not pity or sympathythat caused him to regret the dangers in moving too fast towardcommunication. Not even Hatcher had quite got over the revoltingphysical differences between the Earthman and his own people. ButHatcher did not want him destroyed. It had been difficult enoughgetting him here. Hatcher checked through the members that he had left with the rest ofhis team and discovered that there were no immediate emergencies, so hetook time to eat. In Hatcher's race this was accomplished in ways notentirely pleasant to Earthmen. A slit in the lower hemisphere of hisbody opened, like a purse, emitting a thin, pussy, fetid fluid whichHatcher caught and poured into a disposal trough at the side of theeating room. He then stuffed the slit with pulpy vegetation the textureof kelp; it closed, and his body was supplied with nourishment foranother day. He returned quickly to the room. His second in command was busy, but one of the other team workersreported—nothing new—and asked about Hatcher's appearance before thecouncil. Hatcher passed the question off. He considered telling hisstaff about the disappearance of the Central Masses team member, butdecided against it. He had not been told it was secret. On the otherhand, he had not been told it was not. Something of this importance wasnot lightly to be gossiped about. For endless generations the threatof the Old Ones had hung over his race, those queer, almost mythicalbeings from the Central Masses of the galaxy. One brush with them, inages past, had almost destroyed Hatcher's people. Only by running andhiding, bearing one of their planets with them and abandoning it—withits population—as a decoy, had they arrived at all. Now they had detected mapping parties of the Old Ones dangerously nearthe spiral arm of the galaxy in which their planet was located, theyhad begun the Probe Teams to find some way of combating them, or offleeing again. But it seemed that the Probe Teams themselves might be betraying theirexistence to their enemies— Hatcher! The call was urgent; he hurried to see what it was about. It was hissecond in command, very excited. What is it? Hatcher demanded. Wait.... Hatcher was patient; he knew his assistant well. Obviously somethingwas about to happen. He took the moment to call his members back tohim for feeding; they dodged back to their niches on his skin, fittedthemselves into their vestigial slots, poured back their wastes intohis own circulation and ingested what they needed from the meal he hadjust taken.... Now! cried the assistant. Look! At what passed among Hatcher's people for a viewing console an imagewas forming. Actually it was the assistant himself who formed it, not acathode trace or projected shadow; but it showed what it was meant toshow. Hatcher was startled. Another one! And—is it a different species? Ormerely a different sex? Study the probe for yourself, the assistant invited. Hatcher studied him frostily; his patience was not, after all, endless.No matter, he said at last. Bring the other one in. And then, in a completely different mood, We may need him badly. Wemay be in the process of killing our first one now. Killing him, Hatcher? Hatcher rose and shook himself, his mindless members floating away likepuppies dislodged from suck. Council's orders, he said. We've got togo into Stage Two of the project at once. III Before Stage Two began, or before Herrell McCray realized it had begun,he had an inspiration. The dark was absolute, but he remembered where the spacesuit had beenand groped his way to it and, yes, it had what all spacesuits had tohave. It had a light. He found the toggle that turned it on and pressedit. Light. White, flaring, Earthly light, that showed everything—evenhimself. God bless, he said, almost beside himself with joy. Whatever thatpinkish, dancing halo had been, it had thrown him into a panic; nowthat he could see his own hand again, he could blame the weird effectson some strange property of the light. At the moment he heard the click that was the beginning of Stage Two. He switched off the light and stood for a moment, listening. For a second he thought he heard the far-off voice, quiet, calm andalmost hopeless, that he had sensed hours before; but then that wasgone. Something else was gone. Some faint mechanical sound that hadhardly registered at the time, but was not missing. And there was,perhaps, a nice new sound that had not been there before; a veryfaint, an almost inaudible elfin hiss. McCray switched the light on and looked around. There seemed to be nochange. And yet, surely, it was warmer in here. He could see no difference; but perhaps, he thought, he could smellone. The unpleasant halogen odor from the grating was surely strongernow. He stood there, perplexed. A tinny little voice from the helmet of the space suit said sharply,amazement in its tone, McCray, is that you? Where the devil are youcalling from? He forgot smell, sound and temperature and leaped for the suit. Thisis Herrell McCray, he cried. I'm in a room of some sort, apparentlyon a planet of approximate Earth mass. I don't know— McCray! cried the tiny voice in his ear. Where are you? This is Jodrell Bank calling. Answer, please! I am answering, damn it, he roared. What took you so long? Herrell McCray, droned the tiny voice in his ear, Herrell McCray,Herrell McCray, this is Jodrell Bank responding to your message,acknowledge please. Herrell McCray, Herrell McCray.... It kept on, and on. McCray took a deep breath and thought. Something was wrong. Either theydidn't hear him, which meant the radio wasn't transmitting, or—no.That was not it; they had heard him, because they were responding.But it seemed to take them so long.... Abruptly his face went white. Took them so long! He cast back in hismind, questing for a fact, unable to face its implications. When wasit he called them? Two hours ago? Three? Did that mean—did it possibly mean—that there was a lag of an houror two each way? Did it, for example, mean that at the speed of hissuit's pararadio, millions of times faster than light, it took hours to get a message to the ship and back? And if so ... where in the name of heaven was he? <doc-sep>It was, he saw in a moment, not armor but a spacesuit. But what was thelight? And what were these other things in the room? Wherever he looked, the light danced along with his eyes. It was likehaving tunnel vision or wearing blinders. He could see what he waslooking at, but he could see nothing else. And the things he couldsee made no sense. A spacesuit, yes; he knew that he could constructa logical explanation for that with no trouble—maybe a subspacemeteorite striking the Jodrell Bank , an explosion, himself knockedout, brought here in a suit ... well, it was an explanation with moreholes than fabric, like a fisherman's net, but at least it was rational. How to explain a set of Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the RomanEmpire? A space-ax? Or the old-fashioned child's rocking-chair, thechemistry set—or, most of all, the scrap of gaily printed fabricthat, when he picked it up, turned out to be a girl's scanty bathingsuit? It was slightly reassuring, McCray thought, to find that most ofthe objects were more or less familiar. Even the child's chair—why,he'd had one more or less like that himself, long before he was oldenough to go to school. But what were they doing here? Not everything he saw was familiar. The walls of the room itself werestrange. They were not metal or plaster or knotty pine; they werenot papered, painted or overlaid with stucco. They seemed to be madeof some sort of hard organic compound, perhaps a sort of plastic orprocessed cellulose. It was hard to tell colors in the pinkish light.But they seemed to have none. They were neutral—the color of ageddriftwood or unbleached cloth. Three of the walls were that way, and the floor and ceiling. The fourthwall was something else. Areas in it had the appearance of gratings;from them issued the pungent, distasteful halogen odor. They might beventilators, he thought; but if so the air they brought in was worsethan what he already had. McCray was beginning to feel more confident. It was astonishing how alittle light made an impossible situation bearable, how quickly hiscourage flowed back when he could see again. He stood still, thinking. Item, a short time ago—subjectively itseemed to be minutes—he had been aboard the Jodrell Bank withnothing more on his mind than completing his check-sighting and meetingone of the female passengers for coffee. Item, apart from beingshaken up and—he admitted it—scared damn near witless, he did notseem to be hurt. Item, wherever he was now, it became, not so much whathad happened to him, but what had happened to the ship? He allowed that thought to seep into his mind. Suppose there had beenan accident to the Jodrell Bank . He could, of course, be dead. All this could be the fantasies of acooling brain. McCray grinned into the pink-lit darkness. The thought had somehowrefreshed him, like icewater between rounds, and with a clearing headhe remembered what a spacesuit was good for. It held a radio. He pressed the unsealing tabs, slipped his hand into the vacant chestof the suit and pulled out the hand mike. This is Herrell McCray, hesaid, calling the Jodrell Bank . No response. He frowned. This is Herrell McCray, calling JodrellBank . Herrell McCray, calling anybody, come in, please. But there was no answer. Thoughtfully he replaced the microphone. This was ultrawave radio,something more than a million times faster than light, with a rangemeasured, at least, in hundreds of light-years. If there was no answer,he was a good long way from anywhere. Of course, the thing might not be operating. He reached for the microphone again— He cried aloud. The pinkish lights went out. He was in the dark again, worse dark thanbefore. For before the light had gone, McCray had seen what had escapedhis eyes before. The suit and the microphone were clear enough inthe pinkish glimmer; but the hand—his own hand, cupped to hold themicrophone—he had not seen at all. Nor his arm. Nor, in one fleetingmoment of study, his chest. McCray could not see any part of his own body at all. II Someone else could. Someone was watching Herrell McCray, with the clinical fascinationof a biochemist observing the wigglings of paramecia in a newantibiotic—and with the prayerful emotions of a starving, shipwrecked,sailor, watching the inward bobbing drift of a wave-born cask that may contain food. Suppose you call him Hatcher (and suppose you call it a him.)Hatcher was not exactly male, because his race had no true males; butit did have females and he was certainly not that. Hatcher did not inany way look like a human being, but they had features in common. If Hatcher and McCray had somehow managed to strike up an acquaintance,they might have got along very well. Hatcher, like McCray, was anadventurous soul, young, able, well-learned in the technical sciencesof his culture. Both enjoyed games—McCray baseball, poker andthree-dimensional chess; Hatcher a number of sports which defy humandescription. Both held positions of some importance—considering theirages—in the affairs of their respective worlds. Physically they were nothing alike. Hatcher was a three-foot,hard-shelled sphere of jelly. He had arms and legs, but they werenot organically attached to himself. They were snakelike things whichobeyed the orders of his brain as well as your mind can make your toescurl; but they did not touch him directly. Indeed, they worked as wella yard or a quarter-mile away as they did when, rarely, they restedin the crevices they had been formed from in his skin. At greaterdistances they worked less well, for reasons irrelevant to the Law ofInverse Squares. Hatcher's principal task at this moment was to run the probe teamwhich had McCray under observation, and he was more than a littleexcited. His members, disposed about the room where he had sent them onvarious errands, quivered and shook a little; yet they were the calmestlimbs in the room; the members of the other team workers were in astate of violent commotion. The probe team had had a shock. Paranormal powers, muttered Hatcher's second in command, and theothers mumbled agreement. Hatcher ordered silence, studying thespecimen from Earth. After a long moment he turned his senses from the Earthman.Incredible—but it's true enough, he said. I'd better report. Watchhim, he added, but that was surely unnecessary. Their job was towatch McCray, and they would do their job; and even more, not one ofthem could have looked away to save his life from the spectacle ofa creature as odd and, from their point of view, hideously alien asHerrell McCray. <doc-sep></s>

Herrell McCray is the navigator for the Starship Jodrell Bank whose mission is to reach the colonies circling Betelgeuse Nine. He is young, adventurous, gifted in science and technology, and enjoys playing baseball, poker, and 3D chess. When McCray finds himself inexplicably abducted and transported to a dark room in an unknown location, he is confused about how he ended up in that location and why he is surrounded by items that vaguely remind him of his childhood. He is grateful when a pinkish light offers some illumination, and he attempts to contact his ship using the radio on a spacesuit he finds in the room. Before the light goes out, he panics when he is not able to see any part of his body; he later realizes this was a trick of the light. McCray continues to attempt to make contact with the ship and hours go by before he receives a reply, which makes him realize he is possibly millions of lightyears away from it. As McCray realizes his room is slowly filling with toxic fumes, he uses an ax he finds to break free and tries to find a way to escape his unknown prison. As he navigates the unusual building, he finds a gun and eventually hears a transmission from an unknown woman who is also calling out for the ship. He makes his way through bizarre doors until he finds her face down on the ground.

<s>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep>Moscow, Idaho June 17 Dear Joe: I received your first communication today. It baffles me. Do you greetme in the proper fringe-zone manner? No. Do you express joy, hope,pride, helpfulness at my arrival? No. You ask me for a loan of fivebucks! It took me some time, culling my information catalog to come up withthe correct variant of the slang term buck. Is it possible that youare powerless even to provide yourself with the wherewithal to live inthis inferior world? A reminder, please. You and I—I in particular—are now engaged ina struggle to free our world from the terrible, maiming intrusionsof this not-world. Through many long gleebs, our people have liveda semi-terrorized existence while errant vibrations from this worldripped across the closely joined vibration flux, whose individualfluctuations make up our sentient population. Even our eminent, all-high Frequency himself has often been jeopardizedby these people. The not-world and our world are like two basketsas you and I see them in our present forms. Baskets woven with thegreatest intricacy, design and color; but baskets whose convex sidesare joined by a thin fringe of filaments. Our world, on the vibrationalplane, extends just a bit into this, the not-world. But being a worldof higher vibration, it is ultimately tenuous to these gross peoples.While we vibrate only within a restricted plane because of our purer,more stable existence, these people radiate widely into our world. They even send what they call psychic reproductions of their own selvesinto ours. And most infamous of all, they sometimes are able to forcesome of our individuals over the fringe into their world temporarily,causing them much agony and fright. The latter atrocity is perpetrated through what these people callmediums, spiritualists and other fatuous names. I intend to visit oneof them at the first opportunity to see for myself. Meanwhile, as to you, I would offer a few words of advice. I pickedthem up while examining the slang portion of my information catalogwhich you unfortunately caused me to use. So, for the ultimatecause—in this, the penultimate adventure, and for the glory and peaceof our world—shake a leg, bub. Straighten up and fly right. In short,get hep. As far as the five bucks is concerned, no dice. Glmpauszn <doc-sep>Dear Editor: These guys might be queer drunk hopheads. But if not? If soon braindissolve, body fall apart, how long have we got? Please, anybody whoknows answer, write to me—Ivan Smernda, Plaza Ritz Arms—how long is agleeb? <doc-sep></s>

A Gleeb for Earth is a collection of letters, signed by two characters - Ivan Smernda (a human on Earth who owns the Plaza Ritz Arms hotel in New York City) and Glmpauszn (an alien from a world that is entwined with Earth through a spiritual fringe). Ivan dictates the first letter through his son Ronnie (14 years old) and sends it to the Editor of a print publication, feeling responsible for publicizing what he witnessed to save humanity. Ivan recounts an occurrence in the Plaza Ritz Arms where two alcoholic guests that he calls “stew bums”, Joe Binkle and Ed Smith (an alias for Glmpauszn), mysteriously disappeared, leaving their suits behind as if they had melted out of them. Ed had checked in with a mirror with a heavy bronze frame. After their disappearance, Ivan found only their clothes, the frame of the mirror in Ed’s room, and a stack of letters in the bureau in Joe’s room, which are the letters that tell the remaining story.The vibrational plane of an alien world extends into Earth’s (which they call the not-world), allowing intrusive vibrations from Earth to semi-terrorize sentient alien vibrations. Human spiritual mediums can force psychic reproductions of themselves into the alien world, and conversely pull alien vibrations over the “fringe”. The aliens can’t tolerate it, and send Glmpauszn and Joe to take on human form and develop a chemical weapon to kill all humans.Glmpauszn crosses the fringe through a vibrational gateway that allows his consciousness to move into a newborn baby. Joe has already arrived in human form. Glmpauszn quickly grows the baby into an adult man. At three days old, he is 36 inches tall and talking, and a couple of days later is an adult man. Glmpauszn writes to Joe by controlling the minds of sleeping people around the world to pen the letters and then mail them to Joe at the Plaza Ritz Arms in New York City. He wonders why Joe won’t write to him, and can’t contact him spiritually, like normal, since Joe has fallen into alcoholism. Glmpauszn forgets to wear clothes and is nearly arrested, but escapes by becoming invisible. When Joe finally writes, it is to ask for money, enraging Glmpauszn who reports Joe’s actions to their boss, Blgftury. Glmpauszn becomes distracted by exploring human emotions like intimacy with women and love of money, which causes him to rob a bank and fill 18 rooms of a hotel with money. He also falls into alcoholism. Blgftury is accidentally summoned into a seance by a human medium who pulls Blgftury’s vibrations through the fringe (the very thing they are trying to stop from happening), and Glmpauszn is caught with a red-haired woman by his boss not doing his job. Glmpauszn finally develops a mold that can kill humans, and meets with Joe at the Plaza Ritz Arms with lots of gin that they consume before successfully returning to the vibrational frequency of their world, releasing the mold in the room.

<s>Dear Editor: These guys might be queer drunk hopheads. But if not? If soon braindissolve, body fall apart, how long have we got? Please, anybody whoknows answer, write to me—Ivan Smernda, Plaza Ritz Arms—how long is agleeb? <doc-sep>Penobscot, Maine July 20 Dear Joe: Now you tell me not to drink alcohol. Why not? You never mentioned itin any of your vibrations to us, gleebs ago, when you first came acrossto this world. It will stint my powers? Nonsense! Already I have had aquart of the liquid today. I feel wonderful. Get that? I actually feelwonderful, in spite of this miserable imitation of a body. There are long hours during which I am so well-integrated into thisbody and this world that I almost consider myself a member of it. NowI can function efficiently. I sent Blgftury some long reports todayoutlining my experiments in the realm of chemistry where we mustfinally defeat these people. Of course, I haven't made the experimentsyet, but I will. This is not deceit, merely realistic anticipation ofthe inevitable. Anyway, what the old xbyzrt doesn't know won't muss hisvibrations. I went to what they call a nightclub here and picked out ablonde-haired woman, the kind that the books say men prefer. She wasattracted to me instantly. After all, the body I have devised isperfect in every detail ... actually a not-world ideal. I didn't lose any time overwhelming her susceptibilities. I rememberdistinctly that just as I stooped to pick up a large roll of money Ihad dropped, her eyes met mine and in them I could see her admiration.We went to my suite and I showed her one of the money rooms. Would youbelieve it? She actually took off her shoes and ran around through themoney in her bare feet! Then we kissed. Concealed in the dermis of the lips are tiny, highly sensitized nerveends which send sensations to the brain. The brain interprets theseimpulses in a certain manner. As a result, the fate of secretion in theadrenals on the ends of the kidneys increases and an enlivening of theentire endocrine system follows. Thus I felt the beginnings of love. I sat her down on a pile of money and kissed her again. Again thetingling, again the secretion and activation. I integrated myselfquickly. Now in all the motion pictures—true representations of life and lovein this world—the man with a lot of money or virtue kisses the girland tries to induce her to do something biological. She then refuses.This pleases both of them, for he wanted her to refuse. She, in turn,wanted him to want her, but also wanted to prevent him so that he wouldhave a high opinion of her. Do I make myself clear? I kissed the blonde girl and gave her to understand what I then wanted.Well, you can imagine my surprise when she said yes! So I had failed. Ihad not found love. I became so abstracted by this problem that the blonde girl fellasleep. I thoughtfully drank quantities of excellent alcohol called ginand didn't even notice when the blonde girl left. I am now beginning to feel the effects of this alcohol again. Ha. Don'tI wish old Blgftury were here in the vibrational pattern of an olive?I'd get the blonde in and have her eat him out of a Martini. That is agin mixture. I think I'll get a hot report off to the old so-and-so right now. It'lltake him a gleeb to figure this one out. I'll tell him I'm setting upan atomic reactor in the sewage systems here and that all we have to dois activate it and all the not-people will die of chain asphyxiation. Boy, what an easy job this turned out to be. It's just a vacation. Joe,you old gold-bricker, imagine you here all these gleebs living off thefat of the land. Yak, yak. Affectionately. Glmpauszn <doc-sep> THE GIANTS RETURN By ROBERT ABERNATHY Earth set itself grimly to meet them with corrosive fire, determined to blast them back to the stars. But they erred in thinking the Old Ones were too big to be clever. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1949. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] In the last hours the star ahead had grown brighter by many magnitudes,and had changed its color from a dazzling blue through white to thenormal yellow, of a GO sun. That was the Doppler effect as the star'sradial velocity changed relative to the Quest III , as for forty hoursthe ship had decelerated. They had seen many such stars come near out of the galaxy's glitteringbackdrop, and had seen them dwindle, turn red and go out as the QuestIII drove on its way once more, lashed by despair toward the speed oflight, leaving behind the mockery of yet another solitary and lifelessluminary unaccompanied by worlds where men might dwell. They had grownsated with the sight of wonders—of multiple systems of giant stars, ofnebulae that sprawled in empty flame across light years. But now unwonted excitement possessed the hundred-odd members of the Quest III's crew. It was a subdued excitement; men and women, theycame and stood quietly gazing into the big vision screens that showedthe oncoming star, and there were wide-eyed children who had been bornin the ship and had never seen a planet. The grownups talked in lowvoices, in tones of mingled eagerness and apprehension, of what mightlie at the long journey's end. For the Quest III was coming home; thesun ahead was the Sun, whose rays had warmed their lives' beginning. <doc-sep></s>

A Gleeb for Earth takes place on Earth, where the spiritual vibrations of human mediums and psychics are intruding upon and semi-terrorizing another world populated by sentient vibrational beings. The vibrational plane of the alien world extends just a tiny bit into Earth (referred to as the not-world by the aliens), and the fringe between the two allows for human psychics to intrude into the alien’s realm, or for human seance practises to summon alien vibrations on Earth in ways that are terrifying for the aliens. The aliens can’t tolerate these vibrational intrusions any longer and have embarked on a mission to destroy all life on Earth by having two of their own take the form of humans and develop a chemical weapon (a mold) to wipe them out.The mission of Glmpauszn and Joe takes place on Earth between June 8th and September 25th of an unknown year. Glmpauszn mails letters from various international locations to Joe at the Plaza Ritz Arms in New York City by controlling the minds of unknown sleeping humans to pen what he spiritually dictates, and mail the letters without ever knowing they have done it. Glmpauszn’s physical location is not explicitly discussed, but it is possibly nearby to New York City since he does not mention the need for any long-distance or international travel in his letters. Both Glmpauszn and Joe become distracted from their mission at times by drugs, alcohol, stealing money using their invisibility, and the sensations of experiencing human emotions like love.The Plaza Ritz Arms hotel in New York City is an especially important location in the story, because it is the final meeting place where Glmpauszn and Joe return to their vibrational realm through a mirror with a heavy bronze frame, leaving their clothes in heaps as if they had melted out of them, only the frame of the mirror, and the pile of letters from Glmpauszn to Joe that detail their entire mission on Earth.

<s>Rochester, New York September 25 Dear Joe: I have it! It is done! In spite of the alcohol, in spite of Blgftury'sniggling criticism, I have succeeded. I now have developed a formof mold, somewhat similar to the antibiotics of this world, that,transmitted to the human organism, will cause a disease whose end willbe swift and fatal. First the brain will dissolve and then the body will fall apart.Nothing in this world can stop the spread of it once it is loose.Absolutely nothing. We must use care. Stock in as much gin as you are able. I will bringwith me all that I can. Meanwhile I must return to my original place ofbirth into this world of horrors. There I will secure the gateway, alarge mirror, the vibrational point at which we shall meet and slowlyclimb the frequency scale to emerge into our own beautiful, now secureworld. You and I together, Joe, conquerors, liberators. You say you eat little and drink as much as you can. The same withme. Even in this revolting world I am a sad sight. My not-world sensesfalter. This is the last letter. Tomorrow I come with the gateway. Whenthe gin is gone, we will plant the mold in the hotel where you live. In only a single gleeb it will begin to work. The men of this queerworld will be no more. But we can't say we didn't have some fun, canwe, Joe? And just let Blgftury make one crack. Just one xyzprlt. I'll havehgutry before the ghjdksla! Glmpauszn <doc-sep>Moscow, Idaho June 17 Dear Joe: I received your first communication today. It baffles me. Do you greetme in the proper fringe-zone manner? No. Do you express joy, hope,pride, helpfulness at my arrival? No. You ask me for a loan of fivebucks! It took me some time, culling my information catalog to come up withthe correct variant of the slang term buck. Is it possible that youare powerless even to provide yourself with the wherewithal to live inthis inferior world? A reminder, please. You and I—I in particular—are now engaged ina struggle to free our world from the terrible, maiming intrusionsof this not-world. Through many long gleebs, our people have liveda semi-terrorized existence while errant vibrations from this worldripped across the closely joined vibration flux, whose individualfluctuations make up our sentient population. Even our eminent, all-high Frequency himself has often been jeopardizedby these people. The not-world and our world are like two basketsas you and I see them in our present forms. Baskets woven with thegreatest intricacy, design and color; but baskets whose convex sidesare joined by a thin fringe of filaments. Our world, on the vibrationalplane, extends just a bit into this, the not-world. But being a worldof higher vibration, it is ultimately tenuous to these gross peoples.While we vibrate only within a restricted plane because of our purer,more stable existence, these people radiate widely into our world. They even send what they call psychic reproductions of their own selvesinto ours. And most infamous of all, they sometimes are able to forcesome of our individuals over the fringe into their world temporarily,causing them much agony and fright. The latter atrocity is perpetrated through what these people callmediums, spiritualists and other fatuous names. I intend to visit oneof them at the first opportunity to see for myself. Meanwhile, as to you, I would offer a few words of advice. I pickedthem up while examining the slang portion of my information catalogwhich you unfortunately caused me to use. So, for the ultimatecause—in this, the penultimate adventure, and for the glory and peaceof our world—shake a leg, bub. Straighten up and fly right. In short,get hep. As far as the five bucks is concerned, no dice. Glmpauszn <doc-sep>Taphetta rustled his speech ribbons quizzically. But I thought it wasproved that some humans did originate on one planet, that there was anunbroken line of evolution that could be traced back a billion years. You're thinking of Earth, said Halden. Humans require a certain kindof planet. It's reasonable to assume that, if men were set down on ahundred such worlds, they'd seem to fit in with native life-forms on afew of them. That's what happened on Earth; when Man arrived, there wasactually a manlike creature there. Naturally our early evolutionistsstretched their theories to cover the facts they had. But there are other worlds in which humans who were there before theStone Age aren't related to anything else there. We have to concludethat Man didn't originate on any of the planets on which he is nowfound. Instead, he evolved elsewhere and later was scattered throughoutthis section of the Milky Way. And so, to account for the unique race that can interbreed acrossthousands of light-years, you've brought in the big ancestor,commented Taphetta dryly. It seems an unnecessary simplification. Can you think of a better explanation? asked Kelburn. Something had to distribute one species so widely and it's not theresult of parallel evolution—not when a hundred human races areinvolved, and only the human race. I can't think of a better explanation. Taphetta rearranged hisribbons. Frankly, no one else is much interested in Man's theoriesabout himself. It was easy to understand the attitude. Man was the most numerousthough not always the most advanced—Ribboneers had a civilization ashigh as anything in the known section of the Milky Way, and there wereothers—and humans were more than a little feared. If they ever gottogether—but they hadn't except in agreement as to their common origin. Still, Taphetta the Ribboneer was an experienced pilot and could bevery useful. A clear statement of their position was essential inhelping him make up his mind. You've heard of the adjacency matingprinciple? asked Sam Halden. Vaguely. Most people have if they've been around men. We've got new data and are able to interpret it better. The theory isthat humans who can mate with each other were once physically close.We've got a list of all our races arranged in sequence. If planetaryrace F can mate with race E back to A and forward to M, and race G isfertile only back to B, but forward to O, then we assume that whatevertheir positions are now, at once time G was actually adjacent to F, butwas a little further along. When we project back into time those starsystems on which humans existed prior to space travel, we get a certainpattern. Kelburn can explain it to you. The normally pink body of the Ribboneer flushed slightly. The colorchange was almost imperceptible, but it was enough to indicate that hewas interested. <doc-sep></s>

Glmpauszn’s consciousness takes the form of spiritual vibrations that can cross from his world into Earth’s, allowing him to take control of humans on Earth and even insert his consciousness into a human fetus. He describes Earth as a “weird extension of the Universe”, because from his perspective the vibrational plane of his world extends just a tiny bit into Earth (which he calls the not-world). This is unacceptable to his people since human spiritual mediums on Earth have been able to force psychic reproductions of themselves into his world, and conversely temporarily kidnap some individuals from his planet over the “fringe” between the two worlds, frightening them. The intrusive vibrations from Earth have semi-terrorized the sentient vibrations that make up the population of Glmpauszn’s world. Thus, Glmpauszn will now take on the form of a human on Earth and destroy the entirety of human existence to stop their intrusions.

<s>Penobscot, Maine July 20 Dear Joe: Now you tell me not to drink alcohol. Why not? You never mentioned itin any of your vibrations to us, gleebs ago, when you first came acrossto this world. It will stint my powers? Nonsense! Already I have had aquart of the liquid today. I feel wonderful. Get that? I actually feelwonderful, in spite of this miserable imitation of a body. There are long hours during which I am so well-integrated into thisbody and this world that I almost consider myself a member of it. NowI can function efficiently. I sent Blgftury some long reports todayoutlining my experiments in the realm of chemistry where we mustfinally defeat these people. Of course, I haven't made the experimentsyet, but I will. This is not deceit, merely realistic anticipation ofthe inevitable. Anyway, what the old xbyzrt doesn't know won't muss hisvibrations. I went to what they call a nightclub here and picked out ablonde-haired woman, the kind that the books say men prefer. She wasattracted to me instantly. After all, the body I have devised isperfect in every detail ... actually a not-world ideal. I didn't lose any time overwhelming her susceptibilities. I rememberdistinctly that just as I stooped to pick up a large roll of money Ihad dropped, her eyes met mine and in them I could see her admiration.We went to my suite and I showed her one of the money rooms. Would youbelieve it? She actually took off her shoes and ran around through themoney in her bare feet! Then we kissed. Concealed in the dermis of the lips are tiny, highly sensitized nerveends which send sensations to the brain. The brain interprets theseimpulses in a certain manner. As a result, the fate of secretion in theadrenals on the ends of the kidneys increases and an enlivening of theentire endocrine system follows. Thus I felt the beginnings of love. I sat her down on a pile of money and kissed her again. Again thetingling, again the secretion and activation. I integrated myselfquickly. Now in all the motion pictures—true representations of life and lovein this world—the man with a lot of money or virtue kisses the girland tries to induce her to do something biological. She then refuses.This pleases both of them, for he wanted her to refuse. She, in turn,wanted him to want her, but also wanted to prevent him so that he wouldhave a high opinion of her. Do I make myself clear? I kissed the blonde girl and gave her to understand what I then wanted.Well, you can imagine my surprise when she said yes! So I had failed. Ihad not found love. I became so abstracted by this problem that the blonde girl fellasleep. I thoughtfully drank quantities of excellent alcohol called ginand didn't even notice when the blonde girl left. I am now beginning to feel the effects of this alcohol again. Ha. Don'tI wish old Blgftury were here in the vibrational pattern of an olive?I'd get the blonde in and have her eat him out of a Martini. That is agin mixture. I think I'll get a hot report off to the old so-and-so right now. It'lltake him a gleeb to figure this one out. I'll tell him I'm setting upan atomic reactor in the sewage systems here and that all we have to dois activate it and all the not-people will die of chain asphyxiation. Boy, what an easy job this turned out to be. It's just a vacation. Joe,you old gold-bricker, imagine you here all these gleebs living off thefat of the land. Yak, yak. Affectionately. Glmpauszn <doc-sep>Rochester, New York September 25 Dear Joe: I have it! It is done! In spite of the alcohol, in spite of Blgftury'sniggling criticism, I have succeeded. I now have developed a formof mold, somewhat similar to the antibiotics of this world, that,transmitted to the human organism, will cause a disease whose end willbe swift and fatal. First the brain will dissolve and then the body will fall apart.Nothing in this world can stop the spread of it once it is loose.Absolutely nothing. We must use care. Stock in as much gin as you are able. I will bringwith me all that I can. Meanwhile I must return to my original place ofbirth into this world of horrors. There I will secure the gateway, alarge mirror, the vibrational point at which we shall meet and slowlyclimb the frequency scale to emerge into our own beautiful, now secureworld. You and I together, Joe, conquerors, liberators. You say you eat little and drink as much as you can. The same withme. Even in this revolting world I am a sad sight. My not-world sensesfalter. This is the last letter. Tomorrow I come with the gateway. Whenthe gin is gone, we will plant the mold in the hotel where you live. In only a single gleeb it will begin to work. The men of this queerworld will be no more. But we can't say we didn't have some fun, canwe, Joe? And just let Blgftury make one crack. Just one xyzprlt. I'll havehgutry before the ghjdksla! Glmpauszn <doc-sep>Moscow, Idaho June 17 Dear Joe: I received your first communication today. It baffles me. Do you greetme in the proper fringe-zone manner? No. Do you express joy, hope,pride, helpfulness at my arrival? No. You ask me for a loan of fivebucks! It took me some time, culling my information catalog to come up withthe correct variant of the slang term buck. Is it possible that youare powerless even to provide yourself with the wherewithal to live inthis inferior world? A reminder, please. You and I—I in particular—are now engaged ina struggle to free our world from the terrible, maiming intrusionsof this not-world. Through many long gleebs, our people have liveda semi-terrorized existence while errant vibrations from this worldripped across the closely joined vibration flux, whose individualfluctuations make up our sentient population. Even our eminent, all-high Frequency himself has often been jeopardizedby these people. The not-world and our world are like two basketsas you and I see them in our present forms. Baskets woven with thegreatest intricacy, design and color; but baskets whose convex sidesare joined by a thin fringe of filaments. Our world, on the vibrationalplane, extends just a bit into this, the not-world. But being a worldof higher vibration, it is ultimately tenuous to these gross peoples.While we vibrate only within a restricted plane because of our purer,more stable existence, these people radiate widely into our world. They even send what they call psychic reproductions of their own selvesinto ours. And most infamous of all, they sometimes are able to forcesome of our individuals over the fringe into their world temporarily,causing them much agony and fright. The latter atrocity is perpetrated through what these people callmediums, spiritualists and other fatuous names. I intend to visit oneof them at the first opportunity to see for myself. Meanwhile, as to you, I would offer a few words of advice. I pickedthem up while examining the slang portion of my information catalogwhich you unfortunately caused me to use. So, for the ultimatecause—in this, the penultimate adventure, and for the glory and peaceof our world—shake a leg, bub. Straighten up and fly right. In short,get hep. As far as the five bucks is concerned, no dice. Glmpauszn <doc-sep></s>

Glmpauszn is a sentient being from an alien world that takes the form of spiritual vibrations that are capable of controlling humans on Earth (which he refers to as the non-world), or entering the body of a human to take their form. He travels through a gateway (a vibrational point that alters the frequency of those who enter in the form of a mirror with a heavy bronze frame), allowing Glmpauszn to take on the frequency of a human and move his consciousness into a newborn baby. Once on Earth in newborn form, Glmpauszn quickly grows the body of the newborn baby into that of an adult man over a matter of days, and begins using the alias Ed Smith. He writes to Joe by vibrationaly controlling the minds of a variety of literate people around the world to pen the letters and then mail them to Joe at the Plaza Ritz Arms in New York City. The people he uses the mind of never become aware that they have written or mailed the letters.Joe (an alias name) is of the same world as Glmpauszn, and they are on a mission together to destroy all human life on Earth in order to stop the intrusive vibrations of Earth polluting their spiritually sentient world. There is a rocky start to their mission as Glmpauszn is not receiving any contact back from Joe who has become distracted by drugs and alcohol in his human form on Earth. Normally, Glmpauszn would be able to reach Joe through spiritual vibrations instead of letters, but Joe’s vibrations are very weak due to the substances he takes. Joe eventually does write to Glmpauszn, but only to ask for money, which greatly offends Glmpauszn who becomes furious with him for abandoning their mission. However, their relationship changes as Glmpauszn begins to experiment with the feelings of being human, and tries to feel love and consume alcohol. Glmpauszn starts to relate to Joe’s experience with alcohol, and they even decide to bring lots of gin to consume when they finally meet at the Plaza Ritz Arms to re-enter the gateway to their own world together after releasing the deadly mold that will kill all humans on Earth and complete their mission. They finish the mission triumphantly together, with Glmpauszn referring to them together in one of his final letters as conquerors and liberators for their world.

<s>Rochester, New York September 25 Dear Joe: I have it! It is done! In spite of the alcohol, in spite of Blgftury'sniggling criticism, I have succeeded. I now have developed a formof mold, somewhat similar to the antibiotics of this world, that,transmitted to the human organism, will cause a disease whose end willbe swift and fatal. First the brain will dissolve and then the body will fall apart.Nothing in this world can stop the spread of it once it is loose.Absolutely nothing. We must use care. Stock in as much gin as you are able. I will bringwith me all that I can. Meanwhile I must return to my original place ofbirth into this world of horrors. There I will secure the gateway, alarge mirror, the vibrational point at which we shall meet and slowlyclimb the frequency scale to emerge into our own beautiful, now secureworld. You and I together, Joe, conquerors, liberators. You say you eat little and drink as much as you can. The same withme. Even in this revolting world I am a sad sight. My not-world sensesfalter. This is the last letter. Tomorrow I come with the gateway. Whenthe gin is gone, we will plant the mold in the hotel where you live. In only a single gleeb it will begin to work. The men of this queerworld will be no more. But we can't say we didn't have some fun, canwe, Joe? And just let Blgftury make one crack. Just one xyzprlt. I'll havehgutry before the ghjdksla! Glmpauszn <doc-sep>Des Moines, Iowa June 19 Dear Joe: Your letter was imponderable till I had thrashed through long passagesin my information catalog that I had never imagined I would need.Biological functions and bodily processes which are labeled hererevolting are used freely in your missive. You can be sure they areall being forwarded to Blgftury. If I were not involved in the mostimportant part of my journey—completion of the weapon against thenot-worlders—I would come to New York immediately. You would rue thatday, I assure you. Glmpauszn <doc-sep>Wichita, Kansas June 13 Dear Joe: Mnghjkl, fhfjgfhjklop phelnoprausynks. No. When I communicate with you,I see I must avoid those complexities of procedure for which there areno terms in this language. There is no way of describing to you innot-language what I had to go through during the first moments of mybirth. Now I know what difficulties you must have had with your limitedequipment. These not-people are unpredictable and strange. Their doctorcame in and weighed me again the day after my birth. Consternationreigned when it was discovered I was ten pounds heavier. Whatdifference could it possibly make? Many doctors then came in to see me.As they arrived hourly, they found me heavier and heavier. Naturally,since I am growing. This is part of my instructions. My not-mother(Gezsltrysk!) then burst into tears. The doctors conferred, threw uptheir hands and left. I learned the following day that the opposite component of mynot-mother, my not-father, had been away riding on some conveyanceduring my birth. He was out on ... what did they call it? Oh, yes, abender. He did not arrive till three days after I was born. When I heard them say that he was straightening up to come see me, Imade a special effort and grew marvelously in one afternoon. I was 36not-world inches tall by evening. My not-father entered while I wasstanding by the crib examining a syringe the doctor had left behind.He stopped in his tracks on entering the room and seemed incapable ofspeech. Dredging into the treasury of knowledge I had come equipped with, Iproduced the proper phrase for occasions of this kind in the not-world. Poppa, I said. This was the first use I had made of the so-called vocal cords thatare now part of my extended matrix. The sound I emitted soundedlow-pitched, guttural and penetrating even to myself. It must havejarred on my not-father's ears, for he turned and ran shouting from theroom. They apprehended him on the stairs and I heard him babble somethingabout my being a monster and no child of his. My not-mother appeared atthe doorway and instead of being pleased at the progress of my growth,she fell down heavily. She made a distinct thump on the floor. This brought the rest of them on the run, so I climbed out the windowand retreated across a nearby field. A prolonged search was launched,but I eluded them. What unpredictable beings! I reported my tremendous progress back to our world, including thecleverness by which I managed to escape my pursuers. I received a replyfrom Blgftury which, on careful analysis, seems to be small praiseindeed. In fact, some of his phrases apparently contain veiled threats.But you know old Blgftury. He wanted to go on this expedition himselfand it's his nature never to flatter anyone. From now on I will refer to not-people simply as people, dropping thequalifying preface except where comparisons must be made between thisalleged world and our own. It is merely an offshoot of our primitivemythology when this was considered a spirit world, just as these peoplerefer to our world as never-never land and other anomalies. But welearned otherwise, while they never have. New sensations crowd into my consciousness and I am having a hardtime classifying them. Anyway, I shall carry on swiftly now to theinevitable climax in which I singlehanded will obliterate the terror ofthe not-world and return to our world a hero. I cannot understand yournot replying to my letters. I have given you a box number. What couldhave happened to your vibrations? Glmpauszn <doc-sep></s>

Blgftury is an alien of the same world as Glmpauszn and Joe, which is being semi-terrorized by intrusive vibrations from Earth (which they refer to as non-world) that pollute their world’s sentient frequency. Their world wishes to destroy all human life on Earth to become free from these intrusions. Blgftury is the boss of the other two, and Glmpauszn often refers to having to write reports for him begrudgingly to update on the status of the mission.Blgftury is not a supportive boss, because he wished to go on this mission himself. Glmpauszn describes that Blgftury gave him little praise, and even wrote thinly-veiled threats, in his response to Glmpauszn’s report on how he escaped the pursuit of the police when he was caught naked in public after forgetting humans need to put on clothes. Blgftury has the authority to take corrective action related to the mission, evidenced by how Glmpauszn doesn’t hesitate to forward him the letters from Joe that he finds offensive about asking for money and discussing “revolting bodily processes.” Blgftury has to pester Glmpauszn for reports when he begins to go off the plan and experiment with human feelings like falling in love and alcohol. Glmpauszn does finally successfully develop a mold that will kill all humans on Earth and sends detailed chemistry reports back to Blgftury on the subject. Blgftury spends a lot of time sending vibrations in the fringe area between Earth and their world, and by accident his vibrations are summoned by a spiritual medium into a white, shapeless cascade of light at a human seance gathering that Glmpauszn happens to be attending on Earth where he is fooling around with a red-headed woman in the corner of the room (flagrantly not doing the work of the mission) in full visibility to Blgftury. Blgftury responded with a pattern in his matrix that showed pain, anger, fear and amazement. Glmpauszn goes on to complete the mission and return with Joe to their home world without further interaction with Blgftury.

<s> The Haunted Fountain <doc-sep> id=chap01> CHAPTER I An Unsolved Mystery “Tell Judy about it,” begged Lois. “Please, Lorraine,it can’t be as bad as it appears. There isn’tanything that Judy can’t solve.” Lorraine tilted her head disdainfully. “We’re sistersnow. We’re both Farringdon-Petts and should beloyal to each other. But you always did take Judy’spart. She was the one who nearly spoiled our doublewedding trying to solve a mystery. I don’t believeshe’d understand—understand any better than I do.Everyone has problems, and I’m sure Judy is noexception.” “You’re right, Lorraine,” announced Judy, comingin to serve dessert to the two friends she had invitedfor lunch at Peter’s suggestion. “I do haveproblems, and there are plenty of mysteries I can’tsolve.” “Name one,” charged Lois. “Just mention onesingle spooky thing you couldn’t explain, and I’llbelieve you. I’ve seen you in action, Judy Bolton—” “Judy Dobbs, remember?” “Well, you were Judy Bolton when you solvedall those mysteries. I met you when the wholevalley below the big Roulsville dam was threatenedby flood and you solved that—” “That,” declared Judy, “was my brother Horace,not me. He was the hero without even meaning tobe. He was the one who rode through town andwarned people that the flood was coming. I was offchasing a shadow.” “A vanishing shadow,” Lois said with a sigh.“What you did wasn’t easy, Judy.” “It didn’t need to be as hard as it was,” Judy confessed.“I know now that keeping that promise notto talk about the dam was a great big mistake andcould have cost lives. I should have told Arthur.” “Please,” Lorraine said, a pained expression cloudingher pretty face, “let’s not talk about him now.” “Very well,” Judy agreed. “What shall we talkabout?” “You,” Lois said, “and all the mysteries you’vesolved. Maybe you were mistaken about a thing ortwo before the flood, but what about the haunted house you moved into? You were the one whotracked down the ghosts in the attic and the cellarand goodness knows where all. You’ve been chasingghosts ever since I met you, and not one of them didyou fail to explain in some sensible, logical fashion.” “Before I met you,” Judy said, thinking back,“there were plenty of them I couldn’t explain. Therewas one I used to call the spirit of the fountain, butwhat she was or how she spoke to me is more thanI know. If my grandparents knew, they weren’t telling.And now they’re both dead and I can’t ask them.They left me a lot of unsolved mysteries along withthis house. Maybe I’ll find the answers to some ofthem when I finish sorting Grandma’s things. They’restored in one end of the attic.” “Another haunted attic? How thrilling!” exclaimedLois. “Why don’t you have another ghost party andshow up the spooks?” “I didn’t say the attic was haunted.” Judy was almost sorry she had mentioned it. Shewasn’t in the mood for digging up old mysteries,but Lois and Lorraine insisted. It all began, she finallytold them, the summer before they met. Horacehad just started working on the paper. Judy rememberedthat it was Lorraine’s father, Richard ThorntonLee, who gave him his job with the FarringdonDaily Herald . He had turned in some interestingchurch news, convincing Mr. Lee that he had in him the makings of a good reporter. And so it was thathe spent the summer Judy was remembering in Farringdonwhere the Farringdon-Petts had their turretedmansion, while she had to suffer the heat andloneliness of Dry Brook Hollow. Her thoughts were what had made it so hard, sheconfessed now as she reviewed everything that hadhappened. She just couldn’t help resenting the factthat her parents left her every summer while theywent off on a vacation by themselves. What did theythink she would do? “You’ll have plenty to read,” her father had toldher. “I bought you six new books in that mysteryseries you like. When they’re finished there areplenty of short stories around. Your grandmothernever throws anything away. She has magazines she’ssaved since your mother was a girl. If you ask forthem she’ll let you have the whole stack. I know howyou love to read.” “I do, Dad, but if the magazines are that old—” Judy had stopped. She had seen her father’s tiredeyes and had realized that a busy doctor needed avacation much more than a schoolgirl who had toolittle to do. He and Judy’s mother usually went tothe beach hotel where they had honeymooned. Itwas a precious memory. Every summer Dr. Boltonand his wife relived it. And every summer Judywent to stay with her grandmother Smeed, whoscolded and fussed and tried to pretend she wasn’tglad to have her. “You here again?” she had greeted her that summer,and Judy hadn’t noticed her old eyes twinklingbehind her glasses. “What do you propose to do withyourself this time?” “Read,” Judy had told her. “Mom and Dad sayyou have a whole stack of old magazines—” “In the attic. Go up and look them over if youcan stand the heat.” Judy went, not to look over the old magazines somuch as to escape to a place where she could have agood cry. It was the summer before her fifteenthbirthday. In another year she would have outgrownher childish resentment of her parents’ vacation orbe grown up enough to ask them to let her have avacation of her own. In another year she wouldbe summering among the beautiful Thousand Islandsand solving a mystery to be known as the GhostParade . “A whole parade of ghosts,” Lois would be tellingher, “and you solved everything.” But then she didn’t even know Lois. She had noidea so many thrilling adventures awaited her. Thereseemed to be nothing—nothing—and so the tearscame and spilled over on one of the magazines. AsJudy wiped it away she noticed that it had fallenon a picture of a fountain. “A fountain with tears for water. How strange!”she remembered saying aloud. Judy had never seen a real fountain. The thrill ofwalking up to the door of the palatial Farringdon-Pettmansion was still ahead of her. On the lawn afountain still caught and held rainbows like thoseshe was to see on her honeymoon at Niagara Falls.But all that was in the future. If anyone had toldthe freckled-faced, pigtailed girl that she would oneday marry Peter Dobbs, she would have laughed intheir faces. “That tease!” For then she knew Peter only as an older boy whoused to tease her and call her carrot-top until one dayshe yelled back at him, “Carrot-tops are green and soare you!” Peter was to win Judy’s heart when he gave her akitten and suggested the name Blackberry for him.The kitten was now a dignified family cat. But thesummer Judy found the picture of a fountain andspilled tears on it she had no kitten. She had nothing,she confessed, not even a friend. It had helped topretend the fountain in the picture was filled withall the tears lonely girls like herself had ever cried. “But that would make it enchanted!” she had suddenlyexclaimed. “If I could find it I’d wish—” A step had sounded on the stairs. Judy rememberedit distinctly. She had turned to see her grandmother and to hear her say in her usual abrupt fashion,“Enchanted fountain, indeed! If you let peopleknow your wishes instead of muttering them toyourself, most of them aren’t so impossible.” “Were they?” asked Lois. She and Lorraine had listened to this much of whatJudy was telling them without interruption. “That’s the unsolved mystery,” Judy replied.“There weren’t any of them impossible.” And she went on to tell them how, the very nextday, her grandparents had taken her to a fountainexactly like the one in the picture. It was in the centerof a deep, circular pool with steps leading up to it.Beside the steps were smaller fountains with thewater spurting from the mouths of stone lions. Judyhad stared at them a moment and then climbed thesteps to the pool. “Am I dreaming?” she remembered saying aloud.“Is this beautiful fountain real?” A voice had answered, although she could see noone. “Make your wishes, Judy. Wish wisely. If youshed a tear in the fountain your wishes will surelycome true.” “A tear?” Judy had asked. “How can I shed atear when I’m happy? This is a wonderful place.” “Shed a tear in the fountain and your wishes willsurely come true,” the voice had repeated. “But what is there to cry about?” “You found plenty to cry about back at yourgrandmother’s house,” the mysterious voice had remindedher. “Weren’t you crying on my picture upthere in the attic?” “Then you—you are the fountain!” Judy rememberedexclaiming. “But a fountain doesn’t speak. Itdoesn’t have a voice.” “Wish wisely,” the voice from the fountain hadsaid in a mysterious whisper. <doc-sep> id=chap02> CHAPTER II If Wishes Came True “Did you?” Lois interrupted the story to ask excitedly.“Oh, Judy! Don’t keep us in suspense anylonger. What did you wish?” “Patience,” Judy said with a smile. “I’m comingto that.” First, she told her friends, she had to think of awise wish. There had been so much she wanted inthose early days before the flood. Dora Scott hadbeen her best friend in Roulsville, but she had movedaway. “You see,” she explained, “I made the mistake ofhaving just one best friend. There wasn’t anybodyin Dry Brook Hollow. I remember thinking of howlonely I was and how I wished for a friend or a sister, and suddenly a tear splashed in the water. It madelittle ripples. I thought I had to wish quickly beforethey vanished, and so I began naming the things Iwanted as fast as I could. I’m not sure they werewise wishes. They seem rather selfish to me, now. Iwasn’t thinking of anybody but me, Judy Bolton,and what I wanted. It wasn’t until after I began tothink of others that my wishes started to come true.” “But what were they?” Lois insisted. Lorraine seemed unusually quiet and thoughtful.Judy did not notice the fear in her eyes as she repliedairily, “Oh, didn’t I tell you? I wished for lotsof friends and a sister, and I wished I could marry aG-man and solve a lot of mysteries and that’s as faras I got when the ripples vanished. I thought thespell was broken and so I didn’t wish for anythingmore.” “Wasn’t there anything more you wanted?” Loisasked. “Of course,” replied Judy. “There were lots morethings. I wanted to go places, of course, and keeppets, and have a nice home, and—” “And your wishes all came true!” “Every one of them,” Judy agreed, “even the oneabout the sister. You see, it wasn’t a baby sister Iwanted. It was a sister near my own age. Thatseemed impossible at the time, but the future didhold a sister for me.” “It held one for me, too,” Lois said, squeezingLorraine’s hand under the table. “Don’t you thinksisters should tell each other their problems, Judy?” “Honey and I always do,” she replied “but thenit was different. I didn’t know I would marry Peteror that he would become a G-man, and he didn’tknow he had a sister. It is strange, isn’t it? But thestrangest thing of all was the fountain itself.” “Why?” asked Lorraine. “Do you still think it wasenchanted?” Lois laughed at this, but Judy was serious as sheanswered, “I was still little girl enough to think soat the time. I wandered around, growing verydrowsy. Then I found a hammock and climbed intoit. I must have gone to sleep, because I rememberwaking up and wondering if the voice in the fountainhad been a dream.” “A hammock?” Lois questioned. “Are you sure itwasn’t a flying carpet?” “No, it was a hammock all right,” Judy assuredher, laughing. “It was hung between two trees in abeautiful garden all enclosed in rose trellises thickwith roses. Did I tell you it was June?” “All the year around?” Again Lois laughed. But Lorraine said abruptly,“Let’s not talk about rose gardens in June. It’s a longway from June to December.” “Do you mean a garden changes? I know,” Judysaid, “but I think this one would be beautiful at anytime of the year. There were rhododendrons, too,and I don’t know how many different kinds of evergreens.I explored the garden all around the fountain.” “And then what happened?” Lorraine urged her. “Yes, yes. Go on,” entreated Lois. “I didn’t dreamyou’d kept anything that exciting a secret. Why didn’tyou try to solve the mystery?” “I think I would have tried,” Judy admitted, “ifI had been older or more experienced. I really shouldhave investigated it more thoroughly and learned thesecret of the fountain. But after the ripples wentaway it didn’t speak to me any more, and I didn’treally think it had heard my wishes. I was still wishingfor a friend when I met you, Lois. It did seemimpossible for us to be friends at first, didn’t it? Lorrainewas your friend.” “I did make trouble for you,” Lorraine remembered.“It was all because of my foolish jealousy.” “It was nothing compared to the trouble caused bythe Roulsville flood,” declared Judy. “After thatthings started happening so fast that I completelyforgot about the fountain. Honestly, Lois, I don’tbelieve I thought about it again until after we movedto Farringdon and I walked up to your door andsaw the fountain on your lawn.” “The Farringdon-Pett puddle, I always called it,”Lois said with a giggle. “I’ve seen lots nicer fountains.” “You have?” asked Judy. “Then maybe you’veseen the one I’ve been telling you about. I think thepicture of it is still in the attic. Come on up and I’llshow you.” Lois and Lorraine had finished their dessert whileJudy was telling them the story of the fountain.Somehow, she wasn’t hungry for hers. She hadtasted it too often while she was making it. “I’ll leave it for Blackberry,” she decided. Lois watched in amusement as the cat lapped upthe chocolate pudding after Judy had mixed it generouslywith cream. “Sometimes,” Judy said fondly, “Blackberry thinkshe’s a person. He eats everything we eat, includinglettuce. Do you mind if he comes with us, Lorraine?He wants to explore the attic, too.” “He’ll remember he’s a cat fast enough if thereare any mice up there,” Lois said with a giggle. Leaving the table, they all started upstairs withthe cat bounding ahead of them. In modernizing hergrandparents’ house to suit her own and Peter’stastes, Judy had seen to it that the old stair door wasremoved. But there was still a door closing off thenarrower stairs that led to the attic. Blackberryreached it first and yowled for Judy to open it. “He can read my mind. He always knows whereI’m going,” Judy said as the door creaked open andthe cat shot through it. A moment later a weird rollingnoise came from the floor above. “Come on. There’s nothing up here to be afraidof,” Judy urged her friends. “Maybe not, but I’m beginning to get the shivers,”confessed Lois as she followed Judy to the sewingroom at the top of the last flight of stairs. “So am I,” Lorraine admitted. “I’m not superstitiousabout black cats, but they are creepy. DoesBlackberry have to roll spools across the floor?” “Now he thinks he’s a kitten,” laughed Judy.Pausing at still another door that led to the darkerpart of the attic, she turned and said mysteriously,“Up here we can all turn back the clock. Does anybodycare to explore the past?” The exploration began enthusiastically with Judyrelating still more of what she remembered aboutthe fountain. “When I told Grandma about it she laughed andsaid I must have dreamed it. She said if wishes cametrue that easily she’d be living in a castle. But wouldshe?” Judy wondered. “When I first remember thishouse she was still burning kerosene lamps like thoseyou see on that high shelf by the window. I thinkshe and Grandpa like the way they lived withoutany modern conveniences or anything.” “I think so, too,” Lois agreed, looking around theold attic with a shiver. “It is strange they both diedthe same winter, isn’t it?” “Maybe they wanted it that way. Maybe theywished neither of them would outlive the other. Ifthey did wish in the fountain,” Judy went on morethoughtfully, “I’m sure that was one of their wishes.Another could have been to keep the good old days,as Grandma used to call them. That one came truein a way. They did manage to keep a little of thepast when they kept all these old things. That’s whatI meant about turning back the clock.” “If wishes came true I’d like to turn it back a littlemyself,” Lorraine began. “It would be nice if thingswere the way they used to be when I trustedArthur—” “Don’t you trust him now?” Judy asked. Afterwards she was sorry for the interruption. Loisand Judy both questioned Lorraine, but that was allshe would say. Judy wondered, as they searchedthrough the old magazines, what was wrong. Lorrainewas of a jealous disposition. Was the green-eyedmonster coming between her and her handsome husband,Arthur Farringdon-Pett? Until now they hadseemed blissfully happy. But there was no happinessin Lorraine’s face as she gazed at a picture of one ofthe fountains and then said in a tight little voice, “Itis. It’s the very same one.” “But that’s the picture I’ve been searching for!”Judy said eagerly. “Do you know where it is?” “I can’t be sure. But if it ever was enchanted, I’msure it isn’t now. Let’s go,” Lorraine said suddenlyto Lois. Judy knew she was suggesting a fast trip home.But, apparently, Lois did not understand it that way.If she did, she pretended not to. “Where?” she asked. “To the fountain? I’d loveto, wouldn’t you, Judy?” “I certainly would,” Judy replied enthusiastically.“Do you recognize it, too?” “I think so,” Lois answered after studying a littlemore closely the picture they had found. “It lookslike the fountain on the Brandt estate.” “The department store Brandts?” Judy questioned.“Then my grandparents must have driven old Fannyall the way to Farringdon.” “Not quite all the way,” Lorraine objected. “TheBrandts own that stretch of woods just before youcome into the city. You’ve passed it lots of times.” “Of course,” agreed Judy. She put the magazineback in its place under the eaves and turned eagerlyto her friends. “I do remember a road turning offinto the woods and going on uphill,” she told them.“I never thought it led to a house, though. Thereisn’t even a gate. Could that be the road my grandparentstook?” “Why don’t we take it ourselves and find out?”Lois suggested. <doc-sep></s>

Lois and Lorraine are having lunch at Judy’s house, speaking about how Judy nearly spoiled their double-wedding where they both became sisters under the name Farringdon-Petts by solving a mystery. Judy starts telling the story of the haunted fountain. She discovered a photo of a spectacular fountain in her grandmother’s hot attic one summer as she was stuck there for two weeks while her parents went on vacation. She shed a tear onto the photo while recalling her sadness about not having friends or a sister, and imagined the fountain was a place for lonely girls to fill with their tears. Her grandmother overhears her speaking aloud her wishes and calls that she shouldn’t keep her wishes to herself, because “most of them aren’t so impossible.”Judy’s grandparents take her to the fountain in the photo and it speaks to Judy, directing her to shed a tear into it and make wishes. Judy sheds a tear thinking about how her only friend just moved out of town and then hurries through her wishes before the ripples disappear - to have lots of friends, a sister, to marry a G-man and to solve a lot of mysteries. All things that have come true in her life.Abruptly returning to Judy’s modern timeline, she takes Lois and Lorraine to the attic. They are spooked by Judy’s black cat, Blackberry, who makes sudden noises. Judy finds the photo and Lorraine recognizes the fountain is identical to one on her estate - yet it is in a different location. They surmise that it is in the woods on the edge of town that are part of the Brandt estate, and drive to it immediately.During their adventure, Judy recalls more of her fountain memory. Her grandparents didn’t know the Brandt’s well enough to pay them a visit, but instead stopped by the fountain on their way to drop off her grandmother’s hooked rugs at the estate further up the path. Judy was left behind napping in a hammock - told by her grandparents they were getting her a surprise, but they didn’t return. She followed a path to an old windowless tower, but got distracted by the sound of her grandfather's cart leaving. This is all she recalls, but there is evidently more to discover that will solve the mystery.The trip to the fountain shakes the confidence of Lorraine in the back seat, who knows information about the new owners of the estate - Roger Banning - that she is withholding. Lois and Judy probe her about what she knows and why she ducked down to hide her face from a stranger passing in a car. Although Lorraine tells them about Roger, she does not reveal why she is afraid. Judy mentions knowing Roger’s pal Dick Hartwell, who is apparently in the Federal Penitentiary for forgery now. As they park and exit the car to walk to the fountain, two dark-coated strangers approach them. This is where the story ends.

<s> The Haunted Fountain <doc-sep> id=chap01> CHAPTER I An Unsolved Mystery “Tell Judy about it,” begged Lois. “Please, Lorraine,it can’t be as bad as it appears. There isn’tanything that Judy can’t solve.” Lorraine tilted her head disdainfully. “We’re sistersnow. We’re both Farringdon-Petts and should beloyal to each other. But you always did take Judy’spart. She was the one who nearly spoiled our doublewedding trying to solve a mystery. I don’t believeshe’d understand—understand any better than I do.Everyone has problems, and I’m sure Judy is noexception.” “You’re right, Lorraine,” announced Judy, comingin to serve dessert to the two friends she had invitedfor lunch at Peter’s suggestion. “I do haveproblems, and there are plenty of mysteries I can’tsolve.” “Name one,” charged Lois. “Just mention onesingle spooky thing you couldn’t explain, and I’llbelieve you. I’ve seen you in action, Judy Bolton—” “Judy Dobbs, remember?” “Well, you were Judy Bolton when you solvedall those mysteries. I met you when the wholevalley below the big Roulsville dam was threatenedby flood and you solved that—” “That,” declared Judy, “was my brother Horace,not me. He was the hero without even meaning tobe. He was the one who rode through town andwarned people that the flood was coming. I was offchasing a shadow.” “A vanishing shadow,” Lois said with a sigh.“What you did wasn’t easy, Judy.” “It didn’t need to be as hard as it was,” Judy confessed.“I know now that keeping that promise notto talk about the dam was a great big mistake andcould have cost lives. I should have told Arthur.” “Please,” Lorraine said, a pained expression cloudingher pretty face, “let’s not talk about him now.” “Very well,” Judy agreed. “What shall we talkabout?” “You,” Lois said, “and all the mysteries you’vesolved. Maybe you were mistaken about a thing ortwo before the flood, but what about the haunted house you moved into? You were the one whotracked down the ghosts in the attic and the cellarand goodness knows where all. You’ve been chasingghosts ever since I met you, and not one of them didyou fail to explain in some sensible, logical fashion.” “Before I met you,” Judy said, thinking back,“there were plenty of them I couldn’t explain. Therewas one I used to call the spirit of the fountain, butwhat she was or how she spoke to me is more thanI know. If my grandparents knew, they weren’t telling.And now they’re both dead and I can’t ask them.They left me a lot of unsolved mysteries along withthis house. Maybe I’ll find the answers to some ofthem when I finish sorting Grandma’s things. They’restored in one end of the attic.” “Another haunted attic? How thrilling!” exclaimedLois. “Why don’t you have another ghost party andshow up the spooks?” “I didn’t say the attic was haunted.” Judy was almost sorry she had mentioned it. Shewasn’t in the mood for digging up old mysteries,but Lois and Lorraine insisted. It all began, she finallytold them, the summer before they met. Horacehad just started working on the paper. Judy rememberedthat it was Lorraine’s father, Richard ThorntonLee, who gave him his job with the FarringdonDaily Herald . He had turned in some interestingchurch news, convincing Mr. Lee that he had in him the makings of a good reporter. And so it was thathe spent the summer Judy was remembering in Farringdonwhere the Farringdon-Petts had their turretedmansion, while she had to suffer the heat andloneliness of Dry Brook Hollow. Her thoughts were what had made it so hard, sheconfessed now as she reviewed everything that hadhappened. She just couldn’t help resenting the factthat her parents left her every summer while theywent off on a vacation by themselves. What did theythink she would do? “You’ll have plenty to read,” her father had toldher. “I bought you six new books in that mysteryseries you like. When they’re finished there areplenty of short stories around. Your grandmothernever throws anything away. She has magazines she’ssaved since your mother was a girl. If you ask forthem she’ll let you have the whole stack. I know howyou love to read.” “I do, Dad, but if the magazines are that old—” Judy had stopped. She had seen her father’s tiredeyes and had realized that a busy doctor needed avacation much more than a schoolgirl who had toolittle to do. He and Judy’s mother usually went tothe beach hotel where they had honeymooned. Itwas a precious memory. Every summer Dr. Boltonand his wife relived it. And every summer Judywent to stay with her grandmother Smeed, whoscolded and fussed and tried to pretend she wasn’tglad to have her. “You here again?” she had greeted her that summer,and Judy hadn’t noticed her old eyes twinklingbehind her glasses. “What do you propose to do withyourself this time?” “Read,” Judy had told her. “Mom and Dad sayyou have a whole stack of old magazines—” “In the attic. Go up and look them over if youcan stand the heat.” Judy went, not to look over the old magazines somuch as to escape to a place where she could have agood cry. It was the summer before her fifteenthbirthday. In another year she would have outgrownher childish resentment of her parents’ vacation orbe grown up enough to ask them to let her have avacation of her own. In another year she wouldbe summering among the beautiful Thousand Islandsand solving a mystery to be known as the GhostParade . “A whole parade of ghosts,” Lois would be tellingher, “and you solved everything.” But then she didn’t even know Lois. She had noidea so many thrilling adventures awaited her. Thereseemed to be nothing—nothing—and so the tearscame and spilled over on one of the magazines. AsJudy wiped it away she noticed that it had fallenon a picture of a fountain. “A fountain with tears for water. How strange!”she remembered saying aloud. Judy had never seen a real fountain. The thrill ofwalking up to the door of the palatial Farringdon-Pettmansion was still ahead of her. On the lawn afountain still caught and held rainbows like thoseshe was to see on her honeymoon at Niagara Falls.But all that was in the future. If anyone had toldthe freckled-faced, pigtailed girl that she would oneday marry Peter Dobbs, she would have laughed intheir faces. “That tease!” For then she knew Peter only as an older boy whoused to tease her and call her carrot-top until one dayshe yelled back at him, “Carrot-tops are green and soare you!” Peter was to win Judy’s heart when he gave her akitten and suggested the name Blackberry for him.The kitten was now a dignified family cat. But thesummer Judy found the picture of a fountain andspilled tears on it she had no kitten. She had nothing,she confessed, not even a friend. It had helped topretend the fountain in the picture was filled withall the tears lonely girls like herself had ever cried. “But that would make it enchanted!” she had suddenlyexclaimed. “If I could find it I’d wish—” A step had sounded on the stairs. Judy rememberedit distinctly. She had turned to see her grandmother and to hear her say in her usual abrupt fashion,“Enchanted fountain, indeed! If you let peopleknow your wishes instead of muttering them toyourself, most of them aren’t so impossible.” “Were they?” asked Lois. She and Lorraine had listened to this much of whatJudy was telling them without interruption. “That’s the unsolved mystery,” Judy replied.“There weren’t any of them impossible.” And she went on to tell them how, the very nextday, her grandparents had taken her to a fountainexactly like the one in the picture. It was in the centerof a deep, circular pool with steps leading up to it.Beside the steps were smaller fountains with thewater spurting from the mouths of stone lions. Judyhad stared at them a moment and then climbed thesteps to the pool. “Am I dreaming?” she remembered saying aloud.“Is this beautiful fountain real?” A voice had answered, although she could see noone. “Make your wishes, Judy. Wish wisely. If youshed a tear in the fountain your wishes will surelycome true.” “A tear?” Judy had asked. “How can I shed atear when I’m happy? This is a wonderful place.” “Shed a tear in the fountain and your wishes willsurely come true,” the voice had repeated. “But what is there to cry about?” “You found plenty to cry about back at yourgrandmother’s house,” the mysterious voice had remindedher. “Weren’t you crying on my picture upthere in the attic?” “Then you—you are the fountain!” Judy rememberedexclaiming. “But a fountain doesn’t speak. Itdoesn’t have a voice.” “Wish wisely,” the voice from the fountain hadsaid in a mysterious whisper. <doc-sep> id=chap02> CHAPTER II If Wishes Came True “Did you?” Lois interrupted the story to ask excitedly.“Oh, Judy! Don’t keep us in suspense anylonger. What did you wish?” “Patience,” Judy said with a smile. “I’m comingto that.” First, she told her friends, she had to think of awise wish. There had been so much she wanted inthose early days before the flood. Dora Scott hadbeen her best friend in Roulsville, but she had movedaway. “You see,” she explained, “I made the mistake ofhaving just one best friend. There wasn’t anybodyin Dry Brook Hollow. I remember thinking of howlonely I was and how I wished for a friend or a sister, and suddenly a tear splashed in the water. It madelittle ripples. I thought I had to wish quickly beforethey vanished, and so I began naming the things Iwanted as fast as I could. I’m not sure they werewise wishes. They seem rather selfish to me, now. Iwasn’t thinking of anybody but me, Judy Bolton,and what I wanted. It wasn’t until after I began tothink of others that my wishes started to come true.” “But what were they?” Lois insisted. Lorraine seemed unusually quiet and thoughtful.Judy did not notice the fear in her eyes as she repliedairily, “Oh, didn’t I tell you? I wished for lotsof friends and a sister, and I wished I could marry aG-man and solve a lot of mysteries and that’s as faras I got when the ripples vanished. I thought thespell was broken and so I didn’t wish for anythingmore.” “Wasn’t there anything more you wanted?” Loisasked. “Of course,” replied Judy. “There were lots morethings. I wanted to go places, of course, and keeppets, and have a nice home, and—” “And your wishes all came true!” “Every one of them,” Judy agreed, “even the oneabout the sister. You see, it wasn’t a baby sister Iwanted. It was a sister near my own age. Thatseemed impossible at the time, but the future didhold a sister for me.” “It held one for me, too,” Lois said, squeezingLorraine’s hand under the table. “Don’t you thinksisters should tell each other their problems, Judy?” “Honey and I always do,” she replied “but thenit was different. I didn’t know I would marry Peteror that he would become a G-man, and he didn’tknow he had a sister. It is strange, isn’t it? But thestrangest thing of all was the fountain itself.” “Why?” asked Lorraine. “Do you still think it wasenchanted?” Lois laughed at this, but Judy was serious as sheanswered, “I was still little girl enough to think soat the time. I wandered around, growing verydrowsy. Then I found a hammock and climbed intoit. I must have gone to sleep, because I rememberwaking up and wondering if the voice in the fountainhad been a dream.” “A hammock?” Lois questioned. “Are you sure itwasn’t a flying carpet?” “No, it was a hammock all right,” Judy assuredher, laughing. “It was hung between two trees in abeautiful garden all enclosed in rose trellises thickwith roses. Did I tell you it was June?” “All the year around?” Again Lois laughed. But Lorraine said abruptly,“Let’s not talk about rose gardens in June. It’s a longway from June to December.” “Do you mean a garden changes? I know,” Judysaid, “but I think this one would be beautiful at anytime of the year. There were rhododendrons, too,and I don’t know how many different kinds of evergreens.I explored the garden all around the fountain.” “And then what happened?” Lorraine urged her. “Yes, yes. Go on,” entreated Lois. “I didn’t dreamyou’d kept anything that exciting a secret. Why didn’tyou try to solve the mystery?” “I think I would have tried,” Judy admitted, “ifI had been older or more experienced. I really shouldhave investigated it more thoroughly and learned thesecret of the fountain. But after the ripples wentaway it didn’t speak to me any more, and I didn’treally think it had heard my wishes. I was still wishingfor a friend when I met you, Lois. It did seemimpossible for us to be friends at first, didn’t it? Lorrainewas your friend.” “I did make trouble for you,” Lorraine remembered.“It was all because of my foolish jealousy.” “It was nothing compared to the trouble caused bythe Roulsville flood,” declared Judy. “After thatthings started happening so fast that I completelyforgot about the fountain. Honestly, Lois, I don’tbelieve I thought about it again until after we movedto Farringdon and I walked up to your door andsaw the fountain on your lawn.” “The Farringdon-Pett puddle, I always called it,”Lois said with a giggle. “I’ve seen lots nicer fountains.” “You have?” asked Judy. “Then maybe you’veseen the one I’ve been telling you about. I think thepicture of it is still in the attic. Come on up and I’llshow you.” Lois and Lorraine had finished their dessert whileJudy was telling them the story of the fountain.Somehow, she wasn’t hungry for hers. She hadtasted it too often while she was making it. “I’ll leave it for Blackberry,” she decided. Lois watched in amusement as the cat lapped upthe chocolate pudding after Judy had mixed it generouslywith cream. “Sometimes,” Judy said fondly, “Blackberry thinkshe’s a person. He eats everything we eat, includinglettuce. Do you mind if he comes with us, Lorraine?He wants to explore the attic, too.” “He’ll remember he’s a cat fast enough if thereare any mice up there,” Lois said with a giggle. Leaving the table, they all started upstairs withthe cat bounding ahead of them. In modernizing hergrandparents’ house to suit her own and Peter’stastes, Judy had seen to it that the old stair door wasremoved. But there was still a door closing off thenarrower stairs that led to the attic. Blackberryreached it first and yowled for Judy to open it. “He can read my mind. He always knows whereI’m going,” Judy said as the door creaked open andthe cat shot through it. A moment later a weird rollingnoise came from the floor above. “Come on. There’s nothing up here to be afraidof,” Judy urged her friends. “Maybe not, but I’m beginning to get the shivers,”confessed Lois as she followed Judy to the sewingroom at the top of the last flight of stairs. “So am I,” Lorraine admitted. “I’m not superstitiousabout black cats, but they are creepy. DoesBlackberry have to roll spools across the floor?” “Now he thinks he’s a kitten,” laughed Judy.Pausing at still another door that led to the darkerpart of the attic, she turned and said mysteriously,“Up here we can all turn back the clock. Does anybodycare to explore the past?” The exploration began enthusiastically with Judyrelating still more of what she remembered aboutthe fountain. “When I told Grandma about it she laughed andsaid I must have dreamed it. She said if wishes cametrue that easily she’d be living in a castle. But wouldshe?” Judy wondered. “When I first remember thishouse she was still burning kerosene lamps like thoseyou see on that high shelf by the window. I thinkshe and Grandpa like the way they lived withoutany modern conveniences or anything.” “I think so, too,” Lois agreed, looking around theold attic with a shiver. “It is strange they both diedthe same winter, isn’t it?” “Maybe they wanted it that way. Maybe theywished neither of them would outlive the other. Ifthey did wish in the fountain,” Judy went on morethoughtfully, “I’m sure that was one of their wishes.Another could have been to keep the good old days,as Grandma used to call them. That one came truein a way. They did manage to keep a little of thepast when they kept all these old things. That’s whatI meant about turning back the clock.” “If wishes came true I’d like to turn it back a littlemyself,” Lorraine began. “It would be nice if thingswere the way they used to be when I trustedArthur—” “Don’t you trust him now?” Judy asked. Afterwards she was sorry for the interruption. Loisand Judy both questioned Lorraine, but that was allshe would say. Judy wondered, as they searchedthrough the old magazines, what was wrong. Lorrainewas of a jealous disposition. Was the green-eyedmonster coming between her and her handsome husband,Arthur Farringdon-Pett? Until now they hadseemed blissfully happy. But there was no happinessin Lorraine’s face as she gazed at a picture of one ofthe fountains and then said in a tight little voice, “Itis. It’s the very same one.” “But that’s the picture I’ve been searching for!”Judy said eagerly. “Do you know where it is?” “I can’t be sure. But if it ever was enchanted, I’msure it isn’t now. Let’s go,” Lorraine said suddenlyto Lois. Judy knew she was suggesting a fast trip home.But, apparently, Lois did not understand it that way.If she did, she pretended not to. “Where?” she asked. “To the fountain? I’d loveto, wouldn’t you, Judy?” “I certainly would,” Judy replied enthusiastically.“Do you recognize it, too?” “I think so,” Lois answered after studying a littlemore closely the picture they had found. “It lookslike the fountain on the Brandt estate.” “The department store Brandts?” Judy questioned.“Then my grandparents must have driven old Fannyall the way to Farringdon.” “Not quite all the way,” Lorraine objected. “TheBrandts own that stretch of woods just before youcome into the city. You’ve passed it lots of times.” “Of course,” agreed Judy. She put the magazineback in its place under the eaves and turned eagerlyto her friends. “I do remember a road turning offinto the woods and going on uphill,” she told them.“I never thought it led to a house, though. Thereisn’t even a gate. Could that be the road my grandparentstook?” “Why don’t we take it ourselves and find out?”Lois suggested. <doc-sep></s>

The story opens at Judy’s house as she has Lois and Lorraine over for lunch. Judy’s lives in her grandparents' old house that she modernized with her husband, Peter. The house has an attic that is up a narrow set of stairs with a door at the top. They have a black cat named Blackberry that spooks her friends because it is creepy when it makes unexpected noises in the attic.When Judy is recalling the story of the fountain, the narrative bounces back and forth into their present reality as Lois and Lorraine ask questions.In Judy’s recalled story, she is a young red-haired girl with no friends who spends two weeks in the summer with her grandparents at their home. They have a hot attic filled with keepsakes and old reading materials, most notably a picture of a fountain that Judy’s grandmother later brings her to. The fountain was centered in a deep, circular pool, and had steps leading up to it that were bordered with smaller fountains of lions with water spurting out of the mouths. Judy thinks it could be a beautiful location at any time of the year, surrounded by lush vegetation like rhododendrons and evergreens. From the fountain there was a path leading to a windowless old tower that was populated by cupids and gnomes that peered out at Judy.Back in modern day, when Judy, Lois and Lorraine go looking for the fountain, the tower is still visible, and Lorraine describes it as something out of “Grimm’s Fairy Tales.” The friends visit it on a day where the trees are leafless in the woods, making the rhododendrons appear vibrantly green, under a gray sky. They do not actually reach the fountain in the story, but they do pass several posted signs for “NO TRESPASSING” along the wooded road.

<s> id=chap01> CHAPTER I An Unsolved Mystery “Tell Judy about it,” begged Lois. “Please, Lorraine,it can’t be as bad as it appears. There isn’tanything that Judy can’t solve.” Lorraine tilted her head disdainfully. “We’re sistersnow. We’re both Farringdon-Petts and should beloyal to each other. But you always did take Judy’spart. She was the one who nearly spoiled our doublewedding trying to solve a mystery. I don’t believeshe’d understand—understand any better than I do.Everyone has problems, and I’m sure Judy is noexception.” “You’re right, Lorraine,” announced Judy, comingin to serve dessert to the two friends she had invitedfor lunch at Peter’s suggestion. “I do haveproblems, and there are plenty of mysteries I can’tsolve.” “Name one,” charged Lois. “Just mention onesingle spooky thing you couldn’t explain, and I’llbelieve you. I’ve seen you in action, Judy Bolton—” “Judy Dobbs, remember?” “Well, you were Judy Bolton when you solvedall those mysteries. I met you when the wholevalley below the big Roulsville dam was threatenedby flood and you solved that—” “That,” declared Judy, “was my brother Horace,not me. He was the hero without even meaning tobe. He was the one who rode through town andwarned people that the flood was coming. I was offchasing a shadow.” “A vanishing shadow,” Lois said with a sigh.“What you did wasn’t easy, Judy.” “It didn’t need to be as hard as it was,” Judy confessed.“I know now that keeping that promise notto talk about the dam was a great big mistake andcould have cost lives. I should have told Arthur.” “Please,” Lorraine said, a pained expression cloudingher pretty face, “let’s not talk about him now.” “Very well,” Judy agreed. “What shall we talkabout?” “You,” Lois said, “and all the mysteries you’vesolved. Maybe you were mistaken about a thing ortwo before the flood, but what about the haunted house you moved into? You were the one whotracked down the ghosts in the attic and the cellarand goodness knows where all. You’ve been chasingghosts ever since I met you, and not one of them didyou fail to explain in some sensible, logical fashion.” “Before I met you,” Judy said, thinking back,“there were plenty of them I couldn’t explain. Therewas one I used to call the spirit of the fountain, butwhat she was or how she spoke to me is more thanI know. If my grandparents knew, they weren’t telling.And now they’re both dead and I can’t ask them.They left me a lot of unsolved mysteries along withthis house. Maybe I’ll find the answers to some ofthem when I finish sorting Grandma’s things. They’restored in one end of the attic.” “Another haunted attic? How thrilling!” exclaimedLois. “Why don’t you have another ghost party andshow up the spooks?” “I didn’t say the attic was haunted.” Judy was almost sorry she had mentioned it. Shewasn’t in the mood for digging up old mysteries,but Lois and Lorraine insisted. It all began, she finallytold them, the summer before they met. Horacehad just started working on the paper. Judy rememberedthat it was Lorraine’s father, Richard ThorntonLee, who gave him his job with the FarringdonDaily Herald . He had turned in some interestingchurch news, convincing Mr. Lee that he had in him the makings of a good reporter. And so it was thathe spent the summer Judy was remembering in Farringdonwhere the Farringdon-Petts had their turretedmansion, while she had to suffer the heat andloneliness of Dry Brook Hollow. Her thoughts were what had made it so hard, sheconfessed now as she reviewed everything that hadhappened. She just couldn’t help resenting the factthat her parents left her every summer while theywent off on a vacation by themselves. What did theythink she would do? “You’ll have plenty to read,” her father had toldher. “I bought you six new books in that mysteryseries you like. When they’re finished there areplenty of short stories around. Your grandmothernever throws anything away. She has magazines she’ssaved since your mother was a girl. If you ask forthem she’ll let you have the whole stack. I know howyou love to read.” “I do, Dad, but if the magazines are that old—” Judy had stopped. She had seen her father’s tiredeyes and had realized that a busy doctor needed avacation much more than a schoolgirl who had toolittle to do. He and Judy’s mother usually went tothe beach hotel where they had honeymooned. Itwas a precious memory. Every summer Dr. Boltonand his wife relived it. And every summer Judywent to stay with her grandmother Smeed, whoscolded and fussed and tried to pretend she wasn’tglad to have her. “You here again?” she had greeted her that summer,and Judy hadn’t noticed her old eyes twinklingbehind her glasses. “What do you propose to do withyourself this time?” “Read,” Judy had told her. “Mom and Dad sayyou have a whole stack of old magazines—” “In the attic. Go up and look them over if youcan stand the heat.” Judy went, not to look over the old magazines somuch as to escape to a place where she could have agood cry. It was the summer before her fifteenthbirthday. In another year she would have outgrownher childish resentment of her parents’ vacation orbe grown up enough to ask them to let her have avacation of her own. In another year she wouldbe summering among the beautiful Thousand Islandsand solving a mystery to be known as the GhostParade . “A whole parade of ghosts,” Lois would be tellingher, “and you solved everything.” But then she didn’t even know Lois. She had noidea so many thrilling adventures awaited her. Thereseemed to be nothing—nothing—and so the tearscame and spilled over on one of the magazines. AsJudy wiped it away she noticed that it had fallenon a picture of a fountain. “A fountain with tears for water. How strange!”she remembered saying aloud. Judy had never seen a real fountain. The thrill ofwalking up to the door of the palatial Farringdon-Pettmansion was still ahead of her. On the lawn afountain still caught and held rainbows like thoseshe was to see on her honeymoon at Niagara Falls.But all that was in the future. If anyone had toldthe freckled-faced, pigtailed girl that she would oneday marry Peter Dobbs, she would have laughed intheir faces. “That tease!” For then she knew Peter only as an older boy whoused to tease her and call her carrot-top until one dayshe yelled back at him, “Carrot-tops are green and soare you!” Peter was to win Judy’s heart when he gave her akitten and suggested the name Blackberry for him.The kitten was now a dignified family cat. But thesummer Judy found the picture of a fountain andspilled tears on it she had no kitten. She had nothing,she confessed, not even a friend. It had helped topretend the fountain in the picture was filled withall the tears lonely girls like herself had ever cried. “But that would make it enchanted!” she had suddenlyexclaimed. “If I could find it I’d wish—” A step had sounded on the stairs. Judy rememberedit distinctly. She had turned to see her grandmother and to hear her say in her usual abrupt fashion,“Enchanted fountain, indeed! If you let peopleknow your wishes instead of muttering them toyourself, most of them aren’t so impossible.” “Were they?” asked Lois. She and Lorraine had listened to this much of whatJudy was telling them without interruption. “That’s the unsolved mystery,” Judy replied.“There weren’t any of them impossible.” And she went on to tell them how, the very nextday, her grandparents had taken her to a fountainexactly like the one in the picture. It was in the centerof a deep, circular pool with steps leading up to it.Beside the steps were smaller fountains with thewater spurting from the mouths of stone lions. Judyhad stared at them a moment and then climbed thesteps to the pool. “Am I dreaming?” she remembered saying aloud.“Is this beautiful fountain real?” A voice had answered, although she could see noone. “Make your wishes, Judy. Wish wisely. If youshed a tear in the fountain your wishes will surelycome true.” “A tear?” Judy had asked. “How can I shed atear when I’m happy? This is a wonderful place.” “Shed a tear in the fountain and your wishes willsurely come true,” the voice had repeated. “But what is there to cry about?” “You found plenty to cry about back at yourgrandmother’s house,” the mysterious voice had remindedher. “Weren’t you crying on my picture upthere in the attic?” “Then you—you are the fountain!” Judy rememberedexclaiming. “But a fountain doesn’t speak. Itdoesn’t have a voice.” “Wish wisely,” the voice from the fountain hadsaid in a mysterious whisper. <doc-sep> id=chap02> CHAPTER II If Wishes Came True “Did you?” Lois interrupted the story to ask excitedly.“Oh, Judy! Don’t keep us in suspense anylonger. What did you wish?” “Patience,” Judy said with a smile. “I’m comingto that.” First, she told her friends, she had to think of awise wish. There had been so much she wanted inthose early days before the flood. Dora Scott hadbeen her best friend in Roulsville, but she had movedaway. “You see,” she explained, “I made the mistake ofhaving just one best friend. There wasn’t anybodyin Dry Brook Hollow. I remember thinking of howlonely I was and how I wished for a friend or a sister, and suddenly a tear splashed in the water. It madelittle ripples. I thought I had to wish quickly beforethey vanished, and so I began naming the things Iwanted as fast as I could. I’m not sure they werewise wishes. They seem rather selfish to me, now. Iwasn’t thinking of anybody but me, Judy Bolton,and what I wanted. It wasn’t until after I began tothink of others that my wishes started to come true.” “But what were they?” Lois insisted. Lorraine seemed unusually quiet and thoughtful.Judy did not notice the fear in her eyes as she repliedairily, “Oh, didn’t I tell you? I wished for lotsof friends and a sister, and I wished I could marry aG-man and solve a lot of mysteries and that’s as faras I got when the ripples vanished. I thought thespell was broken and so I didn’t wish for anythingmore.” “Wasn’t there anything more you wanted?” Loisasked. “Of course,” replied Judy. “There were lots morethings. I wanted to go places, of course, and keeppets, and have a nice home, and—” “And your wishes all came true!” “Every one of them,” Judy agreed, “even the oneabout the sister. You see, it wasn’t a baby sister Iwanted. It was a sister near my own age. Thatseemed impossible at the time, but the future didhold a sister for me.” “It held one for me, too,” Lois said, squeezingLorraine’s hand under the table. “Don’t you thinksisters should tell each other their problems, Judy?” “Honey and I always do,” she replied “but thenit was different. I didn’t know I would marry Peteror that he would become a G-man, and he didn’tknow he had a sister. It is strange, isn’t it? But thestrangest thing of all was the fountain itself.” “Why?” asked Lorraine. “Do you still think it wasenchanted?” Lois laughed at this, but Judy was serious as sheanswered, “I was still little girl enough to think soat the time. I wandered around, growing verydrowsy. Then I found a hammock and climbed intoit. I must have gone to sleep, because I rememberwaking up and wondering if the voice in the fountainhad been a dream.” “A hammock?” Lois questioned. “Are you sure itwasn’t a flying carpet?” “No, it was a hammock all right,” Judy assuredher, laughing. “It was hung between two trees in abeautiful garden all enclosed in rose trellises thickwith roses. Did I tell you it was June?” “All the year around?” Again Lois laughed. But Lorraine said abruptly,“Let’s not talk about rose gardens in June. It’s a longway from June to December.” “Do you mean a garden changes? I know,” Judysaid, “but I think this one would be beautiful at anytime of the year. There were rhododendrons, too,and I don’t know how many different kinds of evergreens.I explored the garden all around the fountain.” “And then what happened?” Lorraine urged her. “Yes, yes. Go on,” entreated Lois. “I didn’t dreamyou’d kept anything that exciting a secret. Why didn’tyou try to solve the mystery?” “I think I would have tried,” Judy admitted, “ifI had been older or more experienced. I really shouldhave investigated it more thoroughly and learned thesecret of the fountain. But after the ripples wentaway it didn’t speak to me any more, and I didn’treally think it had heard my wishes. I was still wishingfor a friend when I met you, Lois. It did seemimpossible for us to be friends at first, didn’t it? Lorrainewas your friend.” “I did make trouble for you,” Lorraine remembered.“It was all because of my foolish jealousy.” “It was nothing compared to the trouble caused bythe Roulsville flood,” declared Judy. “After thatthings started happening so fast that I completelyforgot about the fountain. Honestly, Lois, I don’tbelieve I thought about it again until after we movedto Farringdon and I walked up to your door andsaw the fountain on your lawn.” “The Farringdon-Pett puddle, I always called it,”Lois said with a giggle. “I’ve seen lots nicer fountains.” “You have?” asked Judy. “Then maybe you’veseen the one I’ve been telling you about. I think thepicture of it is still in the attic. Come on up and I’llshow you.” Lois and Lorraine had finished their dessert whileJudy was telling them the story of the fountain.Somehow, she wasn’t hungry for hers. She hadtasted it too often while she was making it. “I’ll leave it for Blackberry,” she decided. Lois watched in amusement as the cat lapped upthe chocolate pudding after Judy had mixed it generouslywith cream. “Sometimes,” Judy said fondly, “Blackberry thinkshe’s a person. He eats everything we eat, includinglettuce. Do you mind if he comes with us, Lorraine?He wants to explore the attic, too.” “He’ll remember he’s a cat fast enough if thereare any mice up there,” Lois said with a giggle. Leaving the table, they all started upstairs withthe cat bounding ahead of them. In modernizing hergrandparents’ house to suit her own and Peter’stastes, Judy had seen to it that the old stair door wasremoved. But there was still a door closing off thenarrower stairs that led to the attic. Blackberryreached it first and yowled for Judy to open it. “He can read my mind. He always knows whereI’m going,” Judy said as the door creaked open andthe cat shot through it. A moment later a weird rollingnoise came from the floor above. “Come on. There’s nothing up here to be afraidof,” Judy urged her friends. “Maybe not, but I’m beginning to get the shivers,”confessed Lois as she followed Judy to the sewingroom at the top of the last flight of stairs. “So am I,” Lorraine admitted. “I’m not superstitiousabout black cats, but they are creepy. DoesBlackberry have to roll spools across the floor?” “Now he thinks he’s a kitten,” laughed Judy.Pausing at still another door that led to the darkerpart of the attic, she turned and said mysteriously,“Up here we can all turn back the clock. Does anybodycare to explore the past?” The exploration began enthusiastically with Judyrelating still more of what she remembered aboutthe fountain. “When I told Grandma about it she laughed andsaid I must have dreamed it. She said if wishes cametrue that easily she’d be living in a castle. But wouldshe?” Judy wondered. “When I first remember thishouse she was still burning kerosene lamps like thoseyou see on that high shelf by the window. I thinkshe and Grandpa like the way they lived withoutany modern conveniences or anything.” “I think so, too,” Lois agreed, looking around theold attic with a shiver. “It is strange they both diedthe same winter, isn’t it?” “Maybe they wanted it that way. Maybe theywished neither of them would outlive the other. Ifthey did wish in the fountain,” Judy went on morethoughtfully, “I’m sure that was one of their wishes.Another could have been to keep the good old days,as Grandma used to call them. That one came truein a way. They did manage to keep a little of thepast when they kept all these old things. That’s whatI meant about turning back the clock.” “If wishes came true I’d like to turn it back a littlemyself,” Lorraine began. “It would be nice if thingswere the way they used to be when I trustedArthur—” “Don’t you trust him now?” Judy asked. Afterwards she was sorry for the interruption. Loisand Judy both questioned Lorraine, but that was allshe would say. Judy wondered, as they searchedthrough the old magazines, what was wrong. Lorrainewas of a jealous disposition. Was the green-eyedmonster coming between her and her handsome husband,Arthur Farringdon-Pett? Until now they hadseemed blissfully happy. But there was no happinessin Lorraine’s face as she gazed at a picture of one ofthe fountains and then said in a tight little voice, “Itis. It’s the very same one.” “But that’s the picture I’ve been searching for!”Judy said eagerly. “Do you know where it is?” “I can’t be sure. But if it ever was enchanted, I’msure it isn’t now. Let’s go,” Lorraine said suddenlyto Lois. Judy knew she was suggesting a fast trip home.But, apparently, Lois did not understand it that way.If she did, she pretended not to. “Where?” she asked. “To the fountain? I’d loveto, wouldn’t you, Judy?” “I certainly would,” Judy replied enthusiastically.“Do you recognize it, too?” “I think so,” Lois answered after studying a littlemore closely the picture they had found. “It lookslike the fountain on the Brandt estate.” “The department store Brandts?” Judy questioned.“Then my grandparents must have driven old Fannyall the way to Farringdon.” “Not quite all the way,” Lorraine objected. “TheBrandts own that stretch of woods just before youcome into the city. You’ve passed it lots of times.” “Of course,” agreed Judy. She put the magazineback in its place under the eaves and turned eagerlyto her friends. “I do remember a road turning offinto the woods and going on uphill,” she told them.“I never thought it led to a house, though. Thereisn’t even a gate. Could that be the road my grandparentstook?” “Why don’t we take it ourselves and find out?”Lois suggested. <doc-sep> id=chap03> CHAPTER III A Strange Encounter Lorraine was not too enthusiastic about the proposedtrip to the Brandt estate. Finally she agreed toit under one condition. They were not to drive allthe way to the house which, she said, was just overthe hilltop. They were to park the car where noone would see it and follow the path to the fountain. “But suppose we can’t find the path?” asked Judy. “You’ll remember it, won’t you?” Judy thought she would, but she wasn’t too sure.She and Lois both argued that it would be better toinquire at the house. Lois knew Helen Brandt slightly. “She’d be glad to show us around. This way itlooks as if we’re planning a crime,” Lois said as theystarted off in the blue car she was driving. It was a neat little car, not too conspicuous, andeasy to park in out-of-the-way places. Judy laughedand said if they did find the fountain she thoughtshe’d wish for one exactly like it. “Well, you know what your grandmother saidabout wishes, don’t you?” Lorraine asked. “If youlet people know about them instead of mutteringthem to yourself most of them aren’t so impossible.” “Quite true,” Judy agreed. “I’ll let Peter knowabout this one. He’s my Santa Claus, and it will soonbe Christmas. Maybe I should have worn the furcoat he gave me last year.” “Your reversible’s better in case it rains. It’s toowarm for snow. We picked a perfect day for thistrip,” Lois continued, guiding the car around curvesas it climbed the steep hill beyond Dry Brook Hollow. The trip was a short one. In twenty minutes theyhad covered the distance that had seemed such along way to Judy when she was riding in her grandfather’swagon. “I’ve been thinking about it,” she said, “and I’vejust about figured out how it happened. I didn’tthink my grandparents knew the Brandts well enoughto pay them a visit, though. We must have lookedqueer driving up to a beautiful estate in Grandpa’sold farm wagon. I do remember that Grandma had some hooked rugs to deliver. But that still doesn’texplain what happened afterwards. When I wokeup in the hammock I was alone in the garden. Horse,wagon, grandparents—all had disappeared.” “How could they?” asked Lois. “Anyway,” Lorraine began, “you had a chance tosee how beautiful everything was before—” Again she broke off as if there were somethingshe wanted to tell but didn’t quite dare. “Before what?” questioned Judy. “Oh, nothing. Forget I said anything about it. Youwere telling us how you woke up in the hammock,but you never did explain how you got back home,”Lorraine reminded her. “Didn’t I?” asked Judy. “I’d forgotten a lot of it,but it’s beginning to come back now. I do rememberdriving home along this road. You see, I thought mygrandparents had left me in the garden for a surpriseand would return for me. I told you I was all alone.There wasn’t a house in sight.” “The Brandt house is just over the top of this nexthill,” Lois put in. “I know. You told me that. Now I know why Icouldn’t see it. All I could see was a windowless oldtower and a path leading in that direction. Naturally,I followed it. There’s something about a path inthe woods that always tempts me.” “We know that, Judy. Honey told us all aboutyour latest mystery. You followed a trail or something.” “Well, this trail led out of the rose garden wherethe hammock was and then through an archway,”Judy continued. “All sorts of little cupids and gnomespeered out at me from unexpected places. I wasactually scared by the time I reached the old tower.There wasn’t time to explore it. Just then I heardthe rumble of my grandfather’s wagon and knew hewas driving off without me.” “He was!” Judy’s friends both chorused in surprise,and Lois asked, “Why would he do a thing likethat?” “I think now it was just to tease me. He did stopand wait for me after a while,” Judy remembered.“The rugs were gone. Grandma must have deliveredthem, but I didn’t ask where. If she made them forMrs. Brandt they may still be there.” “I wouldn’t depend on it,” Lorraine said as theyturned up the narrow road to the Brandt estate. “Watch out!” Judy suddenly exclaimed. “There’sanother car coming.” As Lois swerved to avoid the oncoming car, Lorraineducked her head. She kept herself hidden behindJudy until the car had passed. The man drivingit was a stranger to Judy, but she would rememberhis hypnotic, dark eyes and swarthy complexion for along time. The soft brown hat he was wearing coveredmost of his hair. “What’s the matter with you two?” asked Loiswhen the car had passed. “Aren’t you a little old forplaying hide and seek?” “I wasn’t—playing. Let’s not go up there,” Lorrainebegged. “I don’t think the Brandts live thereany more.” “Maybe not, but we can pretend we think they do,can’t we?” Judy replied a little uncertainly. She was beginning to suspect that Lorraine knewmore about the Brandt estate than she was telling. Lois kept on driving along the narrow, gravellyroad. Soon there were more evergreens and a hedgeof rhododendrons to be seen. They looked verygreen next to the leafless trees in the woods beyond.The sky was gray with white clouds being drivenacross it by the wind. “There’s the tower!” Lorraine exclaimed. “I cansee it over to the left. It looks like something out ofGrimm’s Fairy Tales, doesn’t it?” “It looks grim all right,” agreed Judy. “I wonderwhat it is.” “I suppose it’s nothing but an old water tower. Itwould be fun to explore it, though,” Lois said. “Butif there are new people living here they’ll never giveus permission.” “We might explore it without permission,” Judysuggested daringly. “Come on!” she urged her friendsas Lois parked the car in a cleared place beside theroad. “Who’s going to stop us? And who wants toexplore a gloomy old tower, anyway? Let’s look forthe fountain.” “Do you think we should?” Lorraine asked. “Itwon’t be enchanted. I told you—” “You told us very little,” Lois reminded her. “Ifyou know anything about the people who live herenow, I think you ought to let us know. Otherwise,I’m afraid we won’t be very welcome.” “I don’t think they’ll welcome us, anyway. I doknow who they are,” Lorraine admitted. “You rememberRoger Banning from school, don’t you?I’ve seen him around here. His family must haveacquired sudden wealth, or else he’s just working onthe estate.” “Then you’ve been here lately? Why didn’t youtell me?” asked Lois. “We always used to go placestogether.” “It wasn’t important,” Lorraine replied evasively.“I was just out for a drive.” “You plutocrats!” laughed Judy. “Each with acar of your own. You’re not interested in RogerBanning, are you, Lois? I’m sure you can do betterthan that. I did know him slightly, but not fromschool. The boys and girls were separated and wentto different high schools by the time we moved to Farringdon. I remember his pal, Dick Hartwell, alot better. He was in our young people’s group atchurch.” “Sh!” Lois cautioned her. “Nice people no longermention Dick Hartwell’s name. He’s doing time.” “For what?” asked Judy. Like Peter, her FBI husband, she preferred factsto gossip. “Forgery, I guess. He stole some checkbooks fromhis father’s desk and forged the names of a lot of importantbusiness people. I think he forged some legaldocuments, too. Anyway, he went to the Federal Penitentiary.It was all in the papers,” Lorraine told her. Now Judy did remember. It was something shewould have preferred to forget. She liked to thinkshe was a good judge of character, and she had takenDick Hartwell for a quiet, refined boy who wouldnever stoop to crime. “I don’t see what all this has to do with the fountain,”Lois said impatiently. “Are we going to lookfor it, or aren’t we?” “Of course we are. That’s what we came for. Ijust like to know what a tiger looks like before hesprings at me,” Judy explained. “You seem to think there’s danger in this expeditionof ours, don’t you?” asked Lorraine. “I don’t know what to think. You’re the one whoseems to know the answers, but you’re not telling. Hiding your face back there gave you away. You’veseen that character who drove down this road and,for some reason, you were afraid he would see you.Why, Lorraine? Why didn’t you want to be recognized?” Lorraine hesitated a moment and then repliedevasively, “People don’t generally enter privateestates without an invitation. That’s all.” “I’d better turn the car around,” Lois decided,“in case we have to leave in a hurry. I don’t expectwe’ll encounter any tigers, but we may be accusedof trespassing.” “I’m sure we will be,” announced Judy as twodark-coated figures strode down the road towardthem. “You drove right by a NO TRESPASSING sign,and this isn’t a welcoming committee coming tomeet us!” <doc-sep></s>

Judy was a freckled-faced, pigtailed girl that spent two weeks every summer with her grandmother, Smeed, and grandfather while her parents went on vacation to a beach hotel they honeymooned at many years ago. Judy resented being left behind by her parents. However, during one summer with her grandparents, they took her to an enchanted fountain that Judy found a photo of in their attic. The fountain spoke to Judy and asked her to shed a tear into the fountain and make wishes. All of the things that Judy wished for in her life came true - to have a lot of friends, a sister, to marry a G-man and to solve a lot of mysteries. In the telling of the story, Judy is older, married, and has a sister Lois (by way of Judy’s marriage to her brother), and another close friend like a sister, Lorraine (by way of her marrying into the same family as Lois - the Farringdon-Petts). Judy shows modesty by bringing up the mysteries she never solved when Lois and Lorraine shower her with compliments. Judy’s grandparents have since passed, but she lives in their home and keeps their belongings in the attic, showing her connection with family. Judy (maiden name Bolten) is married to Peter Dobbs, an FBI agent, and she prefers to discuss facts instead of gossiping about hear-say with Lois and Lorraine. Judy is diligent in asking questions about Lorraine’s behavior when she ducks down in the car to hide her face from a passing stranger, and probes her to tell the truth about knowing who the new owner of the Brandt estate is - Roger Banning. Her wit is sharp, and she comes across as determined and willing to take risks to solve her mysteries (like passing no trespassing signs in broad daylight after they have already been spotted by a stranger).

<s> id=chap01> CHAPTER I An Unsolved Mystery “Tell Judy about it,” begged Lois. “Please, Lorraine,it can’t be as bad as it appears. There isn’tanything that Judy can’t solve.” Lorraine tilted her head disdainfully. “We’re sistersnow. We’re both Farringdon-Petts and should beloyal to each other. But you always did take Judy’spart. She was the one who nearly spoiled our doublewedding trying to solve a mystery. I don’t believeshe’d understand—understand any better than I do.Everyone has problems, and I’m sure Judy is noexception.” “You’re right, Lorraine,” announced Judy, comingin to serve dessert to the two friends she had invitedfor lunch at Peter’s suggestion. “I do haveproblems, and there are plenty of mysteries I can’tsolve.” “Name one,” charged Lois. “Just mention onesingle spooky thing you couldn’t explain, and I’llbelieve you. I’ve seen you in action, Judy Bolton—” “Judy Dobbs, remember?” “Well, you were Judy Bolton when you solvedall those mysteries. I met you when the wholevalley below the big Roulsville dam was threatenedby flood and you solved that—” “That,” declared Judy, “was my brother Horace,not me. He was the hero without even meaning tobe. He was the one who rode through town andwarned people that the flood was coming. I was offchasing a shadow.” “A vanishing shadow,” Lois said with a sigh.“What you did wasn’t easy, Judy.” “It didn’t need to be as hard as it was,” Judy confessed.“I know now that keeping that promise notto talk about the dam was a great big mistake andcould have cost lives. I should have told Arthur.” “Please,” Lorraine said, a pained expression cloudingher pretty face, “let’s not talk about him now.” “Very well,” Judy agreed. “What shall we talkabout?” “You,” Lois said, “and all the mysteries you’vesolved. Maybe you were mistaken about a thing ortwo before the flood, but what about the haunted house you moved into? You were the one whotracked down the ghosts in the attic and the cellarand goodness knows where all. You’ve been chasingghosts ever since I met you, and not one of them didyou fail to explain in some sensible, logical fashion.” “Before I met you,” Judy said, thinking back,“there were plenty of them I couldn’t explain. Therewas one I used to call the spirit of the fountain, butwhat she was or how she spoke to me is more thanI know. If my grandparents knew, they weren’t telling.And now they’re both dead and I can’t ask them.They left me a lot of unsolved mysteries along withthis house. Maybe I’ll find the answers to some ofthem when I finish sorting Grandma’s things. They’restored in one end of the attic.” “Another haunted attic? How thrilling!” exclaimedLois. “Why don’t you have another ghost party andshow up the spooks?” “I didn’t say the attic was haunted.” Judy was almost sorry she had mentioned it. Shewasn’t in the mood for digging up old mysteries,but Lois and Lorraine insisted. It all began, she finallytold them, the summer before they met. Horacehad just started working on the paper. Judy rememberedthat it was Lorraine’s father, Richard ThorntonLee, who gave him his job with the FarringdonDaily Herald . He had turned in some interestingchurch news, convincing Mr. Lee that he had in him the makings of a good reporter. And so it was thathe spent the summer Judy was remembering in Farringdonwhere the Farringdon-Petts had their turretedmansion, while she had to suffer the heat andloneliness of Dry Brook Hollow. Her thoughts were what had made it so hard, sheconfessed now as she reviewed everything that hadhappened. She just couldn’t help resenting the factthat her parents left her every summer while theywent off on a vacation by themselves. What did theythink she would do? “You’ll have plenty to read,” her father had toldher. “I bought you six new books in that mysteryseries you like. When they’re finished there areplenty of short stories around. Your grandmothernever throws anything away. She has magazines she’ssaved since your mother was a girl. If you ask forthem she’ll let you have the whole stack. I know howyou love to read.” “I do, Dad, but if the magazines are that old—” Judy had stopped. She had seen her father’s tiredeyes and had realized that a busy doctor needed avacation much more than a schoolgirl who had toolittle to do. He and Judy’s mother usually went tothe beach hotel where they had honeymooned. Itwas a precious memory. Every summer Dr. Boltonand his wife relived it. And every summer Judywent to stay with her grandmother Smeed, whoscolded and fussed and tried to pretend she wasn’tglad to have her. “You here again?” she had greeted her that summer,and Judy hadn’t noticed her old eyes twinklingbehind her glasses. “What do you propose to do withyourself this time?” “Read,” Judy had told her. “Mom and Dad sayyou have a whole stack of old magazines—” “In the attic. Go up and look them over if youcan stand the heat.” Judy went, not to look over the old magazines somuch as to escape to a place where she could have agood cry. It was the summer before her fifteenthbirthday. In another year she would have outgrownher childish resentment of her parents’ vacation orbe grown up enough to ask them to let her have avacation of her own. In another year she wouldbe summering among the beautiful Thousand Islandsand solving a mystery to be known as the GhostParade . “A whole parade of ghosts,” Lois would be tellingher, “and you solved everything.” But then she didn’t even know Lois. She had noidea so many thrilling adventures awaited her. Thereseemed to be nothing—nothing—and so the tearscame and spilled over on one of the magazines. AsJudy wiped it away she noticed that it had fallenon a picture of a fountain. “A fountain with tears for water. How strange!”she remembered saying aloud. Judy had never seen a real fountain. The thrill ofwalking up to the door of the palatial Farringdon-Pettmansion was still ahead of her. On the lawn afountain still caught and held rainbows like thoseshe was to see on her honeymoon at Niagara Falls.But all that was in the future. If anyone had toldthe freckled-faced, pigtailed girl that she would oneday marry Peter Dobbs, she would have laughed intheir faces. “That tease!” For then she knew Peter only as an older boy whoused to tease her and call her carrot-top until one dayshe yelled back at him, “Carrot-tops are green and soare you!” Peter was to win Judy’s heart when he gave her akitten and suggested the name Blackberry for him.The kitten was now a dignified family cat. But thesummer Judy found the picture of a fountain andspilled tears on it she had no kitten. She had nothing,she confessed, not even a friend. It had helped topretend the fountain in the picture was filled withall the tears lonely girls like herself had ever cried. “But that would make it enchanted!” she had suddenlyexclaimed. “If I could find it I’d wish—” A step had sounded on the stairs. Judy rememberedit distinctly. She had turned to see her grandmother and to hear her say in her usual abrupt fashion,“Enchanted fountain, indeed! If you let peopleknow your wishes instead of muttering them toyourself, most of them aren’t so impossible.” “Were they?” asked Lois. She and Lorraine had listened to this much of whatJudy was telling them without interruption. “That’s the unsolved mystery,” Judy replied.“There weren’t any of them impossible.” And she went on to tell them how, the very nextday, her grandparents had taken her to a fountainexactly like the one in the picture. It was in the centerof a deep, circular pool with steps leading up to it.Beside the steps were smaller fountains with thewater spurting from the mouths of stone lions. Judyhad stared at them a moment and then climbed thesteps to the pool. “Am I dreaming?” she remembered saying aloud.“Is this beautiful fountain real?” A voice had answered, although she could see noone. “Make your wishes, Judy. Wish wisely. If youshed a tear in the fountain your wishes will surelycome true.” “A tear?” Judy had asked. “How can I shed atear when I’m happy? This is a wonderful place.” “Shed a tear in the fountain and your wishes willsurely come true,” the voice had repeated. “But what is there to cry about?” “You found plenty to cry about back at yourgrandmother’s house,” the mysterious voice had remindedher. “Weren’t you crying on my picture upthere in the attic?” “Then you—you are the fountain!” Judy rememberedexclaiming. “But a fountain doesn’t speak. Itdoesn’t have a voice.” “Wish wisely,” the voice from the fountain hadsaid in a mysterious whisper. <doc-sep> The Haunted Fountain <doc-sep> id=chap02> CHAPTER II If Wishes Came True “Did you?” Lois interrupted the story to ask excitedly.“Oh, Judy! Don’t keep us in suspense anylonger. What did you wish?” “Patience,” Judy said with a smile. “I’m comingto that.” First, she told her friends, she had to think of awise wish. There had been so much she wanted inthose early days before the flood. Dora Scott hadbeen her best friend in Roulsville, but she had movedaway. “You see,” she explained, “I made the mistake ofhaving just one best friend. There wasn’t anybodyin Dry Brook Hollow. I remember thinking of howlonely I was and how I wished for a friend or a sister, and suddenly a tear splashed in the water. It madelittle ripples. I thought I had to wish quickly beforethey vanished, and so I began naming the things Iwanted as fast as I could. I’m not sure they werewise wishes. They seem rather selfish to me, now. Iwasn’t thinking of anybody but me, Judy Bolton,and what I wanted. It wasn’t until after I began tothink of others that my wishes started to come true.” “But what were they?” Lois insisted. Lorraine seemed unusually quiet and thoughtful.Judy did not notice the fear in her eyes as she repliedairily, “Oh, didn’t I tell you? I wished for lotsof friends and a sister, and I wished I could marry aG-man and solve a lot of mysteries and that’s as faras I got when the ripples vanished. I thought thespell was broken and so I didn’t wish for anythingmore.” “Wasn’t there anything more you wanted?” Loisasked. “Of course,” replied Judy. “There were lots morethings. I wanted to go places, of course, and keeppets, and have a nice home, and—” “And your wishes all came true!” “Every one of them,” Judy agreed, “even the oneabout the sister. You see, it wasn’t a baby sister Iwanted. It was a sister near my own age. Thatseemed impossible at the time, but the future didhold a sister for me.” “It held one for me, too,” Lois said, squeezingLorraine’s hand under the table. “Don’t you thinksisters should tell each other their problems, Judy?” “Honey and I always do,” she replied “but thenit was different. I didn’t know I would marry Peteror that he would become a G-man, and he didn’tknow he had a sister. It is strange, isn’t it? But thestrangest thing of all was the fountain itself.” “Why?” asked Lorraine. “Do you still think it wasenchanted?” Lois laughed at this, but Judy was serious as sheanswered, “I was still little girl enough to think soat the time. I wandered around, growing verydrowsy. Then I found a hammock and climbed intoit. I must have gone to sleep, because I rememberwaking up and wondering if the voice in the fountainhad been a dream.” “A hammock?” Lois questioned. “Are you sure itwasn’t a flying carpet?” “No, it was a hammock all right,” Judy assuredher, laughing. “It was hung between two trees in abeautiful garden all enclosed in rose trellises thickwith roses. Did I tell you it was June?” “All the year around?” Again Lois laughed. But Lorraine said abruptly,“Let’s not talk about rose gardens in June. It’s a longway from June to December.” “Do you mean a garden changes? I know,” Judysaid, “but I think this one would be beautiful at anytime of the year. There were rhododendrons, too,and I don’t know how many different kinds of evergreens.I explored the garden all around the fountain.” “And then what happened?” Lorraine urged her. “Yes, yes. Go on,” entreated Lois. “I didn’t dreamyou’d kept anything that exciting a secret. Why didn’tyou try to solve the mystery?” “I think I would have tried,” Judy admitted, “ifI had been older or more experienced. I really shouldhave investigated it more thoroughly and learned thesecret of the fountain. But after the ripples wentaway it didn’t speak to me any more, and I didn’treally think it had heard my wishes. I was still wishingfor a friend when I met you, Lois. It did seemimpossible for us to be friends at first, didn’t it? Lorrainewas your friend.” “I did make trouble for you,” Lorraine remembered.“It was all because of my foolish jealousy.” “It was nothing compared to the trouble caused bythe Roulsville flood,” declared Judy. “After thatthings started happening so fast that I completelyforgot about the fountain. Honestly, Lois, I don’tbelieve I thought about it again until after we movedto Farringdon and I walked up to your door andsaw the fountain on your lawn.” “The Farringdon-Pett puddle, I always called it,”Lois said with a giggle. “I’ve seen lots nicer fountains.” “You have?” asked Judy. “Then maybe you’veseen the one I’ve been telling you about. I think thepicture of it is still in the attic. Come on up and I’llshow you.” Lois and Lorraine had finished their dessert whileJudy was telling them the story of the fountain.Somehow, she wasn’t hungry for hers. She hadtasted it too often while she was making it. “I’ll leave it for Blackberry,” she decided. Lois watched in amusement as the cat lapped upthe chocolate pudding after Judy had mixed it generouslywith cream. “Sometimes,” Judy said fondly, “Blackberry thinkshe’s a person. He eats everything we eat, includinglettuce. Do you mind if he comes with us, Lorraine?He wants to explore the attic, too.” “He’ll remember he’s a cat fast enough if thereare any mice up there,” Lois said with a giggle. Leaving the table, they all started upstairs withthe cat bounding ahead of them. In modernizing hergrandparents’ house to suit her own and Peter’stastes, Judy had seen to it that the old stair door wasremoved. But there was still a door closing off thenarrower stairs that led to the attic. Blackberryreached it first and yowled for Judy to open it. “He can read my mind. He always knows whereI’m going,” Judy said as the door creaked open andthe cat shot through it. A moment later a weird rollingnoise came from the floor above. “Come on. There’s nothing up here to be afraidof,” Judy urged her friends. “Maybe not, but I’m beginning to get the shivers,”confessed Lois as she followed Judy to the sewingroom at the top of the last flight of stairs. “So am I,” Lorraine admitted. “I’m not superstitiousabout black cats, but they are creepy. DoesBlackberry have to roll spools across the floor?” “Now he thinks he’s a kitten,” laughed Judy.Pausing at still another door that led to the darkerpart of the attic, she turned and said mysteriously,“Up here we can all turn back the clock. Does anybodycare to explore the past?” The exploration began enthusiastically with Judyrelating still more of what she remembered aboutthe fountain. “When I told Grandma about it she laughed andsaid I must have dreamed it. She said if wishes cametrue that easily she’d be living in a castle. But wouldshe?” Judy wondered. “When I first remember thishouse she was still burning kerosene lamps like thoseyou see on that high shelf by the window. I thinkshe and Grandpa like the way they lived withoutany modern conveniences or anything.” “I think so, too,” Lois agreed, looking around theold attic with a shiver. “It is strange they both diedthe same winter, isn’t it?” “Maybe they wanted it that way. Maybe theywished neither of them would outlive the other. Ifthey did wish in the fountain,” Judy went on morethoughtfully, “I’m sure that was one of their wishes.Another could have been to keep the good old days,as Grandma used to call them. That one came truein a way. They did manage to keep a little of thepast when they kept all these old things. That’s whatI meant about turning back the clock.” “If wishes came true I’d like to turn it back a littlemyself,” Lorraine began. “It would be nice if thingswere the way they used to be when I trustedArthur—” “Don’t you trust him now?” Judy asked. Afterwards she was sorry for the interruption. Loisand Judy both questioned Lorraine, but that was allshe would say. Judy wondered, as they searchedthrough the old magazines, what was wrong. Lorrainewas of a jealous disposition. Was the green-eyedmonster coming between her and her handsome husband,Arthur Farringdon-Pett? Until now they hadseemed blissfully happy. But there was no happinessin Lorraine’s face as she gazed at a picture of one ofthe fountains and then said in a tight little voice, “Itis. It’s the very same one.” “But that’s the picture I’ve been searching for!”Judy said eagerly. “Do you know where it is?” “I can’t be sure. But if it ever was enchanted, I’msure it isn’t now. Let’s go,” Lorraine said suddenlyto Lois. Judy knew she was suggesting a fast trip home.But, apparently, Lois did not understand it that way.If she did, she pretended not to. “Where?” she asked. “To the fountain? I’d loveto, wouldn’t you, Judy?” “I certainly would,” Judy replied enthusiastically.“Do you recognize it, too?” “I think so,” Lois answered after studying a littlemore closely the picture they had found. “It lookslike the fountain on the Brandt estate.” “The department store Brandts?” Judy questioned.“Then my grandparents must have driven old Fannyall the way to Farringdon.” “Not quite all the way,” Lorraine objected. “TheBrandts own that stretch of woods just before youcome into the city. You’ve passed it lots of times.” “Of course,” agreed Judy. She put the magazineback in its place under the eaves and turned eagerlyto her friends. “I do remember a road turning offinto the woods and going on uphill,” she told them.“I never thought it led to a house, though. Thereisn’t even a gate. Could that be the road my grandparentstook?” “Why don’t we take it ourselves and find out?”Lois suggested. <doc-sep></s>

Tears are the inciting event that connect Judy with the photo of the fountain as a tear rolls off her cheek and onto the photo as she thinks of her loneliness in her grandparents attic. Expressing her longing for friendship and a sister aloud sparks her grandmother to take her along to the fountain itself. When visiting the fountain, tears again become important because the fountain asks for a tear to be shed into it before wishes can be made.The physical description of tears rolling onto a photograph or causing small ripples in the fountain that travel and dissipate are important visualizations that draw the reader into Judy’s story, and make her character feel real.

<s> id=chap01> CHAPTER I An Unsolved Mystery “Tell Judy about it,” begged Lois. “Please, Lorraine,it can’t be as bad as it appears. There isn’tanything that Judy can’t solve.” Lorraine tilted her head disdainfully. “We’re sistersnow. We’re both Farringdon-Petts and should beloyal to each other. But you always did take Judy’spart. She was the one who nearly spoiled our doublewedding trying to solve a mystery. I don’t believeshe’d understand—understand any better than I do.Everyone has problems, and I’m sure Judy is noexception.” “You’re right, Lorraine,” announced Judy, comingin to serve dessert to the two friends she had invitedfor lunch at Peter’s suggestion. “I do haveproblems, and there are plenty of mysteries I can’tsolve.” “Name one,” charged Lois. “Just mention onesingle spooky thing you couldn’t explain, and I’llbelieve you. I’ve seen you in action, Judy Bolton—” “Judy Dobbs, remember?” “Well, you were Judy Bolton when you solvedall those mysteries. I met you when the wholevalley below the big Roulsville dam was threatenedby flood and you solved that—” “That,” declared Judy, “was my brother Horace,not me. He was the hero without even meaning tobe. He was the one who rode through town andwarned people that the flood was coming. I was offchasing a shadow.” “A vanishing shadow,” Lois said with a sigh.“What you did wasn’t easy, Judy.” “It didn’t need to be as hard as it was,” Judy confessed.“I know now that keeping that promise notto talk about the dam was a great big mistake andcould have cost lives. I should have told Arthur.” “Please,” Lorraine said, a pained expression cloudingher pretty face, “let’s not talk about him now.” “Very well,” Judy agreed. “What shall we talkabout?” “You,” Lois said, “and all the mysteries you’vesolved. Maybe you were mistaken about a thing ortwo before the flood, but what about the haunted house you moved into? You were the one whotracked down the ghosts in the attic and the cellarand goodness knows where all. You’ve been chasingghosts ever since I met you, and not one of them didyou fail to explain in some sensible, logical fashion.” “Before I met you,” Judy said, thinking back,“there were plenty of them I couldn’t explain. Therewas one I used to call the spirit of the fountain, butwhat she was or how she spoke to me is more thanI know. If my grandparents knew, they weren’t telling.And now they’re both dead and I can’t ask them.They left me a lot of unsolved mysteries along withthis house. Maybe I’ll find the answers to some ofthem when I finish sorting Grandma’s things. They’restored in one end of the attic.” “Another haunted attic? How thrilling!” exclaimedLois. “Why don’t you have another ghost party andshow up the spooks?” “I didn’t say the attic was haunted.” Judy was almost sorry she had mentioned it. Shewasn’t in the mood for digging up old mysteries,but Lois and Lorraine insisted. It all began, she finallytold them, the summer before they met. Horacehad just started working on the paper. Judy rememberedthat it was Lorraine’s father, Richard ThorntonLee, who gave him his job with the FarringdonDaily Herald . He had turned in some interestingchurch news, convincing Mr. Lee that he had in him the makings of a good reporter. And so it was thathe spent the summer Judy was remembering in Farringdonwhere the Farringdon-Petts had their turretedmansion, while she had to suffer the heat andloneliness of Dry Brook Hollow. Her thoughts were what had made it so hard, sheconfessed now as she reviewed everything that hadhappened. She just couldn’t help resenting the factthat her parents left her every summer while theywent off on a vacation by themselves. What did theythink she would do? “You’ll have plenty to read,” her father had toldher. “I bought you six new books in that mysteryseries you like. When they’re finished there areplenty of short stories around. Your grandmothernever throws anything away. She has magazines she’ssaved since your mother was a girl. If you ask forthem she’ll let you have the whole stack. I know howyou love to read.” “I do, Dad, but if the magazines are that old—” Judy had stopped. She had seen her father’s tiredeyes and had realized that a busy doctor needed avacation much more than a schoolgirl who had toolittle to do. He and Judy’s mother usually went tothe beach hotel where they had honeymooned. Itwas a precious memory. Every summer Dr. Boltonand his wife relived it. And every summer Judywent to stay with her grandmother Smeed, whoscolded and fussed and tried to pretend she wasn’tglad to have her. “You here again?” she had greeted her that summer,and Judy hadn’t noticed her old eyes twinklingbehind her glasses. “What do you propose to do withyourself this time?” “Read,” Judy had told her. “Mom and Dad sayyou have a whole stack of old magazines—” “In the attic. Go up and look them over if youcan stand the heat.” Judy went, not to look over the old magazines somuch as to escape to a place where she could have agood cry. It was the summer before her fifteenthbirthday. In another year she would have outgrownher childish resentment of her parents’ vacation orbe grown up enough to ask them to let her have avacation of her own. In another year she wouldbe summering among the beautiful Thousand Islandsand solving a mystery to be known as the GhostParade . “A whole parade of ghosts,” Lois would be tellingher, “and you solved everything.” But then she didn’t even know Lois. She had noidea so many thrilling adventures awaited her. Thereseemed to be nothing—nothing—and so the tearscame and spilled over on one of the magazines. AsJudy wiped it away she noticed that it had fallenon a picture of a fountain. “A fountain with tears for water. How strange!”she remembered saying aloud. Judy had never seen a real fountain. The thrill ofwalking up to the door of the palatial Farringdon-Pettmansion was still ahead of her. On the lawn afountain still caught and held rainbows like thoseshe was to see on her honeymoon at Niagara Falls.But all that was in the future. If anyone had toldthe freckled-faced, pigtailed girl that she would oneday marry Peter Dobbs, she would have laughed intheir faces. “That tease!” For then she knew Peter only as an older boy whoused to tease her and call her carrot-top until one dayshe yelled back at him, “Carrot-tops are green and soare you!” Peter was to win Judy’s heart when he gave her akitten and suggested the name Blackberry for him.The kitten was now a dignified family cat. But thesummer Judy found the picture of a fountain andspilled tears on it she had no kitten. She had nothing,she confessed, not even a friend. It had helped topretend the fountain in the picture was filled withall the tears lonely girls like herself had ever cried. “But that would make it enchanted!” she had suddenlyexclaimed. “If I could find it I’d wish—” A step had sounded on the stairs. Judy rememberedit distinctly. She had turned to see her grandmother and to hear her say in her usual abrupt fashion,“Enchanted fountain, indeed! If you let peopleknow your wishes instead of muttering them toyourself, most of them aren’t so impossible.” “Were they?” asked Lois. She and Lorraine had listened to this much of whatJudy was telling them without interruption. “That’s the unsolved mystery,” Judy replied.“There weren’t any of them impossible.” And she went on to tell them how, the very nextday, her grandparents had taken her to a fountainexactly like the one in the picture. It was in the centerof a deep, circular pool with steps leading up to it.Beside the steps were smaller fountains with thewater spurting from the mouths of stone lions. Judyhad stared at them a moment and then climbed thesteps to the pool. “Am I dreaming?” she remembered saying aloud.“Is this beautiful fountain real?” A voice had answered, although she could see noone. “Make your wishes, Judy. Wish wisely. If youshed a tear in the fountain your wishes will surelycome true.” “A tear?” Judy had asked. “How can I shed atear when I’m happy? This is a wonderful place.” “Shed a tear in the fountain and your wishes willsurely come true,” the voice had repeated. “But what is there to cry about?” “You found plenty to cry about back at yourgrandmother’s house,” the mysterious voice had remindedher. “Weren’t you crying on my picture upthere in the attic?” “Then you—you are the fountain!” Judy rememberedexclaiming. “But a fountain doesn’t speak. Itdoesn’t have a voice.” “Wish wisely,” the voice from the fountain hadsaid in a mysterious whisper. <doc-sep> id=chap02> CHAPTER II If Wishes Came True “Did you?” Lois interrupted the story to ask excitedly.“Oh, Judy! Don’t keep us in suspense anylonger. What did you wish?” “Patience,” Judy said with a smile. “I’m comingto that.” First, she told her friends, she had to think of awise wish. There had been so much she wanted inthose early days before the flood. Dora Scott hadbeen her best friend in Roulsville, but she had movedaway. “You see,” she explained, “I made the mistake ofhaving just one best friend. There wasn’t anybodyin Dry Brook Hollow. I remember thinking of howlonely I was and how I wished for a friend or a sister, and suddenly a tear splashed in the water. It madelittle ripples. I thought I had to wish quickly beforethey vanished, and so I began naming the things Iwanted as fast as I could. I’m not sure they werewise wishes. They seem rather selfish to me, now. Iwasn’t thinking of anybody but me, Judy Bolton,and what I wanted. It wasn’t until after I began tothink of others that my wishes started to come true.” “But what were they?” Lois insisted. Lorraine seemed unusually quiet and thoughtful.Judy did not notice the fear in her eyes as she repliedairily, “Oh, didn’t I tell you? I wished for lotsof friends and a sister, and I wished I could marry aG-man and solve a lot of mysteries and that’s as faras I got when the ripples vanished. I thought thespell was broken and so I didn’t wish for anythingmore.” “Wasn’t there anything more you wanted?” Loisasked. “Of course,” replied Judy. “There were lots morethings. I wanted to go places, of course, and keeppets, and have a nice home, and—” “And your wishes all came true!” “Every one of them,” Judy agreed, “even the oneabout the sister. You see, it wasn’t a baby sister Iwanted. It was a sister near my own age. Thatseemed impossible at the time, but the future didhold a sister for me.” “It held one for me, too,” Lois said, squeezingLorraine’s hand under the table. “Don’t you thinksisters should tell each other their problems, Judy?” “Honey and I always do,” she replied “but thenit was different. I didn’t know I would marry Peteror that he would become a G-man, and he didn’tknow he had a sister. It is strange, isn’t it? But thestrangest thing of all was the fountain itself.” “Why?” asked Lorraine. “Do you still think it wasenchanted?” Lois laughed at this, but Judy was serious as sheanswered, “I was still little girl enough to think soat the time. I wandered around, growing verydrowsy. Then I found a hammock and climbed intoit. I must have gone to sleep, because I rememberwaking up and wondering if the voice in the fountainhad been a dream.” “A hammock?” Lois questioned. “Are you sure itwasn’t a flying carpet?” “No, it was a hammock all right,” Judy assuredher, laughing. “It was hung between two trees in abeautiful garden all enclosed in rose trellises thickwith roses. Did I tell you it was June?” “All the year around?” Again Lois laughed. But Lorraine said abruptly,“Let’s not talk about rose gardens in June. It’s a longway from June to December.” “Do you mean a garden changes? I know,” Judysaid, “but I think this one would be beautiful at anytime of the year. There were rhododendrons, too,and I don’t know how many different kinds of evergreens.I explored the garden all around the fountain.” “And then what happened?” Lorraine urged her. “Yes, yes. Go on,” entreated Lois. “I didn’t dreamyou’d kept anything that exciting a secret. Why didn’tyou try to solve the mystery?” “I think I would have tried,” Judy admitted, “ifI had been older or more experienced. I really shouldhave investigated it more thoroughly and learned thesecret of the fountain. But after the ripples wentaway it didn’t speak to me any more, and I didn’treally think it had heard my wishes. I was still wishingfor a friend when I met you, Lois. It did seemimpossible for us to be friends at first, didn’t it? Lorrainewas your friend.” “I did make trouble for you,” Lorraine remembered.“It was all because of my foolish jealousy.” “It was nothing compared to the trouble caused bythe Roulsville flood,” declared Judy. “After thatthings started happening so fast that I completelyforgot about the fountain. Honestly, Lois, I don’tbelieve I thought about it again until after we movedto Farringdon and I walked up to your door andsaw the fountain on your lawn.” “The Farringdon-Pett puddle, I always called it,”Lois said with a giggle. “I’ve seen lots nicer fountains.” “You have?” asked Judy. “Then maybe you’veseen the one I’ve been telling you about. I think thepicture of it is still in the attic. Come on up and I’llshow you.” Lois and Lorraine had finished their dessert whileJudy was telling them the story of the fountain.Somehow, she wasn’t hungry for hers. She hadtasted it too often while she was making it. “I’ll leave it for Blackberry,” she decided. Lois watched in amusement as the cat lapped upthe chocolate pudding after Judy had mixed it generouslywith cream. “Sometimes,” Judy said fondly, “Blackberry thinkshe’s a person. He eats everything we eat, includinglettuce. Do you mind if he comes with us, Lorraine?He wants to explore the attic, too.” “He’ll remember he’s a cat fast enough if thereare any mice up there,” Lois said with a giggle. Leaving the table, they all started upstairs withthe cat bounding ahead of them. In modernizing hergrandparents’ house to suit her own and Peter’stastes, Judy had seen to it that the old stair door wasremoved. But there was still a door closing off thenarrower stairs that led to the attic. Blackberryreached it first and yowled for Judy to open it. “He can read my mind. He always knows whereI’m going,” Judy said as the door creaked open andthe cat shot through it. A moment later a weird rollingnoise came from the floor above. “Come on. There’s nothing up here to be afraidof,” Judy urged her friends. “Maybe not, but I’m beginning to get the shivers,”confessed Lois as she followed Judy to the sewingroom at the top of the last flight of stairs. “So am I,” Lorraine admitted. “I’m not superstitiousabout black cats, but they are creepy. DoesBlackberry have to roll spools across the floor?” “Now he thinks he’s a kitten,” laughed Judy.Pausing at still another door that led to the darkerpart of the attic, she turned and said mysteriously,“Up here we can all turn back the clock. Does anybodycare to explore the past?” The exploration began enthusiastically with Judyrelating still more of what she remembered aboutthe fountain. “When I told Grandma about it she laughed andsaid I must have dreamed it. She said if wishes cametrue that easily she’d be living in a castle. But wouldshe?” Judy wondered. “When I first remember thishouse she was still burning kerosene lamps like thoseyou see on that high shelf by the window. I thinkshe and Grandpa like the way they lived withoutany modern conveniences or anything.” “I think so, too,” Lois agreed, looking around theold attic with a shiver. “It is strange they both diedthe same winter, isn’t it?” “Maybe they wanted it that way. Maybe theywished neither of them would outlive the other. Ifthey did wish in the fountain,” Judy went on morethoughtfully, “I’m sure that was one of their wishes.Another could have been to keep the good old days,as Grandma used to call them. That one came truein a way. They did manage to keep a little of thepast when they kept all these old things. That’s whatI meant about turning back the clock.” “If wishes came true I’d like to turn it back a littlemyself,” Lorraine began. “It would be nice if thingswere the way they used to be when I trustedArthur—” “Don’t you trust him now?” Judy asked. Afterwards she was sorry for the interruption. Loisand Judy both questioned Lorraine, but that was allshe would say. Judy wondered, as they searchedthrough the old magazines, what was wrong. Lorrainewas of a jealous disposition. Was the green-eyedmonster coming between her and her handsome husband,Arthur Farringdon-Pett? Until now they hadseemed blissfully happy. But there was no happinessin Lorraine’s face as she gazed at a picture of one ofthe fountains and then said in a tight little voice, “Itis. It’s the very same one.” “But that’s the picture I’ve been searching for!”Judy said eagerly. “Do you know where it is?” “I can’t be sure. But if it ever was enchanted, I’msure it isn’t now. Let’s go,” Lorraine said suddenlyto Lois. Judy knew she was suggesting a fast trip home.But, apparently, Lois did not understand it that way.If she did, she pretended not to. “Where?” she asked. “To the fountain? I’d loveto, wouldn’t you, Judy?” “I certainly would,” Judy replied enthusiastically.“Do you recognize it, too?” “I think so,” Lois answered after studying a littlemore closely the picture they had found. “It lookslike the fountain on the Brandt estate.” “The department store Brandts?” Judy questioned.“Then my grandparents must have driven old Fannyall the way to Farringdon.” “Not quite all the way,” Lorraine objected. “TheBrandts own that stretch of woods just before youcome into the city. You’ve passed it lots of times.” “Of course,” agreed Judy. She put the magazineback in its place under the eaves and turned eagerlyto her friends. “I do remember a road turning offinto the woods and going on uphill,” she told them.“I never thought it led to a house, though. Thereisn’t even a gate. Could that be the road my grandparentstook?” “Why don’t we take it ourselves and find out?”Lois suggested. <doc-sep> id=chap03> CHAPTER III A Strange Encounter Lorraine was not too enthusiastic about the proposedtrip to the Brandt estate. Finally she agreed toit under one condition. They were not to drive allthe way to the house which, she said, was just overthe hilltop. They were to park the car where noone would see it and follow the path to the fountain. “But suppose we can’t find the path?” asked Judy. “You’ll remember it, won’t you?” Judy thought she would, but she wasn’t too sure.She and Lois both argued that it would be better toinquire at the house. Lois knew Helen Brandt slightly. “She’d be glad to show us around. This way itlooks as if we’re planning a crime,” Lois said as theystarted off in the blue car she was driving. It was a neat little car, not too conspicuous, andeasy to park in out-of-the-way places. Judy laughedand said if they did find the fountain she thoughtshe’d wish for one exactly like it. “Well, you know what your grandmother saidabout wishes, don’t you?” Lorraine asked. “If youlet people know about them instead of mutteringthem to yourself most of them aren’t so impossible.” “Quite true,” Judy agreed. “I’ll let Peter knowabout this one. He’s my Santa Claus, and it will soonbe Christmas. Maybe I should have worn the furcoat he gave me last year.” “Your reversible’s better in case it rains. It’s toowarm for snow. We picked a perfect day for thistrip,” Lois continued, guiding the car around curvesas it climbed the steep hill beyond Dry Brook Hollow. The trip was a short one. In twenty minutes theyhad covered the distance that had seemed such along way to Judy when she was riding in her grandfather’swagon. “I’ve been thinking about it,” she said, “and I’vejust about figured out how it happened. I didn’tthink my grandparents knew the Brandts well enoughto pay them a visit, though. We must have lookedqueer driving up to a beautiful estate in Grandpa’sold farm wagon. I do remember that Grandma had some hooked rugs to deliver. But that still doesn’texplain what happened afterwards. When I wokeup in the hammock I was alone in the garden. Horse,wagon, grandparents—all had disappeared.” “How could they?” asked Lois. “Anyway,” Lorraine began, “you had a chance tosee how beautiful everything was before—” Again she broke off as if there were somethingshe wanted to tell but didn’t quite dare. “Before what?” questioned Judy. “Oh, nothing. Forget I said anything about it. Youwere telling us how you woke up in the hammock,but you never did explain how you got back home,”Lorraine reminded her. “Didn’t I?” asked Judy. “I’d forgotten a lot of it,but it’s beginning to come back now. I do rememberdriving home along this road. You see, I thought mygrandparents had left me in the garden for a surpriseand would return for me. I told you I was all alone.There wasn’t a house in sight.” “The Brandt house is just over the top of this nexthill,” Lois put in. “I know. You told me that. Now I know why Icouldn’t see it. All I could see was a windowless oldtower and a path leading in that direction. Naturally,I followed it. There’s something about a path inthe woods that always tempts me.” “We know that, Judy. Honey told us all aboutyour latest mystery. You followed a trail or something.” “Well, this trail led out of the rose garden wherethe hammock was and then through an archway,”Judy continued. “All sorts of little cupids and gnomespeered out at me from unexpected places. I wasactually scared by the time I reached the old tower.There wasn’t time to explore it. Just then I heardthe rumble of my grandfather’s wagon and knew hewas driving off without me.” “He was!” Judy’s friends both chorused in surprise,and Lois asked, “Why would he do a thing likethat?” “I think now it was just to tease me. He did stopand wait for me after a while,” Judy remembered.“The rugs were gone. Grandma must have deliveredthem, but I didn’t ask where. If she made them forMrs. Brandt they may still be there.” “I wouldn’t depend on it,” Lorraine said as theyturned up the narrow road to the Brandt estate. “Watch out!” Judy suddenly exclaimed. “There’sanother car coming.” As Lois swerved to avoid the oncoming car, Lorraineducked her head. She kept herself hidden behindJudy until the car had passed. The man drivingit was a stranger to Judy, but she would rememberhis hypnotic, dark eyes and swarthy complexion for along time. The soft brown hat he was wearing coveredmost of his hair. “What’s the matter with you two?” asked Loiswhen the car had passed. “Aren’t you a little old forplaying hide and seek?” “I wasn’t—playing. Let’s not go up there,” Lorrainebegged. “I don’t think the Brandts live thereany more.” “Maybe not, but we can pretend we think they do,can’t we?” Judy replied a little uncertainly. She was beginning to suspect that Lorraine knewmore about the Brandt estate than she was telling. Lois kept on driving along the narrow, gravellyroad. Soon there were more evergreens and a hedgeof rhododendrons to be seen. They looked verygreen next to the leafless trees in the woods beyond.The sky was gray with white clouds being drivenacross it by the wind. “There’s the tower!” Lorraine exclaimed. “I cansee it over to the left. It looks like something out ofGrimm’s Fairy Tales, doesn’t it?” “It looks grim all right,” agreed Judy. “I wonderwhat it is.” “I suppose it’s nothing but an old water tower. Itwould be fun to explore it, though,” Lois said. “Butif there are new people living here they’ll never giveus permission.” “We might explore it without permission,” Judysuggested daringly. “Come on!” she urged her friendsas Lois parked the car in a cleared place beside theroad. “Who’s going to stop us? And who wants toexplore a gloomy old tower, anyway? Let’s look forthe fountain.” “Do you think we should?” Lorraine asked. “Itwon’t be enchanted. I told you—” “You told us very little,” Lois reminded her. “Ifyou know anything about the people who live herenow, I think you ought to let us know. Otherwise,I’m afraid we won’t be very welcome.” “I don’t think they’ll welcome us, anyway. I doknow who they are,” Lorraine admitted. “You rememberRoger Banning from school, don’t you?I’ve seen him around here. His family must haveacquired sudden wealth, or else he’s just working onthe estate.” “Then you’ve been here lately? Why didn’t youtell me?” asked Lois. “We always used to go placestogether.” “It wasn’t important,” Lorraine replied evasively.“I was just out for a drive.” “You plutocrats!” laughed Judy. “Each with acar of your own. You’re not interested in RogerBanning, are you, Lois? I’m sure you can do betterthan that. I did know him slightly, but not fromschool. The boys and girls were separated and wentto different high schools by the time we moved to Farringdon. I remember his pal, Dick Hartwell, alot better. He was in our young people’s group atchurch.” “Sh!” Lois cautioned her. “Nice people no longermention Dick Hartwell’s name. He’s doing time.” “For what?” asked Judy. Like Peter, her FBI husband, she preferred factsto gossip. “Forgery, I guess. He stole some checkbooks fromhis father’s desk and forged the names of a lot of importantbusiness people. I think he forged some legaldocuments, too. Anyway, he went to the Federal Penitentiary.It was all in the papers,” Lorraine told her. Now Judy did remember. It was something shewould have preferred to forget. She liked to thinkshe was a good judge of character, and she had takenDick Hartwell for a quiet, refined boy who wouldnever stoop to crime. “I don’t see what all this has to do with the fountain,”Lois said impatiently. “Are we going to lookfor it, or aren’t we?” “Of course we are. That’s what we came for. Ijust like to know what a tiger looks like before hesprings at me,” Judy explained. “You seem to think there’s danger in this expeditionof ours, don’t you?” asked Lorraine. “I don’t know what to think. You’re the one whoseems to know the answers, but you’re not telling. Hiding your face back there gave you away. You’veseen that character who drove down this road and,for some reason, you were afraid he would see you.Why, Lorraine? Why didn’t you want to be recognized?” Lorraine hesitated a moment and then repliedevasively, “People don’t generally enter privateestates without an invitation. That’s all.” “I’d better turn the car around,” Lois decided,“in case we have to leave in a hurry. I don’t expectwe’ll encounter any tigers, but we may be accusedof trespassing.” “I’m sure we will be,” announced Judy as twodark-coated figures strode down the road towardthem. “You drove right by a NO TRESPASSING sign,and this isn’t a welcoming committee coming tomeet us!” <doc-sep></s>

Lois and Lorraine became sisters by marriage as they both married into the Farringdon-Petts family in a double-wedding event. Judy (a sister to Lois by way of her marrying Lois’ brother, Peter Dobbs), nearly ruined the double-wedding trying to solve a mystery.Lois is perhaps more forgiving to Judy, and Lorraine goes as far as to describe that Lois has always taken Judy’s side. Both Lois and Lorraine acknowledge that Judy is great at solving mysteries and try to lift her up when she is down on herself about the few that she couldn’t solve when they come over for lunch. Lorraine becomes evasive and hides from view when the three of them go to the fountain together, concealing information about the new owners of the Brandt estate that Lois and Judy eventually get out of her by probing questions. This event shows Lois’ willingness to challenge Lorraine, and perhaps also supporting “Judy’s side” as Lois calls her out on earlier in the story.

<s>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep>Molly looked at me with a curious expression for a moment. Do you feel all right, darling? she asked me. I nodded brightly. You'llthink this silly of me, she went on to McGill, but why isn't itsomething like an overactive poltergeist? Pure concept, he said. No genuine evidence. Magnetism? Absolutely not. For one thing, most of the objects affected weren'tmagnetic—and don't forget magnetism is a force, not a form of energy,and a great deal of energy has been involved. I admit the energy hasmainly been supplied by the things themselves, but in a magnetic field,all you'd get would be stored kinetic energy, such as when a piece ofiron moves to a magnet or a line of force. Then it would just staythere, like a rundown clock weight. These things do a lot more thanthat—they go on moving. Why did you mention a crystal before? Why not a life-form? Only an analogy, said McGill. A crystal resembles life in that ithas a definite shape and exhibits growth, but that's all. I'll agreethis—thing—has no discernible shape and motion is involved, butplants don't move and amebas have no shape. Then a crystal feeds, butit does not convert what it feeds on; it merely rearranges it into anon-random pattern. In this case, it's rearranging random motions andit has a nucleus and it seems to be growing—at least in what you mightcall improbability. Molly frowned. Then what is it? What's it made of? I should say it was made of the motions. There's a similar idea aboutthe atom. Another thing that's like a crystal is that it appears tobe forming around a nucleus not of its own material—the way a speckof sand thrown into a supersaturated solution becomes the nucleus ofcrystallization. Sounds like the pearl in an oyster, Molly said, and gave me animpertinent look. Why, I asked McGill, did you say the coins couldn't have the samedate? I mean apart from the off chance I got them that way. Because I don't think this thing got going before today andeverything that's happened can all be described as improbable motionshere and now. The dates were already there, and to change them wouldrequire retroactive action, reversing time. That's out, in my book.That telephone now— The doorbell rang. We were not surprised to find it was the telephonerepairman. He took the set apart and clucked like a hen. I guess you dropped it on the floor, mister, he said with strongdisapproval. Certainly not, I said. Is it broken? Not exactly broken , but— He shook his head and took it apart somemore. <doc-sep> UNBORN TOMORROW BY MACK REYNOLDS Unfortunately , there was onlyone thing he could bring backfrom the wonderful future ...and though he didn't want to... nevertheless he did.... Illustrated by Freas Betty looked up fromher magazine. She saidmildly, You're late. Don't yell at me, Ifeel awful, Simon toldher. He sat down at his desk, passedhis tongue over his teeth in distaste,groaned, fumbled in a drawer for theaspirin bottle. He looked over at Betty and said,almost as though reciting, What Ineed is a vacation. What, Betty said, are you goingto use for money? Providence, Simon told herwhilst fiddling with the aspirin bottle,will provide. Hm-m-m. But before providingvacations it'd be nice if Providenceturned up a missing jewel deal, say.Something where you could deducethat actually the ruby ring had gonedown the drain and was caught in theelbow. Something that would netabout fifty dollars. Simon said, mournful of tone,Fifty dollars? Why not make it fivehundred? I'm not selfish, Betty said. AllI want is enough to pay me thisweek's salary. Money, Simon said. When youtook this job you said it was the romancethat appealed to you. Hm-m-m. I didn't know mostsleuthing amounted to snoopingaround department stores to check onthe clerks knocking down. Simon said, enigmatically, Nowit comes. <doc-sep></s>

Alec Graham returns to his home from the office after a long day. His wife Molly has left, and he still feels that it looks wife-deserted even after doing many chores to clean it up. He recounts his bad day, having forgotten to set his alarm and rushing to the TV Studio that he writes for. The taxi driver refuses to take him to Madison and Fifty-fourth, and the rain has gotten worse. His hand continuously bleeds after passing by a big excavation site, and he misses his story conference. After hearing the same phrases numerous times and all six elevators being jammed, he is convinced that he is coincidence prone. Molly leaves him instructions on how to take care of himself, and he works on his novel. More of these events happen with pigeons colliding and somebody getting five straight-flushes in a row. Nat tells Alec about the strange occurrence as they get soda. The three bottles do not break after falling at least five feet, and Danny, the cop, is shocked. Outside, more strange events occur when Nat almost gets caught up with a swerving taxi. Once they return home, he immediately calls McGill, an assistant mathematics professor for some expert advice. Once McGill arrives, he says that all of the events are very improbable, which makes him inclined to believe that Alec is stringing him on or subject to delusion. They do an experiment involving coin-throwing, and all of the coins are arranged in a neat pile when Alec throws them. McGill asks him some more questions about any recent occurrences, but Alec suggests that they go outside to eat. Outside, the cars are being towed away, while two pedestrians are having trouble letting each other pass. Danny is confused by all that is happening. Alec also runs into Molly, stuck in a confused wrangle of umbrellas with two other women. She explains that somebody from their home had kept calling her mother’s number, so she came back to investigate. Back at the apartment, all of this is traced back to Alec as the center. McGill tries to explain what is possibly happening to Alec, but they are interrupted by the telephone repairman. Molly suggests they go out to a restaurant to eat, and Nat comes along. They pass by the car jam again, and the police lieutenant looks at Alec with interest. Even at the restaurant, Alec realizes that his Tom Collins drink is made with salt instead of sugar. When the bartender tries to remake the drink for them, the shaker has frozen solid. It happens again with a new shaker, and the waiter is extremely confused. When Alec’s hand collides with Molly’s cigarette, it goes into the neighboring lady’s vichyssoise. The two of them are displeased, and when Alec stands up, he ends up pulling all of the contents on their entire table onto the floor. The lady and the man are furious at Alec; even the owner has come to fix the situation.

<s>Molly looked at me with a curious expression for a moment. Do you feel all right, darling? she asked me. I nodded brightly. You'llthink this silly of me, she went on to McGill, but why isn't itsomething like an overactive poltergeist? Pure concept, he said. No genuine evidence. Magnetism? Absolutely not. For one thing, most of the objects affected weren'tmagnetic—and don't forget magnetism is a force, not a form of energy,and a great deal of energy has been involved. I admit the energy hasmainly been supplied by the things themselves, but in a magnetic field,all you'd get would be stored kinetic energy, such as when a piece ofiron moves to a magnet or a line of force. Then it would just staythere, like a rundown clock weight. These things do a lot more thanthat—they go on moving. Why did you mention a crystal before? Why not a life-form? Only an analogy, said McGill. A crystal resembles life in that ithas a definite shape and exhibits growth, but that's all. I'll agreethis—thing—has no discernible shape and motion is involved, butplants don't move and amebas have no shape. Then a crystal feeds, butit does not convert what it feeds on; it merely rearranges it into anon-random pattern. In this case, it's rearranging random motions andit has a nucleus and it seems to be growing—at least in what you mightcall improbability. Molly frowned. Then what is it? What's it made of? I should say it was made of the motions. There's a similar idea aboutthe atom. Another thing that's like a crystal is that it appears tobe forming around a nucleus not of its own material—the way a speckof sand thrown into a supersaturated solution becomes the nucleus ofcrystallization. Sounds like the pearl in an oyster, Molly said, and gave me animpertinent look. Why, I asked McGill, did you say the coins couldn't have the samedate? I mean apart from the off chance I got them that way. Because I don't think this thing got going before today andeverything that's happened can all be described as improbable motionshere and now. The dates were already there, and to change them wouldrequire retroactive action, reversing time. That's out, in my book.That telephone now— The doorbell rang. We were not surprised to find it was the telephonerepairman. He took the set apart and clucked like a hen. I guess you dropped it on the floor, mister, he said with strongdisapproval. Certainly not, I said. Is it broken? Not exactly broken , but— He shook his head and took it apart somemore. <doc-sep>III Oh, yes, and Jamieson had a feeble paper on what he calledindividualization in marine worms. Barr, have you ever thought muchabout the larger aspects of the problem of individuality? Jack jumped slightly. He had let his thoughts wander very far. Not especially, sir, he mumbled. The house was still. A few minutes after the professor's arrival,Mrs. Kesserich had gone off with an anxious glance at Jack. He knewwhy and wished he could reassure her that he would not mention theirconversation to the professor. Kesserich had spent perhaps a half hour briefing him on the moreimportant papers delivered at the conferences. Then, almost as ifit were a teacher's trick to show up a pupil's inattention, he hadsuddenly posed this question about individuality. You know what I mean, of course, Kesserich pressed. The factors thatmake you you, and me me. Heredity and environment, Jack parroted like a freshman. Kesserich nodded. Suppose—this is just speculation—that we couldcontrol heredity and environment. Then we could re-create the sameindividual at will. Jack felt a shiver go through him. To get exactly the same pattern ofhereditary traits. That'd be far beyond us. What about identical twins? Kesserich pointed out. And then there'sparthenogenesis to be considered. One might produce a duplicate of themother without the intervention of the male. Although his voice hadgrown more idly speculative, Kesserich seemed to Jack to be smilingsecretly. There are many examples in the lower animal forms, to saynothing of the technique by which Loeb caused a sea urchin to reproducewith no more stimulus than a salt solution. Jack felt the hair rising on his neck. Even then you wouldn't getexactly the same pattern of hereditary traits. Not if the parent were of very pure stock? Not if there were somespecial technique for selecting ova that would reproduce all themother's traits? But environment would change things, Jack objected. The duplicatewould be bound to develop differently. Is environment so important? Newman tells about a pair of identicaltwins separated from birth, unaware of each other's existence. They metby accident when they were twenty-one. Each was a telephone repairman.Each had a wife the same age. Each had a baby son. And each had a foxterrier called 'Trixie.' That's without trying to make environmentssimilar. But suppose you did try. Suppose you saw to it that each ofthem had exactly the same experiences at the same times.... For a moment it seemed to Jack that the room was dimming and wavering,becoming a dark pool in which the only motionless thing was Kesserich'ssphinx-like face. Well, we've escaped quite far enough from Jamieson's marine worms,the biologist said, all brisk again. He said it as if Jack were theone who had led the conversation down wild and unprofitable channels.Let's get on to your project. I want to talk it over now, because Iwon't have any time for it tomorrow. Jack looked at him blankly. Tomorrow I must attend to a very important matter, the biologistexplained. <doc-sep> I am a Nucleus By STEPHEN BARR Illustrated by GAUGHAN [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction February 1957. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] No doubt whatever about it, I had the Indian sign on me ... my comfortably untidy world had suddenly turned into a monstrosity of order! When I got home from the office, I was not so much tired as beatendown, but the effect is similar. I let myself into the apartment, whichhad an absentee-wife look, and took a cold shower. The present downtowntemperature, according to the radio, was eighty-seven degrees, butaccording to my Greenwich Village thermometer, it was ninety-six. I gotdressed and went into the living room, and wished ardently that mywife Molly were here to tell me why the whole place looked so woebegone. What do they do, I asked myself, that I have left undone? I've vacuumedthe carpet, I've dusted and I've straightened the cushions.... Ah! Theashtrays. I emptied them, washed them and put them back, but still theplace looked wife-deserted. It had been a bad day; I had forgotten to wind the alarm clock, so I'dhad to hurry to make a story conference at one of the TV studios Iwrite for. I didn't notice the impending rain storm and had no umbrellawhen I reached the sidewalk, to find myself confronted with an almosttropical downpour. I would have turned back, but a taxi came up and awoman got out, so I dashed through the rain and got in. Madison and Fifty-fourth, I said. Right, said the driver, and I heard the starter grind, and then goon grinding. After some futile efforts, he turned to me. Sorry, Mac.You'll have to find another cab. Good hunting. If possible, it was raining still harder. I opened my newspaper overmy hat and ran for the subway: three blocks. Whizzing traffic heldme up at each crossing and I was soaked when I reached the platform,just in time to miss the local. After an abnormal delay, I got onewhich exactly missed the express at Fourteenth Street. The same thinghappened at both ends of the crosstown shuttle, but I found the rainhad stopped when I got out at Fifty-first and Lexington. <doc-sep></s>

The story is initially set in Alec’s home. There is a radio, Greenwich Village thermometer, and a living room. In the home, there is also carpet, cushions, and ashtrays for cigarettes. Alec also owns an alarm clock to help him wake up. In the living room, there is also a typewriter and a telephone. Alec tries to go to his conference in New York, but it is raining heavily, and the cab refuses to take him to his destination. However, the story also mentions the subway, which he takes. Alec’s stop is Fifty-first and Lexington. There is also mention of a big excavation site for a new building. On his way to the studio, he also stops at the drugstore. There are also at least six elevators in his building. Around the corner of the apartment, there is a delicatessen that sells soda. On the streets outside, cars are jamming into each other and have to be towed away. Later, the story is set in a restaurant near Sixth Avenue. The restaurant is crowded but cool, and there is a bar too. There is also background music and the faint hum of the air-conditioner, both that stop shortly after.

<s>Upstairs, the wind was blowing into the apartment and I closed thewindows, mainly to shut out the tumult and the shouting. Nat hadbrightened up considerably. I'll stay for one more drink and then I'm due at the office, he said.You know, I think this would make an item for the paper. He grinnedand nodded toward the pandemonium. When he was gone, I noticed it was getting dark and turned on the desklamp. Then I saw the curtains. They were all tied in knots, exceptone. That was tied in three knots. All right , I told myself, it was the wind. But I felt the time hadcome for me to get expert advice, so I went to the phone to callMcGill. McGill is an assistant professor of mathematics at a universityuptown and lives near us. He is highly imaginative, but we believe heknows everything. When I picked up the receiver, the line sounded dead and I thought, more trouble. Then I heard a man cough and I said hello. McGill'svoice said, Alec? You must have picked up the receiver just as we wereconnected. That's a damn funny coincidence. Not in the least, I said. Come on over here. I've got something foryou to work on. Well, as a matter of fact, I was calling up to ask you and Molly— Molly's away for the week. Can you get over here quick? It's urgent. At once, he said, and hung up. While I waited, I thought I might try getting down a few paragraphs ofmy novel—perhaps something would come now. It did, but as I came to apoint where I was about to put down the word agurgling, I decided itwas too reminiscent of Gilbert and Sullivan, and stopped at the letterR. Then I saw that I had unaccountably hit all four keys one step tothe side of the correct ones, and tore out the page, with my face red. This was absolutely not my day. <doc-sep>McGill went over and they discussed the problem in undertones. Finallythe man left and Molly called her mother to reassure her. McGill triedto explain to me what had happened with the phone. You must have joggled something loose. And then you replaced thereceiver in such a way that the contact wasn't quite open. But for Pete's sake, Molly says the calls were going on for a longtime! I phoned you only a short time ago and it must have taken hernearly two hours to get here from Oyster Bay. Then you must have done it twice and the vibrations in thefloor—something like that—just happened to cause the right inductionimpulses. Yes, I know how you feel, he said, seeing my expression.It's beginning to bear down. Molly was through telephoning and suggested going out for dinner. I wasso pleased to see her that I'd forgotten all about being hungry. I'm in no mood to cook, she said. Let's get away from all this. McGill raised an eyebrow. If all this, as you call it, will let us. In the lobby, we ran into Nat, looking smug in a journalistic way. I've been put on the story—who could be better?—I live here. So far,I don't quite get what's been happening. I've been talking to Danny,but he didn't say much. I got the feeling he thinks you're involved insome mystical, Hibernian way. Hello, McGill, what's with you? He's got a theory, said Molly. Come and eat with us and he'll tellyou all about it. Since we decided on an air-conditioned restaurant nearby on SixthAvenue, we walked. The jam of cars didn't seem to be any less thanbefore and we saw Danny again. He was talking to a police lieutenant,and when he caught sight of us, he said something that made thelieutenant look at us with interest. Particularly at me. If you want your umbrella, Mrs. Graham, Danny said, it's at thestation house. What there's left of it, that is. Molly thanked him and there was a short pause, during which I feltthe speculative regard of the lieutenant. I pulled out a packet ofcigarettes, which I had opened, as always, by tearing off the top. Ihappened to have it upside down and all the cigarettes fell out. BeforeI could move my foot to obliterate what they had spelled out on thesidewalk, the two cops saw it. The lieutenant gave me a hard look, butsaid nothing. I quickly kicked the insulting cigarettes into the gutter. When we got to the restaurant, it was crowded but cool—although itdidn't stay cool for long. We sat down at a side table near the doorand ordered Tom Collinses as we looked at the menu. Sitting at thenext table were a fat lady, wearing a very long, brilliant greenevening gown, and a dried-up sour-looking man in a tux. When the waiterreturned, they preempted him and began ordering dinner fussily: coldcuts for the man, and vichyssoise, lobster salad and strawberry parfaitfor the fat lady. I tasted my drink. It was most peculiar; salt seemed to have been usedinstead of sugar. I mentioned this and my companions tried theirs, andmade faces. <doc-sep>Danny appeared at that moment. His face was dripping. You all right,Mr. Graham? he asked. I don't know what's going on around here, butever since I came on this afternoon, things are going crazy. Bartley!he shouted—he could succeed as a hog-caller. Bring those dames overhere! Three women in a confused wrangle, with their half-open umbrellasintertwined, were brought across the street, which meant climbing overfenders. Bartley, a fine young patrolman, seemed self-conscious; theladies seemed not to be. All right, now, Mrs. Mac-Philip! one of them said. Leave go of myumbrella and we'll say no more about it! And so now it's Missus Mac-Philip, is it? said her adversary. The third, a younger one with her back turned to us, her umbrella alsocaught in the tangle, pulled at it in a tentative way, at which theother two glared at her. She turned her head away and tried to let go,but the handle was caught in her glove. She looked up and I saw it wasMolly. My nurse-wife. Oh, Alec! she said, and managed to detach herself. Are you allright? Was I all right! Molly! What are you doing here? I was so worried, and when I saw all this, I didn't know what tothink. She pointed to the stalled cars. Are you really all right? Of course I'm all right. But why.... The Oyster Bay operator said someone kept dialing and dialing Mother'snumber and there wasn't anyone on the line, so then she had it tracedand it came from our phone here. I kept calling up, but I only got abusy signal. Oh, dear, are you sure you're all right? I put my arm around her and glanced at McGill. He had an inward look.Then I caught Danny's eye. It had a thoughtful, almost suspicious castto it. Trouble does seem to follow you, Mr. Graham, was all he said. When we got upstairs, I turned to McGill. Explain to Molly, I said.And incidentally to me. I'm not properly briefed yet. He did so, and when he got to the summing up, I had the feeling she wasa jump ahead of him. In other words, you think it's something organic? Well, McGill said, I'm trying to think of anything else it might be.I'm not doing so well, he confessed. But so far as I can see, Molly answered, it's mere probability, andwithout any over-all pattern. Not quite. It has a center. Alec is the center. <doc-sep></s>

McGill is an assistant mathematics professor at a nearby university. He is friends with both Alec and Molly, even calling to ask about the both of them. He is considered to be highly imaginative, but they believe that he knows everything. Personality-wise, McGill is a very logical person. He believes that what Alec has told him is normally impossible, and the odds against it are very astronomical as well. Even when Alec shows him what has happened to him, he continues to pursue a logical explanation. However, despite these theories, he tries to approach these findings logically and tells Alec not to be superstitious when they initially discuss why this is happening to him.

<s>McGill went over and they discussed the problem in undertones. Finallythe man left and Molly called her mother to reassure her. McGill triedto explain to me what had happened with the phone. You must have joggled something loose. And then you replaced thereceiver in such a way that the contact wasn't quite open. But for Pete's sake, Molly says the calls were going on for a longtime! I phoned you only a short time ago and it must have taken hernearly two hours to get here from Oyster Bay. Then you must have done it twice and the vibrations in thefloor—something like that—just happened to cause the right inductionimpulses. Yes, I know how you feel, he said, seeing my expression.It's beginning to bear down. Molly was through telephoning and suggested going out for dinner. I wasso pleased to see her that I'd forgotten all about being hungry. I'm in no mood to cook, she said. Let's get away from all this. McGill raised an eyebrow. If all this, as you call it, will let us. In the lobby, we ran into Nat, looking smug in a journalistic way. I've been put on the story—who could be better?—I live here. So far,I don't quite get what's been happening. I've been talking to Danny,but he didn't say much. I got the feeling he thinks you're involved insome mystical, Hibernian way. Hello, McGill, what's with you? He's got a theory, said Molly. Come and eat with us and he'll tellyou all about it. Since we decided on an air-conditioned restaurant nearby on SixthAvenue, we walked. The jam of cars didn't seem to be any less thanbefore and we saw Danny again. He was talking to a police lieutenant,and when he caught sight of us, he said something that made thelieutenant look at us with interest. Particularly at me. If you want your umbrella, Mrs. Graham, Danny said, it's at thestation house. What there's left of it, that is. Molly thanked him and there was a short pause, during which I feltthe speculative regard of the lieutenant. I pulled out a packet ofcigarettes, which I had opened, as always, by tearing off the top. Ihappened to have it upside down and all the cigarettes fell out. BeforeI could move my foot to obliterate what they had spelled out on thesidewalk, the two cops saw it. The lieutenant gave me a hard look, butsaid nothing. I quickly kicked the insulting cigarettes into the gutter. When we got to the restaurant, it was crowded but cool—although itdidn't stay cool for long. We sat down at a side table near the doorand ordered Tom Collinses as we looked at the menu. Sitting at thenext table were a fat lady, wearing a very long, brilliant greenevening gown, and a dried-up sour-looking man in a tux. When the waiterreturned, they preempted him and began ordering dinner fussily: coldcuts for the man, and vichyssoise, lobster salad and strawberry parfaitfor the fat lady. I tasted my drink. It was most peculiar; salt seemed to have been usedinstead of sugar. I mentioned this and my companions tried theirs, andmade faces. <doc-sep>Danny appeared at that moment. His face was dripping. You all right,Mr. Graham? he asked. I don't know what's going on around here, butever since I came on this afternoon, things are going crazy. Bartley!he shouted—he could succeed as a hog-caller. Bring those dames overhere! Three women in a confused wrangle, with their half-open umbrellasintertwined, were brought across the street, which meant climbing overfenders. Bartley, a fine young patrolman, seemed self-conscious; theladies seemed not to be. All right, now, Mrs. Mac-Philip! one of them said. Leave go of myumbrella and we'll say no more about it! And so now it's Missus Mac-Philip, is it? said her adversary. The third, a younger one with her back turned to us, her umbrella alsocaught in the tangle, pulled at it in a tentative way, at which theother two glared at her. She turned her head away and tried to let go,but the handle was caught in her glove. She looked up and I saw it wasMolly. My nurse-wife. Oh, Alec! she said, and managed to detach herself. Are you allright? Was I all right! Molly! What are you doing here? I was so worried, and when I saw all this, I didn't know what tothink. She pointed to the stalled cars. Are you really all right? Of course I'm all right. But why.... The Oyster Bay operator said someone kept dialing and dialing Mother'snumber and there wasn't anyone on the line, so then she had it tracedand it came from our phone here. I kept calling up, but I only got abusy signal. Oh, dear, are you sure you're all right? I put my arm around her and glanced at McGill. He had an inward look.Then I caught Danny's eye. It had a thoughtful, almost suspicious castto it. Trouble does seem to follow you, Mr. Graham, was all he said. When we got upstairs, I turned to McGill. Explain to Molly, I said.And incidentally to me. I'm not properly briefed yet. He did so, and when he got to the summing up, I had the feeling she wasa jump ahead of him. In other words, you think it's something organic? Well, McGill said, I'm trying to think of anything else it might be.I'm not doing so well, he confessed. But so far as I can see, Molly answered, it's mere probability, andwithout any over-all pattern. Not quite. It has a center. Alec is the center. <doc-sep> Bridge Crossing BY DAVE DRYFOOS Illustrated by HARRISON [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction May 1951. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] He knew the city was organized for his individual defense, for it had been that way since he was born. But who was his enemy? In 1849, the mist that sometimes rolled through the Golden Gate wasknown as fog. In 2149, it had become far more frequent, and was knownas smog. By 2349, it was fog again. But tonight there was smoke mixed with the fog. Roddie could smell it.Somewhere in the forested ruins, fire was burning. He wasn't worried. The small blaze that smoldered behind him on thecracked concrete floor had consumed everything burnable within blocks;what remained of the gutted concrete office building from which hepeered was fire-proof. But Roddie was himself aflame with anger. As always when Invaders brokein from the north, he'd been left behind with his nurse, Molly, whilethe soldiers went out to fight. And nowadays Molly's presence wasn't the comfort it used to be. He feltalmost ready to jump out of his skin, the way she rocked and knitted inthat grating ruined chair, saying over and over again, The soldiersdon't want little boys. The soldiers don't want little boys. Thesoldiers don't— I'm not a little boy! Roddie suddenly shouted. I'm full-grown andI've never even seen an Invader. Why won't you let me go and fight? Fiercely he crossed the bare, gritty floor and shook Molly's shoulder.She rattled under his jarring hand, and abruptly changed the subject. A is for Atom, B is for Bomb, C is for Corpse— she chanted. Roddie reached into her shapeless dress and pinched. Lately that hadhelped her over these spells. But this time, though it stopped thekindergarten song, the treatment only started something worse. Wuzzums hungry? Molly cooed, still rocking. Utterly disgusted, Roddie ripped her head off her neck. It was a completely futile gesture. The complicated mind that hadcared for him and taught him speech and the alphabet hadn't made him amechanic, and his only tool was a broken-handled screwdriver. <doc-sep></s>

Molly Graham is Alec’s wife. She cares a lot about her husband, leaving him notes with instructions on what to do when she is gone. She is also a former nurse and loves Alec greatly to do all of this for him. Molly also has a habit of smoking, which she began doing when they went to the restaurant. When she notices something is wrong at home, she comes back immediately even though her previous plan was to visit her mother at Oyster Bay. Personality-wise, Molly is also a logical thinker. When Alec explains the situation to her, she also tries to find reasoning for it and catches on pretty quickly. Molly is very observant as well, watching the events that involve Alec play out.

<s>Upstairs, the wind was blowing into the apartment and I closed thewindows, mainly to shut out the tumult and the shouting. Nat hadbrightened up considerably. I'll stay for one more drink and then I'm due at the office, he said.You know, I think this would make an item for the paper. He grinnedand nodded toward the pandemonium. When he was gone, I noticed it was getting dark and turned on the desklamp. Then I saw the curtains. They were all tied in knots, exceptone. That was tied in three knots. All right , I told myself, it was the wind. But I felt the time hadcome for me to get expert advice, so I went to the phone to callMcGill. McGill is an assistant professor of mathematics at a universityuptown and lives near us. He is highly imaginative, but we believe heknows everything. When I picked up the receiver, the line sounded dead and I thought, more trouble. Then I heard a man cough and I said hello. McGill'svoice said, Alec? You must have picked up the receiver just as we wereconnected. That's a damn funny coincidence. Not in the least, I said. Come on over here. I've got something foryou to work on. Well, as a matter of fact, I was calling up to ask you and Molly— Molly's away for the week. Can you get over here quick? It's urgent. At once, he said, and hung up. While I waited, I thought I might try getting down a few paragraphs ofmy novel—perhaps something would come now. It did, but as I came to apoint where I was about to put down the word agurgling, I decided itwas too reminiscent of Gilbert and Sullivan, and stopped at the letterR. Then I saw that I had unaccountably hit all four keys one step tothe side of the correct ones, and tore out the page, with my face red. This was absolutely not my day. <doc-sep>Molly looked at me with a curious expression for a moment. Do you feel all right, darling? she asked me. I nodded brightly. You'llthink this silly of me, she went on to McGill, but why isn't itsomething like an overactive poltergeist? Pure concept, he said. No genuine evidence. Magnetism? Absolutely not. For one thing, most of the objects affected weren'tmagnetic—and don't forget magnetism is a force, not a form of energy,and a great deal of energy has been involved. I admit the energy hasmainly been supplied by the things themselves, but in a magnetic field,all you'd get would be stored kinetic energy, such as when a piece ofiron moves to a magnet or a line of force. Then it would just staythere, like a rundown clock weight. These things do a lot more thanthat—they go on moving. Why did you mention a crystal before? Why not a life-form? Only an analogy, said McGill. A crystal resembles life in that ithas a definite shape and exhibits growth, but that's all. I'll agreethis—thing—has no discernible shape and motion is involved, butplants don't move and amebas have no shape. Then a crystal feeds, butit does not convert what it feeds on; it merely rearranges it into anon-random pattern. In this case, it's rearranging random motions andit has a nucleus and it seems to be growing—at least in what you mightcall improbability. Molly frowned. Then what is it? What's it made of? I should say it was made of the motions. There's a similar idea aboutthe atom. Another thing that's like a crystal is that it appears tobe forming around a nucleus not of its own material—the way a speckof sand thrown into a supersaturated solution becomes the nucleus ofcrystallization. Sounds like the pearl in an oyster, Molly said, and gave me animpertinent look. Why, I asked McGill, did you say the coins couldn't have the samedate? I mean apart from the off chance I got them that way. Because I don't think this thing got going before today andeverything that's happened can all be described as improbable motionshere and now. The dates were already there, and to change them wouldrequire retroactive action, reversing time. That's out, in my book.That telephone now— The doorbell rang. We were not surprised to find it was the telephonerepairman. He took the set apart and clucked like a hen. I guess you dropped it on the floor, mister, he said with strongdisapproval. Certainly not, I said. Is it broken? Not exactly broken , but— He shook his head and took it apart somemore. <doc-sep>At first glance Theodor thought the Deep Space Bar was empty. Then hesaw a figure hunched monkeylike on the last stool, almost lost in theblue shadows, while behind the bar, her crystal dress blending with thetiers of sparkling glasses, stood a grave-eyed young girl who couldhardly have been fifteen. The TV was saying, ... in addition, a number of mysteriousdisappearances of high-rating individuals have been reported. Theseare thought to be cases of misunderstanding, illusory apprehension,and impulse traveling—a result of the unusual stresses of the time.Finally, a few suggestible individuals in various parts of the globe,especially the Indian Peninsula, have declared themselves to be 'gods'and in some way responsible for current events. It is thought— The girl switched off the TV and took Theodor's order, explainingcasually, Joe wanted to go to a Kometevskyite meeting, so I took overfor him. When she had prepared Theodor's highball, she announced,I'll have a drink with you gentlemen, and squeezed herself a glass ofpomegranate juice. The monkeylike figure muttered, Scotch-and-soda, then turned towardEdmund and asked, And what is your reaction to all this, sir? <doc-sep></s>

Alec is tired, upset, and confused about the strange coincidences relating to him. When he first goes home, he is extremely tired and compares his day to be the same as being beaten down. Judging from the events throughout his workday, he does not understand how they all relate to him and thinks of them as extremely weird coincidences. He even thinks of himself as being coincidence-prone. After the soda incident, however, he no longer finds it surprising after all that has happened to him. As the events build up, Alec slowly realizes that he is the center of it all, and he knows that he cannot get out of it. No matter how hard he tries, he directly interacts with or is nearby becomes strange coincidences.

<s>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep>The first harbinger of woe turned up after lunch in the person of aKallerian. The Kallerian was the sixth applicant that afternoon. Ihad turned away three more ursinoids, hired a vegetable from Miazan,and said no to a scaly pseudo-armadillo from one of the Delta Worlds.Hardly had the 'dillo scuttled dejectedly out of my office when theKallerian came striding in, not even waiting for Stebbins to admit himofficially. He was big even for his kind—in the neighborhood of nine feet high,and getting on toward a ton. He planted himself firmly on his threestocky feet, extended his massive arms in a Kallerian greeting-gesture,and growled, I am Vallo Heraal, Freeman of Kaller IV. You will sign meimmediately to a contract. Sit down, Freeman Heraal. I like to make my own decisions, thanks. You will grant me a contract! Will you please sit down? He said sulkily, I will remain standing. As you prefer. My desk has a few concealed features which aresometimes useful in dealing with belligerent or disappointedlife-forms. My fingers roamed to the meshgun trigger, just in case oftrouble. The Kallerian stood motionless before me. They're hairy creatures, andthis one had a coarse, thick mat of blue fur completely covering hisbody. Two fierce eyes glimmered out through the otherwise dense blanketof fur. He was wearing the kilt, girdle and ceremonial blaster of hiswarlike race. I said, You'll have to understand, Freeman Heraal, that it's not ourpolicy to maintain more than a few members of each species at ourInstitute. And we're not currently in need of any Kallerian males,because— You will hire me or trouble I will make! I opened our inventory chart. I showed him that we were alreadycarrying four Kallerians, and that was more than plenty. The beady little eyes flashed like beacons in the fur. Yes, you havefour representatives—of the Clan Verdrokh! None of the Clan Gursdrinn!For three years, I have waited for a chance to avenge this insult tothe noble Clan Gursdrinn! At the key-word avenge , I readied myself to ensnarl the Kallerianin a spume of tanglemesh the instant he went for his blaster, but hedidn't move. He bellowed, I have vowed a vow, Earthman. Take me toEarth, enroll a Gursdrinn, or the consequences will be terrible! <doc-sep> UNBORN TOMORROW BY MACK REYNOLDS Unfortunately , there was onlyone thing he could bring backfrom the wonderful future ...and though he didn't want to... nevertheless he did.... Illustrated by Freas Betty looked up fromher magazine. She saidmildly, You're late. Don't yell at me, Ifeel awful, Simon toldher. He sat down at his desk, passedhis tongue over his teeth in distaste,groaned, fumbled in a drawer for theaspirin bottle. He looked over at Betty and said,almost as though reciting, What Ineed is a vacation. What, Betty said, are you goingto use for money? Providence, Simon told herwhilst fiddling with the aspirin bottle,will provide. Hm-m-m. But before providingvacations it'd be nice if Providenceturned up a missing jewel deal, say.Something where you could deducethat actually the ruby ring had gonedown the drain and was caught in theelbow. Something that would netabout fifty dollars. Simon said, mournful of tone,Fifty dollars? Why not make it fivehundred? I'm not selfish, Betty said. AllI want is enough to pay me thisweek's salary. Money, Simon said. When youtook this job you said it was the romancethat appealed to you. Hm-m-m. I didn't know mostsleuthing amounted to snoopingaround department stores to check onthe clerks knocking down. Simon said, enigmatically, Nowit comes. <doc-sep></s>

Peter Karson has finished planning out the blueprint for the Citadel. He is excited to see it be built and go off into space to collect new information. Something suddenly snaps him out of his fantasy. Fifty stories above the window, there is a blood-red and subtly inhuman face staring back at him. The face slowly disappears, but he is stunned by the image. He then shakingly lights a cigarette and turns on the newsbox to see that an invader has appeared in Boston. More disasters are listed below, and the World Police announces that the Invaders have already begun terrorizing the world since they appeared twenty-four hours ago. Peter is doubtful that they can take down the Invaders and goes to Lorelei Cooper’s laboratory. Lorelei does not know what is happening because Harry and she have been working for thirty-six hours straight. She does not have a newsbox, but he tells her to turn on her scanner to see the news. The panel shows the Science City of Manhattan, but the Invaders have come and snatched up men and women. Slowly, two Invaders make their way to the Atlas building, where Peter and Lorelei are. He goes into the inner room, even though she yells at him not to go. The Invaders have reduced Harry to nothing but a puddle of flesh, and Peter begins to ask why they are doing this desperately. They whisper to him in a strange language; he suddenly realizes that Lorelei has followed him. She drops to the floor after looking at the Invaders, which makes Peter scream. When he awakes again, a doctor named Arnold tells him to lie back down and that he is in a hospital. Although Dr. Arnold initially tells him that he has been in the hospital for three months, he eventually finds out that it has already been nine and a half months since he went into his coma. All of the survivors are underground because nobody knew how to kill the Invaders. Peter is considered their last hope because he is a scientist, and he thinks back to his plan of the Citadel. The ship is built, and it is called The Avenger instead. Lorelei tries to plead with Peter, but he refuses and says that it must be him who finds a superman that can destroy the Invaders. He goes into space until the ship curves into orbit. Peter kills many of the changeling children, but he allows one to live. The child is named Robert and is considered to be a super-intelligent being. Peter is hopeful that the changeling can kill the Invaders, but Robert says he will not return to Earth. He explains that they are like kin to him, and he logically has no reason to kill him. Peter is shocked and tries to plead with Robert, but the superman does not understand emotions. Robert does not feel good about the expression on Peter’s face, and he hastens to an inevitable end.

<s>The first harbinger of woe turned up after lunch in the person of aKallerian. The Kallerian was the sixth applicant that afternoon. Ihad turned away three more ursinoids, hired a vegetable from Miazan,and said no to a scaly pseudo-armadillo from one of the Delta Worlds.Hardly had the 'dillo scuttled dejectedly out of my office when theKallerian came striding in, not even waiting for Stebbins to admit himofficially. He was big even for his kind—in the neighborhood of nine feet high,and getting on toward a ton. He planted himself firmly on his threestocky feet, extended his massive arms in a Kallerian greeting-gesture,and growled, I am Vallo Heraal, Freeman of Kaller IV. You will sign meimmediately to a contract. Sit down, Freeman Heraal. I like to make my own decisions, thanks. You will grant me a contract! Will you please sit down? He said sulkily, I will remain standing. As you prefer. My desk has a few concealed features which aresometimes useful in dealing with belligerent or disappointedlife-forms. My fingers roamed to the meshgun trigger, just in case oftrouble. The Kallerian stood motionless before me. They're hairy creatures, andthis one had a coarse, thick mat of blue fur completely covering hisbody. Two fierce eyes glimmered out through the otherwise dense blanketof fur. He was wearing the kilt, girdle and ceremonial blaster of hiswarlike race. I said, You'll have to understand, Freeman Heraal, that it's not ourpolicy to maintain more than a few members of each species at ourInstitute. And we're not currently in need of any Kallerian males,because— You will hire me or trouble I will make! I opened our inventory chart. I showed him that we were alreadycarrying four Kallerians, and that was more than plenty. The beady little eyes flashed like beacons in the fur. Yes, you havefour representatives—of the Clan Verdrokh! None of the Clan Gursdrinn!For three years, I have waited for a chance to avenge this insult tothe noble Clan Gursdrinn! At the key-word avenge , I readied myself to ensnarl the Kallerianin a spume of tanglemesh the instant he went for his blaster, but hedidn't move. He bellowed, I have vowed a vow, Earthman. Take me toEarth, enroll a Gursdrinn, or the consequences will be terrible! <doc-sep> THE GIANTS RETURN By ROBERT ABERNATHY Earth set itself grimly to meet them with corrosive fire, determined to blast them back to the stars. But they erred in thinking the Old Ones were too big to be clever. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1949. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] In the last hours the star ahead had grown brighter by many magnitudes,and had changed its color from a dazzling blue through white to thenormal yellow, of a GO sun. That was the Doppler effect as the star'sradial velocity changed relative to the Quest III , as for forty hoursthe ship had decelerated. They had seen many such stars come near out of the galaxy's glitteringbackdrop, and had seen them dwindle, turn red and go out as the QuestIII drove on its way once more, lashed by despair toward the speed oflight, leaving behind the mockery of yet another solitary and lifelessluminary unaccompanied by worlds where men might dwell. They had grownsated with the sight of wonders—of multiple systems of giant stars, ofnebulae that sprawled in empty flame across light years. But now unwonted excitement possessed the hundred-odd members of the Quest III's crew. It was a subdued excitement; men and women, theycame and stood quietly gazing into the big vision screens that showedthe oncoming star, and there were wide-eyed children who had been bornin the ship and had never seen a planet. The grownups talked in lowvoices, in tones of mingled eagerness and apprehension, of what mightlie at the long journey's end. For the Quest III was coming home; thesun ahead was the Sun, whose rays had warmed their lives' beginning. <doc-sep> THE AVENGER By STUART FLEMING Karson was creating a superman to fight the weird super-monsters who had invaded Earth. But he was forgetting one tiny thing—like calls to like. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Spring 1944. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Peter Karson was dead. He had been dead for some time now, butthe dark blood was still oozing from the crushed ruin of his face,trickling down into his sodden sleeve, and falling, drop by slow drop,from his fingertips. His head was tilted over the back of the chair ata queer, unnatural angle, so that the light made deep pools of shadowwhere his eyes had been. There was no sound in the room except for the small splashing theblood made as it dropped into the sticky pool on the floor. The greatbanks of machinery around the walls were silent. I knew that they wouldnever come to life again. I rose and walked over to the window. Outside, the stars were asbefore: tiny, myriad points of light, infinitely far away. They had notchanged, and yet they were suddenly no longer friendly. They were coldand alien. It was I who had changed: something inside me was dead, likethe machinery, and like Peter. It was a kind of indefinable emptiness. I do not think it was whatPeter called an emotion; and yet it had nothing to do with logic,either. It was just an emptiness—a void that could not be filled byeating or drinking. It was not a longing. I had no desire that things should be otherwisethan they were. I did not even wish that Peter were not dead, forreason had told me that he had to die. That was the end of it. But the void was still there, unexplainable and impossible to ignore.For the first time in all my life I had found a problem that I couldnot solve. Strange, disturbing sensations stirred and whispered withinme, nagging, gnawing. And suddenly—something moved on the skin of mycheek. I raised a hand to it, slowly. A tear was trickling down my cheek. <doc-sep></s>

The story is first set inside Peter’s office. There is a window that he initially sees the Invader through. The window can see up to fifty stories high. There is also a desk with a newsbox on it, where he lights his cigarette. His office also has a chair. Many places worldwide are mentioned too, such as London, Hong Kong, Paris, and Boston. Lorelei’s laboratory is two stories down the moving ramp. It is behind a door marked “Radiation”, and there is also a door mechanism with a password set to “Etaoin Shrdlu”. Lorelei owns a scanner, a video panel on the wall that is initially covered in papers. There is also an inner room with an X-ray chamber. The building they are in is called the Atlas building. After Peter wakes from his coma, the story is set in a hospital underground. There is a metal stand and a bed for Peter to lie on. When he goes off with the mission to bring back a superman, the ship exits from the underground launch chamber and goes into space. Peter goes past the Moon, past Mars, and over the asteroid belt. From his distance, Earth is a tiny blue star.

<s>Somebody said, Doctor! He wanted to say, Yes, get a doctor. Lorelei— but his mouth onlytwitched feebly. He couldn't seem to get it to work properly. He tried again. Doctor. Yes? A gentle, masculine voice. He opened his eyes with an effort. There was a blurred face before him;in a moment it grew clearer. The strong, clean-shaven chin contrastedoddly with the haggard circles under the eyes. There was a clean,starched odor. Where am I? he said. He tried to turn his head, but a firm handpressed him back into the sheets. You're in a hospital. Just lie quietly, please. He tried to get up again. Where's Lorelei? She's well, and you'll see her soon. Now lie quietly. You've been avery sick man. Peter sank back in the bed. The room was coming into focus. He lookedaround him slowly. He felt very weak, but perfectly lucid. Yes.... he said. How long have I been here, Doctor? The man hesitated, looked at him intently. Three months, he said. Heturned and gave low-voiced instructions to a nurse, and then went away. Peter's head began spinning just a little. Glass clinked from a metalstand near his head; the nurse bent over him with a glass half full ofmilky fluid. It tasted awful, but she made him drink it all. In a moment he began to relax, and the room got fuzzy again. Justbefore he drifted off, he said sleepily, You can't—fool me. It's been more —than three—months. He was right. All the nurses, and even Dr. Arnold, were evasive, but hekept asking them why he couldn't see Lorelei, and finally he wormed itout of them. It had been nine and a half months, not three, and he'dbeen in a coma all that time. Lorelei, it seemed, had recovered muchsooner. She was only suffering from ordinary shock, Arnold explained.Seeing that assistant of hers—it was enough to knock anybody out,especially a woman. But you stood actual mental contact with them for approximately five minutes. Yes, we know—you talked a lot. It's amiracle you're alive, and rational. But where is she? Peter complained. You still haven't explained whyI haven't been able to see her. Arnold frowned. All right, he said. I guess you're strong enough totake it. She's underground, with the rest of the women and children,and a good two-thirds of the male population. That's where you'll go,as soon as you're well enough to be moved. We started digging in sixmonths ago. But why? Peter whispered. Arnold's strong jaw knotted. We're hiding, he said. Everything elsehas failed. Peter couldn't think of anything to say. Dr. Arnold's voice went onafter a moment, musingly. We're burrowing into the earth, like worms.It didn't take us long to find out we couldn't kill them. They didn'teven take any notice of our attempts to do so, except once. That waswhen a squadron of the Police caught about fifty of them together atone time, and attacked with flame guns and a new secret weapon. Itdidn't hurt them, but it annoyed them. It was the first time they'dbeen annoyed, I think. They blew up half a state, and it's stillsmoldering. And since then? Peter asked huskily. Since then, we've been burrowing. All the big cities.... It would bean impossible task if we tried to include all the thinly-populatedareas, of course, but it doesn't matter. By the time we excavateenough to take care of a quarter of the earth's population, the otherthree-quarters will be dead, or worse. I wonder, Peter said shakily, if I am strong enough to take it. Arnold laughed harshly. You are. You've got to be. You're part of ourlast hope, you see. Our last hope? Yes. You're a scientist. I see, said Peter. And for the first time, he thought of the Citadel . No plan leaped full-born into his mind, but, maybe , hethought, there's a chance .... <doc-sep>It wasn't very big, the thing that had been his shining dream. It laythere in its rough cradle, a globe of raw dura-steel not more thanfive hundred meters in diameter, where the Citadel was to have been athousand. It wouldn't house a hundred scientists, eagerly delving intothe hinterland of research. The huge compartments weren't filled withthe latest equipment for chemical and physical experiment; instead,there was compressed oxygen there, and concentrated food, enough tolast a lifetime. It was a new world, all by itself; or else it was a tomb. And there wasone other change, one that you couldn't see from the outside. The solidmeters of lead in its outer skin, the shielding to keep out cosmicrays, were gone. A man had just finished engraving the final stroke on its nameplate, tothe left of the airlock— The Avenger . He stepped away now, and joinedthe group a little distance away, silently waiting. Lorelei said, You can't do it. I won't let you! Peter— Darling, he began wearily. Don't throw your life away! Give us time—there must be another way. There's no other way, Peter said. He gripped her arms tightly, as ifhe could compel her to understand by the sheer pressure of his fingers.Darling, listen to me. We've tried everything. We've gone underground,but that's only delaying the end. They still come down here, only notas many. The mortality rate is up, the suicide rate is up, the birthrate is down, in spite of anything we can do. You've seen the figures:we're riding a curve that ends in extinction fifty years from now. They'll live, and we'll die, because they're a superior race. We're amillion years too far back even to understand what they are or wherethey came from. Besides them, we're apes. There's only one answer. She was crying now, silently, with great racking sobs that shook herslender body. But he went remorselessly on. Out there, in space, the cosmics change unshielded life. Theymake tentacles out of arms; or scales out of hair; or twelve toes,or a dozen ears—or a better brain. Out of those millions ofpossible mutations, there's one that will save the human race. Wecan't fight them , but a superman could. That's our only chance.Lorelei—darling—don't you see that? She choked, But why can't you take me along? He stared unseeingly past her wet, upturned face. You know why, hesaid bitterly. Those rays are strong. They don't only work on embryos;they change adult life forms, too. I have one chance in seven ofstaying alive. You'd have one chance in a million of staying beautiful.I couldn't stand that. I'd kill myself, and then humanity would die,too. You'd be their murderer. Her sobs gradually died away. She straightened slowly until he nolonger had to support her, but all the vitality and resilience was goneout of her body. All right, she said in a lifeless voice. You'llcome back, Peter. He turned away suddenly, not trusting himself to kiss her goodbye. Aline from an old film kept echoing through his head. They'll comeback—but not as boys ! We'll come back, but not as men. We'll come back, but not as elephants. We'll come back, but not as octopi. <doc-sep>Peter forced himself forward another step. Little Harry Kanin,Lorelei's assistant, was crumpled in a corner, half supported by thebroad base of an X-ray chamber. His face was flaccid and bloated. Hisglazed eyes, impassive yet somehow pleading, stared at nothingnessstraight ahead of him. The Invaders ignored Peter, staring expressionlessly down at Kanin.In a moment Peter realized what they were doing to him. He stood,paralyzed with horror, and watched it happen. The little man's body was sagging, ever so slowly, as if he wererelaxing tiredly. His torso was telescoping, bit by bit; his spreadlegs grew wider and more shapeless, his cheeks caved in and his skullgrew gradually flatter. When it was over, the thing that had been Kanin was a limp, bonelesspuddle of flesh. Peter could not look at it. There was a scream in his throat that would not come out. He was beyondfear, beyond agony. He turned to the still-hovering monsters and saidin a terrible voice, Why? Why? The nearest being turned slowly to regard him. Its lips did not move,but there was a tiny sound in Peter's brain, a thin, dry whispering. The scream was welling up. He fought it down and listened. Wurnkomellilonasendiktolsasangkanmiamiamimami.... The face was staring directly into his, the bulging eyes hypnotic. Theears were small, no more than excresences of skin. The narrow lipsseemed sealed together; a thin, slimy ichor drooled from them. Therewere lines in the face, but they were lines of age, not emotion. Onlythe eyes were alive. ... raswilopreatadvuonistuwurncchtusanlgkelglawwalinom.... I can't understand, he cried wildly. What do you want? ... morofelcovisyanmamiwurlectaunntous. He heard a faint sound behind him, and whirled. It was the firsttime he had realized that Lorelei had followed him. She stood there,swaying, very pale, looking at the red Invaders. Her eyes swiveledslowly.... Opreniktoulestritifenrelngetnaktwiltoctpre. His voice was hoarse. Don't look! Don't—Go back! The horrible,mindless noise in his throat was almost beyond his power to repress.His insides writhed to thrust it out. She didn't see him. Her eyes glazed, and she dropped limply to thefloor. The scream came out then. Before he knew, even, that he could holdit back no longer, his mouth was wide open, his muscles tensed, hisfingernails slicing his palms. It echoed with unbelievable volume inthe room. It was a scream to split eardrums; a scream to wake the dead. <doc-sep></s>

Peter and Lorelei are romantically involved with each other. When Lorelei sees Peter, she calls him “my love” and “darling.” She puts her hands on his shoulders too and kisses him impulsively as a sign of affection. Peter cares greatly about Lorelei, too, as she was the first person he went to find after seeing the news about the Invaders. When he tries to investigate, she clings to him and pleads for him not to go. However, she follows along too, and he is horrified at what might happen to her. After Lorelei passes out, Peter cannot help but let out a scream. Even when he wakes up from his coma, the first thing he thinks about is Lorelei and repeatedly asks where she is. Lorelei continues to beg Peter not to leave on The Avenger and asks him to reconsider. He does not want to go, but he tells her that it is the only solution. She cries, and he goes on remorselessly even though it hurts him. Lorelei wants to come along too; Peter cares too much and tells her that he could not stand seeing her change from somebody beautiful because of the rays. Although they say farewell to each other and Lorelei affirms that he will come back, Peter does not trust himself to kiss her goodbye.

<s>The first harbinger of woe turned up after lunch in the person of aKallerian. The Kallerian was the sixth applicant that afternoon. Ihad turned away three more ursinoids, hired a vegetable from Miazan,and said no to a scaly pseudo-armadillo from one of the Delta Worlds.Hardly had the 'dillo scuttled dejectedly out of my office when theKallerian came striding in, not even waiting for Stebbins to admit himofficially. He was big even for his kind—in the neighborhood of nine feet high,and getting on toward a ton. He planted himself firmly on his threestocky feet, extended his massive arms in a Kallerian greeting-gesture,and growled, I am Vallo Heraal, Freeman of Kaller IV. You will sign meimmediately to a contract. Sit down, Freeman Heraal. I like to make my own decisions, thanks. You will grant me a contract! Will you please sit down? He said sulkily, I will remain standing. As you prefer. My desk has a few concealed features which aresometimes useful in dealing with belligerent or disappointedlife-forms. My fingers roamed to the meshgun trigger, just in case oftrouble. The Kallerian stood motionless before me. They're hairy creatures, andthis one had a coarse, thick mat of blue fur completely covering hisbody. Two fierce eyes glimmered out through the otherwise dense blanketof fur. He was wearing the kilt, girdle and ceremonial blaster of hiswarlike race. I said, You'll have to understand, Freeman Heraal, that it's not ourpolicy to maintain more than a few members of each species at ourInstitute. And we're not currently in need of any Kallerian males,because— You will hire me or trouble I will make! I opened our inventory chart. I showed him that we were alreadycarrying four Kallerians, and that was more than plenty. The beady little eyes flashed like beacons in the fur. Yes, you havefour representatives—of the Clan Verdrokh! None of the Clan Gursdrinn!For three years, I have waited for a chance to avenge this insult tothe noble Clan Gursdrinn! At the key-word avenge , I readied myself to ensnarl the Kallerianin a spume of tanglemesh the instant he went for his blaster, but hedidn't move. He bellowed, I have vowed a vow, Earthman. Take me toEarth, enroll a Gursdrinn, or the consequences will be terrible! <doc-sep>It wasn't very big, the thing that had been his shining dream. It laythere in its rough cradle, a globe of raw dura-steel not more thanfive hundred meters in diameter, where the Citadel was to have been athousand. It wouldn't house a hundred scientists, eagerly delving intothe hinterland of research. The huge compartments weren't filled withthe latest equipment for chemical and physical experiment; instead,there was compressed oxygen there, and concentrated food, enough tolast a lifetime. It was a new world, all by itself; or else it was a tomb. And there wasone other change, one that you couldn't see from the outside. The solidmeters of lead in its outer skin, the shielding to keep out cosmicrays, were gone. A man had just finished engraving the final stroke on its nameplate, tothe left of the airlock— The Avenger . He stepped away now, and joinedthe group a little distance away, silently waiting. Lorelei said, You can't do it. I won't let you! Peter— Darling, he began wearily. Don't throw your life away! Give us time—there must be another way. There's no other way, Peter said. He gripped her arms tightly, as ifhe could compel her to understand by the sheer pressure of his fingers.Darling, listen to me. We've tried everything. We've gone underground,but that's only delaying the end. They still come down here, only notas many. The mortality rate is up, the suicide rate is up, the birthrate is down, in spite of anything we can do. You've seen the figures:we're riding a curve that ends in extinction fifty years from now. They'll live, and we'll die, because they're a superior race. We're amillion years too far back even to understand what they are or wherethey came from. Besides them, we're apes. There's only one answer. She was crying now, silently, with great racking sobs that shook herslender body. But he went remorselessly on. Out there, in space, the cosmics change unshielded life. Theymake tentacles out of arms; or scales out of hair; or twelve toes,or a dozen ears—or a better brain. Out of those millions ofpossible mutations, there's one that will save the human race. Wecan't fight them , but a superman could. That's our only chance.Lorelei—darling—don't you see that? She choked, But why can't you take me along? He stared unseeingly past her wet, upturned face. You know why, hesaid bitterly. Those rays are strong. They don't only work on embryos;they change adult life forms, too. I have one chance in seven ofstaying alive. You'd have one chance in a million of staying beautiful.I couldn't stand that. I'd kill myself, and then humanity would die,too. You'd be their murderer. Her sobs gradually died away. She straightened slowly until he nolonger had to support her, but all the vitality and resilience was goneout of her body. All right, she said in a lifeless voice. You'llcome back, Peter. He turned away suddenly, not trusting himself to kiss her goodbye. Aline from an old film kept echoing through his head. They'll comeback—but not as boys ! We'll come back, but not as men. We'll come back, but not as elephants. We'll come back, but not as octopi. <doc-sep>The mild shocks went on—whether from projectiles or energy-charges,would be hard to find out and it didn't matter; whatever was hittingthe Quest III's shell was doing it at velocities where thedistinction between matter and radiation practically ceases to exist. But that shell was tough. It was an extension of the gravitic drivefield which transmitted the engines' power equally to every atom ofthe ship; forces impinging on the outside of the field were similarlytransmitted and rendered harmless. The effect was as if the vessel andall space inside its field were a single perfectly elastic body. Ameteoroid, for example, on striking it rebounded—usually vaporized bythe impact—and the ship, in obedience to the law of equal and oppositeforces, rebounded too, but since its mass was so much greater, itsdeflection was negligible. The people in the Quest III would have felt nothing at all ofthe vicious onslaught being hurled against them, save that theirinertialess drive, at its normal thrust of two hundred gravities,was intentionally operated at one half of one per cent efficiency toprovide the illusion of Earthly gravitation. One of the officers said shakily, It's as if they've been lying inwait for us. But why on Earth— That, said the captain grimly, is what we have to find out. Why—onEarth. At least, I suspect the answer's there. The Quest III bored steadily on through space, decelerating. Even ifone were no fatalist, there seemed no reason to stop decelerating orchange course. There was nowhere else to go and too little fuel leftif there had been; come what might, this was journey's end—perhapsin a more violent and final way than had been anticipated. All aroundwheeled the pigmy enemies, circling, maneuvering, and attacking,always attacking, with the senseless fury of maddened hornets. Theinterstellar ship bore no offensive weapons—but suddenly on one of thevision screens a speck of light flared into nova-brilliance, dazzlingthe watchers for the brief moment in which its very atoms were tornapart. Knof Jr. whooped ecstatically and then subsided warily, but no one waspaying attention to him. The men on the Quest III's bridge lookedquestions at each other, as the thought of help from outside flashedinto many minds at once. But Captain Llud said soberly, It must havecaught one of their own shots, reflected. Maybe its own, if it scoredtoo direct a hit. He studied the data so far gathered. A few blurred pictures had beengot, which showed cylindrical space ships much like the Quest III ,except that they were rocket-propelled and of far lesser size. Theirsize was hard to ascertain, because you needed to know their distanceand speed—but detector-beam echoes gave the distance, and likewise, bythe Doppler method, the velocity of directly receding or approachingships. It was apparent that the enemy vessels were even smaller thanGwar Den had at first supposed—not large enough to hold even one man.Tiny, deadly hornets with a colossal sting. Robot craft, no doubt, said Knof Llud, but a chill ran down his spineas it occurred to him that perhaps the attackers weren't of humanorigin. They had seen no recognizable life in the part of the galaxythey had explored, but one of the other Quests might have encounteredand been traced home by some unhuman race that was greedy and able toconquer. <doc-sep></s>

The Avenger ship is what is built from Peter’s shining dream. It is much smaller than his initial blueprint, a globe of raw-dura steel no more than five hundred meters in diameter. It cannot house a thousand scientists, and the huge compartments are not filled with the latest equipment for experiments. Instead, it is filled with compressed oxygen and concentrated food to last a lifetime. There is also a control room, engine room, airlock, and inner lock. The Avenger ship is essential because it is the key to finding a superman who can save human civilization. Since the Invaders have caused the remaining population to burrow underground, this ship carries all hopes for the future. Peter believes that there is a chance that one embryo will be genetically modified enough to become a changeling who can save humanity. That is why he is willing to take the chance on the ship and realize his dream, even if it is not the dream he initially had in mind.

<s>The first harbinger of woe turned up after lunch in the person of aKallerian. The Kallerian was the sixth applicant that afternoon. Ihad turned away three more ursinoids, hired a vegetable from Miazan,and said no to a scaly pseudo-armadillo from one of the Delta Worlds.Hardly had the 'dillo scuttled dejectedly out of my office when theKallerian came striding in, not even waiting for Stebbins to admit himofficially. He was big even for his kind—in the neighborhood of nine feet high,and getting on toward a ton. He planted himself firmly on his threestocky feet, extended his massive arms in a Kallerian greeting-gesture,and growled, I am Vallo Heraal, Freeman of Kaller IV. You will sign meimmediately to a contract. Sit down, Freeman Heraal. I like to make my own decisions, thanks. You will grant me a contract! Will you please sit down? He said sulkily, I will remain standing. As you prefer. My desk has a few concealed features which aresometimes useful in dealing with belligerent or disappointedlife-forms. My fingers roamed to the meshgun trigger, just in case oftrouble. The Kallerian stood motionless before me. They're hairy creatures, andthis one had a coarse, thick mat of blue fur completely covering hisbody. Two fierce eyes glimmered out through the otherwise dense blanketof fur. He was wearing the kilt, girdle and ceremonial blaster of hiswarlike race. I said, You'll have to understand, Freeman Heraal, that it's not ourpolicy to maintain more than a few members of each species at ourInstitute. And we're not currently in need of any Kallerian males,because— You will hire me or trouble I will make! I opened our inventory chart. I showed him that we were alreadycarrying four Kallerians, and that was more than plenty. The beady little eyes flashed like beacons in the fur. Yes, you havefour representatives—of the Clan Verdrokh! None of the Clan Gursdrinn!For three years, I have waited for a chance to avenge this insult tothe noble Clan Gursdrinn! At the key-word avenge , I readied myself to ensnarl the Kallerianin a spume of tanglemesh the instant he went for his blaster, but hedidn't move. He bellowed, I have vowed a vow, Earthman. Take me toEarth, enroll a Gursdrinn, or the consequences will be terrible! <doc-sep>Wilkins moved away. Isobar waited until the Patrolman was completelyout of sight. Then swiftly he pulled open the massive gate, slippedthrough, and closed it behind him. A flood of warmth, exhilarating after the constantly regulatedtemperature of the Dome, descended upon him. Fresh air, thin, butfragrant with the scent of growing things, made his pulses stir withjoyous abandon. He was Outside! He was Outside, in good sunlight, atlast! After six long and dreary months! Raptly, blissfully, all thought of caution tossed to the gentle breezesthat ruffled his sparse hair, Isobar Jones stepped forward into thelunar valley.... How long he wandered thus, carefree and utterly content, he could notafterward say. It seemed like minutes; it must have been longer. Heonly knew that the grass was green beneath his feet, the trees were alacy network through which warm sunlight filtered benevolently, thechirrupings of small insects and the rustling whisper of the breezesformed a tiny symphony of happiness through which he moved as onecharmed. It did not occur to him that he had wandered too far from the Dome'sentrance until, strolling through an enchanting flower-decked glade, hewas startled to hear—off to his right—the sharp, explosive bark of aHaemholtz ray pistol. He whirled, staring about him wildly, and discovered that though hismeandering had kept him near the Dome, he had unconsciously followedits hemispherical perimeter to a point nearly two miles from theGateway. By the placement of ports and windows, Isobar was able tojudge his location perfectly; he was opposite that portion of thestructure which housed Sparks' radio turret. And the shooting? That could only be— He did not have to name its reason, even to himself. For at thatmoment, there came racing around the curve of the Dome a pair offigures, Patrolmen clad in fatigue drab. Roberts and Brown. Roberts wasstaggering, one foot dragged awkwardly as he ran; Brown's left arm,bloodstained from shoulder to elbow, hung limply at his side, but inhis good right fist he held a spitting Haemholtz with which he tried tocover his comrade's sluggish retreat. And behind these two, grim, grey, gaunt figures that moved withastonishing speed despite their massive bulk, came three ... six ... adozen of those lunarites whom all men feared. The Grannies! III Simultaneously with his recognition of the pair, Joe Roberts saw him. Agasp of relief escaped the wounded man. Jones! Thank the Lord! Then you picked up our cry for help? Quick,man—where is it? Theres not a moment to waste! W-where, faltered Isobar feebly, is what ? The tank, of course! Didn't you hear our telecast? We can't possiblymake it back to the gate without an armored car. My foot's broken,and— Roberts stopped suddenly, an abrupt horror in his eyes. Youdon't have one! You're here alone ! Then you didn't pick up our call?But, why—? Never mind that, snapped Isobar, now! Placid by nature, he couldmove when urgency drove. His quick mind saw the immediateness of theirperil. Unarmed, he could not help the Patrolmen fight a delaying actionagainst their foes, nor could he hasten their retreat. Anyway, weaponswere useless, and time was of the essence. There was but one temporaryway of staving off disaster. Over here ... this tree! Quick! Up yougo! Give him a lift, Brown—There! That's the stuff! He was the last to scramble up the gnarled bole to a tentative leafysanctuary. He had barely gained the security of the lowermost boughwhen a thundering crash resounded, the sturdy trunk trembled beneathhis clutch. Stony claws gouged yellow parallels in the bark scantinches beneath one kicking foot, then the Granny fell back with a thud.The Graniteback was not a climber. It was far too ungainly, much tooweighty for that. Roberts said weakly, Th-thanks, Jonesy! That was a close call. That goes for me, too, Jonesy, added Brown from an upper bough.But I'm afraid you just delayed matters. This tree's O.Q. as longas it lasts, but— He stared down upon the gathering knot ofGrannies unhappily—it's not going to last long with that bunch ofsuperdreadnaughts working out on it! Hold tight, fellows! Here theycome! For the Grannies, who had huddled for a moment as if in telepathicconsultation, now joined forces, turned, and as one body chargedheadlong toward the tree. The unified force of their attack was likethe shattering impact of a battering ram. Bark rasped and grittedbeneath the besieged men's hands, dry leaves and twigs pelted aboutthem in a tiny rain, tormented fibrous sinews groaned as the agedforest monarch shuddered in agony. Desperately they clung to their perches. Though the great tree bent, itdid not break. But when it stopped trembling, it was canted drunkenlyto one side, and the erstwhile solid earth about its base was brokenand cracked—revealing fleshy tentacles uprooted from ancient moorings! <doc-sep>Brown stared at this evidence of the Grannies' power withterror-fascinated eyes. His voice was none too firm. Lord! Piledrivers! A couple more like that— Isobar nodded. He knew what falling into the clutch of the Granniesmeant. He had once seen the grisly aftermath of a Graniteback feast.Even now their adversaries had drawn back for a second attack. A suddenidea struck him. A straw of hope at which he grasped feverishly. You telecast a message to the Dome? Help should be on the way by now.If we can just hold out— But Roberts shook his head. We sent a message, Jonesy, but I don't think it got through. I've justbeen looking at my portable. It seems to be busted. Happened when theyfirst attacked us, I guess. I tripped and fell on it. Isobar's last hope flickered out. Then I—I guess it won't be long now, he mourned. If we could haveonly got a message through, they would have sent out an armored car topick us up. But as it is— Brown's shrug displayed a bravado he did not feel. Well, that's the way it goes. We knew what we were risking when wevolunteered to come Outside. This damn moon! It'll never be wortha plugged credit until men find some way to fight those murderousstones-on-legs! Roberts said, That's right. But what are you doing out here, Isobar?And why, for Pete's sake, the bagpipes? Oh—the pipes? Isobar flushed painfully. He had almost forgottenhis original reason for adventuring Outside, had quite forgottenhis instrument, and was now rather amazed to discover that somehowthroughout all the excitement he had held onto it. Why, I justhappened to—Oh! the pipes! Hold on! roared Roberts. His warning came just in time. Once more,the three tree-sitters shook like dried peas in a pod as their leafyrefuge trembled before the locomotive onslaught of the lunar beasts.This time the already-exposed roots strained and lifted, severalsnapped; when the Grannies again withdrew, complacently unaware thatthe lethal ray of Brown's Haemholtz was wasting itself upon theiradamant hides in futile fury, the tree was bent at a precarious angle. Brown sobbed, not with fear but with impotent anger, and in a gestureof enraged desperation, hurled his now-empty weapon at the retreatingGrannies. No good! Not a damn bit of good! Oh, if there was only some way offighting those filthy things— But Isobar Jones had a one-track mind. The pipes! he cried again,excitedly. That's the answer! And he drew the instrument into playingposition, bag cuddled beneath one arm-pit, drones stiffly erect overhis shoulder, blow-pipe at his lips. His cheeks puffed, his breathexpelled. The giant lung swelled, the chaunter emitted its distinctive,fearsome, Kaa-aa-o-o-o-oro-oong! Roberts moaned. Oh, Lord! A guy can't even die in peace! And Brown stared at him hopelessly. It's no use, Isobar. You trying to scare them off? They have no senseof hearing. That's been proven— Isobar took his lips from the reed to explain. It's not that. I'm trying to rouse the boys in the Dome. We're rightopposite the atmosphere-conditioning-unit. See that grilled duct overthere? That's an inhalation-vent. The portable transmitter's out oforder, and our voices ain't strong enough to carry into the Dome—butthe sound of these pipes is! And Commander Eagan told me just a shortwhile ago that the sound of the pipes carries all over the building! If they hear this, they'll get mad because I'm disobeyin' orders.They'll start lookin' for me. If they can't find me inside, maybethey'll look Outside. See that window? That's Sparks' turret. If we canmake him look out here— Stop talking! roared Roberts. Stop talking, guy, and startblowing! I think you've got something there. Anyhow, it's our lasthope. Blow! And quick! appended Brown. For here they come! Isobar played, blew with all his might, while the Grannies raged below. He meant the Grannies. Again they were huddling for attack, once more,a solid phalanx of indestructible, granite flesh, they were smashingdown upon the tree. Haa-a-roong! blew Isobar Jones. IV And—even he could not have foreseen the astounding results ofhis piping! What happened next was as astonishing as it wasincomprehensible. For as the pipes, filled now and primed to burst intowhatever substitute for melody they were prodded into, wailed intoaction—the Grannies' rush came to an abrupt halt! As one, they stopped cold in their tracks and turned dull, colorless,questioning eyes upward into the tree whence came this weird andvibrant droning! So stunned with surprise was Isobar that his grip on the pipes relaxed,his lips almost slipped from the reed. But Brown's delighted bellowlifted his paralysis. Sacred rings of Saturn-look! They like it! Keep playing, Jonesy!Play, boy, like you never played before! And Roberts roared, above the skirling of the piobaireachd intowhich Isobar had instinctively swung, Music hath charms to soothe thesavage beast! Then we were wrong. They can hear, after all! See that?They're lying down to listen—like so many lambs! Keep playing, Isobar!For once in my life I'm glad to hear that lovely, wonderful music! Isobar needed no urging. He, too, had noted how the Grannies' attackhad stopped, how every last one of the gaunt grey beasts had suddenly,quietly, almost happily, dropped to its haunches at the base of thetree. There was no doubt about it; the Grannies liked this music. Eyesraptly fixed, unblinking, unwavering, they froze into postures ofgentle beatitude. One stirred once, dangerously, as for a moment Isobarpaused to catch his breath, but Isobar hastily lipped the blow-pipewith redoubled eagerness, and the Granny relapsed into quietude. Followed then what, under somewhat different circumstances, should havebeen a piper's dream. For Isobar had an audience which would not—andin two cases dared not—allow him to stop playing. And to thisaudience he played over and over again his entire repertoire. Marches,flings, dances—the stirring Rhoderik Dhu and the lilting LassiesO'Skye , the mournful Coghiegh nha Shie whose keening is like thesound of a sobbing nation. The Cock o' the North , he played, and Mironton ... Wee Flow'r o'Dee and MacArthur's March ... La Cucuracha and— And his lungs were parched, his lips dry as swabs of cotton. Bloodpounded through his temples, throbbing in time to the drone of thechaunter, and a dark mist gathered before his eyes. He tore theblow-pipe from his lips, gasped, Keep playing! came the dim, distant howl of Johnny Brown. Just a fewminutes longer, Jonesy! Relief is on the way. Sparks saw us from histurret window five minutes ago! And Isobar played on. How, or what, he did not know. The memory ofthose next few minutes was never afterward clear in his mind. All heknew was that above the skirling drone of his pipes there came anothersound, the metallic clanking of a man-made machine ... an armored tank,sent from the Dome to rescue the beleaguered trio. He was conscious, then, of a friendly voice shouting words ofencouragement, of Joe Roberts calling a warning to those below. Careful, boys! Drive the tank right up beneath us so we can hop in andget out of here! Watch the Grannies—they'll be after us the minuteIsobar stops playing! Then the answer from below. The fantastic answer in Sparks' familiarvoice. The answer that caused the bagpipes to slip from Isobar'sfingers as Isobar Jones passed out in a dead faint: After you? Those Grannies? Hell's howling acres— those Grannies arestone dead ! <doc-sep></s>

Robert is the one changeling child that Peter did not destroy. He is described to have an eager brain, and Peter keeps feeding knowledge to it. Robert also has a superior brain, capable of instinctively solving problems that would take mechanical computers hours of work. Physically, Robert also has talons. However, despite being a successful superman, Robert does not understand anything emotional. He refuses to go back to Earth to destroy the Invaders, citing that he is a being of logic. Robert says that he will use the people on Earth for his own gain, which the Invaders are already doing. Therefore, he finds it illogical when Peter asks him to kill the Invaders and not his people. Even when Peter says that he is his friend, Robert says he does not understand and believes that gratitude is a reciprocal arrangement.

<s>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep>All the chill recriminations and arguments Zotul had stored for thisoccasion were dissipated in the warmth of the Earthman's manner. Almost apologetically, Zotul told of the encroachment that had beenmade upon the business of the Pottery of Masur. Once, he said formally, the Masur fortune was the greatest inthe world of Zur. That was before my father, the famous KalrabMasur—Divinity protect him—departed this life to collect his greaterreward. He often told us, my father did, that the clay is the flesh andbones of our culture and our fortune. Now it has been shown how proneis the flesh to corruption and how feeble the bones. We are ruined, andall because of new things coming from Earth. Broderick stroked his shaven chin and looked sad. Why didn't you cometo me sooner? This would never have happened. But now that it has,we're going to do right by you. That is the policy of Earth—always todo right by the customer. Divinity witness, Zorin said, that we ask only compensation fordamages. Broderick shook his head. It is not possible to replace an immensefortune at this late date. As I said, you should have reported yourtrouble sooner. However, we can give you an opportunity to rebuild. Doyou own an automobile? No. A gas range? A gas-fired furnace? A radio? Zotul had to answer no to all except the radio. My wife Lania likesthe music, he explained. I cannot afford the other things. Broderick clucked sympathetically. One who could not afford thebargain-priced merchandise of Earth must be poor indeed. To begin with, he said, I am going to make you a gift of all theseluxuries you do not have. As Zotul made to protest, he cut him offwith a wave of his hand. It is the least we can do for you. Pick a carfrom the lot outside. I will arrange to have the other things deliveredand installed in your home. To receive gifts, said Zotul, incurs an obligation. None at all, beamed the Earthman cheerily. Every item is given toyou absolutely free—a gift from the people of Earth. All we ask isthat you pay the freight charges on the items. Our purpose is not tomake profit, but to spread technology and prosperity throughout theGalaxy. We have already done well on numerous worlds, but working outthe full program takes time. He chuckled deeply. We of Earth have a saying about one of ourextremely slow-moving native animals. We say, 'Slow is the tortoise,but sure.' And so with us. Our goal is a long-range one, with themotto, 'Better times with better merchandise.' <doc-sep> HOW TO MAKE FRIENDS By JIM HARMON Illustrated by WEST [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine October 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Every lonely man tries to make friends. Manet just didn't know when to stop! William Manet was alone. In the beginning, he had seen many advantages to being alone. It wouldgive him an unprecedented opportunity to once and for all correlateloneliness to the point of madness, to see how long it would take himto start slavering and clawing the pin-ups from the magazines, to beginteaching himself classes in philosophy consisting of interminablelectures to a bored and captive audience of one. He would be able to measure the qualities of peace and decide whetherit was really better than war, he would be able to get as fat and asdirty as he liked, he would be able to live more like an animal andthink more like a god than any man for generations. But after a shorter time than he expected, it all got to be a tearingbore. Even the waiting to go crazy part of it. Not that he was going to have any great long wait of it. He was alreadytalking to himself, making verbal notes for his lectures, and he hadcut out a picture of Annie Oakley from an old book. He tacked it up andwinked at it whenever he passed that way. Lately she was winking back at him. Loneliness was a physical weight on his skull. It peeled the flesh fromhis arms and legs and sandpapered his self-pity to a fine sensitivity. No one on Earth was as lonely as William Manet, and even William Manetcould only be this lonely on Mars. Manet was Atmosphere Seeder Station 131-47's own human. All Manet had to do was sit in the beating aluminum heart in the middleof the chalk desert and stare out, chin cupped in hands, at the flat,flat pavement of dirty talcum, at the stars gleaming as hard in theblack sky as a starlet's capped teeth ... stars two of which were moonsand one of which was Earth. He had to do nothing else. The wholegimcrack was cybernetically controlled, entirely automatic. No one wasneeded here—no human being, at least. The Workers' Union was a pretty small pressure group, but it didn'ttake much to pressure the Assembly. Featherbedding had been carefullyspecified, including an Overseer for each of the Seeders to honeycombMars, to prepare its atmosphere for colonization. They didn't give tests to find well-balanced, well-integrated peoplefor the job. Well-balanced, well-integrated men weren't going toisolate themselves in a useless job. They got, instead, William Manetand his fellows. The Overseers were to stay as long as the job required. Passenger fareto Mars was about one billion dollars. They weren't providing commuterservice for night shifts. They weren't providing accommodationsfor couples when the law specified only one occupant. They weren'tproviding fuel (at fifty million dollars a gallon) for visits betweenthe various Overseers. They weren't very providential. But it was two hundred thousand a year in salary, and it offeredwonderful opportunities. It gave William Manet an opportunity to think he saw a spaceship makinga tailfirst landing on the table of the desert, its tail burning asbright as envy. <doc-sep></s>

The House of Masur is a family business in Zur, run by Koltan and his six sons. The business specializes in pottery and clay manufacturing for Zur. The family gathers as they deliberate the upcoming arrival of Earthmen. Some of the brothers express frustration that the Earthmen will be landing among the Thorabians rather than in Zur, disrupting their plan to steal the precious, scarce metals off their ship. Zotul, the youngest of the brothers, discourages the plan, saying that the Earthmen's ship is their only way of transport. After the meeting, Zotul ponders what other benefits the Earthmen could serve. The Earthmen eventually arrive at Zur, parading the streets and making speeches, and leaving shortly after. They return with multiple ships and establish corporations all over Zur. One day, Zotul's wife brings home a metal pot, which she had bought from Earthmen; she tells him that they are high in demand and that a new type of stove is essential to use them. Zotul protests, but later designs a ceramic stove, which becomes a successful development in their business. Earthmen continue introducing more technology to Zur, including a printing press and telegraphs. Zotul notes internally that though the business has made profit, it is dependent upon the pots from Earth. The business quickly begins declining, with sales dropping. They attempt to advertise their business, but advertisement has become fully occupied by Earth. After ten years, during which Koltan has passed on, the Masur business has dwindled. The brothers decide to go to the governor of Lor, who tells them that the developments are all beneficial, informing them of a new production of highways. The brothers are optimistic that they would be able to use their clay for the roads, but Earthmen begin using cement. The governor then refers the brothers to Earth's Merchandising Council, where Zotul meets Kent Broderick, where he expresses sympathy about the status of the Masur business and offers them the luxuries brought by Earthmen, completely free except for the cost of freight. The cost, however, is more than the brothers could ever afford, and so Broderick sets them up with a credit system, as well as a contract for the family to supply Earthmen with ceramic parts. The brothers enjoy their luxury, but it is short lived, as their contract expires and they find themselves in debt. Zotul then revisits the governor, who ends up being Broderick. Broderick informs Zotul that Earth has bought them, and every business in Zur, out, and that they own everything. Broderick tells Zotul that the family will work for Earth now, and that Earth will fully conquer Zur.

<s>All the chill recriminations and arguments Zotul had stored for thisoccasion were dissipated in the warmth of the Earthman's manner. Almost apologetically, Zotul told of the encroachment that had beenmade upon the business of the Pottery of Masur. Once, he said formally, the Masur fortune was the greatest inthe world of Zur. That was before my father, the famous KalrabMasur—Divinity protect him—departed this life to collect his greaterreward. He often told us, my father did, that the clay is the flesh andbones of our culture and our fortune. Now it has been shown how proneis the flesh to corruption and how feeble the bones. We are ruined, andall because of new things coming from Earth. Broderick stroked his shaven chin and looked sad. Why didn't you cometo me sooner? This would never have happened. But now that it has,we're going to do right by you. That is the policy of Earth—always todo right by the customer. Divinity witness, Zorin said, that we ask only compensation fordamages. Broderick shook his head. It is not possible to replace an immensefortune at this late date. As I said, you should have reported yourtrouble sooner. However, we can give you an opportunity to rebuild. Doyou own an automobile? No. A gas range? A gas-fired furnace? A radio? Zotul had to answer no to all except the radio. My wife Lania likesthe music, he explained. I cannot afford the other things. Broderick clucked sympathetically. One who could not afford thebargain-priced merchandise of Earth must be poor indeed. To begin with, he said, I am going to make you a gift of all theseluxuries you do not have. As Zotul made to protest, he cut him offwith a wave of his hand. It is the least we can do for you. Pick a carfrom the lot outside. I will arrange to have the other things deliveredand installed in your home. To receive gifts, said Zotul, incurs an obligation. None at all, beamed the Earthman cheerily. Every item is given toyou absolutely free—a gift from the people of Earth. All we ask isthat you pay the freight charges on the items. Our purpose is not tomake profit, but to spread technology and prosperity throughout theGalaxy. We have already done well on numerous worlds, but working outthe full program takes time. He chuckled deeply. We of Earth have a saying about one of ourextremely slow-moving native animals. We say, 'Slow is the tortoise,but sure.' And so with us. Our goal is a long-range one, with themotto, 'Better times with better merchandise.' <doc-sep> A Gift From Earth By MANLY BANISTER Illustrated by KOSSIN [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction August 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Except for transportation, it was absolutely free ... but how much would the freight cost? It is an outrage, said Koltan of the House of Masur, that theEarthmen land among the Thorabians! Zotul, youngest of the Masur brothers, stirred uneasily. Personally, hewas in favor of the coming of the Earthmen to the world of Zur. At the head of the long, shining table sat old Kalrab Masur, in hisdotage, but still giving what he could of aid and comfort to thePottery of Masur, even though nobody listened to him any more andhe knew it. Around the table sat the six brothers—Koltan, eldestand Director of the Pottery; Morvan, his vice-chief; Singula, theirtreasurer; Thendro, sales manager; Lubiosa, export chief; and last inthe rank of age, Zotul, who was responsible for affairs of design. Behold, my sons, said Kalrab, stroking his scanty beard. What arethese Earthmen to worry about? Remember the clay. It is our strengthand our fortune. It is the muscle and bone of our trade. Earthmen maycome and Earthmen may go, but clay goes on forever ... and with it, thefame and fortune of the House of Masur. It is a damned imposition, agreed Morvan, ignoring his father'sphilosophical attitude. They could have landed just as easily here inLor. The Thorabians will lick up the gravy, said Singula, whose mind ranrather to matters of financial aspect, and leave us the grease. By this, he seemed to imply that the Thorabians would rob the Earthmen,which the Lorians would not. The truth was that all on Zur were pantingto get their hands on that marvelous ship, which was all of metal, avery scarce commodity on Zur, worth billions of ken. <doc-sep>The engaging manner of the man won Zotul's confidence. After all, itwas no more than fair to pay transportation. He said, How much does the freight cost? Broderick told him. It may seem high, said the Earthman, but remember that Earth issixty-odd light-years away. After all, we are absorbing the cost of themerchandise. All you pay is the freight, which is cheap, consideringthe cost of operating an interstellar spaceship. Impossible, said Zotul drably. Not I and all my brothers togetherhave so much money any more. You don't know us of Earth very well yet, but you will. I offer youcredit! What is that? asked Zotul skeptically. It is how the poor are enabled to enjoy all the luxuries of therich, said Broderick, and went on to give a thumbnail sketch of theinvolutions and devolutions of credit, leaving out some angles thatmight have had a discouraging effect. On a world where credit was a totally new concept, it was enchanting.Zotul grasped at the glittering promise with avidity. What must I doto get credit? Just sign this paper, said Broderick, and you become part of ourEasy Payment Plan. Zotul drew back. I have five brothers. If I took all these things formyself and nothing for them, they would beat me black and blue. Here. Broderick handed him a sheaf of chattel mortgages. Have eachof your brothers sign one of these, then bring them back to me. That isall there is to it. It sounded wonderful. But how would the brothers take it? Zotulwrestled with his misgivings and the misgivings won. I will talk it over with them, he said. Give me the total so I willhave the figures. The total was more than it ought to be by simple addition. Zotulpointed this out politely. Interest, Broderick explained. A mere fifteen per cent. After all,you get the merchandise free. The transportation company has to bepaid, so another company loans you the money to pay for the freight.This small extra sum pays the lending company for its trouble. I see. Zotul puzzled over it sadly. It is too much, he said. Ourplant doesn't make enough money for us to meet the payments. I have a surprise for you, smiled Broderick. Here is a contract. Youwill start making ceramic parts for automobile spark plugs and certainparts for radios and gas ranges. It is our policy to encourage localmanufacture to help bring prices down. We haven't the equipment. We will equip your plant, beamed Broderick. It will require onlya quarter interest in your plant itself, assigned to our terrestrialcompany. <doc-sep></s>

Each of the six brothers of the Masur business has their own specialty; a director, treasurer, vice-chief, sales manager, export chief, and Zotul, their designer. Despite their equal roles in the business, Zotul is the youngest brother, and for this reason is mistreated. In meetings and conferences, he is rarely allowed to speak without being scolded, and his input is never taken seriously. Zotul also experiences beatings by his brothers regularly. Even though Zotul experiences this treatment, the brothers still expect him to carry the weight of responsibilities for them, such as meeting with Broderick.

<s>All the chill recriminations and arguments Zotul had stored for thisoccasion were dissipated in the warmth of the Earthman's manner. Almost apologetically, Zotul told of the encroachment that had beenmade upon the business of the Pottery of Masur. Once, he said formally, the Masur fortune was the greatest inthe world of Zur. That was before my father, the famous KalrabMasur—Divinity protect him—departed this life to collect his greaterreward. He often told us, my father did, that the clay is the flesh andbones of our culture and our fortune. Now it has been shown how proneis the flesh to corruption and how feeble the bones. We are ruined, andall because of new things coming from Earth. Broderick stroked his shaven chin and looked sad. Why didn't you cometo me sooner? This would never have happened. But now that it has,we're going to do right by you. That is the policy of Earth—always todo right by the customer. Divinity witness, Zorin said, that we ask only compensation fordamages. Broderick shook his head. It is not possible to replace an immensefortune at this late date. As I said, you should have reported yourtrouble sooner. However, we can give you an opportunity to rebuild. Doyou own an automobile? No. A gas range? A gas-fired furnace? A radio? Zotul had to answer no to all except the radio. My wife Lania likesthe music, he explained. I cannot afford the other things. Broderick clucked sympathetically. One who could not afford thebargain-priced merchandise of Earth must be poor indeed. To begin with, he said, I am going to make you a gift of all theseluxuries you do not have. As Zotul made to protest, he cut him offwith a wave of his hand. It is the least we can do for you. Pick a carfrom the lot outside. I will arrange to have the other things deliveredand installed in your home. To receive gifts, said Zotul, incurs an obligation. None at all, beamed the Earthman cheerily. Every item is given toyou absolutely free—a gift from the people of Earth. All we ask isthat you pay the freight charges on the items. Our purpose is not tomake profit, but to spread technology and prosperity throughout theGalaxy. We have already done well on numerous worlds, but working outthe full program takes time. He chuckled deeply. We of Earth have a saying about one of ourextremely slow-moving native animals. We say, 'Slow is the tortoise,but sure.' And so with us. Our goal is a long-range one, with themotto, 'Better times with better merchandise.' <doc-sep> IT WAS A DULL, ROUTINE LITTLE WORLD. IT DIDN'T EVEN HAVE A CITY. EVERYTHING IT HAD WAS IN THE GARDEN BY R. A. LAFFERTY [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, March 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The protozoic recorder chirped like a bird. Not only would there belife traces on that little moon, but it would be a lively place. Sothey skipped several steps in the procedure. The chordata discerner read Positive over most of the surface. Therewas spinal fluid on that orb, rivers of it. So again they omittedseveral tests and went to the cognition scanner. Would it show Thoughton the body? Naturally they did not get results at once, nor did they expect to; itrequired a fine adjustment. But they were disappointed that they foundnothing for several hours as they hovered high over the rotation. Thenit came—clearly and definitely, but from quite a small location only. Limited, said Steiner, as though within a pale. As though there werebut one city, if that is its form. Shall we follow the rest of thesurface to find another, or concentrate on this? It'll be twelve hoursbefore it's back in our ken if we let it go now. Let's lock on this one and finish the scan. Then we can do the rest ofthe world to make sure we've missed nothing, said Stark. There was one more test to run, one very tricky and difficult ofanalysis, that with the Extraordinary Perception Locator. This wasdesigned simply to locate a source of superior thought. But this mightbe so varied or so unfamiliar that often both the machine and thedesigner of it were puzzled as to how to read the results. The E. P. Locator had been designed by Glaser. But when the Locatorhad refused to read Positive when turned on the inventor himself,bad blood developed between machine and man. Glaser knew that he hadextraordinary perception. He was a much honored man in his field. Hetold the machine so heatedly. The machine replied, with such warmth that its relays chattered, thatGlaser did not have extraordinary perception; he had only ordinaryperception to an extraordinary degree. There is a difference , themachine insisted. It was for this reason that Glaser used that model no more, but builtothers more amenable. And it was for this reason also that the ownersof Little Probe had acquired the original machine so cheaply. And there was no denying that the Extraordinary Perception Locator (orEppel) was a contrary machine. On Earth it had read Positive on anumber of crack-pots, including Waxey Sax, a jazz tootler who could noteven read music. But it had also read Positive on ninety per cent ofthe acknowledged superior minds of the Earth. In space it had been asound guide to the unusual intelligences encountered. Yet on Suzuki-Miit had read Positive on a two-inch-long worm, only one of them out ofbillions. For the countless identical worms no trace of anything at allwas shown by the test. So it was with mixed expectations that Steiner locked onto the areaand got a flick. He then narrowed to a smaller area (apparently oneindividual, though this could not be certain) and got very definiteaction. Eppel was busy. The machine had a touch of the ham in it, andassumed an air of importance when it ran these tests. Finally it signaled the result, the most exasperating result it everproduces: the single orange light. It was the equivalent of the shrugof the shoulders in a man. They called it the You tell me light. So among the intelligences there was at least one that might beextraordinary, though possibly in a crackpot way. It is good to beforewarned. <doc-sep>Gritting my teeth, I turned to the man on the stretcher. Something hadpretty near torn half his face away. It was all there, but not in theright place, and it wasn't pretty. I turned away, caught my mother'seye, and then I didn't even dare to throw up. I looked at that smashedface again and all the first-aid lessons I'd had flew out of my head asif some super-psi had plucked them from me. The man was bleeding terribly. I had never seen blood pouring out likethat before. The first thing to do, I figured sickly, was mop it up. Iwet a sponge and dabbed gingerly at the face, but my hands were shakingso hard that the sponge slipped and my fingers were on the raw gapingwound. I could feel the warm viscosity of the blood and nothing, noteven my mother, could keep my meal down this time, I thought. Mother had uttered a sound of exasperation as I dropped the sponge. Icould hear her coming toward me. Then I heard her gasp. I looked at mypatient and my mouth dropped open. For suddenly there was no wound,no wound at all—just a little blood and the fellow's face was wholeagain. Not even a scar. Wha—wha happened? he asked. It doesn't hurt any more! He touched his cheek and looked up at me with frightened eyes. And Iwas frightened, too—too frightened to be sick, too frightened to doanything but stare witlessly at him. Touch some of the others, quick! my mother commanded, pushingastounded attendants away from stretchers. I touched broken limbs and torn bodies and shattered heads, and theywere whole again right away. Everybody in the room was looking at me inthe way I had always dreamed of being looked at. Lucy was opening andshutting her beautiful mouth like a beautiful fish. In fact, the wholething was just like a dream, except that I was awake. I couldn't haveimagined all those horrors. But the horrors soon weren't horrors any more. I began to find themalmost pleasing; the worse a wound was, the more I appreciated it.There was so much more satisfaction, virtually an esthetic thrill, inseeing a horrible jagged tear smooth away, heal, not in days, as itwould have done under the cure-all, but in seconds. Timothy was right, my mother said, her eyes filled with tears, andI was wrong ever to have doubted. You have a gift, son— and she saidthe word son loud and clear so that everybody could hear it—thegreatest gift of all, that of healing. She looked at me proudly. AndLucy and the others looked at me as if I were a god or something. I felt ... well, good. <doc-sep></s>

The story takes place in Zur, a region within Lor, on a foreign planet. There is a neighboring region, Thorabia, often seen as a rival. Zur is initially a mellow city, made of clay and tile. However, once Earth begins overtaking Zur, the city becomes more crowded and filled with large, corporate buildings, made of cement and metal. Much of the story occurs within the office of the Masur family business, as well as the governor's building, and the office of the Merchandising Council.

<s> A Gift From Earth By MANLY BANISTER Illustrated by KOSSIN [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction August 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Except for transportation, it was absolutely free ... but how much would the freight cost? It is an outrage, said Koltan of the House of Masur, that theEarthmen land among the Thorabians! Zotul, youngest of the Masur brothers, stirred uneasily. Personally, hewas in favor of the coming of the Earthmen to the world of Zur. At the head of the long, shining table sat old Kalrab Masur, in hisdotage, but still giving what he could of aid and comfort to thePottery of Masur, even though nobody listened to him any more andhe knew it. Around the table sat the six brothers—Koltan, eldestand Director of the Pottery; Morvan, his vice-chief; Singula, theirtreasurer; Thendro, sales manager; Lubiosa, export chief; and last inthe rank of age, Zotul, who was responsible for affairs of design. Behold, my sons, said Kalrab, stroking his scanty beard. What arethese Earthmen to worry about? Remember the clay. It is our strengthand our fortune. It is the muscle and bone of our trade. Earthmen maycome and Earthmen may go, but clay goes on forever ... and with it, thefame and fortune of the House of Masur. It is a damned imposition, agreed Morvan, ignoring his father'sphilosophical attitude. They could have landed just as easily here inLor. The Thorabians will lick up the gravy, said Singula, whose mind ranrather to matters of financial aspect, and leave us the grease. By this, he seemed to imply that the Thorabians would rob the Earthmen,which the Lorians would not. The truth was that all on Zur were pantingto get their hands on that marvelous ship, which was all of metal, avery scarce commodity on Zur, worth billions of ken. <doc-sep>All the chill recriminations and arguments Zotul had stored for thisoccasion were dissipated in the warmth of the Earthman's manner. Almost apologetically, Zotul told of the encroachment that had beenmade upon the business of the Pottery of Masur. Once, he said formally, the Masur fortune was the greatest inthe world of Zur. That was before my father, the famous KalrabMasur—Divinity protect him—departed this life to collect his greaterreward. He often told us, my father did, that the clay is the flesh andbones of our culture and our fortune. Now it has been shown how proneis the flesh to corruption and how feeble the bones. We are ruined, andall because of new things coming from Earth. Broderick stroked his shaven chin and looked sad. Why didn't you cometo me sooner? This would never have happened. But now that it has,we're going to do right by you. That is the policy of Earth—always todo right by the customer. Divinity witness, Zorin said, that we ask only compensation fordamages. Broderick shook his head. It is not possible to replace an immensefortune at this late date. As I said, you should have reported yourtrouble sooner. However, we can give you an opportunity to rebuild. Doyou own an automobile? No. A gas range? A gas-fired furnace? A radio? Zotul had to answer no to all except the radio. My wife Lania likesthe music, he explained. I cannot afford the other things. Broderick clucked sympathetically. One who could not afford thebargain-priced merchandise of Earth must be poor indeed. To begin with, he said, I am going to make you a gift of all theseluxuries you do not have. As Zotul made to protest, he cut him offwith a wave of his hand. It is the least we can do for you. Pick a carfrom the lot outside. I will arrange to have the other things deliveredand installed in your home. To receive gifts, said Zotul, incurs an obligation. None at all, beamed the Earthman cheerily. Every item is given toyou absolutely free—a gift from the people of Earth. All we ask isthat you pay the freight charges on the items. Our purpose is not tomake profit, but to spread technology and prosperity throughout theGalaxy. We have already done well on numerous worlds, but working outthe full program takes time. He chuckled deeply. We of Earth have a saying about one of ourextremely slow-moving native animals. We say, 'Slow is the tortoise,but sure.' And so with us. Our goal is a long-range one, with themotto, 'Better times with better merchandise.' <doc-sep>Broderick clasped his hands behind back, went to the window and stareddown moodily into the street. You don't know what an overcrowded world is like, he said. A streetlike this, with so few people and vehicles on it, would be impossibleon Earth. But it's mobbed, protested Zotul. It gave me a headache. And to us it's almost empty. The pressure of population on Earth hasmade us range the Galaxy for places to put our extra people. The onlyhabitable planets, unfortunately, are populated ones. We take the leastpopulous worlds and—well, buy them out and move in. And after that? Broderick smiled gently. Zur will grow. Our people will intermarrywith yours. The future population of Zur will be neither true Zuriansnor true Earthmen, but a mixture of both. Zotul sat in silent thought. But you did not have to buy us out. Youhad the power to conquer us, even to destroy us. The whole planet couldhave been yours alone. He stopped in alarm. Or am I suggesting anidea that didn't occur to you? No, said Broderick, his usually smiling face almost pained withmemory. We know the history of conquest all too well. Our methodcauses more distress than we like to inflict, but it's better—and moresure—than war and invasion by force. Now that the unpleasant job isfinished, we can repair the dislocations. At last I understand what you said about the tortoise. Slow but sure. Broderick beamed again and clapped Zotul on theshoulder. Don't worry. You'll have your job back, the same as always,but you'll be working for us ... until the children of Earth and Zurare equal in knowledge and therefore equal partners. That's why we hadto break down your caste system. Zotul's eyes widened. And that is why my brothers did not beat me whenI failed! Of course. Are you ready now to take the assignment papers for you andyour brothers to sign? Yes, said Zotul. I am ready. <doc-sep></s>

The Earthmen first visit Zur as a small group, exploring the city and giving speeches declaring future prosperity for Zur. They return shortly after with more people, and establish corporations and a trade business. The Earthmen begin with small products, metal pots, but other businesses soon have to accommodate to Earth's goods. Earth quickly earns profit, with many Zurian businesses dependent on their production. They begin establishing more advanced forms of technology, such as printing, radio, and automobiles. The people of Zur are fascinated, and business booms even more. Eventually, Zur is completely remodeled with Earth products and services, driving other businesses to failure and resulting in the overtaking of the city.

<s>All the chill recriminations and arguments Zotul had stored for thisoccasion were dissipated in the warmth of the Earthman's manner. Almost apologetically, Zotul told of the encroachment that had beenmade upon the business of the Pottery of Masur. Once, he said formally, the Masur fortune was the greatest inthe world of Zur. That was before my father, the famous KalrabMasur—Divinity protect him—departed this life to collect his greaterreward. He often told us, my father did, that the clay is the flesh andbones of our culture and our fortune. Now it has been shown how proneis the flesh to corruption and how feeble the bones. We are ruined, andall because of new things coming from Earth. Broderick stroked his shaven chin and looked sad. Why didn't you cometo me sooner? This would never have happened. But now that it has,we're going to do right by you. That is the policy of Earth—always todo right by the customer. Divinity witness, Zorin said, that we ask only compensation fordamages. Broderick shook his head. It is not possible to replace an immensefortune at this late date. As I said, you should have reported yourtrouble sooner. However, we can give you an opportunity to rebuild. Doyou own an automobile? No. A gas range? A gas-fired furnace? A radio? Zotul had to answer no to all except the radio. My wife Lania likesthe music, he explained. I cannot afford the other things. Broderick clucked sympathetically. One who could not afford thebargain-priced merchandise of Earth must be poor indeed. To begin with, he said, I am going to make you a gift of all theseluxuries you do not have. As Zotul made to protest, he cut him offwith a wave of his hand. It is the least we can do for you. Pick a carfrom the lot outside. I will arrange to have the other things deliveredand installed in your home. To receive gifts, said Zotul, incurs an obligation. None at all, beamed the Earthman cheerily. Every item is given toyou absolutely free—a gift from the people of Earth. All we ask isthat you pay the freight charges on the items. Our purpose is not tomake profit, but to spread technology and prosperity throughout theGalaxy. We have already done well on numerous worlds, but working outthe full program takes time. He chuckled deeply. We of Earth have a saying about one of ourextremely slow-moving native animals. We say, 'Slow is the tortoise,but sure.' And so with us. Our goal is a long-range one, with themotto, 'Better times with better merchandise.' <doc-sep>The engaging manner of the man won Zotul's confidence. After all, itwas no more than fair to pay transportation. He said, How much does the freight cost? Broderick told him. It may seem high, said the Earthman, but remember that Earth issixty-odd light-years away. After all, we are absorbing the cost of themerchandise. All you pay is the freight, which is cheap, consideringthe cost of operating an interstellar spaceship. Impossible, said Zotul drably. Not I and all my brothers togetherhave so much money any more. You don't know us of Earth very well yet, but you will. I offer youcredit! What is that? asked Zotul skeptically. It is how the poor are enabled to enjoy all the luxuries of therich, said Broderick, and went on to give a thumbnail sketch of theinvolutions and devolutions of credit, leaving out some angles thatmight have had a discouraging effect. On a world where credit was a totally new concept, it was enchanting.Zotul grasped at the glittering promise with avidity. What must I doto get credit? Just sign this paper, said Broderick, and you become part of ourEasy Payment Plan. Zotul drew back. I have five brothers. If I took all these things formyself and nothing for them, they would beat me black and blue. Here. Broderick handed him a sheaf of chattel mortgages. Have eachof your brothers sign one of these, then bring them back to me. That isall there is to it. It sounded wonderful. But how would the brothers take it? Zotulwrestled with his misgivings and the misgivings won. I will talk it over with them, he said. Give me the total so I willhave the figures. The total was more than it ought to be by simple addition. Zotulpointed this out politely. Interest, Broderick explained. A mere fifteen per cent. After all,you get the merchandise free. The transportation company has to bepaid, so another company loans you the money to pay for the freight.This small extra sum pays the lending company for its trouble. I see. Zotul puzzled over it sadly. It is too much, he said. Ourplant doesn't make enough money for us to meet the payments. I have a surprise for you, smiled Broderick. Here is a contract. Youwill start making ceramic parts for automobile spark plugs and certainparts for radios and gas ranges. It is our policy to encourage localmanufacture to help bring prices down. We haven't the equipment. We will equip your plant, beamed Broderick. It will require onlya quarter interest in your plant itself, assigned to our terrestrialcompany. <doc-sep>Broderick clasped his hands behind back, went to the window and stareddown moodily into the street. You don't know what an overcrowded world is like, he said. A streetlike this, with so few people and vehicles on it, would be impossibleon Earth. But it's mobbed, protested Zotul. It gave me a headache. And to us it's almost empty. The pressure of population on Earth hasmade us range the Galaxy for places to put our extra people. The onlyhabitable planets, unfortunately, are populated ones. We take the leastpopulous worlds and—well, buy them out and move in. And after that? Broderick smiled gently. Zur will grow. Our people will intermarrywith yours. The future population of Zur will be neither true Zuriansnor true Earthmen, but a mixture of both. Zotul sat in silent thought. But you did not have to buy us out. Youhad the power to conquer us, even to destroy us. The whole planet couldhave been yours alone. He stopped in alarm. Or am I suggesting anidea that didn't occur to you? No, said Broderick, his usually smiling face almost pained withmemory. We know the history of conquest all too well. Our methodcauses more distress than we like to inflict, but it's better—and moresure—than war and invasion by force. Now that the unpleasant job isfinished, we can repair the dislocations. At last I understand what you said about the tortoise. Slow but sure. Broderick beamed again and clapped Zotul on theshoulder. Don't worry. You'll have your job back, the same as always,but you'll be working for us ... until the children of Earth and Zurare equal in knowledge and therefore equal partners. That's why we hadto break down your caste system. Zotul's eyes widened. And that is why my brothers did not beat me whenI failed! Of course. Are you ready now to take the assignment papers for you andyour brothers to sign? Yes, said Zotul. I am ready. <doc-sep></s>

Broderick is an Earthman in charge of the Merchandising Council. He first meets with Zotul and hears his complaints about the failure of the Masur business due to Earth's expansion. Broderick, putting on a guise of sympathy, offers Zotul luxuries to enjoy with his family, in return for credit and their production of ceramics for automobiles. Broderick later moves up in hierarchy and becomes the governor of Zur, achieving power over all affairs. He meets Zotul again and gets the Masur family to work completely for him.

<s>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep>A few weeks of this and I became a bit dazed. And then there was the problem of everyday existence. You might sayit's lucky to be an N/P for a while. I've heard people say that. Basicneeds provided, worlds of leisure time; on the surface it soundsattractive. But let me give you an example. Say it is monthly realfood day. You goto the store, your mouth already watering in anticipation. You takeyour place in line and wait for your package. The distributor takesyour coupon book and is all ready to reach for your package—and thenhe sees the fatal letters N/P. Non-Producer. A drone, a drain upon theState. You can see his stare curdle. He scowls at the book again. Not sure this is in order. Better go to the end of the line. We'llcheck it later. You know what happens before the end of the line reaches the counter.No more packages. Well, I couldn't get myself off N/P status until I got a post, andwith my name I couldn't get a post. Nor could I change my name. You know what happens when you try tochange something already on the records. The very idea of wantingchange implies criticism of the State. Unthinkable behavior. That was why this curious dream voice shocked me so. The thing that itsuggested was quite as embarrassing as its non-standard, emotional,provocative tone. Bear with me; I'm getting to the voice—to her —in a moment. I want to tell you first about the loneliness, the terrible loneliness.I could hardly join group games at any of the rec centers. I could joinno special interest clubs or even State Loyalty chapters. Although Idabbled with theoretical research in my own quarters, I could scarcelysubmit any findings for publication—not with my name attached. Apseudonym would have been non-regulation and illegal. But there was the worst thing of all. I could not mate. <doc-sep> Confidence Game By JIM HARMON Illustrated by EPSTEIN [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction June 1957. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I admit it: I didn't know if I was coming or going—but I know that if I stuck to the old man, I was a comer ... even if he was a goner! Doc had this solemn human by the throat when I caught up with him. Tonight, Doc was saying in his old voice that was as crackled andimportant as parchment, tonight Man will reach the Moon. The goldenMoon and the silver ship, symbols of greed. Tonight is the night whenthis is to happen. Sure, the man agreed severely, prying a little worriedly at Doc'sarthritic fingers that were clamped on his collar. No argument. Sure,up we go. But leave me go or, so help me, I'll fetch you one in theteeth! I came alongside and carefully started to lever the old man loose,one finger at a time. It had to be done this way. I had learned thatduring all these weeks and months. His hands looked old and crippled,but I felt they were the strongest in the world. If a half dozen winosin Seattle hadn't helped me get them loose, Doc and I would have beenwanted for the murder of a North American Mountie. It was easier this night and that made me afraid. Doc's thin frame,layered with lumpy fat, was beginning to muscle-dance against my side.One of his times was coming on him. Then at last he was free of thegreasy collar of the human. I hope you'll forgive him, sir, I said, not meeting the man's eyes.He's my father and very old, as you can see. I laughed inside at theabsurd, easy lie. Old events seem recent to him. The human nodded, Adam's apple jerking in the angry neon twilight.'Memory Jump,' you mean. All my great-grandfathers have it. ButGreat-great-grandmother Lupos, funny thing, is like a schoolgirl.Sharp, you know. I.... Say, the poor old guy looks sick. Want any help? I told the human no, thanks, and walked Doc toward the flophouse threedoors down. I hoped we would make it. I didn't know what would happenif we didn't. Doc was liable to say something that might nova Sol, forall I knew. <doc-sep></s>

John Kevin catches up with Doc, who has grabbed a human by the throat. He tells the human that man will reach the moon tonight, and the man agrees, so Doc will let him go. Kevin apologizes to the human and says that his father has trouble differentiating old events. They see Martian tourists approaching the corner, and Kevin recalls how he hates Martian tourists because they are aliens. The two go to a flophouse, where Kevin bargains with the clerk over the price of a room. He threatens the human but stops when he hears Doc mumbling. They go to the room, and he lays Doc out on the cot. Doc begins to mumble more, while Kevin begins to copy down the words in his notebook again. Kevin knows that what Doc is mumbling will make him the most powerful man in the Solar Federation, especially because Doc was once somebody extremely important. Doc then begins to cry, and Kevin decides to comfort him slightly. Kevin then meets a woman by the bus stop and asks her for a dime for coffee. He realizes that she is a human tourist and recalls how he hates tourists. She offers to buy him dinner too, and they go to get a coffee. Kevin is revealed to be a caffeine addict, and he tells the woman that he wants a hamburger. One hamburger becomes several, and he drinks a glass of milk. Kevin asks the woman for a few to take home, and she introduces herself as Miss Vivian Casey. Kevin tells her his name too, and she hands him a coupon from a magazine. When he comes back to his senses, the counterman is pulling a five-dollar bill from under his hand. When he goes back, Doc has made something. It is revealed that Kevin has been trying to get time travel from Doc for the past few months and sees a condemned snowbird. The two thin and heavy men talk to him, asking him to tell them where he came from. The doctor explains his condition and hands him a manuscript, and Kevin steps into the range of Miss Casey’s gun in real life. He asks her for coffee again, and she re-introduces herself as a North American Mounted Police member. She explains that Doc wanted to profit off of his time travel, but he did not have money. He wrestles the gun from her; suddenly, a Martian by the name of Andre appears. Andre makes Kevin realize that he is not a Centurian humanoid because he is the son of Doc. Kevin destroys the thing that Doc creates because he knows nobody is ready for time travel to be rediscovered. Miss Casey and Andre are relieved, while Kevin ponders why he destroyed the machine. He thinks it may be because of emotions or roast coffee.

<s>She inclined the lethal silver toy. Let me see those papers, Kevin. I handed her the doctor's manuscript. Her breath escaped slowly and loudly. It's all right. It's all right.It exists. It's real. Not even one of the unwritten ones. I've readthis myself. Doc was lying on the cot, half his face twisted into horror. Don't move, Kevin, she said. I'll have to shoot you—maybe not tokill, but painfully. I watched her face flash blue, red, blue and knew she meant it. But Ihad known too much in too short a time. I had to help Doc, but therewas something else. I just want a drink of coffee from that container on the chair, Itold her. She shook her head. I don't know what you think it does to you. It was getting hard for me to think. Who are you? She showed me a card from her wrist purse. Vivian Casey, Constable,North American Mounted Police. I had to help Doc. I had to have some coffee. What do you want? Listen, Kevin. Listen carefully to what I am saying. Doc founda method of time travel. It was almost a purely mathematical,topographical way divorced from modern physical sciences. He kept itsecret and he wanted to make money with it. He was an idealist—he hadhis crusades. How can you make money with time travel? I didn't know whether she was asking me, but I didn't know. All I knewwas that I had to help Doc and get some coffee. It takes money—money Doc didn't have—to make money, Miss Caseysaid, even if you know what horse will come in and what stock willprosper. Besides, horse-racing and the stock market weren't a part ofDoc's character. He was a scholar. Why did she keep using the past tense in reference to Doc? It scaredme. He was lying so still with the left side of his face so twisted. Ineeded some coffee. He became a book finder. He got rare editions of books and magazinesfor his clients in absolutely mint condition. That was all right—untilhe started obtaining books that did not exist . <doc-sep>Andre did not deny that he wanted it to fall into his hands. I knew I could not let Doc's—Dad's—time travel thing fall intoanyone's hands. I remembered that all the copies of the books haddisappeared with their readers now. There must not be any more, I knew. Miss Casey did her duty and tried to stop me with a judo hold, but Idon't think her heart was in it, because I reversed and broke it. I kicked the thing to pieces and stomped on the pieces. Maybe youcan't stop the progress of science, but I knew it might be millenniumsbefore Doc's genes and creative environment were recreated and timetravel was rediscovered. Maybe we would be ready for it then. I knew weweren't now. Miss Casey leaned against my dirty chest and cried into it. I didn'tmind her touching me. I'm glad, she said. Andre flowed out of the doorway with a sigh. Of relief? I would never know. I supposed I had destroyed it because I didn'twant the human race to become a thing of pure reason without purpose,direction or love, but I would never know for sure. I thought I couldkick the habit—perhaps with Miss Casey's help—but I wasn't reallyconfident. Maybe I had destroyed the time machine because a world without materialneeds would not grow and roast coffee. <doc-sep>Everybody has a name, and I knew if I went off somewhere quiet andthought about it, mine would come to me. Meanwhile, I would tell thegirl that my name was ... Kevin O'Malley. Abruptly I realized that that was my name. Kevin, I told her. John Kevin. Mister Kevin, she said, her words dancing with bright absurdity likewaterhose mist on a summer afternoon, I wonder if you could help me . Happy to, miss, I mumbled. She pushed a white rectangle in front of me on the painted maroon bar.What do you think of this? I looked at the piece of paper. It was a coupon from a magazine. Dear Acolyte R. I. S. : Please send me FREE of obligation, in sealed wrapper, The ScarletBook revealing to me how I may gain Secret Mastery of the Universe. Name : ........................ Address : ..................... The world disoriented itself and I was on the floor of the somber dinerand Miss Vivian Casey was out of sight and scent. There was a five dollar bill tight in my fist. The counterman wastrying to pull it out. I looked up at his stubbled face. I had half a dozen hamburgers, acup of coffee and a glass of milk. I want four more 'burgers to go anda pint of coffee. By your prices, that will be one sixty-five—if thelady didn't pay you. She didn't, he stammered. Why do you think I was trying to get thatbill out of your hand? I didn't say anything, just got up off the floor. After the countermanput down my change, I spread out the five dollar bill on the vacantbar, smoothing it. I scooped up my change and walked out the door. There was no one on thesidewalk, only in the doorways. <doc-sep></s>

Vivian Casey is described as a pink and clean woman who smells of clean soap. Her hair is platinum, pulled straight back to draw her cheek-bones tighter. She has an appealing mouth; Kevin also notes that her body is lean, athletic, and feminine. She also wears a powder-blue dress that goes down to the lower-half of her legs. She speaks in an educated voice and is kind enough to take Kevin to get some food. Although he is annoyed she decided to tag along, she lets him order multiple hamburgers to satisfy his hunger. When she introduces herself, he assumes that she is a schoolteacher. Kevin later realizes that she did not pay for his dinner at all. Miss Casey then comes back with a tiny gun. She is shown to be proficient with the firearm, introducing her true identity as a Constable of the North American Mounted Police. She is also very intelligent, being fully aware of what Doc has tried to do in the past. Although she uses force to judo hold Kevin, she doesn’t put her heart into it. Finally, she is shown to be proud of Kevin when he does the right thing and destroys the time machine.

<s> Confidence Game By JIM HARMON Illustrated by EPSTEIN [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction June 1957. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I admit it: I didn't know if I was coming or going—but I know that if I stuck to the old man, I was a comer ... even if he was a goner! Doc had this solemn human by the throat when I caught up with him. Tonight, Doc was saying in his old voice that was as crackled andimportant as parchment, tonight Man will reach the Moon. The goldenMoon and the silver ship, symbols of greed. Tonight is the night whenthis is to happen. Sure, the man agreed severely, prying a little worriedly at Doc'sarthritic fingers that were clamped on his collar. No argument. Sure,up we go. But leave me go or, so help me, I'll fetch you one in theteeth! I came alongside and carefully started to lever the old man loose,one finger at a time. It had to be done this way. I had learned thatduring all these weeks and months. His hands looked old and crippled,but I felt they were the strongest in the world. If a half dozen winosin Seattle hadn't helped me get them loose, Doc and I would have beenwanted for the murder of a North American Mountie. It was easier this night and that made me afraid. Doc's thin frame,layered with lumpy fat, was beginning to muscle-dance against my side.One of his times was coming on him. Then at last he was free of thegreasy collar of the human. I hope you'll forgive him, sir, I said, not meeting the man's eyes.He's my father and very old, as you can see. I laughed inside at theabsurd, easy lie. Old events seem recent to him. The human nodded, Adam's apple jerking in the angry neon twilight.'Memory Jump,' you mean. All my great-grandfathers have it. ButGreat-great-grandmother Lupos, funny thing, is like a schoolgirl.Sharp, you know. I.... Say, the poor old guy looks sick. Want any help? I told the human no, thanks, and walked Doc toward the flophouse threedoors down. I hoped we would make it. I didn't know what would happenif we didn't. Doc was liable to say something that might nova Sol, forall I knew. <doc-sep>Andre did not deny that he wanted it to fall into his hands. I knew I could not let Doc's—Dad's—time travel thing fall intoanyone's hands. I remembered that all the copies of the books haddisappeared with their readers now. There must not be any more, I knew. Miss Casey did her duty and tried to stop me with a judo hold, but Idon't think her heart was in it, because I reversed and broke it. I kicked the thing to pieces and stomped on the pieces. Maybe youcan't stop the progress of science, but I knew it might be millenniumsbefore Doc's genes and creative environment were recreated and timetravel was rediscovered. Maybe we would be ready for it then. I knew weweren't now. Miss Casey leaned against my dirty chest and cried into it. I didn'tmind her touching me. I'm glad, she said. Andre flowed out of the doorway with a sigh. Of relief? I would never know. I supposed I had destroyed it because I didn'twant the human race to become a thing of pure reason without purpose,direction or love, but I would never know for sure. I thought I couldkick the habit—perhaps with Miss Casey's help—but I wasn't reallyconfident. Maybe I had destroyed the time machine because a world without materialneeds would not grow and roast coffee. <doc-sep>She inclined the lethal silver toy. Let me see those papers, Kevin. I handed her the doctor's manuscript. Her breath escaped slowly and loudly. It's all right. It's all right.It exists. It's real. Not even one of the unwritten ones. I've readthis myself. Doc was lying on the cot, half his face twisted into horror. Don't move, Kevin, she said. I'll have to shoot you—maybe not tokill, but painfully. I watched her face flash blue, red, blue and knew she meant it. But Ihad known too much in too short a time. I had to help Doc, but therewas something else. I just want a drink of coffee from that container on the chair, Itold her. She shook her head. I don't know what you think it does to you. It was getting hard for me to think. Who are you? She showed me a card from her wrist purse. Vivian Casey, Constable,North American Mounted Police. I had to help Doc. I had to have some coffee. What do you want? Listen, Kevin. Listen carefully to what I am saying. Doc founda method of time travel. It was almost a purely mathematical,topographical way divorced from modern physical sciences. He kept itsecret and he wanted to make money with it. He was an idealist—he hadhis crusades. How can you make money with time travel? I didn't know whether she was asking me, but I didn't know. All I knewwas that I had to help Doc and get some coffee. It takes money—money Doc didn't have—to make money, Miss Caseysaid, even if you know what horse will come in and what stock willprosper. Besides, horse-racing and the stock market weren't a part ofDoc's character. He was a scholar. Why did she keep using the past tense in reference to Doc? It scaredme. He was lying so still with the left side of his face so twisted. Ineeded some coffee. He became a book finder. He got rare editions of books and magazinesfor his clients in absolutely mint condition. That was all right—untilhe started obtaining books that did not exist . <doc-sep></s>

Doc’s use of time travel has caused hundreds of people to disappear from North America a few months ago. He initially starts off using time travel to get rare editions of books and magazines in mint condition. However, he derails and starts getting books that do not exist. For many of his clients, they shortly ceased to exist after obtaining a book from Doc. Doc also had bought the entire stock of an ancient metaphysical order, which he then supplied to his clients. Books such as the Book of Dyzan, Book of Thoth, Seven Cryptical Books of Hsan, and the Necromican were given away even if they do not exist in the present-day. These books are extremely harmful because they essentially instruct the human race on how to achieve a state of pure logic without requiring food, sex, or conflict.

<s>Everybody has a name, and I knew if I went off somewhere quiet andthought about it, mine would come to me. Meanwhile, I would tell thegirl that my name was ... Kevin O'Malley. Abruptly I realized that that was my name. Kevin, I told her. John Kevin. Mister Kevin, she said, her words dancing with bright absurdity likewaterhose mist on a summer afternoon, I wonder if you could help me . Happy to, miss, I mumbled. She pushed a white rectangle in front of me on the painted maroon bar.What do you think of this? I looked at the piece of paper. It was a coupon from a magazine. Dear Acolyte R. I. S. : Please send me FREE of obligation, in sealed wrapper, The ScarletBook revealing to me how I may gain Secret Mastery of the Universe. Name : ........................ Address : ..................... The world disoriented itself and I was on the floor of the somber dinerand Miss Vivian Casey was out of sight and scent. There was a five dollar bill tight in my fist. The counterman wastrying to pull it out. I looked up at his stubbled face. I had half a dozen hamburgers, acup of coffee and a glass of milk. I want four more 'burgers to go anda pint of coffee. By your prices, that will be one sixty-five—if thelady didn't pay you. She didn't, he stammered. Why do you think I was trying to get thatbill out of your hand? I didn't say anything, just got up off the floor. After the countermanput down my change, I spread out the five dollar bill on the vacantbar, smoothing it. I scooped up my change and walked out the door. There was no one on thesidewalk, only in the doorways. <doc-sep>Playing the game was fabulously expensive; it had to be to make itprofitable for the Vinzz to run it. Those odd creatures from Altair'sseventh planet cared nothing for the welfare of the completely alienhuman beings; all they wanted was to feather their own pockets withinterstellar credits, so that they could return to Vinau and buy manyslaves. For, on Vinau, bodies were of little account, and so to themzarquil was the equivalent of the terrestrial game musical chairs.Which was why they came to Terra to make profits—there has never beenbig money in musical chairs as such. When the zarquil operators were apprehended, which was not frequent—asthey had strange powers, which, not being definable, were beyond thelaw—they suffered their sentences with equanimity. No Earth courtcould give an effective prison sentence to a creature whose lifespanned approximately two thousand terrestrial years. And capitalpunishment had become obsolete on Terra, which very possibly saved theterrestrials embarrassment, for it was not certain that their weaponscould kill the Vinzz ... or whether, in fact, the Vinzz merely expiredafter a period of years out of sheer boredom. Fortunately, becausetrade was more profitable than war, there had always been peace betweenVinau and Terra, and, for that reason, Terra could not bar the entranceof apparently respectable citizens of a friendly planet. The taxi driver took the fat man to one of the rather seedy locales inwhich the zarquil games were usually found, for the Vinzz attempted toconduct their operations with as much unobtrusiveness as was possible.But the front door swung open on an interior that lacked the opulenceof the usual Vinoz set-up; it was down-right shabby, the dim olivelight hinting of squalor rather than forbidden pleasures. That wasthe trouble in these smaller towns—you ran greater risks of gettinginvolved in games where the players had not been carefully screened. The Vinoz games were usually clean, because that paid off better, but,when profits were lacking, the Vinzz were capable of sliding off intodarkside practices. Naturally the small-town houses were more likely tohave trouble in making ends meet, because everybody in the parish kneweverybody else far too well. The fat man wondered whether that had been his quarry's motive incoming to such desolate, off-trail places—hoping that eventuallydisaster would hit the one who pursued him. Somehow, such a plan seemedtoo logical for the man he was haunting. However, beggars could not be choosers. The fat man paid off theheli-driver and entered the zarquil house. One? the small greencreature in the slightly frayed robe asked. One, the fat man answered. III The would-be thief fled down the dark alley, with the hot bright raysfrom the stranger's gun lancing out after him in flamboyant but futilepatterns. The stranger, a thin young man with delicate, angularfeatures, made no attempt to follow. Instead, he bent over to examineGabriel Lockard's form, appropriately outstretched in the gutter. Onlyweighted out, he muttered, he'll be all right. Whatever possessed youtwo to come out to a place like this? I really think Gabriel must be possessed.... the girl said, mostlyto herself. I had no idea of the kind of place it was going to beuntil he brought me here. The others were bad, but this is even worse.It almost seems as if he went around looking for trouble, doesn't it? It does indeed, the stranger agreed, coughing a little. It wasgrowing colder and, on this world, the cities had no domes to protectthem from the climate, because it was Earth and the air was breathableand it wasn't worth the trouble of fixing up. The girl looked closely at him. You look different, but you are thesame man who pulled us out of that aircar crash, aren't you? And beforethat the man in the gray suit? And before that...? The young man's cheekbones protruded as he smiled. Yes, I'm all ofthem. Then what they say about the zarquil games is true? There are peoplewho go around changing their bodies like—like hats? Automatically shereached to adjust the expensive bit of blue synthetic on her moon-palehair, for she was always conscious of her appearance; if she had notbeen so before marriage, Gabriel would have taught her that. <doc-sep>For more than a century, robotocists have been trying to build Asimov'sfamous Three Laws of Robotics into a robot brain. First Law: A robot shall not, either through action or inaction, allowharm to come to a human being. Second Law: A robot shall obey the orders of a human being, exceptwhen such orders conflict with the First Law . [15] Third Law: A robot shall strive to protect its own existence, exceptwhen this conflicts with the First or Second Law. Nobody has succeeded yet, because nobody has yet succeeded in definingthe term human being in such a way that the logical mind of a robotcan encompass the concept. A traffic robot is useful only because the definition has been rigidlynarrowed down. As far as a traffic robot is concerned, human beingsare the automobiles on its highways. Woe betide any poor sap who tries,illegally, to cross a robot-controlled highway on foot. The robot'sonly concern would be with the safety of the automobiles, and if theonly way to avoid destruction of an automobile were to be by nudgingthe pedestrian aside with a fender, that's what would happen. And, since its orders only come from one place, I suppose that atraffic robot thinks that the guy who uses that typer is an automobile. With the first six models of the McGuire ships, the robotocistsattempted to build in the Three Laws exactly as stated. And the firstsix went insane. If one human being says jump left, and another says jump right,the robot is unable to evaluate which human being has given the morevalid order. Feed enough confusing and conflicting data into a robotbrain, and it can begin behaving in ways that, in a human being, wouldbe called paranoia or schizophrenia or catatonia or what-have-you,depending [16] on the symptoms. And an insane robot is fully as dangerousas an insane human being controlling the same mechanical equipment, ifnot more so. So the seventh model had been modified. The present McGuire's brain wasimpressed with slight modifications of the First and Second Laws. If it is difficult to define a human being, it is much more difficultto define a responsible human being. One, in other words, who canbe relied upon to give wise and proper orders to a robot, who can berelied upon not to drive the robot insane. The robotocists at Viking Spacecraft had decided to take anothertack. Very well, they'd said, if we can't define all the membersof a group, we can certainly define an individual. We'll pick oneresponsible person and build McGuire so that he will take orders onlyfrom that person. As it turned out, I was that person. Just substitute Daniel Oakfor human being in the First and Second Laws, and you'll see howimportant I was to a certain spaceship named McGuire. <doc-sep></s>

Kevin initially believes that he is a Centurian who must carry Doc around in order to achieve something powerful from the man. He firmly believes him and Doc to be superior to the Earthmen and Martian tourists. Kevin is filthy, but he refuses to take a bath. He also has an addiction to caffeine, mistakenly believing that it is the side effect of being a Centurian. Although he looks down on humans, he is desperate enough to ask one for help and for some food. His fingernails are black-crowned and broken, while his teeth are of yellow ivory. He is also suntan and sprouts a short mane. Although he lies to Miss Casey and says his name is John Kevin, he realizes that his name is actually Kevin O’Malley. While Kevin does admit that he wants something from Doc, he also is clearly shown to care for the old man. It is later revealed that Doc is his father, Kevin O’Malley Sr. Even after Miss Casey reveals she is a member of the police, Kevin is still brave enough to throw the rest of the coffee in her face. Later, he realizes that he is actually an Earth human and not a Centurian. His caffeine addiction comes from the mind. Even though he cares for his father, Kevin does choose to make the right decision to destroy the time machine because he does not want humanity to become purely logical.

<s> Confidence Game By JIM HARMON Illustrated by EPSTEIN [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction June 1957. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I admit it: I didn't know if I was coming or going—but I know that if I stuck to the old man, I was a comer ... even if he was a goner! Doc had this solemn human by the throat when I caught up with him. Tonight, Doc was saying in his old voice that was as crackled andimportant as parchment, tonight Man will reach the Moon. The goldenMoon and the silver ship, symbols of greed. Tonight is the night whenthis is to happen. Sure, the man agreed severely, prying a little worriedly at Doc'sarthritic fingers that were clamped on his collar. No argument. Sure,up we go. But leave me go or, so help me, I'll fetch you one in theteeth! I came alongside and carefully started to lever the old man loose,one finger at a time. It had to be done this way. I had learned thatduring all these weeks and months. His hands looked old and crippled,but I felt they were the strongest in the world. If a half dozen winosin Seattle hadn't helped me get them loose, Doc and I would have beenwanted for the murder of a North American Mountie. It was easier this night and that made me afraid. Doc's thin frame,layered with lumpy fat, was beginning to muscle-dance against my side.One of his times was coming on him. Then at last he was free of thegreasy collar of the human. I hope you'll forgive him, sir, I said, not meeting the man's eyes.He's my father and very old, as you can see. I laughed inside at theabsurd, easy lie. Old events seem recent to him. The human nodded, Adam's apple jerking in the angry neon twilight.'Memory Jump,' you mean. All my great-grandfathers have it. ButGreat-great-grandmother Lupos, funny thing, is like a schoolgirl.Sharp, you know. I.... Say, the poor old guy looks sick. Want any help? I told the human no, thanks, and walked Doc toward the flophouse threedoors down. I hoped we would make it. I didn't know what would happenif we didn't. Doc was liable to say something that might nova Sol, forall I knew. <doc-sep>Remembering last night, he felt a pang of exasperation, which heinstantly quelled by taking his mind to a higher and dispassionatelevel from which he could look down on the girl and even himself asquaint, clumsy animals. Still, he grumbled silently, Caddy might havehad enough consideration to clear out before he awoke. He wonderedif he shouldn't have used his hypnotic control of the girl to smooththeir relationship last night, and for a moment the word that wouldsend her into deep trance trembled on the tip of his tongue. But no,that special power of his over her was reserved for far more importantpurposes. Pumping dynamic tension into his 20-year-old muscles and confidenceinto his 60-year-old mind, the 40-year-old Thinker rose from bed.No covers had to be thrown off; the nuclear heating unit made themunnecessary. He stepped into his clothing—the severe tunic, tights andsockassins of the modern business man. Next he glanced at the messagetape beside his phone, washed down with ginger ale a vita-amino-enzymetablet, and walked to the window. There, gazing along the rows of newlyplanted mutant oaks lining Decontamination Avenue, his smooth facebroke into a smile. It had come to him, the next big move in the intricate game makingup his life—and mankind's. Come to him during sleep, as so many ofhis best decisions did, because he regularly employed the time-savingtechnique of somno-thought, which could function at the same time assomno-learning. He set his who?-where? robot for Rocket Physicist and Genius Class.While it worked, he dictated to his steno-robot the following briefmessage: Dear Fellow Scientist: A project is contemplated that will have a crucial bearing on man'sfuture in deep space. Ample non-military Government funds areavailable. There was a time when professional men scoffed at theThinkers. Then there was a time when the Thinkers perforce neglectedthe professional men. Now both times are past. May they never return!I would like to consult you this afternoon, three o'clock sharp,Thinkers' Foundation I. Jorj Helmuth Meanwhile the who?-where? had tossed out a dozen cards. He glancedthrough them, hesitated at the name Willard Farquar, looked at thesleeping girl, then quickly tossed them all into the addresso-robot andplugged in the steno-robot. The buzz-light blinked green and he switched the phone to audio. The President is waiting to see Maizie, sir, a clear feminine voiceannounced. He has the general staff with him. Martian peace to him, Jorj Helmuth said. Tell him I'll be down in afew minutes. <doc-sep>Matheny's finger stabbed in the general direction of Doran's pajamatop. Exactly. And who set it up that way? Earthmen. We Martians arebabes in the desert. What chance do we have to earn dollars on thescale we need them, in competition with corporations which could buyand sell our whole planet before breakfast? Why, we couldn't affordthree seconds of commercial time on a Lullaby Pillow 'cast. What weneed, what we have to hire, is an executive who knows Earth, who's anEarthman himself. Let him tell us what will appeal to your people, andhow to dodge the tax bite and—and—well, you see how it goes, thatsort of, uh, thing. Matheny felt his eloquence running down and grabbed for the secondbottle of beer. But where do I start? he asked plaintively, for his loneliness smotehim anew. I'm just a college professor at home. How would I even getto see— It might be arranged, said Doran in a thoughtful tone. It justmight. How much could you pay this fellow? A hundred megabucks a year, if he'll sign a five-year contract. That'sEarth years, mind you. I'm sorry to tell you this, Pete, said Doran, but while that is notbad money, it is not what a high-powered sales scientist gets in NewerYork. Plus his retirement benefits, which he would lose if he quitwhere he is now at. And I am sure he would not want to settle on Marspermanently. I could offer a certain amount of, uh, lagniappe, said Matheny. Thatis, well, I can draw up to a hundred megabucks myself for, uh, expensesand, well ... let me buy you a drink! Doran's black eyes frogged at him. You might at that, said theEarthman very softly. Yes, you might at that. Matheny found himself warming. Gus Doran was an authentic bobber. Ahell of a swell chap. He explained modestly that he was a free-lancebusiness consultant and it was barely possible that he could arrangesome contacts.... No, no, no commission, all done in the interest of interplanetaryfriendship ... well, anyhow, let's not talk business now. If you havegot to stick to beer, Pete, make it a chaser to akvavit. What isakvavit? Well, I will just take and show you. A hell of a good bloke. He knew some very funny stories, too, andhe laughed at Matheny's, though they were probably too rustic for abig-city taste like his. What I really want, said Matheny, what I really want—I mean whatMars really needs, get me?—is a confidence man. A what? The best and slickest one on Earth, to operate a world-size con gamefor us and make us some real money. Con man? Oh. A slipstring. A con by any other name, said Matheny, pouring down an akvavit. <doc-sep></s>

The story first begins with Doc and Kevin going to a flophouse three doors down from where Doc has his confrontation. As they turn around the corner, many Martian tourists walk by. The flophouse door is fly-specked, and a tubercular clerk is sitting in a gaudy comics section. The room they later go to is six feet in all directions with five feet high walls. The other foot is finished in chickenwire; there is also a wino singing on the left, wino praying on the right, and a door with no lock. There is also a gray-brown cot that Kevin lays Doc on, and a light bulb for light. Kevin also sits in a chair; the floor is littered and uncovered. The knob of the door is slick with greasy dirt. Later, Kevin goes out to the streets. They go to a restaurant, where he sits at the counter with a cup of coffee. There is also a stool for Miss Casey to sit in next to his stool. As he leaves, he notices that there is nobody on the sidewalks. Kevin describes himself opening the door to an amber world and then an azure one. Neon light also comes from the chickenwire border of the room, from a window somewhere beyond. When Kevin brings back food to the flophouse, he mentions that there are rats in the walls. Inside his mind, one man sits on an ornate armchair. Another man is sprawled in the other chair. Later, as Kevin goes back to reality, the confrontation between Miss Casey, Andre, and him happens in the same room with Doc still on the cot.

<s>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep> UNBORN TOMORROW BY MACK REYNOLDS Unfortunately , there was onlyone thing he could bring backfrom the wonderful future ...and though he didn't want to... nevertheless he did.... Illustrated by Freas Betty looked up fromher magazine. She saidmildly, You're late. Don't yell at me, Ifeel awful, Simon toldher. He sat down at his desk, passedhis tongue over his teeth in distaste,groaned, fumbled in a drawer for theaspirin bottle. He looked over at Betty and said,almost as though reciting, What Ineed is a vacation. What, Betty said, are you goingto use for money? Providence, Simon told herwhilst fiddling with the aspirin bottle,will provide. Hm-m-m. But before providingvacations it'd be nice if Providenceturned up a missing jewel deal, say.Something where you could deducethat actually the ruby ring had gonedown the drain and was caught in theelbow. Something that would netabout fifty dollars. Simon said, mournful of tone,Fifty dollars? Why not make it fivehundred? I'm not selfish, Betty said. AllI want is enough to pay me thisweek's salary. Money, Simon said. When youtook this job you said it was the romancethat appealed to you. Hm-m-m. I didn't know mostsleuthing amounted to snoopingaround department stores to check onthe clerks knocking down. Simon said, enigmatically, Nowit comes. <doc-sep>About half an hour later, the door he couldn't open slid aside into thewall. The man Maitland had seen outside, now clad in gray trunks andsandals, stood across the threshold looking in at him. Maitland stoodup and stared back, conscious suddenly that in his rumpled pajamas hemade an unimpressive figure. The fellow looked about forty-five. The first details Maitland noticedwere the forehead, which was quite broad, and the calm, clear eyes.The dark hair, white at the temples, was combed back, still damp fromswimming. Below, there was a wide mouth and a firm, rounded chin. This man was intelligent, Maitland decided, and extremely sure ofhimself. Somehow, the face didn't go with the rest of him. The man had the headof a thinker, the body of a trained athlete—an unusual combination. Impassively, the man said, My name is Swarts. You want to know whereyou are. I am not going to tell you. He had an accent, European, butotherwise unidentifiable. Possibly German. Maitland opened his mouthto protest, but Swarts went on, However, you're free to do all theguessing you want. Still there was no suggestion of a smile. Now, these are the rules. You'll be here for about a week. You'll havethree meals a day, served in this room. You will not be allowed toleave it except when accompanied by myself. You will not be harmed inany way, provided you cooperate. And you can forget the silly idea thatwe want your childish secrets about rocket motors. Maitland's heartjumped. My reason for bringing you here is altogether different. Iwant to give you some psychological tests.... Are you crazy? Maitland asked quietly. Do you realize that at thismoment one of the greatest hunts in history must be going on? I'lladmit I'm baffled as to where we are and how you got me here—but itseems to me that you could have found someone less conspicuous to giveyour tests to. Briefly, then, Swarts did smile. They won't find you, he said. Now,come with me. <doc-sep></s>

This story follows the life of Martin from a young boy living in a rough neighborhood to an old man dying aboard an unmanned ship. We first see Martin following the disappearance of his mother - and lack of a father - which are commonplace in the neighborhood he grows up in where the kids rarely attend school and their living conditions are poor. Martin is taken in by a young woman, Ninian, who instructs him to call her Aunt Ninian despite being identified as his future descendant. Ninian has traveled back in time to her great-great-grandfather - Martin - in order to protect him from his future son Conrad. Conrad, described as an idealist, is dismayed by the future generations exploitation of Earth and destructive social order that casts out anyone and everything that doesn't encompass the privileged and elite. To correct the wrongdoings of the future, Conrad plans to kill Martin. The rest of Conrad’s cousins intercept this plan and instead, all decide to travel into the past to accompany Martin and protect him from an assassination attempt. Martin’s formative years are accompanied by Ninian, Raymond and Ives where he picks up art as a career, forms impersonal relationships with his descendants and learns more about the past and future quality of life. As years pass with no threat of Conrad in sight, Martin begins to explore his world alongside Ives on a yacht named The Interregnum. Soon though, the cousins that come and go begin to blur together and Martin picks up a detached view of the world as his interest wanes in his sheltered life. Martin lives to a very old age, and on his deathbed aboard the yacht, he is surrounded by all his descendants besides Ives, who passed of sickness earlier before. It is at this moment that Conrad appears, seemingly to finish his murder plot. However, it is revealed that no action was required to be taken by Conrad, as his fellow cousins have already achieved the mission of erasing their lineage. By containing Martin to a sheltered life, the cousins prevented Martin from living his normal life with a wife and kids, thus removing the possibility of their existence in the past, present and future. Furthermore, it is revealed that Martin had come to the same conclusion years ago, and chose instead to keep quiet out of his disdain for his descendants. With the cousins horrified at the knowledge, Conrad reassures Martin that their inaction resulted in hope, and Martin ponders to wonder if the assurance was genuine as he peacefully dies alone on the boat.

<s>Most of the cousins gasped as the truth began to percolate through. I knew from the very beginning, Conrad finished, that I didn'thave to do anything at all. I just had to wait and you would destroyyourselves. I don't understand, Bartholomew protested, searching the faces of thecousins closest to him. What does he mean, we have never existed?We're here, aren't we? What— Shut up! Raymond snapped. He turned on Martin. You don't seemsurprised. The old man grinned. I'm not. I figured it all out years ago. At first, he had wondered what he should do. Would it be better tothrow them into a futile panic by telling them or to do nothing? Hehad decided on the latter; that was the role they had assigned him—towatch and wait and keep out of things—and that was the role he wouldplay. You knew all the time and you didn't tell us! Raymond spluttered.After we'd been so good to you, making a gentleman out of you insteadof a criminal.... That's right, he snarled, a criminal! An alcoholic,a thief, a derelict! How do you like that? Sounds like a rich, full life, Martin said wistfully. What an exciting existence they must have done him out of! But then, hecouldn't help thinking, he—he and Conrad together, of course—had donethem out of any kind of existence. It wasn't his responsibility,though; he had done nothing but let matters take whatever course wasdestined for them. If only he could be sure that it was the bettercourse, perhaps he wouldn't feel that nagging sense of guilt insidehim. Strange—where, in his hermetic life, could he possibly havedeveloped such a queer thing as a conscience? Then we've wasted all this time, Ninian sobbed, all this energy, allthis money, for nothing! But you were nothing to begin with, Martin told them. And then,after a pause, he added, I only wish I could be sure there had beensome purpose to this. He didn't know whether it was approaching death that dimmed his sight,or whether the frightened crowd that pressed around him was growingshadowy. I wish I could feel that some good had been done in letting you bewiped out of existence, he went on voicing his thoughts. But I knowthat the same thing that happened to your worlds and my world willhappen all over again. To other people, in other times, but again. It'sbound to happen. There isn't any hope for humanity. One man couldn't really change the course of human history, he toldhimself. Two men, that was—one real, one a shadow. Conrad came close to the old man's bed. He was almost transparent. No, he said, there is hope. They didn't know the time transmitterworks two ways. I used it for going into the past only once—just thisonce. But I've gone into the future with it many times. And— hepressed Martin's hand—believe me, what I did—what we did, you andI—serves a purpose. It will change things for the better. Everythingis going to be all right. <doc-sep>Perhaps it was the traditionally bracing effect of sea air—perhaps itwas the sheltered life—but Martin lived to be a very old man. He was ahundred and four when his last illness came. It was a great relief whenthe family doctor, called in again from the future, said there was nohope. Martin didn't think he could have borne another year of life. All the cousins gathered at the yacht to pay their last respects totheir progenitor. He saw Ninian again, after all these years, andRaymond—all the others, dozens of them, thronging around his bed,spilling out of the cabin and into the passageways and out onto thedeck, making their usual clamor, even though their voices were hushed. Only Ives was missing. He'd been the lucky one, Martin knew. He hadbeen spared the tragedy that was going to befall these blooming youngpeople—all the same age as when Martin had last seen them and doomednever to grow any older. Underneath their masks of woe, he could seerelief at the thought that at last they were going to be rid of theirresponsibility. And underneath Martin's death mask lay an impersonalpity for those poor, stupid descendants of his who had blundered soirretrievably. There was only one face which Martin had never seen before. It wasn'ta strange face, however, because Martin had seen one very like it inthe looking glass when he was a young man. You must be Conrad, Martin called across the cabin in a voice thatwas still clear. I've been looking forward to meeting you for sometime. The other cousins whirled to face the newcomer. You're too late, Con, Raymond gloated for the whole generation. He'slived out his life. But he hasn't lived out his life, Conrad contradicted. He's livedout the life you created for him. And for yourselves, too. For the first time, Martin saw compassion in the eyes of one of hislineage and found it vaguely disturbing. It didn't seem to belong there. Don't you realize even yet, Conrad went on, that as soon as he goes,you'll go, too—present, past, future, wherever you are, you'll go upin the air like puffs of smoke? What do you mean? Ninian quavered, her soft, pretty face alarmed. Martin answered Conrad's rueful smile, but left the explanations up tohim. It was his show, after all. Because you will never have existed, Conrad said. You have no rightto existence; it was you yourselves who watched him all the time,so he didn't have a chance to lead a normal life, get married, havechildren .... <doc-sep>Martin had, of course, no illusions on that score; he had learned longago that nobody did anything for nothing. But saying so was unwise. We bribed another set of plans out of another of the professor'sassistants, Raymond continued, as if Martin had answered,and—ah—induced a handicraft enthusiast to build the gadget for us. Induced , Martin knew, could have meant anything from blackmail to theuse of the iron maiden. Then we were all ready to forestall Conrad. If one of us guarded younight and day, he would never be able to carry out his plot. So we madeour counter-plan, set the machine as far back as it would go—and herewe are! I see, Martin said. Raymond didn't seem to think he really did. After all, he pointedout defensively, whatever our motives, it has turned into a goodthing for you. Nice home, cultured companions, all the contemporaryconveniences, plus some handy anachronisms—I don't see what more youcould ask for. You're getting the best of all possible worlds. Ofcourse Ninian was a ninny to locate in a mercantile suburb where anylittle thing out of the way will cause talk. How thankful I am that ourera has completely disposed of the mercantiles— What did you do with them? Martin asked. But Raymond rushed on: Soon as Ninian goes and I'm in full charge,we'll get a more isolated place and run it on a far grander scale.Ostentation—that's the way to live here and now; the richer you are,the more eccentricity you can get away with. And, he added, I mightas well be as comfortable as possible while I suffer through thiswretched historical stint. So Ninian's going, said Martin, wondering why the news made him feelcuriously desolate. Because, although he supposed he liked her in aremote kind of way, he had no fondness for her—or she, he knew, forhim. Well, five years is rather a long stretch for any girl to spend inexile, Raymond explained, even though our life spans are a bit longerthan yours. Besides, you're getting too old now to be under petticoatgovernment. He looked inquisitively at Martin. You're not going togo all weepy and make a scene when she leaves, are you? No.... Martin said hesitantly. Oh, I suppose I will miss her. But wearen't very close, so it won't make a real difference. That was thesad part: he already knew it wouldn't make a difference. Raymond clapped him on the shoulder. I knew you weren't a sloppysentimentalist like Conrad. Though you do have rather a look of him,you know. Suddenly that seemed to make Conrad real. Martin felt a vague stirringof alarm. He kept his voice composed, however. How do you plan toprotect me when he comes? Well, each one of us is armed to the teeth, of course, Raymond saidwith modest pride, displaying something that looked like a child'scombination spaceman's gun and death ray, but which, Martin had nodoubt, was a perfectly genuine—and lethal—weapon. And we've got arather elaborate burglar alarm system. Martin inspected the system and made one or two changes in the wiringwhich, he felt, would increase its efficiency. But still he wasdubious. Maybe it'll work on someone coming from outside this house ,but do you think it will work on someone coming from outside this time ? Never fear—it has a temporal radius, Raymond replied. Factoryguarantee and all that. Just to be on the safe side, Martin said, I think I'd better haveone of those guns, too. A splendid idea! enthused Raymond. I was just about to think of thatmyself! <doc-sep></s>

Cousin Ives enters Martin’s life when he is a little older, and is the third descendant to accompany him as his guardian. Out of all his descendants to assume guardianship, Martin forms the closest relationship with Ives. Rather than seeing Martin as a responsibility and duty, Ives sees Martin as an individual and seeks ways to connect and encourage his passions. For one, Ives buys a yacht named The Interregnum to which the pair take upon themselves to explore the current world in. They traveled across the waters and inland to see both the civilized and uncivilized world, with Martin taking it all in. When it was just the two of them, their relationship progressed further. Ives began to open up about the future world that he and his descendants come from and explain the nuances of the social order that rules. Ives is the first to explicitly and honestly describe the feudal and privileged social class that Martin’s descendants take part in, only due to their fortunate ancestry. Additionally, Ives is the only cousin to admit the potential truth in Conrad’s intentions, noting the dilemma between achieving moral good and selfishing maintaining their own good life. Martin even comments his confidence in Ives being able to see the obvious flaw in the cousins’ plans. However, during one winter, Ives fell ill to a severe chill and passed away before his own birth. After Ives’ death, Martin relently voyages across oceans and soon as they and the cousins blur, he begins to live detachedly.

<s>The ceaseless voyaging began again. The Interregnum voyaged to everyocean and every sea. Some were blue and some green and some dun. Aftera while, Martin couldn't tell one from another. Cousin after cousincame to watch over him and eventually they were as hard for him to tellapart as the different oceans. All the cousins were young, for, though they came at different times inhis life, they had all started out from the same time in theirs. Onlythe young ones had been included in the venture; they did not trusttheir elders. As the years went by, Martin began to lose even his detached interestin the land and its doings. Although the yacht frequently touched portfor fuel or supplies—it was more economical to purchase them in thatera than to have them shipped from the future—he seldom went ashore,and then only at the urging of a newly assigned cousin anxious to seethe sights. Most of the time Martin spent in watching the sea—andsometimes he painted it. There seemed to be a depth to his seascapesthat his other work lacked. When he was pressed by the current cousin to make a land visitsomewhere, he decided to exhibit a few of his sea paintings. That way,he could fool himself into thinking that there was some purpose to thisjourney. He'd come to believe that perhaps what his life lacked waspurpose, and for a while he kept looking for meaning everywhere, to thecousin's utter disgust. Eat, drink and be merry, or whatever you Romans say when you do as youdo, the cousin—who was rather woolly in history; the descendants werescraping bottom now—advised. Martin showed his work in Italy, so that the cousin could bedisillusioned by the current crop of Romans. He found that neitherpurpose nor malice was enough; he was still immeasurably bored.However, a museum bought two of the paintings. Martin thought of Ivesand felt an uncomfortable pang of a sensation he could no longerunderstand. Where do you suppose Conrad has been all this time? Martin idly askedthe current cousin—who was passing as his nephew by now. The young man jumped, then glanced around him uncomfortably. Conrad'sa very shrewd fellow, he whispered. He's biding his time—waitinguntil we're off guard. And then—pow!—he'll attack! Oh, I see, Martin said. He had often fancied that Conrad would prove to be the most stimulatingmember of the whole generation. But it seemed unlikely that he wouldever have a chance for a conversation with the young man. More than oneconversation, anyhow. When he does show up, I'll protect you, the cousin vowed, touchinghis ray gun. You haven't a thing to worry about. Martin smiled with all the charm he'd had nothing to do but acquire. Ihave every confidence in you, he told his descendant. He himself hadgiven up carrying a gun long ago. There was a war in the Northern Hemisphere and so The Interregnum voyaged to southern waters. There was a war in the south and they hidout in the Arctic. All the nations became too drained of power—fueland man and will—to fight, so there was a sterile peace for a longtime. The Interregnum roamed the seas restlessly, with her load ofpassengers from the future, plus one bored and aging contemporary. Shebore big guns now, because of the ever-present danger of pirates. <doc-sep>Cousin Ives—now that Martin was older, he was told to call thedescendants cousin —next assumed guardianship. Ives took hisresponsibilities more seriously than the others did. He even arrangedto have Martin's work shown at an art gallery. The paintings receivedcritical approval, but failed to evoke any enthusiasm. The modestsale they enjoyed was mostly to interior decorators. Museums were notinterested. Takes time, Ives tried to reassure him. One day they'll be buyingyour pictures, Martin. Wait and see. Ives was the only one of the descendants who seemed to think of Martinas an individual. When his efforts to make contact with the other youngman failed, he got worried and decided that what Martin needed was achange of air and scenery. 'Course you can't go on the Grand Tour. Your son hasn't inventedspace travel yet. But we can go see this world. What's left of it.Tourists always like ruins best, anyway. So he drew on the family's vast future resources and bought a yacht,which Martin christened The Interregnum . They traveled about from seato ocean and from ocean to sea, touching at various ports and makingtrips inland. Martin saw the civilized world—mostly in fragments; thenearly intact semi-civilized world and the uncivilized world, much thesame as it had been for centuries. It was like visiting an enormousmuseum; he couldn't seem to identify with his own time any more. The other cousins appeared to find the yacht a congenial head-quarters,largely because they could spend so much time far away from thecontemporary inhabitants of the planet and relax and be themselves. Sothey never moved back to land. Martin spent the rest of his life on The Interregnum . He felt curiously safer from Conrad there, althoughthere was no valid reason why an ocean should stop a traveler throughtime. More cousins were in residence at once than ever before, becausethey came for the ocean voyage. They spent most of their time aboardship, giving each other parties and playing an avant-garde form ofshuffleboard and gambling on future sporting events. That last usuallyended in a brawl, because one cousin was sure to accuse another ofhaving got advance information about the results. Martin didn't care much for their company and associated with them onlywhen not to have done so would have been palpably rude. And, thoughthey were gregarious young people for the most part, they didn't courthis society. He suspected that he made them feel uncomfortable. <doc-sep> THE MAN OUTSIDE By EVELYN E. SMITH Illustrated by DILLON [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction August 1957. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] No one, least of all Martin, could dispute that a man's life should be guarded by his kin—but by those who hadn't been born yet? Nobody in the neighborhood was surprised when Martin's motherdisappeared and Ninian came to take care of him. Mothers had a wayof disappearing around those parts and the kids were often betteroff without them. Martin was no exception. He'd never had it thisgood while he was living with his old lady. As for his father, Martinhad never had one. He'd been a war baby, born of one of the tides ofsoldiers—enemies and allies, both—that had engulfed the country insuccessive waves and bought or taken the women. So there was no troublethat way. Sometimes he wondered who Ninian really was. Obviously that storyabout her coming from the future was just a gag. Besides, if she reallywas his great-great-grand-daughter, as she said, why would she tellhim to call her Aunt Ninian ? Maybe he was only eleven, but he'dbeen around and he knew just what the score was. At first he'd thoughtmaybe she was some new kind of social worker, but she acted a littletoo crazy for that. He loved to bait her, as he had loved to bait his mother. It was saferwith Ninian, though, because when he pushed her too far, she would cryinstead of mopping up the floor with him. But I can't understand, he would say, keeping his face straight. Whydo you have to come from the future to protect me against your cousinConrad? Because he's coming to kill you. Why should he kill me? I ain't done him nothing. Ninian sighed. He's dissatisfied with the current social order andkilling you is part of an elaborate plan he's formulated to change it.You wouldn't understand. You're damn right. I don't understand. What's it all about instraight gas? Oh, just don't ask any questions, Ninian said petulantly. When youget older, someone will explain the whole thing to you. <doc-sep></s>

The ‘cousins’ featured in this story are all direct descendants of Martin, identified to be great-great-granddaughters and -sons. Instructed to be called Aunts and Uncles by a young Martin and then later cousins by a mature Martin, they have rallied together to travel into the past in order to protect and guard Martin from an assassination attempt by Conrad. Conrad, a fellow cousin, is thought to be an idealist by his fellow cousins and adamantly wrong in his belief that the right thing to do is to erase their lineage in order to correct injustice in their future society. Despite the heroic protection of Martin, we find out that the cousins’ guardianship of Martin is selfish in nature. Aside from Ives, Martin holds largely impersonal relationships with his cousins, who appear to view Martin as a reluctant duty. Because of Conrad as a looming threat over Martin’s livelihood, a rotation of cousins traveling from the future assume guardianship over Martin and dictates his life in his hobbies or the information he knows - all to protect their own livelihood. At Martin’s deathbed, we find out that the cousins have had the wrong idea this entire time. In their insistence at protecting Martin and shaping his life to what they created for him, they signed their own death warrant. In all their planning and supposed intelligence and worthiness, the cousins have failed to observe the flaw in the plan: that if Martin had no wife and no children, then their very existence would be naught. Their forced presence in Martin’s life had rid Martin’s potential exciting existence - and in return - Martin’s lackluster existence had rid the cousins of any kind of existence.

<s>Most of the cousins gasped as the truth began to percolate through. I knew from the very beginning, Conrad finished, that I didn'thave to do anything at all. I just had to wait and you would destroyyourselves. I don't understand, Bartholomew protested, searching the faces of thecousins closest to him. What does he mean, we have never existed?We're here, aren't we? What— Shut up! Raymond snapped. He turned on Martin. You don't seemsurprised. The old man grinned. I'm not. I figured it all out years ago. At first, he had wondered what he should do. Would it be better tothrow them into a futile panic by telling them or to do nothing? Hehad decided on the latter; that was the role they had assigned him—towatch and wait and keep out of things—and that was the role he wouldplay. You knew all the time and you didn't tell us! Raymond spluttered.After we'd been so good to you, making a gentleman out of you insteadof a criminal.... That's right, he snarled, a criminal! An alcoholic,a thief, a derelict! How do you like that? Sounds like a rich, full life, Martin said wistfully. What an exciting existence they must have done him out of! But then, hecouldn't help thinking, he—he and Conrad together, of course—had donethem out of any kind of existence. It wasn't his responsibility,though; he had done nothing but let matters take whatever course wasdestined for them. If only he could be sure that it was the bettercourse, perhaps he wouldn't feel that nagging sense of guilt insidehim. Strange—where, in his hermetic life, could he possibly havedeveloped such a queer thing as a conscience? Then we've wasted all this time, Ninian sobbed, all this energy, allthis money, for nothing! But you were nothing to begin with, Martin told them. And then,after a pause, he added, I only wish I could be sure there had beensome purpose to this. He didn't know whether it was approaching death that dimmed his sight,or whether the frightened crowd that pressed around him was growingshadowy. I wish I could feel that some good had been done in letting you bewiped out of existence, he went on voicing his thoughts. But I knowthat the same thing that happened to your worlds and my world willhappen all over again. To other people, in other times, but again. It'sbound to happen. There isn't any hope for humanity. One man couldn't really change the course of human history, he toldhimself. Two men, that was—one real, one a shadow. Conrad came close to the old man's bed. He was almost transparent. No, he said, there is hope. They didn't know the time transmitterworks two ways. I used it for going into the past only once—just thisonce. But I've gone into the future with it many times. And— hepressed Martin's hand—believe me, what I did—what we did, you andI—serves a purpose. It will change things for the better. Everythingis going to be all right. <doc-sep>She had finished. And now Cyril cleared his throat. Dear friends, wewere honored by your gracious invitation to visit this fair planet, andwe are honored now by the cordial reception you have given to us. The crowd yoomped politely. After a slight start, Cyril went on,apparently deciding that applause was all that had been intended. We feel quite sure that we are going to derive both pleasure andprofit from our stay here, and we promise to make our intensiveanalysis of your culture as painless as possible. We wish only to studyyour society, not to tamper with it in any way. Ha, ha , Skkiru said to himself. Ha, ha, ha! But why is it, Raoul whispered in Terran as he glanced around out ofthe corners of his eyes, that only the beggar wears mudshoes? Shhh, Cyril hissed back. We'll find out later, when we'veestablished rapport. Don't be so impatient! Bbulas gave a sickly smile. Skkiru could almost find it in his heartsto feel sorry for the man. We have prepared our best hut for you, noble sirs, Bbulas said withgreat self-control, and, by happy chance, this very evening a smallbut unusually interesting ceremony will be held outside the temple. Wehope you will be able to attend. It is to be a rain dance. Rain dance! Raoul pulled his macintosh together more tightly at thethroat. But why do you want rain? My faith, not only does it rain now,but the planet seems to be a veritable sea of mud. Not, of course, headded hurriedly as Cyril's reproachful eye caught his, that it is notattractive mud. Finest mud I have ever seen. Such texture, such color,such aroma! Cyril nodded three times and gave an appreciative sniff. But, Raoul went on, one can have too much of even such a good thingas mud.... The smile did not leave Bbulas' smooth face. Yes, of course, honorableTerrestrials. That is why we are holding this ceremony. It is not adance to bring on rain. It is a dance to stop rain. He was pretty quick on the uptake, Skkiru had to concede. However,that was not enough. The man had no genuine organizational ability.In the time he'd had in which to plan and carry out a scheme forthe improvement of Snaddra, surely he could have done better thanthis high-school theocracy. For one thing, he could have apportionedthe various roles so that each person would be making a definitecontribution to the society, instead of creating some positions plums,like the priesthood, and others prunes, like the beggarship. What kind of life was that for an active, ambitious young man, standingaround begging? And, moreover, from whom was Skkiru going to beg?Only the Earthmen, for the Snaddrath, no matter how much they threwthemselves into the spirit of their roles, could not be so carriedaway that they would give handouts to a young man whom they had beenaccustomed to see basking in the bosom of luxury. <doc-sep>Commander Eagan said, You'd better find some new way of amusingyourself, Jones. Have you read General Order 17? Isobar said, I seen it. But if you think— It says, stated Eagan deliberately, ' In order that work or restperiods of the Dome's staff may not be disturbed, it is hereby orderedthat the playing or practicing of all or any musical instruments mustbe discontinued immediately. By order of the Dome Commander ,' Thatmeans you, Jones! But, dingbust it! keened Isobar, it don't disturb nobody for me toplay my bagpipes! I know these lunks around here don't appreciate goodmusic, so I always go in my office and lock the door after me— But the Dome, pointed out Commander Eagan, has an air-conditioningsystem which can't be shut off. The ungodly moans ofyour—er—so-called musical instrument can be heard through the entirestructure. He suddenly seemed to gain stature. No, Jones, this order is final! You cannot disrupt our entireorganization for your own—er—amusement. But— said Isobar. No! Isobar wriggled desperately. Life on Luna was sorry enough already.If now they took from him the last remaining solace he had, the lastamusement which lightened his moments of freedom— Look, Commander! he pleaded, I tell you what I'll do. I won't bothernobody. I'll go Outside and play it— Outside! Eagan stared at him incredulously. Are you mad? How aboutthe Grannies? Isobar knew all about the Grannies. The only mobile form of lifefound by space-questing man on Earth's satellite, their name was anabbreviation of the descriptive one applied to them by the first Lunarexployers: Granitebacks. This was no exaggeration; if anything, it wasan understatement. For the Grannies, though possessed of certain lowintelligence, had quickly proven themselves a deadly, unyielding andimplacable foe. Worse yet, they were an enemy almost indestructible! No man had everyet brought to Earth laboratories the carcass of a Grannie; sciencewas completely baffled in its endeavors to explain the composition ofGraniteback physiology—but it was known, from bitter experience, thatthe carapace or exoskeleton of the Grannies was formed of somethingharder than steel, diamond, or battleplate! This flesh could bepenetrated by no weapon known to man; neither by steel nor flame,by electronic nor ionic wave, nor by the lethal, newly discoveredatomo-needle dispenser. All this Isobar knew about the Grannies. Yet: They ain't been any Grannies seen around the Dome, he said, fora 'coon's age. Anyhow, if I seen any comin', I could run right backinside— No! said Commander Eagan flatly. Absolutely, no ! I have no timefor such nonsense. You know the orders—obey them! And now, gentlemen,good afternoon! He left. Sparks turned to Isobar, grinning. Well, he said, one man's fish—hey, Jonesy? Too bad you can't playyour doodlesack any more, but frankly, I'm just as glad. Of all theawful screeching wails— But Isobar Jones, generally mild and gentle, was now in a perfectfury. His pale eyes blazed, he stomped his foot on the floor, and fromhis lips poured a stream of such angry invective that Riley lookedstartled. Words that, to Isobar, were the utter dregs of violentprofanity. Oh, dagnab it! fumed Isobar Jones. Oh, tarnation and dingbust!Oh— fiddlesticks ! II And so, chuckled Riley, he left, bubbling like a kettle on a red-hotoven. But, boy! was he ever mad! Just about ready to bust, he was. Some minutes had passed since Isobar had left; Riley was talking to Dr.Loesch, head of the Dome's Physics Research Division. The older mannodded commiseratingly. It is funny, yes, he agreed, but at the same time it is notaltogether amusing. I feel sorry for him. He is a very unhappy man, ourpoor Isobar. Yeah, I know, said Riley, but, hell, we all get a little bithomesick now and then. He ought to learn to— Excuse me, my boy, interrupted the aged physicist, his voice gentle,it is not mere homesickness that troubles our friend. It is somethingdeeper, much more vital and serious. It is what my people call: weltschmertz . There is no accurate translation in English. It means'world sickness,' or better, 'world weariness'—something like that butintensified a thousandfold. It is a deeply-rooted mental condition, sometimes a dangerous frameof mind. Under its grip, men do wild things. Hating the world on whichthey find themselves, they rebel in curious ways. Suicide ... mad actsof valor ... deeds of cunning or knavery.... You mean, demanded Sparks anxiously, Isobar ain't got all hisbuttons? Not that exactly. He is perfectly sane. But he is in a dark morassof despair. He may try anything to retrieve his lost happiness, ridhis soul of its dark oppression. His world-sickness is like a cryinghunger—By the way, where is he now? Below, I guess. In his quarters. Ah, good! Perhaps he is sleeping. Let us hope so. In slumber he willfind peace and forgetfulness. But Dr. Loesch would have been far less sanguine had some power thegiftie gi'en him of watching Isobar Jones at that moment. Isobar was not asleep. Far from it. Wide awake and very much astir, hewas acting in a singularly sinister role: that of a slinking, furtiveculprit. Returning to his private cubicle after his conversation with DomeCommander Eagan, he had stalked straightway to the cabinet wherein wasencased his precious set of bagpipes. These he had taken from theirpegs, gazed upon defiantly, and fondled with almost parental affection. So I can't play you, huh? he muttered darkly. It disturbs the peaceo' the dingfounded, dumblasted Dome staff, does it? Well, we'll see about that! And tucking the bag under his arm, he had cautiously slipped from theroom, down little-used corridors, and now he stood before the huge impervite gates which were the entrance to the Dome and the doorwayto Outside. On all save those occasions when a spacecraft landed in the cradleadjacent the gateway, these portals were doubly locked and barred. Buttoday they had been unbolted that the two maintenance men might ventureout. And since it was quite possible that Brown and Roberts might haveto get inside in a hurry, their bolts remained drawn. Sole guardian ofthe entrance was a very bored Junior Patrolman. Up to this worthy strode Isobar Jones, confident and assured, exudingan aura of propriety. Very well, Wilkins, he said. I'll take over now. You may go to themeeting. Wilkins looked at him bewilderedly. Huh? Whuzzat, Mr. Jones? Isobar's eyebrows arched. You mean you haven't been notified? Notified of what ? Why, the general council of all Patrolmen! Weren't you told that Iwould take your place here while you reported to G.H.Q.? I ain't, puzzled Wilkins, heard nothing about it. Maybe I ought tocall the office, maybe? And he moved the wall-audio. But Isobar said swiftly. That—er—won'tbe necessary, Wilkins. My orders were plain enough. Now, you just runalong. I'll watch this entrance for you. We-e-ell, said Wilkins, if you say so. Orders is orders. But keep asharp eye out, Mister Jones, in case Roberts and Brown should come backsudden-like. I will, promised Isobar, don't worry. <doc-sep></s>

First, time is significant in this story as the main plotline to the cousins' interactions with Martin. With the future having time travel as a reality, characters in this story like Ninian are able to jump back and forth between the past - to bring Martin out of poverty and vulgar background - and the future to her present time. Although the characters in this story utilize time as an unchangeable and linear concept, we find out through hints in the story and at the final moment that time here is fluid and flexible. Anything that occurs in the past will affect the reality of the future. This is a startling pocket of truth that the cousins fail to realize until Martin’s deathbed - where they are horrified to find out that their selfish desire to protect their comfortable reality in the future had actually led to their own demise and ridded their entire existence. Additionally, time is used to explore the ruling ideologies of the social class both in present and in future. Despite the cousins proclaiming the future world to be free of poverty and highly privileged, Ives reveals that the realities of both worlds are similar in having wars and want and suffering. Only, with the latter future world dealing with these unsavory characters in exiling them and maintaining a feudal class system.

<s>Cousin Ives—now that Martin was older, he was told to call thedescendants cousin —next assumed guardianship. Ives took hisresponsibilities more seriously than the others did. He even arrangedto have Martin's work shown at an art gallery. The paintings receivedcritical approval, but failed to evoke any enthusiasm. The modestsale they enjoyed was mostly to interior decorators. Museums were notinterested. Takes time, Ives tried to reassure him. One day they'll be buyingyour pictures, Martin. Wait and see. Ives was the only one of the descendants who seemed to think of Martinas an individual. When his efforts to make contact with the other youngman failed, he got worried and decided that what Martin needed was achange of air and scenery. 'Course you can't go on the Grand Tour. Your son hasn't inventedspace travel yet. But we can go see this world. What's left of it.Tourists always like ruins best, anyway. So he drew on the family's vast future resources and bought a yacht,which Martin christened The Interregnum . They traveled about from seato ocean and from ocean to sea, touching at various ports and makingtrips inland. Martin saw the civilized world—mostly in fragments; thenearly intact semi-civilized world and the uncivilized world, much thesame as it had been for centuries. It was like visiting an enormousmuseum; he couldn't seem to identify with his own time any more. The other cousins appeared to find the yacht a congenial head-quarters,largely because they could spend so much time far away from thecontemporary inhabitants of the planet and relax and be themselves. Sothey never moved back to land. Martin spent the rest of his life on The Interregnum . He felt curiously safer from Conrad there, althoughthere was no valid reason why an ocean should stop a traveler throughtime. More cousins were in residence at once than ever before, becausethey came for the ocean voyage. They spent most of their time aboardship, giving each other parties and playing an avant-garde form ofshuffleboard and gambling on future sporting events. That last usuallyended in a brawl, because one cousin was sure to accuse another ofhaving got advance information about the results. Martin didn't care much for their company and associated with them onlywhen not to have done so would have been palpably rude. And, thoughthey were gregarious young people for the most part, they didn't courthis society. He suspected that he made them feel uncomfortable. <doc-sep>Most of the cousins gasped as the truth began to percolate through. I knew from the very beginning, Conrad finished, that I didn'thave to do anything at all. I just had to wait and you would destroyyourselves. I don't understand, Bartholomew protested, searching the faces of thecousins closest to him. What does he mean, we have never existed?We're here, aren't we? What— Shut up! Raymond snapped. He turned on Martin. You don't seemsurprised. The old man grinned. I'm not. I figured it all out years ago. At first, he had wondered what he should do. Would it be better tothrow them into a futile panic by telling them or to do nothing? Hehad decided on the latter; that was the role they had assigned him—towatch and wait and keep out of things—and that was the role he wouldplay. You knew all the time and you didn't tell us! Raymond spluttered.After we'd been so good to you, making a gentleman out of you insteadof a criminal.... That's right, he snarled, a criminal! An alcoholic,a thief, a derelict! How do you like that? Sounds like a rich, full life, Martin said wistfully. What an exciting existence they must have done him out of! But then, hecouldn't help thinking, he—he and Conrad together, of course—had donethem out of any kind of existence. It wasn't his responsibility,though; he had done nothing but let matters take whatever course wasdestined for them. If only he could be sure that it was the bettercourse, perhaps he wouldn't feel that nagging sense of guilt insidehim. Strange—where, in his hermetic life, could he possibly havedeveloped such a queer thing as a conscience? Then we've wasted all this time, Ninian sobbed, all this energy, allthis money, for nothing! But you were nothing to begin with, Martin told them. And then,after a pause, he added, I only wish I could be sure there had beensome purpose to this. He didn't know whether it was approaching death that dimmed his sight,or whether the frightened crowd that pressed around him was growingshadowy. I wish I could feel that some good had been done in letting you bewiped out of existence, he went on voicing his thoughts. But I knowthat the same thing that happened to your worlds and my world willhappen all over again. To other people, in other times, but again. It'sbound to happen. There isn't any hope for humanity. One man couldn't really change the course of human history, he toldhimself. Two men, that was—one real, one a shadow. Conrad came close to the old man's bed. He was almost transparent. No, he said, there is hope. They didn't know the time transmitterworks two ways. I used it for going into the past only once—just thisonce. But I've gone into the future with it many times. And— hepressed Martin's hand—believe me, what I did—what we did, you andI—serves a purpose. It will change things for the better. Everythingis going to be all right. <doc-sep>When it came time for the parting, it was Ninian who cried—tears ather own inadequacy, Martin knew, not of sorrow. He was getting skillfulat understanding his descendants, far better than they at understandinghim. But then they never really tried. Ninian kissed him wetly on thecheek and said she was sure everything would work out all right andthat she'd come see him again. She never did, though, except at thevery last. Raymond and Martin moved into a luxurious mansion in a remote area. Thesite proved a well-chosen one; when the Second Atomic War came, half adozen years later, they weren't touched. Martin was never sure whetherthis had been sheer luck or expert planning. Probably luck, because hisdescendants were exceedingly inept planners. Few people in the world then could afford to live as stylishly asMartin and his guardian. The place not only contained every possibleconvenience and gadget but was crammed with bibelots and antiques,carefully chosen by Raymond and disputed by Martin, for, to the manfrom the future, all available artifacts were antiques. Otherwise,Martin accepted his new surroundings. His sense of wonder had becomedulled by now and the pink pseudo-Spanish castle—architecturallydreadful, of course, Raymond had said, but so hilariouslytypical—impressed him far less than had the suburban split-levelaquarium. How about a moat? Martin suggested when they first came. It seems togo with a castle. Do you think a moat could stop Conrad? Raymond asked, amused. No, Martin smiled, feeling rather silly, but it would make the placeseem safer somehow. The threat of Conrad was beginning to make him grow more and morenervous. He got Raymond's permission to take two suits of armor thatstood in the front hall and present them to a local museum, becauseseveral times he fancied he saw them move. He also became an adept withthe ray gun and changed the surrounding landscape quite a bit with it,until Raymond warned that this might lead Conrad to them. During those early years, Martin's tutors were exchanged for thehigher-degreed ones that were now needful. The question inevitablyarose of what the youth's vocation in that life was going to be. Atleast twenty of the cousins came back through time to hold one oftheir vigorous family councils. Martin was still young enough to enjoysuch occasions, finding them vastly superior to all other forms ofentertainment. <doc-sep></s>

When Ninian initially arrives, Martin blatantly considers her to be dumb. Dumb to hire a cleaning maid, dumb to freak out over Martin’s absence at school, and dumb to hire a private tutor. Even with them moving to a different and more privileged neighborhood, he considers her dumb to go through all this effort to still remain conspicuous. As the reasons behind the cousins’ presence in the past and guardianship over Martin is revealed, his sentiment towards them remains the same. It seems that Martin is able to catch onto the obvious flaw in the cousins’ plans quite early on, and yet with so many cousins slipping in and out, and despite their proclaimed intelligence, none of them are able to pick up on this flaw. The flaw being: with Martin having no children, their very existence becomes an impossibility. This is revealed at the end of the story where Martin is on his deathbed, noting that he had come to this conclusion many years before and had chosen not to say anything.

<s>Back in the control room, Gwayne found the emergency release levers,set the combinations and pressed the studs. There was a hiss and gurgleas the great tanks of fuel discharged their contents out onto theground where no ingenuity could ever recover it to bring life to theship again. He'd have to tell the men and women of the crew later, after he'd hadtime to organize things and present it all in a way they could accept,however much they might hate it at first. But there was no putting offgiving the gist of it to Jane. It was the blobs, he summarized it. They seem to be amused by men.They don't require anything from us, but they like us around. Hennessydoesn't know why. They can change our cells, adapt us. Before men came,all life here had twelve legs. Now they're changing that, as we've seen. And they don't have to be close to do it. We've all been outside thehull. It doesn't show yet—but we're changed. In another month, Earthfood would kill us. We've got to stay here. We'll bury the ships deeperthis time, and Earth won't find us. They can't risk trying a colonywhere three ships vanish, so we'll just disappear. And they'll neverknow. Nobody would know. Their children—odd children who matured in eightyears—would be primitive savages in three generations. The Earthtools would be useless, impossible for the hands so radically changed.Nothing from the ship would last. Books could never be read by the neweyes. And in time, Earth wouldn't even be a memory to this world. She was silent a long time, staring out of the port toward what mustnow be her home. Then she sighed. You'll need practice, but the othersdon't know you as well as I do, Bob. I guess we can fix it so they'llbelieve it all. And it's too late now. But we haven't really beenchanged yet, have we? No, he admitted. Damn his voice! He'd never been good at lying. No.They have to touch us. I've been touched, but the rest could go back. She nodded. He waited for the condemnation, but there was onlypuzzlement in her face. Why? And then, before he could answer, her own intelligence gave her thesame answer he had found for himself. The spawning ground! It was the only thing they could do. Earth needed a place to plant herseed, but no world other than Earth could ever be trusted to preservethat seed for generation after generation. Some worlds already werebecoming uncertain. Here, though, the blobs had adapted men to the alien world instead ofmen having to adapt the whole planet to their needs. Here, the strangechildren of man's race could grow, develop and begin the long trek backto civilization. The gadgets would be lost for a time. But perhapssome of the attitudes of civilized man would remain to make the nextrise to culture a better one. We're needed here, he told her, his voice pleading for theunderstanding he couldn't yet fully give himself. These people needas rich a set of bloodlines as possible to give the new race strength.The fifty men and women on this ship will be needed to start them witha decent chance. We can't go to Earth, where nobody would believe oraccept the idea—or even let us come back. We have to stay here. She smiled then and moved toward him, groping for his strength. Befruitful, she whispered. Be fruitful and spawn and replenish anearth. No, he told her. Replenish the stars. But she was no longer listening, and that part of his idea could wait. Some day, though, their children would find a way to the starlanesagain, looking for other worlds. With the blobs to help them, theycould adapt to most worlds. The unchanged spirit would lead themthrough all space, and the changing bodies would claim worlds beyondnumbering. Some day, the whole universe would be a spawning ground for thechildren of men! <doc-sep>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep> Spawning Ground By LESTER DEL REY They weren't human. They were something more—and something less—they were, in short, humanity's hopes for survival! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The Starship Pandora creaked and groaned as her landing pads settledunevenly in the mucky surface of the ugly world outside. She seemed tobe restless to end her fool's errand here, two hundred light years fromthe waiting hordes on Earth. Straining metal plates twanged and echoedthrough her hallways. Captain Gwayne cursed and rolled over, reaching for his boots. He wasa big, rawboned man, barely forty; but ten years of responsibilityhad pressed down his shoulders and put age-feigning hollows under hisreddened eyes. The starlanes between Earth and her potential colonieswere rough on the men who traveled them now. He shuffled toward thecontrol room, grumbling at the heavy gravity. Lieutenant Jane Corey looked up, nodding a blonde head at him as hemoved toward the ever-waiting pot of murky coffee. Morning, Bob. Youneed a shave. Yeah. He swallowed the hot coffee without tasting it, then ran ahand across the dark stubble on his chin. It could wait. Anything newduring the night? About a dozen blobs held something like a convention a little waysnorth of us. They broke up about an hour ago and streaked off into theclouds. The blobs were a peculiarity of this planet about which nobodyknew anything. They looked like overgrown fireballs, but seemed to havean almost sentient curiosity about anything moving on the ground. Andour two cadets sneaked out again. Barker followed them, but lost themin the murk. I've kept a signal going to guide them back. Gwayne swore softly to himself. Earth couldn't turn out enough starmenin the schools, so promising kids were being shipped out for trainingas cadets on their twelfth birthday. The two he'd drawn, Kaufman andPinelli, seemed to be totally devoid of any sense of caution. Of course there was no obvious need for caution here. The blobs hadn'tseemed dangerous, and the local animals were apparently all herbivorousand harmless. They were ugly enough, looking like insects in spite oftheir internal skeletons, with anywhere from four to twelve legs eachon their segmented bodies. None acted like dangerous beasts. But something had happened to the exploration party fifteen yearsback, and to the more recent ship under Hennessy that was sent to checkup. <doc-sep></s>

The Starship Pandora lands on a planet where an exploring ship and a rescue group disappear. Captain Gwayne was ordered to come and inspect the lost ships for a week. They prolong their stay because of a discovery of the carefully buried ship whose parts were exposed by a landslide and detected by a metal locator a few days ago. When two cadets, Kaufman and Pinelli, and one member, Doctor Barker, approach to examine the buried ship, a horde of mysterious creatures come to them. The leader of mysterious creatures, tall and man-like, kidnaps the two cadets with his members and runs away. Captain Gwayne and other crew members ride on jeeps and chase after the monsters. When they catch up to the mysterious leader, the cadets are sitting on each shoulder of the leader without harm. Captain Gwayne and Doctor Barker collaborate to defeat the leader and bring it back to the ship.After bringing back the captive, Captain Gwayne has learned from the creature that he is Hennessy, the missing captain of the buried ship. He reveals that the blobs, a peculiarity on the planet, can change the cells in living creatures to help them adapt to the planet, which has done to Captain Hennessy and his crew members. All the mysterious creatures surrounding the ship are either the original crew members or their descendants. They decided to bury the ship after noticing the changes. After he finished the story, Captain Hennessy went to gather with his people. And now, Captain Gwayne faces the same situation as Captain Hennessy did in the past: either die when they go back to the Earth or stay on the planet to become a different creature, which at least makes humankind survive differently. Captain Gwayne decides to stay, so he discharges all the fuel out to not let the ship live again. He then tells Jane Corey, the Lieutenant, the truth and his decision. They both know that they have to stay for the better strength of the species after generations because humankind needs to have at least one hope to spread their seeds, even in a different shape. They will obliterate all their traces so that the Earth will send no more humans to the planet.

<s>Back in the control room, Gwayne found the emergency release levers,set the combinations and pressed the studs. There was a hiss and gurgleas the great tanks of fuel discharged their contents out onto theground where no ingenuity could ever recover it to bring life to theship again. He'd have to tell the men and women of the crew later, after he'd hadtime to organize things and present it all in a way they could accept,however much they might hate it at first. But there was no putting offgiving the gist of it to Jane. It was the blobs, he summarized it. They seem to be amused by men.They don't require anything from us, but they like us around. Hennessydoesn't know why. They can change our cells, adapt us. Before men came,all life here had twelve legs. Now they're changing that, as we've seen. And they don't have to be close to do it. We've all been outside thehull. It doesn't show yet—but we're changed. In another month, Earthfood would kill us. We've got to stay here. We'll bury the ships deeperthis time, and Earth won't find us. They can't risk trying a colonywhere three ships vanish, so we'll just disappear. And they'll neverknow. Nobody would know. Their children—odd children who matured in eightyears—would be primitive savages in three generations. The Earthtools would be useless, impossible for the hands so radically changed.Nothing from the ship would last. Books could never be read by the neweyes. And in time, Earth wouldn't even be a memory to this world. She was silent a long time, staring out of the port toward what mustnow be her home. Then she sighed. You'll need practice, but the othersdon't know you as well as I do, Bob. I guess we can fix it so they'llbelieve it all. And it's too late now. But we haven't really beenchanged yet, have we? No, he admitted. Damn his voice! He'd never been good at lying. No.They have to touch us. I've been touched, but the rest could go back. She nodded. He waited for the condemnation, but there was onlypuzzlement in her face. Why? And then, before he could answer, her own intelligence gave her thesame answer he had found for himself. The spawning ground! It was the only thing they could do. Earth needed a place to plant herseed, but no world other than Earth could ever be trusted to preservethat seed for generation after generation. Some worlds already werebecoming uncertain. Here, though, the blobs had adapted men to the alien world instead ofmen having to adapt the whole planet to their needs. Here, the strangechildren of man's race could grow, develop and begin the long trek backto civilization. The gadgets would be lost for a time. But perhapssome of the attitudes of civilized man would remain to make the nextrise to culture a better one. We're needed here, he told her, his voice pleading for theunderstanding he couldn't yet fully give himself. These people needas rich a set of bloodlines as possible to give the new race strength.The fifty men and women on this ship will be needed to start them witha decent chance. We can't go to Earth, where nobody would believe oraccept the idea—or even let us come back. We have to stay here. She smiled then and moved toward him, groping for his strength. Befruitful, she whispered. Be fruitful and spawn and replenish anearth. No, he told her. Replenish the stars. But she was no longer listening, and that part of his idea could wait. Some day, though, their children would find a way to the starlanesagain, looking for other worlds. With the blobs to help them, theycould adapt to most worlds. The unchanged spirit would lead themthrough all space, and the changing bodies would claim worlds beyondnumbering. Some day, the whole universe would be a spawning ground for thechildren of men! <doc-sep> Spawning Ground By LESTER DEL REY They weren't human. They were something more—and something less—they were, in short, humanity's hopes for survival! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The Starship Pandora creaked and groaned as her landing pads settledunevenly in the mucky surface of the ugly world outside. She seemed tobe restless to end her fool's errand here, two hundred light years fromthe waiting hordes on Earth. Straining metal plates twanged and echoedthrough her hallways. Captain Gwayne cursed and rolled over, reaching for his boots. He wasa big, rawboned man, barely forty; but ten years of responsibilityhad pressed down his shoulders and put age-feigning hollows under hisreddened eyes. The starlanes between Earth and her potential colonieswere rough on the men who traveled them now. He shuffled toward thecontrol room, grumbling at the heavy gravity. Lieutenant Jane Corey looked up, nodding a blonde head at him as hemoved toward the ever-waiting pot of murky coffee. Morning, Bob. Youneed a shave. Yeah. He swallowed the hot coffee without tasting it, then ran ahand across the dark stubble on his chin. It could wait. Anything newduring the night? About a dozen blobs held something like a convention a little waysnorth of us. They broke up about an hour ago and streaked off into theclouds. The blobs were a peculiarity of this planet about which nobodyknew anything. They looked like overgrown fireballs, but seemed to havean almost sentient curiosity about anything moving on the ground. Andour two cadets sneaked out again. Barker followed them, but lost themin the murk. I've kept a signal going to guide them back. Gwayne swore softly to himself. Earth couldn't turn out enough starmenin the schools, so promising kids were being shipped out for trainingas cadets on their twelfth birthday. The two he'd drawn, Kaufman andPinelli, seemed to be totally devoid of any sense of caution. Of course there was no obvious need for caution here. The blobs hadn'tseemed dangerous, and the local animals were apparently all herbivorousand harmless. They were ugly enough, looking like insects in spite oftheir internal skeletons, with anywhere from four to twelve legs eachon their segmented bodies. None acted like dangerous beasts. But something had happened to the exploration party fifteen yearsback, and to the more recent ship under Hennessy that was sent to checkup. <doc-sep>The arms were thin and grotesque below the massively distortedshoulders, but amazingly strong. Gwayne felt them wrench at him as hishands locked on the thick throat. A stench of alien flesh was in hisnose as the thing fell backwards. Doc Barker had hit it seconds afterthe captain's attack. Its head hit rocky ground with a dull, heavysound, and it collapsed. Gwayne eased back slowly, but it made nofurther move, though it was still breathing. Another jeep had drawn up, and men were examining the cadets. Pinelliwas either laughing or crying, and Kaufman was trying to break free tokick at the monster. But neither had been harmed. The two were loadedonto a jeep while men helped Barker and Gwayne stow the bound monsteron another before heading back. No sign of skull fracture. My God, what a tough brute! Barker shookhis own head, as if feeling the shock of the monster's landing. I hope so, Gwayne told him. I want that thing to live—and you'redetailed to save it and revive it. Find out if it can make signlanguage or draw pictures. I want to know what happened to Hennessyand why that ship was buried against detection. This thing may be theanswer. Barker nodded grimly. I'll try, though I can't risk drugs on an alienmetabolism. He sucked in on the cigarette he'd dug out, then spatsickly. Smoke and this air made a foul combination. Bob, it stillmakes no sense. We've scoured this planet by infra-red, and there wasno sign of native villages or culture. We should have found some. Troglodytes, maybe, Gwayne guessed. Anyhow, send for me when you getanything. I've got to get this ship back to Earth. We're overstayingour time here already. The reports from the cadets were satisfactory enough. They'd beenpicked up and carried, but no harm had been done them. Now they werebusy being little heroes. Gwayne sentenced them to quarters as soonas he could, knowing their stories would only get wilder and lessinformative with retelling. If they could get any story from the captured creature, they might savetime and be better off than trying to dig through Hennessy's ship. Thatwas almost certainly spoorless by now. The only possible answer seemedto be that the exploring expedition and Hennessy's rescue group hadbeen overcome by the aliens. It was an answer, but it left a lot of questions. How could theprimitives have gotten to the men inside Hennessy's ship? Why was itsfuel dumped? Only men would have known how to do that. And who toldthese creatures that a space ship's metal finders could be fooled by alittle more than a hundred feet of solid rock? They'd buried the shipcunningly, and only the accidental slippage had undone their work. Maybe there would never be a full answer, but he had to findsomething—and find it fast. Earth needed every world she could makeremotely habitable, or mankind was probably doomed to extinction. <doc-sep></s>

Hennessy is the captain of the lost ship sent to inspect an exploring team fifteen years ago on a planet. He is also a friend of Captain Gwayne, who comes after him to check his loss. He becomes a mysterious creature adapted by the blobs, a peculiarity on the planet. Due to this change to him and his crew members, they decide to bury their ships carefully not to let other people find them.When the Starship Pandora lands on the planet and the two cadets from the ship approach to examine the buried ship, Hennessy kidnaps them with his members, leading Captain Gwayne to come to capture him. After becoming a captive in the ship, he reveals his identity to Captain Gwayne, and Gwayne confirms his identity with a series of questions that are only known to them. Finally, he tells all the story to Gwayne and leaves to gather with his people outside the ship.

<s> Spawning Ground By LESTER DEL REY They weren't human. They were something more—and something less—they were, in short, humanity's hopes for survival! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The Starship Pandora creaked and groaned as her landing pads settledunevenly in the mucky surface of the ugly world outside. She seemed tobe restless to end her fool's errand here, two hundred light years fromthe waiting hordes on Earth. Straining metal plates twanged and echoedthrough her hallways. Captain Gwayne cursed and rolled over, reaching for his boots. He wasa big, rawboned man, barely forty; but ten years of responsibilityhad pressed down his shoulders and put age-feigning hollows under hisreddened eyes. The starlanes between Earth and her potential colonieswere rough on the men who traveled them now. He shuffled toward thecontrol room, grumbling at the heavy gravity. Lieutenant Jane Corey looked up, nodding a blonde head at him as hemoved toward the ever-waiting pot of murky coffee. Morning, Bob. Youneed a shave. Yeah. He swallowed the hot coffee without tasting it, then ran ahand across the dark stubble on his chin. It could wait. Anything newduring the night? About a dozen blobs held something like a convention a little waysnorth of us. They broke up about an hour ago and streaked off into theclouds. The blobs were a peculiarity of this planet about which nobodyknew anything. They looked like overgrown fireballs, but seemed to havean almost sentient curiosity about anything moving on the ground. Andour two cadets sneaked out again. Barker followed them, but lost themin the murk. I've kept a signal going to guide them back. Gwayne swore softly to himself. Earth couldn't turn out enough starmenin the schools, so promising kids were being shipped out for trainingas cadets on their twelfth birthday. The two he'd drawn, Kaufman andPinelli, seemed to be totally devoid of any sense of caution. Of course there was no obvious need for caution here. The blobs hadn'tseemed dangerous, and the local animals were apparently all herbivorousand harmless. They were ugly enough, looking like insects in spite oftheir internal skeletons, with anywhere from four to twelve legs eachon their segmented bodies. None acted like dangerous beasts. But something had happened to the exploration party fifteen yearsback, and to the more recent ship under Hennessy that was sent to checkup. <doc-sep>Back in the control room, Gwayne found the emergency release levers,set the combinations and pressed the studs. There was a hiss and gurgleas the great tanks of fuel discharged their contents out onto theground where no ingenuity could ever recover it to bring life to theship again. He'd have to tell the men and women of the crew later, after he'd hadtime to organize things and present it all in a way they could accept,however much they might hate it at first. But there was no putting offgiving the gist of it to Jane. It was the blobs, he summarized it. They seem to be amused by men.They don't require anything from us, but they like us around. Hennessydoesn't know why. They can change our cells, adapt us. Before men came,all life here had twelve legs. Now they're changing that, as we've seen. And they don't have to be close to do it. We've all been outside thehull. It doesn't show yet—but we're changed. In another month, Earthfood would kill us. We've got to stay here. We'll bury the ships deeperthis time, and Earth won't find us. They can't risk trying a colonywhere three ships vanish, so we'll just disappear. And they'll neverknow. Nobody would know. Their children—odd children who matured in eightyears—would be primitive savages in three generations. The Earthtools would be useless, impossible for the hands so radically changed.Nothing from the ship would last. Books could never be read by the neweyes. And in time, Earth wouldn't even be a memory to this world. She was silent a long time, staring out of the port toward what mustnow be her home. Then she sighed. You'll need practice, but the othersdon't know you as well as I do, Bob. I guess we can fix it so they'llbelieve it all. And it's too late now. But we haven't really beenchanged yet, have we? No, he admitted. Damn his voice! He'd never been good at lying. No.They have to touch us. I've been touched, but the rest could go back. She nodded. He waited for the condemnation, but there was onlypuzzlement in her face. Why? And then, before he could answer, her own intelligence gave her thesame answer he had found for himself. The spawning ground! It was the only thing they could do. Earth needed a place to plant herseed, but no world other than Earth could ever be trusted to preservethat seed for generation after generation. Some worlds already werebecoming uncertain. Here, though, the blobs had adapted men to the alien world instead ofmen having to adapt the whole planet to their needs. Here, the strangechildren of man's race could grow, develop and begin the long trek backto civilization. The gadgets would be lost for a time. But perhapssome of the attitudes of civilized man would remain to make the nextrise to culture a better one. We're needed here, he told her, his voice pleading for theunderstanding he couldn't yet fully give himself. These people needas rich a set of bloodlines as possible to give the new race strength.The fifty men and women on this ship will be needed to start them witha decent chance. We can't go to Earth, where nobody would believe oraccept the idea—or even let us come back. We have to stay here. She smiled then and moved toward him, groping for his strength. Befruitful, she whispered. Be fruitful and spawn and replenish anearth. No, he told her. Replenish the stars. But she was no longer listening, and that part of his idea could wait. Some day, though, their children would find a way to the starlanesagain, looking for other worlds. With the blobs to help them, theycould adapt to most worlds. The unchanged spirit would lead themthrough all space, and the changing bodies would claim worlds beyondnumbering. Some day, the whole universe would be a spawning ground for thechildren of men! <doc-sep>He turned to the port to stare out at the planet. The Sol-type sunmust be rising, since there was a dim light. But the thick clouds thatwrapped the entire world diffused its rays into a haze. For a change,it wasn't raining, though the ground was covered by thick swirls offog. In the distance, the tops of shrubs that made a scrub forestglowed yellow-green. Motions around them suggested a herd of feedinganimals. Details were impossible to see through the haze. Even thedeep gorge where they'd found Hennessy's carefully buried ship wascompletely hidden by the fog. There were three of the blobs dancing about over the grazing animalsnow, as they often seemed to do. Gwayne stared at them for a minute,trying to read sense into the things. If he had time to study them.... But there was no time. Earth had ordered him to detour here, after leaving his load ofdeep-sleep stored colonists on Official World 71, to check on any signof Hennessy. He'd been here a week longer than he should have stayedalready. If there was no sign in another day or so of what had happenedto the men who'd deserted their ship and its equipment, he'd have toreport back. He would have left before, if a recent landslip hadn't exposed enoughof the buried ship for his metal locators to spot from the air byluck. It had obviously been hidden deep enough to foil the detectorsoriginally. Bob! Jane Corey's voice cut through his pondering. Bob, there arethe kids! Before he could swing to follow her pointing finger, movement caughthis eye. The blobs had left the herd. Now the three were streaking at fantasticspeed to a spot near the ship, to hover excitedly above something thatmoved there. He saw the two cadets then, heading back to the waiting ship, justbeyond the movement he'd seen through the mist. Whatever was making the fog swirl must have reached higher ground.Something began to heave upwards. It was too far to see clearly, butGwayne grabbed the microphone, yelling into the radio toward the cadets. They must have seen whatever it was just as the call reached them.Young Kaufman grabbed at Pinelli, and they swung around together. Then the mists cleared. Under the dancing blobs, a horde of things was heading for the cadets.Shaggy heads, brute bodies vaguely man-like! One seemed to be almosteight feet tall, leading the others directly toward the spacesuitedcadets. Some of the horde were carrying spears or sticks. There was amomentary halt, and then the leader lifted one arm, as if motioning theothers forward. <doc-sep></s>

Jane Corey is the lieutenant on the Starship Pandora. She calls Captain Gwayne “Bob.” She informs Captain Gwayne about the sneaking out of two cadets and the situation when Captain Gwayne asks her. She also gets the jeeps out when Captain Gwayne tries to catch up with the mysterious creatures who captured the cadets. In addition, after Captain Gwayne learns the truth from Hennessy, the leader of the mysterious creature, and discharges the fuel from the ship, he tells Jane about his decision. Jane does not condemn him for deciding the future of other members alone because she realizes that they must stay on the planet to function as a spawning ground for the human species. She is a good partner for Captain Gwayne.

<s>Back in the control room, Gwayne found the emergency release levers,set the combinations and pressed the studs. There was a hiss and gurgleas the great tanks of fuel discharged their contents out onto theground where no ingenuity could ever recover it to bring life to theship again. He'd have to tell the men and women of the crew later, after he'd hadtime to organize things and present it all in a way they could accept,however much they might hate it at first. But there was no putting offgiving the gist of it to Jane. It was the blobs, he summarized it. They seem to be amused by men.They don't require anything from us, but they like us around. Hennessydoesn't know why. They can change our cells, adapt us. Before men came,all life here had twelve legs. Now they're changing that, as we've seen. And they don't have to be close to do it. We've all been outside thehull. It doesn't show yet—but we're changed. In another month, Earthfood would kill us. We've got to stay here. We'll bury the ships deeperthis time, and Earth won't find us. They can't risk trying a colonywhere three ships vanish, so we'll just disappear. And they'll neverknow. Nobody would know. Their children—odd children who matured in eightyears—would be primitive savages in three generations. The Earthtools would be useless, impossible for the hands so radically changed.Nothing from the ship would last. Books could never be read by the neweyes. And in time, Earth wouldn't even be a memory to this world. She was silent a long time, staring out of the port toward what mustnow be her home. Then she sighed. You'll need practice, but the othersdon't know you as well as I do, Bob. I guess we can fix it so they'llbelieve it all. And it's too late now. But we haven't really beenchanged yet, have we? No, he admitted. Damn his voice! He'd never been good at lying. No.They have to touch us. I've been touched, but the rest could go back. She nodded. He waited for the condemnation, but there was onlypuzzlement in her face. Why? And then, before he could answer, her own intelligence gave her thesame answer he had found for himself. The spawning ground! It was the only thing they could do. Earth needed a place to plant herseed, but no world other than Earth could ever be trusted to preservethat seed for generation after generation. Some worlds already werebecoming uncertain. Here, though, the blobs had adapted men to the alien world instead ofmen having to adapt the whole planet to their needs. Here, the strangechildren of man's race could grow, develop and begin the long trek backto civilization. The gadgets would be lost for a time. But perhapssome of the attitudes of civilized man would remain to make the nextrise to culture a better one. We're needed here, he told her, his voice pleading for theunderstanding he couldn't yet fully give himself. These people needas rich a set of bloodlines as possible to give the new race strength.The fifty men and women on this ship will be needed to start them witha decent chance. We can't go to Earth, where nobody would believe oraccept the idea—or even let us come back. We have to stay here. She smiled then and moved toward him, groping for his strength. Befruitful, she whispered. Be fruitful and spawn and replenish anearth. No, he told her. Replenish the stars. But she was no longer listening, and that part of his idea could wait. Some day, though, their children would find a way to the starlanesagain, looking for other worlds. With the blobs to help them, theycould adapt to most worlds. The unchanged spirit would lead themthrough all space, and the changing bodies would claim worlds beyondnumbering. Some day, the whole universe would be a spawning ground for thechildren of men! <doc-sep> Spawning Ground By LESTER DEL REY They weren't human. They were something more—and something less—they were, in short, humanity's hopes for survival! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The Starship Pandora creaked and groaned as her landing pads settledunevenly in the mucky surface of the ugly world outside. She seemed tobe restless to end her fool's errand here, two hundred light years fromthe waiting hordes on Earth. Straining metal plates twanged and echoedthrough her hallways. Captain Gwayne cursed and rolled over, reaching for his boots. He wasa big, rawboned man, barely forty; but ten years of responsibilityhad pressed down his shoulders and put age-feigning hollows under hisreddened eyes. The starlanes between Earth and her potential colonieswere rough on the men who traveled them now. He shuffled toward thecontrol room, grumbling at the heavy gravity. Lieutenant Jane Corey looked up, nodding a blonde head at him as hemoved toward the ever-waiting pot of murky coffee. Morning, Bob. Youneed a shave. Yeah. He swallowed the hot coffee without tasting it, then ran ahand across the dark stubble on his chin. It could wait. Anything newduring the night? About a dozen blobs held something like a convention a little waysnorth of us. They broke up about an hour ago and streaked off into theclouds. The blobs were a peculiarity of this planet about which nobodyknew anything. They looked like overgrown fireballs, but seemed to havean almost sentient curiosity about anything moving on the ground. Andour two cadets sneaked out again. Barker followed them, but lost themin the murk. I've kept a signal going to guide them back. Gwayne swore softly to himself. Earth couldn't turn out enough starmenin the schools, so promising kids were being shipped out for trainingas cadets on their twelfth birthday. The two he'd drawn, Kaufman andPinelli, seemed to be totally devoid of any sense of caution. Of course there was no obvious need for caution here. The blobs hadn'tseemed dangerous, and the local animals were apparently all herbivorousand harmless. They were ugly enough, looking like insects in spite oftheir internal skeletons, with anywhere from four to twelve legs eachon their segmented bodies. None acted like dangerous beasts. But something had happened to the exploration party fifteen yearsback, and to the more recent ship under Hennessy that was sent to checkup. <doc-sep>Get the jeeps out! Gwayne yelled at Jane. He yanked the door ofthe little officers' lift open and jabbed the down button. It wasagonizingly slow, but faster than climbing down. He ripped the doorback at the exit deck. Men were dashing in, stumbling around inconfusion. But someone was taking over now—one of the crew women. Thejeeps were lining up. One, at the front, was stuttering into life, andGwayne dashed for it as the exit port slid back. There was no time for suits or helmets. The air on the planet wasirritating and vile smelling, but it could be breathed. He leaped tothe seat, to see that the driver was Doctor Barker. At a gesture, thejeep rolled down the ramp, grinding its gears into second as it pickedup speed. The other two followed. There was no sign of the cadets at first. Then Gwayne spotted them;surrounded by the menacing horde. Seen from here, the things lookedhorrible in a travesty of manhood. The huge leader suddenly waved and pointed toward the jeeps that wereracing toward him. He made a fantastic leap backwards. Others swungabout, two of them grabbing up the cadets. The jeep was doing twentymiles an hour now, but the horde began to increase the distance, inspite of the load of the two struggling boys! The creatures diveddownward into lower ground, beginning to disappear into the mists. Follow the blobs, Gwayne yelled. He realized now he'd been a fool toleave his suit; the radio would have let him keep in contact with thekids. But it was too late to go back. The blobs danced after the horde. Barker bounced the jeep downward intoa gorge. Somewhere the man had learned to drive superlatively; but hehad to slow as the fog thickened lower down. Then it cleared to show the mob of creatures doubling back on their owntrail to confuse the pursuers. There was no time to stop. The jeep plowed through them. Gwayne had aglimpse of five-foot bodies tumbling out of the way. Monstrously coarsefaces were half hidden by thick hair. A spear crunched against thewindshield from behind, and Gwayne caught it before it could foul thesteering wheel. It had a wickedly beautiful point of stone. The creatures vanished as Barker fought to turn to follow them. Theother jeeps were coming up, by the sound of their motors, but too lateto help. They'd have to get to the group with the cadets in a hurry orthe horde would all vanish in the uneven ground, hidden by the fog. A blob dropped down, almost touching Gwayne. He threw up an instinctive hand. There was a tingling as the creatureseemed to pass around it. It lifted a few inches and drifted off. Abruptly, Barker's foot ground at the brake. Gwayne jolted forwardagainst the windshield, just as he made out the form of the eight-footleader. The thing was standing directly ahead of him, a cadet on eachshoulder. The wheels locked and the jeep slid protestingly forward. The creatureleaped back. But Gwayne was out of the jeep before it stopped, divingfor the figure. It dropped the boys with a surprised grunt. <doc-sep></s>

The blobs are insect-like creatures with skeletons inside with four to twelve legs on their bodies. They are harmless. They are curious about any moving objects on the ground. They can change the cells in any living thing to adapt to the planet. They like humans, so they change their cells to let them stay on the planet.The blobs are the main reason why Captain Hennessy and Gwayne decide to stay on the planet. They choose to stay because the blobs make them able to survive on the planet without having to change the whole planet to do so. Without the blobs, they may leave to search for other planets that can let humans survive. But with the blobs, someday in the future, humans may be able to seek out more possibilities in other worlds where the blobs will help them adapt to the new environments. In addition, the blobs also change their shape from only a twelve-leg body to having a four-leg form, which is also evidence of how they like human beings.

<s>Back in the control room, Gwayne found the emergency release levers,set the combinations and pressed the studs. There was a hiss and gurgleas the great tanks of fuel discharged their contents out onto theground where no ingenuity could ever recover it to bring life to theship again. He'd have to tell the men and women of the crew later, after he'd hadtime to organize things and present it all in a way they could accept,however much they might hate it at first. But there was no putting offgiving the gist of it to Jane. It was the blobs, he summarized it. They seem to be amused by men.They don't require anything from us, but they like us around. Hennessydoesn't know why. They can change our cells, adapt us. Before men came,all life here had twelve legs. Now they're changing that, as we've seen. And they don't have to be close to do it. We've all been outside thehull. It doesn't show yet—but we're changed. In another month, Earthfood would kill us. We've got to stay here. We'll bury the ships deeperthis time, and Earth won't find us. They can't risk trying a colonywhere three ships vanish, so we'll just disappear. And they'll neverknow. Nobody would know. Their children—odd children who matured in eightyears—would be primitive savages in three generations. The Earthtools would be useless, impossible for the hands so radically changed.Nothing from the ship would last. Books could never be read by the neweyes. And in time, Earth wouldn't even be a memory to this world. She was silent a long time, staring out of the port toward what mustnow be her home. Then she sighed. You'll need practice, but the othersdon't know you as well as I do, Bob. I guess we can fix it so they'llbelieve it all. And it's too late now. But we haven't really beenchanged yet, have we? No, he admitted. Damn his voice! He'd never been good at lying. No.They have to touch us. I've been touched, but the rest could go back. She nodded. He waited for the condemnation, but there was onlypuzzlement in her face. Why? And then, before he could answer, her own intelligence gave her thesame answer he had found for himself. The spawning ground! It was the only thing they could do. Earth needed a place to plant herseed, but no world other than Earth could ever be trusted to preservethat seed for generation after generation. Some worlds already werebecoming uncertain. Here, though, the blobs had adapted men to the alien world instead ofmen having to adapt the whole planet to their needs. Here, the strangechildren of man's race could grow, develop and begin the long trek backto civilization. The gadgets would be lost for a time. But perhapssome of the attitudes of civilized man would remain to make the nextrise to culture a better one. We're needed here, he told her, his voice pleading for theunderstanding he couldn't yet fully give himself. These people needas rich a set of bloodlines as possible to give the new race strength.The fifty men and women on this ship will be needed to start them witha decent chance. We can't go to Earth, where nobody would believe oraccept the idea—or even let us come back. We have to stay here. She smiled then and moved toward him, groping for his strength. Befruitful, she whispered. Be fruitful and spawn and replenish anearth. No, he told her. Replenish the stars. But she was no longer listening, and that part of his idea could wait. Some day, though, their children would find a way to the starlanesagain, looking for other worlds. With the blobs to help them, theycould adapt to most worlds. The unchanged spirit would lead themthrough all space, and the changing bodies would claim worlds beyondnumbering. Some day, the whole universe would be a spawning ground for thechildren of men! <doc-sep> Spawning Ground By LESTER DEL REY They weren't human. They were something more—and something less—they were, in short, humanity's hopes for survival! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The Starship Pandora creaked and groaned as her landing pads settledunevenly in the mucky surface of the ugly world outside. She seemed tobe restless to end her fool's errand here, two hundred light years fromthe waiting hordes on Earth. Straining metal plates twanged and echoedthrough her hallways. Captain Gwayne cursed and rolled over, reaching for his boots. He wasa big, rawboned man, barely forty; but ten years of responsibilityhad pressed down his shoulders and put age-feigning hollows under hisreddened eyes. The starlanes between Earth and her potential colonieswere rough on the men who traveled them now. He shuffled toward thecontrol room, grumbling at the heavy gravity. Lieutenant Jane Corey looked up, nodding a blonde head at him as hemoved toward the ever-waiting pot of murky coffee. Morning, Bob. Youneed a shave. Yeah. He swallowed the hot coffee without tasting it, then ran ahand across the dark stubble on his chin. It could wait. Anything newduring the night? About a dozen blobs held something like a convention a little waysnorth of us. They broke up about an hour ago and streaked off into theclouds. The blobs were a peculiarity of this planet about which nobodyknew anything. They looked like overgrown fireballs, but seemed to havean almost sentient curiosity about anything moving on the ground. Andour two cadets sneaked out again. Barker followed them, but lost themin the murk. I've kept a signal going to guide them back. Gwayne swore softly to himself. Earth couldn't turn out enough starmenin the schools, so promising kids were being shipped out for trainingas cadets on their twelfth birthday. The two he'd drawn, Kaufman andPinelli, seemed to be totally devoid of any sense of caution. Of course there was no obvious need for caution here. The blobs hadn'tseemed dangerous, and the local animals were apparently all herbivorousand harmless. They were ugly enough, looking like insects in spite oftheir internal skeletons, with anywhere from four to twelve legs eachon their segmented bodies. None acted like dangerous beasts. But something had happened to the exploration party fifteen yearsback, and to the more recent ship under Hennessy that was sent to checkup. <doc-sep>The race had blundered safely through its discovery of atomic weaponsinto a peace that had lasted two hundred years. It had managed toprevent an interplanetary war with the Venus colonists. It had founda drive that led to the stars, and hadn't even found intelligent lifethere to be dangerous on the few worlds that had cultures of their own. But forty years ago, observations from beyond the Solar System hadfinally proved that the sun was going to go nova. It wouldn't be much of an explosion, as such things go—but it wouldrender the whole Solar System uninhabitable for millenia. To survive,man had to colonize. And there were no worlds perfect for him, as Earth had been. Theexplorers went out in desperation to find what they could; theterraforming teams did what they could. And then the big starshipsbegan filling worlds with colonists, carried in deep sleep to conservespace. Almost eighty worlds. The nearest a four month journey from Earth andfour more months back. In another ten years, the sun would explode, leaving man only on thefootholds he was trying to dig among other solar systems. Maybe someof the strange worlds would let men spread his seed again. Maybe nonewould be spawning grounds for mankind in spite of the efforts. Each wasprecious as a haven for the race. If this world could be used, it would be nearer than most. If not, asit now seemed, no more time could be wasted here. Primitives could be overcome, maybe. It would be ruthless and unfair tostrip them of their world, but the first law was survival. But how could primitives do what these must have done? He studied the spear he had salvaged. It was on a staff made ofcemented bits of smaller wood from the scrub growth, skillfullylaminated. The point was of delicately chipped flint, done as no humanhand had been able to do for centuries. Beautiful primitive work, he muttered. Jane pulled the coffee cup away from her lips and snorted. You cansee a lot more of it out there, she suggested. He went to the port and glanced out. About sixty of the things weresquatting in the clearing fog, holding lances and staring at the ship.They were perhaps a thousand yards away, waiting patiently. For what?For the return of their leader—or for something that would give theship to them? Gwayne grabbed the phone and called Barker. How's the captive coming? Barker's voice sounded odd. Physically fine. You can see him. But— Gwayne dropped the phone and headed for the little sick bay. He sworeat Doc for not calling him at once, and then at himself for notchecking up sooner. Then he stopped at the sound of voices. There was the end of a question from Barker and a thick, harsh growlingsound that lifted the hair along the nape of Gwayne's neck. Barkerseemed to understand, and was making a comment as the captain dashed in. The captive was sitting on the bunk, unbound and oddly unmenacing. Thethick features were relaxed and yet somehow intent. He seemed to makesome kind of a salute as he saw Gwayne enter, and his eyes burned upunerringly toward the device on the officer's cap. Haarroo, Cabbaan! the thing said. <doc-sep></s>

After the invention of atomic weapons, humans maintained peace for nearly two centuries. However, four decades ago, observation revealed that the sun would soon go nova, which would make the whole solar system uninhabitable for millennia. Since then, humans have been searching for habitable planets in other solar systems. They send many starships carrying deep-sleep stored people to different worlds, hoping they could be the colonies for the human race in the future, but none has promised to be safe for generations. So the exploring teams are sent continuously. Yet the situation is challenging. The training schools cannot export enough astronauts, so promising young candidates are trained as cadets on starships. Humans do not have enough time to find another Earth to live on for generations.

<s>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep> UNBORN TOMORROW BY MACK REYNOLDS Unfortunately , there was onlyone thing he could bring backfrom the wonderful future ...and though he didn't want to... nevertheless he did.... Illustrated by Freas Betty looked up fromher magazine. She saidmildly, You're late. Don't yell at me, Ifeel awful, Simon toldher. He sat down at his desk, passedhis tongue over his teeth in distaste,groaned, fumbled in a drawer for theaspirin bottle. He looked over at Betty and said,almost as though reciting, What Ineed is a vacation. What, Betty said, are you goingto use for money? Providence, Simon told herwhilst fiddling with the aspirin bottle,will provide. Hm-m-m. But before providingvacations it'd be nice if Providenceturned up a missing jewel deal, say.Something where you could deducethat actually the ruby ring had gonedown the drain and was caught in theelbow. Something that would netabout fifty dollars. Simon said, mournful of tone,Fifty dollars? Why not make it fivehundred? I'm not selfish, Betty said. AllI want is enough to pay me thisweek's salary. Money, Simon said. When youtook this job you said it was the romancethat appealed to you. Hm-m-m. I didn't know mostsleuthing amounted to snoopingaround department stores to check onthe clerks knocking down. Simon said, enigmatically, Nowit comes. <doc-sep> HOW TO MAKE FRIENDS By JIM HARMON Illustrated by WEST [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine October 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Every lonely man tries to make friends. Manet just didn't know when to stop! William Manet was alone. In the beginning, he had seen many advantages to being alone. It wouldgive him an unprecedented opportunity to once and for all correlateloneliness to the point of madness, to see how long it would take himto start slavering and clawing the pin-ups from the magazines, to beginteaching himself classes in philosophy consisting of interminablelectures to a bored and captive audience of one. He would be able to measure the qualities of peace and decide whetherit was really better than war, he would be able to get as fat and asdirty as he liked, he would be able to live more like an animal andthink more like a god than any man for generations. But after a shorter time than he expected, it all got to be a tearingbore. Even the waiting to go crazy part of it. Not that he was going to have any great long wait of it. He was alreadytalking to himself, making verbal notes for his lectures, and he hadcut out a picture of Annie Oakley from an old book. He tacked it up andwinked at it whenever he passed that way. Lately she was winking back at him. Loneliness was a physical weight on his skull. It peeled the flesh fromhis arms and legs and sandpapered his self-pity to a fine sensitivity. No one on Earth was as lonely as William Manet, and even William Manetcould only be this lonely on Mars. Manet was Atmosphere Seeder Station 131-47's own human. All Manet had to do was sit in the beating aluminum heart in the middleof the chalk desert and stare out, chin cupped in hands, at the flat,flat pavement of dirty talcum, at the stars gleaming as hard in theblack sky as a starlet's capped teeth ... stars two of which were moonsand one of which was Earth. He had to do nothing else. The wholegimcrack was cybernetically controlled, entirely automatic. No one wasneeded here—no human being, at least. The Workers' Union was a pretty small pressure group, but it didn'ttake much to pressure the Assembly. Featherbedding had been carefullyspecified, including an Overseer for each of the Seeders to honeycombMars, to prepare its atmosphere for colonization. They didn't give tests to find well-balanced, well-integrated peoplefor the job. Well-balanced, well-integrated men weren't going toisolate themselves in a useless job. They got, instead, William Manetand his fellows. The Overseers were to stay as long as the job required. Passenger fareto Mars was about one billion dollars. They weren't providing commuterservice for night shifts. They weren't providing accommodationsfor couples when the law specified only one occupant. They weren'tproviding fuel (at fifty million dollars a gallon) for visits betweenthe various Overseers. They weren't very providential. But it was two hundred thousand a year in salary, and it offeredwonderful opportunities. It gave William Manet an opportunity to think he saw a spaceship makinga tailfirst landing on the table of the desert, its tail burning asbright as envy. <doc-sep></s>

The story is about a family man - Henry Devers - returning to his hometown after a unique adventure. He was participating in an experimental flight that ended in an explosion. But he managed to survive thanks to regenerative technologies that helped rebuild his body and make him breathe again. The story starts with a grandiose tour around his town where the mayor, the National Guard, the Fire Department bands, and many other people participate though they all seem a little distant and scared to Devers. The official car lets him off at his house that, as he notices, has changed a little. Edith, his wife, and Ralphie, his ten-year-old son, meet him at the door. Later, in the living room, they have an awkward conversation about Ralphie’s school grades, his son quickly leaves for a baseball game, and soon Devers goes to sleep in his separate twin bed that his wife bought while he was away. He looks at his scars before going to bed, thinking about how people’s behavior changed because they believe Henry has changed. In the evening, Henry’s mother, uncle Joe, and aunt Lucille come for dinner. Again everyone seems aloof: Henry’s overly affectionate mother now barely touches him and even cries for several minutes, his aunt and uncle cannot talk about casual things - no one looks him in the eyes. After all, Devers gets infuriated and screams at the guests, they leave, and his son once again tries to leave instead of spending time with the parents. Later in the evening, Edith wakes her husband because his good friends Phil and Rhona came - they all go to bowling alleys and then to a tavern. Even Devers’ close friends seem stiff and cautious while talking to him, dancing with him, being around him. On their way back, Phil tries to make a joke about a cemetery but stops himself from finishing it - this upsets Henry even more, completely ruining the evening. When they get home Edith tries to apologize to her husband and admits that she’s frightened. In reply, he says that soon such regenerative technologies and processes will be an ordinary thing, and his captain, for example, who died together with Devers, will soon leave the hospital, too. She asks him to be patient with everybody.

<s>Dinner was at seven p.m. His mother came; his Uncle Joe and Aunt Lucillecame. Together with Edith, Ralphie and himself, they made six, and atein the dining room at the big table. Before he'd become the First One, it would have been a noisy affair. Hisfamily had never been noted for a lack of ebullience, a lack oftalkativeness, and Ralphie had always chosen mealtimes—especially withcompany present—to describe everything and anything that had happenedto him during the day. And Edith herself had always chatted, especiallywith his mother, though they didn't agree about much. Still, it had beengood-natured; the general tone of their lives had been good-natured. This wasn't good-natured. Exactly what it was he wasn't sure. Stiffwas perhaps the word. They began with grapefruit, Edith and Mother serving quickly,efficiently from the kitchen, then sitting down at the table. He lookedat Mother as he raised his first spoonful of chilled fruit, and said,Younger than ever. It was nothing new; he'd said it many many timesbefore, but his mother had always reacted with a bright smile and a quipsomething like, Young for the Golden Age Center, you mean. This timeshe burst into tears. It shocked him. But what shocked him even more wasthe fact that no one looked up, commented, made any attempt to comforther; no one indicated in any way that a woman was sobbing at the table. He was sitting directly across from Mother, and reached out and touchedher left hand which lay limply beside the silverware. She didn't moveit—she hadn't touched him once beyond that first, quick, strangely-coolembrace at the door—then a few seconds later she withdrew it and let itdrop out of sight. So there he was, Henry Devers, at home with the family. So there he was,the hero returned, waiting to be treated as a human being. The grapefruit shells were cleaned away and the soup served. Uncle Joebegan to talk. The greatest little development of circular uniformhouses you ever did see, he boomed in his powerful salesman's voice.Still going like sixty. We'll sell out before— At that point helooked at Hank, and Hank nodded encouragement, desperately interested inthis normalcy, and Joe's voice died away. He looked down at his plate,mumbled, Soup's getting cold, and began to eat. His hand shook alittle; his ruddy face was not quite as ruddy as Hank remembered it. Aunt Lucille made a few quavering statements about the Ladies' TuesdayGarden Club, and Hank looked across the table to where she sat betweenJoe and Mother—his wife and son bracketed him, and yet he feltalone—and said, I've missed fooling around with the lawn and the rosebushes. Here it is August and I haven't had my hand to a mower ortrowel. Aunt Lucille smiled, if you could call it that—a pitiful twitching ofthe lips—and nodded. She threw her eyes in his direction, and past him,and then down to her plate. Mother, who was still sniffling, said, Ihave a dismal headache. I'm going to lie down in the guest room awhile. She touched his shoulder in passing—his affectionate, effusivemother who would kiss stray dogs and strange children, who had oftenirritated him with an excess of physical and verbal caresses—she barelytouched his shoulder and fled. So now five of them sat at the table. The meat was served—thin, rareslices of beef, the pink blood-juice oozing warmly from the center. Hecut into it and raised a forkful to his mouth, then glanced at Ralphieand said, Looks fresh enough to have been killed in the back yard.Ralphie said, Yeah, Dad. Aunt Lucille put down her knife and fork andmurmured something to her husband. Joe cleared his throat and saidLucille was rapidly becoming a vegetarian and he guessed she was goinginto the living room for a while. She'll be back for dessert, ofcourse, he said, his laugh sounding forced. Hank looked at Edith; Edith was busy with her plate. Hank looked atRalphie; Ralphie was busy with his plate. Hank looked at Joe; Joe waschewing, gazing out over their heads to the kitchen. Hank looked atLucille; she was disappearing into the living room. He brought his fist down on the table. The settings jumped; a glassoverturned, spilling water. He brought it down again and again. Theywere all standing now. He sat there and pounded the table with his bigright fist—Henry Devers, who would never have thought of making such ascene before, but who was now so sick and tired of being treated as theFirst One, of being stood back from, looked at in awe of, felt in fearof, that he could have smashed more than a table. Edith said, Hank! He said, voice hoarse, Shut up. Go away. Let me eat alone. I'm sick ofthe lot of you. <doc-sep>She led him upstairs and along the foyer past Ralphie's room and pastthe small guest room to their bedroom. This, too, had changed. It wasnewly painted and it had new furniture. He saw twin beds separated by anornate little table with an ornate little lamp, and this looked moreominous a barrier to him than the twelve-foot concrete-and-barbed-wirefence around the experimental station. Which one is mine, he asked, and tried to smile. She also tried to smile. The one near the window. You always liked thefresh air, the sunshine in the morning. You always said it helped youto get up on time when you were stationed at the base outside of town.You always said it reminded you—being able to see the sky—that youwere going to go up in it, and that you were going to come down from itto this bed again. Not this bed, he murmured, and was a little sorry afterward. No, not this bed, she said quickly. Your lodge donated the bedroomset and I really didn't know— She waved her hand, her face white. He was sure then that she had known, and that the beds and the barrierbetween them were her own choice, if only an unconscious choice. He wentto the bed near the window, stripped off his Air Force blue jacket,began to take off his shirt, but then remembered that some arm scarsstill showed. He waited for her to leave the room. She said, Well then, rest up, dear, and went out. He took off his shirt and saw himself in the mirror on the oppositewall; and then took off his under-shirt. The body scars were faint, thescars running in long lines, one dissecting his chest, the other slicingdiagonally across his upper abdomen to disappear under his trousers.There were several more on his back, and one on his right thigh. They'dbeen treated properly and would soon disappear. But she had never seenthem. Perhaps she never would. Perhaps pajamas and robes and dark rooms wouldkeep them from her until they were gone. Which was not what he'd considered at all important on leaving WalterReed Hospital early this morning; which was something he founddistasteful, something he felt beneath them both. And, at the same time,he began to understand that there would be many things, previouslybeneath them both, which would have to be considered. She had changed;Ralphie had changed; all the people he knew had probablychanged—because they thought he had changed. He was tired of thinking. He lay down and closed his eyes. He lethimself taste bitterness, unhappiness, a loneliness he had never knownbefore. But sometime later, as he was dozing off, a sense of reassurance beganfiltering into his mind. After all, he was still Henry Devers, the sameman who had left home eleven months ago, with a love for family andfriends which was, if anything, stronger than before. Once he couldcommunicate this, the strangeness would disappear and the First Onewould again become good old Hank. It was little enough to ask for—areturn to old values, old relationships, the normalcies of the backwashinstead of the freneticisms of the lime-light. It would certainly begranted to him. He slept. <doc-sep>Most of the cousins gasped as the truth began to percolate through. I knew from the very beginning, Conrad finished, that I didn'thave to do anything at all. I just had to wait and you would destroyyourselves. I don't understand, Bartholomew protested, searching the faces of thecousins closest to him. What does he mean, we have never existed?We're here, aren't we? What— Shut up! Raymond snapped. He turned on Martin. You don't seemsurprised. The old man grinned. I'm not. I figured it all out years ago. At first, he had wondered what he should do. Would it be better tothrow them into a futile panic by telling them or to do nothing? Hehad decided on the latter; that was the role they had assigned him—towatch and wait and keep out of things—and that was the role he wouldplay. You knew all the time and you didn't tell us! Raymond spluttered.After we'd been so good to you, making a gentleman out of you insteadof a criminal.... That's right, he snarled, a criminal! An alcoholic,a thief, a derelict! How do you like that? Sounds like a rich, full life, Martin said wistfully. What an exciting existence they must have done him out of! But then, hecouldn't help thinking, he—he and Conrad together, of course—had donethem out of any kind of existence. It wasn't his responsibility,though; he had done nothing but let matters take whatever course wasdestined for them. If only he could be sure that it was the bettercourse, perhaps he wouldn't feel that nagging sense of guilt insidehim. Strange—where, in his hermetic life, could he possibly havedeveloped such a queer thing as a conscience? Then we've wasted all this time, Ninian sobbed, all this energy, allthis money, for nothing! But you were nothing to begin with, Martin told them. And then,after a pause, he added, I only wish I could be sure there had beensome purpose to this. He didn't know whether it was approaching death that dimmed his sight,or whether the frightened crowd that pressed around him was growingshadowy. I wish I could feel that some good had been done in letting you bewiped out of existence, he went on voicing his thoughts. But I knowthat the same thing that happened to your worlds and my world willhappen all over again. To other people, in other times, but again. It'sbound to happen. There isn't any hope for humanity. One man couldn't really change the course of human history, he toldhimself. Two men, that was—one real, one a shadow. Conrad came close to the old man's bed. He was almost transparent. No, he said, there is hope. They didn't know the time transmitterworks two ways. I used it for going into the past only once—just thisonce. But I've gone into the future with it many times. And— hepressed Martin's hand—believe me, what I did—what we did, you andI—serves a purpose. It will change things for the better. Everythingis going to be all right. <doc-sep></s>

Henry Devers was participating in an experimental flight that ended in an explosion. After that, he became the first person ever saved by regenerative technologies that had helped rebuild his body and make him breathe again. At the beginning of the story, he leaves the hospital after months of medical sleep during which his body was healing. Devers is met by the mayor and curious yet quiet crowds, he goes on a triumphant tour around the town and finally comes home to his wife Edith and his ten-year-old son Ralphie. They also seem aloof and hesitant, having no idea what to say or do around him now. He realizes his wife bought a separate twin bed which looks like an additional barrier between them to him, and his son quickly leaves for a baseball game having no apparent desire to spend time with the father. In the evening, his mother, uncle Joe, and aunt Lucille come for dinner: his mother cries, his uncle and aunt are not talkative - everyone looks stiff and uncomfortable, they are avoiding Henry’s gaze. It infuriates him, and after his angry outburst, the guests soon leave. After another small awkward conversation with his family, he goes to bed only to be soon woken up by Edith who informs him about his friends’ arrival. Phil and Rhona seem happy to see their friend, but after going to bowling alleys and a tavern Devers realizes that they are apprehensive and scared, just like everyone else. After Phil’s unsuccessful joke about a cemetery, Devers understands that everyone treats him as The First One, they cannot act as they used to because they are afraid. Later at home, Edith admits that she’s frightened and they all need time to adapt. In reply, he tells her that soon such regenerative technologies and processes will be an ordinary thing, and his captain, for example, who died together with Henry, will soon leave the hospital, too. Devers won't be the only one. He goes to sleep in the guest room.

<s>He looked at her golden features, such a felicitous blend ofOriental and European characteristics, and hesitantly asked, MaybeI shouldn't.... This is a little personal, but ... you don't lookaltogether like the Norwegians of my time. His fear that she would be offended proved to be completelyunjustified. She merely laughed and said, There has been muchhistory since 1950. Five hundred years ago, Europe was overrun byPan-Orientals. Today you could not find anywhere a 'pure' Europeanor Asiatic. She giggled. Swarts' ancestors from your time must becursing in their graves. His family is Afrikander all the way back, butone of his great-grandfathers was pure-blooded Bantu. His full name isLassisi Swarts. Maitland wrinkled his brow. Afrikander? The South Africans. Something strange came into her eyes. It mighthave been awe, or even hatred; he could not tell. The Pan-Orientalseventually conquered all the world, except for North America—thelast remnant of the American World Empire—and southern Africa. TheAfrikanders had been partly isolated for several centuries then, andthey had developed technology while the rest of the world lost it. Theyhad a tradition of white supremacy, and in addition they were terrifiedof being encircled. She sighed. They ruled the next world empire andit was founded on the slaughter of one and a half billion human beings.That went into the history books as the War of Annihilation. So many? How? They were clever with machines, the Afrikanders. They made armiesof them. Armies of invincible killing-machines, produced in robotfactories from robot-mined ores.... Very clever. She gave a littleshudder. And yet they founded modern civilization, she added. The grandsonsof the technicians who built the Machine Army set up our robotproduction system, and today no human being has to dirty his handsraising food or manufacturing things. It could never have been done,either, before the population was—reduced to three hundred million. Then the Afrikanders are still on top? Still the masters? <doc-sep>The first contact Man had ever had with an intelligent alien raceoccurred out on the perimeter in a small quiet place a long way fromhome. Late in the year 2360—the exact date remains unknown—an alienforce attacked and destroyed the colony at Lupus V. The wreckage andthe dead were found by a mailship which flashed off screaming for thearmy. When the army came it found this: Of the seventy registered colonists,thirty-one were dead. The rest, including some women and children,were missing. All technical equipment, all radios, guns, machines,even books, were also missing. The buildings had been burned, so werethe bodies. Apparently the aliens had a heat ray. What else they had,nobody knew. After a few days of walking around in the ash, one soldierfinally stumbled on something. For security reasons, there was a detonator in one of the mainbuildings. In case of enemy attack, Security had provided a bomb to beburied in the center of each colony, because it was important to blowa whole village to hell and gone rather than let a hostile alien learnvital facts about human technology and body chemistry. There was a bombat Lupus V too, and though it had been detonated it had not blown. Thedetonating wire had been cut. In the heart of the camp, hidden from view under twelve inches ofearth, the wire had been dug up and cut. The army could not understand it and had no time to try. After fivehundred years of peace and anti-war conditioning the army was small,weak and without respect. Therefore, the army did nothing but spreadthe news, and Man began to fall back. In a thickening, hastening stream he came back from the hard-wonstars, blowing up his homes behind him, stunned and cursing. Most ofthe colonists got out in time. A few, the farthest and loneliest, diedin fire before the army ships could reach them. And the men in thoseships, drinkers and gamblers and veterans of nothing, the dregs of asociety which had grown beyond them, were for a long while the onlydefense Earth had. This was the message Captain Dylan had brought, come out from Earthwith a bottle on his hip. <doc-sep>Hank, Edith whispered from the guest room doorway, I'm so sorry— There's nothing to be sorry about. It's just a matter of time. It'llall work out in time. Yes, she said quickly, that's it. I need a little time. We all need alittle time. Because it's so strange, Hank. Because it's so frightening.I should have told you that the moment you walked in. I think I've hurtyou terribly, we've all hurt you terribly, by trying to hide that we'refrightened. I'm going to stay in the guest room, he said, for as long asnecessary. For good if need be. How could it be for good? How, Hank? That question was perhaps the first firm basis for hope he'd had sincereturning. And there was something else; what Carlisle had told him,even as Carlisle himself had reacted as all men did. There are others coming, Edith. Eight that I know of in the tanks rightnow. My superior, Captain Davidson, who died at the same moment Idid—seven months ago next Wednesday—he's going to be next. He wassmashed up worse than I was, so it took a little longer, but he's almostready. And there'll be many more, Edith. The government is going to saveall they possibly can from now on. Every time a young and healthy manloses his life by accident, by violence, and his body can be recovered,he'll go into the tanks and they'll start the regenerative brain andorgan process—the process that made it all possible. So people have toget used to us. And the old stories, the old terrors, the ugly oldsuperstitions have to die, because in time each place will have some ofus; because in time it'll be an ordinary thing. Edith said, Yes, and I'm so grateful that you're here, Hank. Pleasebelieve that. Please be patient with me and Ralphie and— She paused.There's one question. He knew what the question was. It had been the first asked him byeveryone from the president of the United States on down. I saw nothing, he said. It was as if I slept those six and a halfmonths—slept without dreaming. She came to him and touched his face with her lips, and he wassatisfied. Later, half asleep, he heard a dog howling, and remembered stories ofhow they announced death and the presence of monsters. He shivered andpulled the covers closer to him and luxuriated in being safe in his ownhome. THE END <doc-sep></s>

The main character - Henry Devers - is the first man to have been saved by regenerative technologies. After leaving the hospital, he goes on a grandiose tour around the town, but he can see that the crowds are quiet. At home, his wife Edith seems overly hesitant and restrained, his son Ralphie quickly leaves them. Later in the evening, during dinner, his mother, aunt, and uncle also seem stiff and anxious, infuriating him. After that, he meets with his close friends hoping for them to treat him as before, but all their actions show that they are not comfortable with Devers either. He realizes that everyone he knows doesn't know how to behave around him, they cannot look him in the eyes and are scared. The First One status makes everyone terrified of him, which his wife later admits. But Devers assures her that soon this kind of technology will be ubiquitous, and the old superstitions will die, people like him will be ordinary citizens.

<s> THE GIANTS RETURN By ROBERT ABERNATHY Earth set itself grimly to meet them with corrosive fire, determined to blast them back to the stars. But they erred in thinking the Old Ones were too big to be clever. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1949. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] In the last hours the star ahead had grown brighter by many magnitudes,and had changed its color from a dazzling blue through white to thenormal yellow, of a GO sun. That was the Doppler effect as the star'sradial velocity changed relative to the Quest III , as for forty hoursthe ship had decelerated. They had seen many such stars come near out of the galaxy's glitteringbackdrop, and had seen them dwindle, turn red and go out as the QuestIII drove on its way once more, lashed by despair toward the speed oflight, leaving behind the mockery of yet another solitary and lifelessluminary unaccompanied by worlds where men might dwell. They had grownsated with the sight of wonders—of multiple systems of giant stars, ofnebulae that sprawled in empty flame across light years. But now unwonted excitement possessed the hundred-odd members of the Quest III's crew. It was a subdued excitement; men and women, theycame and stood quietly gazing into the big vision screens that showedthe oncoming star, and there were wide-eyed children who had been bornin the ship and had never seen a planet. The grownups talked in lowvoices, in tones of mingled eagerness and apprehension, of what mightlie at the long journey's end. For the Quest III was coming home; thesun ahead was the Sun, whose rays had warmed their lives' beginning. <doc-sep> The Sense of Wonder By MILTON LESSER Illustrated by HARRY ROSENBAUM [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction September 1951. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] When nobody aboard ship remembers where it's going, how can they tell when it has arrived? Every day for a week now, Rikud had come to the viewport to watchthe great changeless sweep of space. He could not quite explain thefeelings within him; they were so alien, so unnatural. But ever sincethe engines somewhere in the rear of the world had changed their tone,from the steady whining Rikud had heard all twenty-five years of hislife, to the sullen roar that came to his ears now, the feelings hadgrown. If anyone else had noticed the change, he failed to mention it. Thisdisturbed Rikud, although he could not tell why. And, because he hadrealized this odd difference in himself, he kept it locked up insidehim. Today, space looked somehow different. The stars—it was a meaninglessconcept to Rikud, but that was what everyone called the brightpinpoints of light on the black backdrop in the viewport—were notapparent in the speckled profusion Rikud had always known. Instead,there was more of the blackness, and one very bright star set apartby itself in the middle of the viewport. If he had understood the term, Rikud would have told himself this wasodd. His head ached with the half-born thought. It was—it was—whatwas it? Someone was clomping up the companionway behind Rikud. He turned andgreeted gray-haired old Chuls. In five more years, the older man chided, you'll be ready to sirechildren. And all you can do in the meantime is gaze out at the stars. Rikud knew he should be exercising now, or bathing in the rays of thehealth-lamps. It had never occurred to him that he didn't feel like it;he just didn't, without comprehending. Chuls' reminder fostered uneasiness. Often Rikud had dreamed of thetime he would be thirty and a father. Whom would the Calculator selectas his mate? The first time this idea had occurred to him, Rikudignored it. But it came again, and each time it left him with a feelinghe could not explain. Why should he think thoughts that no other manhad? Why should he think he was thinking such thoughts, when it alwaysembroiled him in a hopeless, infinite confusion that left him with aheadache? Chuls said, It is time for my bath in the health-rays. I saw you hereand knew it was your time, too.... His voice trailed off. Rikud knew that something which he could notexplain had entered the elder man's head for a moment, but it haddeparted almost before Chuls knew of its existence. I'll go with you, Rikud told him. <doc-sep>In the evening a girl brought Maitland his meal. As the door slidaside, he automatically stood up, and they stared at each other forseveral seconds. She had the high cheekbones and almond eyes of an Oriental, skin thatglowed like gold in the evening light, yet thick coiled braids ofblonde hair that glittered like polished brass. Shorts and a sleevelessblouse of some thick, reddish, metallic-looking fabric clung to herbody, and over that she was wearing a light, ankle-length cloak of whatseemed to be white wool. She was looking at him with palpable curiosity and something likeexpectancy. Maitland sighed and said, Hello, then glanced downself-consciously at his wrinkled green pajamas. She smiled, put the tray of food on the table, and swept out, her cloakbillowing behind her. Maitland remained standing, staring at the closeddoor for a minute after she was gone. Later, when he had finished the steak and corn on the cob and shreddedcarrots, and a feeling of warm well-being was diffusing from hisstomach to his extremities, he sat down on the bed to watch the sunsetand to think. There were three questions for which he required answers before hecould formulate any plan or policy. Where was he? Who was Swarts? What was the purpose of the tests he was being given? It was possible, of course, that this was all an elaborate schemefor getting military secrets, despite Swarts' protestations to thecontrary. Maitland frowned. This place certainly didn't have theappearance of a military establishment, and so far there had beennothing to suggest the kind of interrogation to be expected fromforeign intelligence officers. It might be better to tackle the first question first. He looked atthe Sun, a red spheroid already half below the horizon, and tried tothink of a region that had this kind of terrain. That prairie out therewas unique. Almost anywhere in the world, land like that would becultivated, not allowed to go to grass. This might be somewhere in Africa.... He shook his head, puzzled. The Sun disappeared and its blood-huedglow began to fade from the sky. Maitland sat there, trying to gethold of the problem from an angle where it wouldn't just slip away.After a while the western sky became a screen of clear luminous blue,a backdrop for a pure white brilliant star. As always at that sight,Maitland felt his worry drain away, leaving an almost mystical sense ofpeace and an undefinable longing. Venus, the most beautiful of the planets. Maitland kept track of them all in their majestic paths through theconstellations, but Venus was his favorite. Time and time again hehad watched its steady climb higher and higher in the western sky,its transient rule there as evening star, its progression toward thehorizon, and loved it equally in its alter ego of morning star. Venuswas an old friend. An old friend.... Something icy settled on the back of his neck, ran down his spine, anddiffused into his body. He stared at the planet unbelievingly, fistsclenched, forgetting to breathe. Last night Venus hadn't been there. Venus was a morning star just now.... Just now! He realized the truth in that moment. <doc-sep></s>

At the beginning of the story, Henry Devers - the first man to have been saved by regenerative technologies - goes on a town tour up to Main Street to the new square and the grandstand. He gets off at 45 Roosevelt street - his home. Here he has an awkward interaction with his wife Edith and his son Ralphie who soon leaves for a baseball game. In the evening, Henry, his wife, son, mother, uncle, and aunt eat in the dining room - the guests seem to be stiff and nervous, it infuriates Devers. After an outburst of anger, he goes to his room. After his friends, Rhona and Phil, come to see him, they all go to bowling alleys and then to Manfred’s Tavern where they dance, though his friends seem relatively uncomfortable and scared. On their way back, they drive past a cemetery when Phil makes an inappropriate joke which leads to a moment of dead silence. Later, when they come home, Devers and Edith have a sincere conversation - she admits that everyone, including her, is terrified. After reassuring his wife, Henry goes to sleep in the guest room.

<s>Edith was leading him into the living room, her hand lying still in his,a cool, dead bird lying still in his. He sat down on the couch, she satdown beside him—but she had hesitated. He wasn't being sensitive; shehad hesitated. His wife had hesitated before sitting down beside him. Carlisle had said his position was analogous to Columbus', to Vasco DeGama's, to Preshoff's when the Russian returned from the Moon—but moreso. Carlisle had said lots of things, but even Carlisle who had workedwith him all the way, who had engineered the entire fantasticjourney—even Carlisle the Nobel prize winner, the multi-degreed geniusin uniform, had not actually spoken to him as one man to another. The eyes. It always showed in their eyes. He looked across the room at Ralphie, standing in the doorway, a boyalready tall, already widening in the shoulders, already large offeature. It was like looking into the mirror and seeing himselftwenty-five years ago. But Ralphie's face was drawn, was worried in away that few ten-year-old faces are. How's it going in school? he asked. Gee, Dad, it's the second month of summer vacation. Well, then, before summer vacation? Pretty good. Edith said, He made top forum the six-month period before vacation, andhe made top forum the six-month period you went away, Hank. He nodded, remembering that, remembering everything, remembering thewarmth of her farewell, the warmth of Ralphie's farewell, their tears ashe left for the experimental flight station in the Aleutians. They hadfeared for him, having read of the many launchings gone wrong even incontinent-to-continent experimental flight. They had been right to worry. He had suffered much after that blow-up.But now they should be rejoicing, because he had survived and made thelong journey. Ralphie suddenly said, I got to go, Dad. I promised Waltand the others I'd pitch. It's Inter-Town Little League, you know. It'sHarmon, you know. I got to keep my word. Without waiting for an answer,he waved his hand—it shook; a ten-year-old boy's hand that shook—andran from the room and from the house. He and Edith sat beside each other, and he wanted badly to take her inhis arms, and yet he didn't want to oppress her. He stood up. I'm verytired. I'd like to lie down a while. Which wasn't true, because he'dbeen lying down all the months of the way back. She said, Of course. How stupid of me, expecting you to sit around andmake small talk and pick up just where you left off. He nodded. But that was exactly what he wanted to do—make small talkand pick up just where he'd left off. But they didn't expect it of him;they wouldn't let him; they felt he had changed too much. <doc-sep>It didn't turn out that way. He was disappointed; but then again, he'dalso expected it. This entire first day at home had conditioned him toexpect nothing good. They went to the bowling alleys, and Phil soundedvery much the way he always had—soft spoken and full of laughter andfull of jokes. He patted Edith on the head the way he always had, andclapped Hank on the shoulder (but not the way he always had—so muchmore gently, almost remotely), and insisted they all drink more than wasgood for them as he always had. And for once, Hank was ready to go alongon the drinking. For once, he matched Phil shot for shot, beer for beer. They didn't bowl very long. At ten o'clock they crossed the road toManfred's Tavern, where Phil and the girls ordered sandwiches and coffeeand Hank went right on drinking. Edith said something to him, but hemerely smiled and waved his hand and gulped another ounce of nirvana. There was dancing to a juke box in Manfred's Tavern. He'd been theremany times before, and he was sure several of the couples recognizedhim. But except for a few abortive glances in his direction, it was asif he were a stranger in a city halfway around the world. At midnight, he was still drinking. The others wanted to leave, but hesaid, I haven't danced with my girl Rhona. His tongue was thick, hismind was blurred, and yet he could read the strange expression on herface—pretty Rhona, who'd always flirted with him, who'd made a ritualof flirting with him. Pretty Rhona, who now looked as if she were goingto be sick. So let's rock, he said and stood up. They were on the dance floor. He held her close, and hummed and chatted.And through the alcoholic haze saw she was a stiff-smiled, stiff-bodied,mechanical dancing doll. The number finished; they walked back to the booth. Phil said,Beddy-bye time. Hank said, First one dance with my loving wife. He and Edith danced. He didn't hold her close as he had Rhona. He waitedfor her to come close on her own, and she did, and yet she didn't.Because while she put herself against him, there was something in herface—no, in her eyes; it always showed in the eyes—that made him knowshe was trying to be the old Edith and not succeeding. This time whenthe music ended, he was ready to go home. They rode back to town along Route Nine, he and Edith in the rear ofPhil's car, Rhona driving because Phil had drunk just a little too much,Phil singing and telling an occasional bad joke, and somehow not his oldself. No one was his old self. No one would ever be his old self withthe First One. They turned left, to take the short cut along Hallowed Hill Road, andPhil finished a story about a Martian and a Hollywood sex queen andlooked at his wife and then past her at the long, cast-iron fenceparalleling the road. Hey, he said, pointing, do you know why that'sthe most popular place on earth? Rhona glanced to the left, and so did Hank and Edith. Rhona made alittle sound, and Edith seemed to stop breathing, but Phil went on awhile longer, not yet aware of his supposed faux pas . You know why? he repeated, turning to the back seat, the laughterrumbling up from his chest. You know why, folks? Rhona said, Did you notice Carl Braken and his wife at— Hank said, No, Phil, why is it the most popular place on earth? Phil said, Because people are— And then he caught himself and wavedhis hand and muttered, I forgot the punch line. Because people are dying to get in, Hank said, and looked through thewindow, past the iron fence, into the large cemetery at the fleetingtombstones. The car was filled with horrified silence when there should have beennothing but laughter, or irritation at a too-old joke. Maybe you shouldlet me out right here, Hank said. I'm home—or that's what everyoneseems to think. Maybe I should lie down in an open grave. Maybe thatwould satisfy people. Maybe that's the only way to act, like Dracula oranother monster from the movies. Edith said, Oh, Hank, don't, don't! The car raced along the road, crossed a macadam highway, went fourblocks and pulled to a stop. He didn't bother saying good night. Hedidn't wait for Edith. He just got out and walked up the flagstone pathand entered the house. <doc-sep>Hank, Edith whispered from the guest room doorway, I'm so sorry— There's nothing to be sorry about. It's just a matter of time. It'llall work out in time. Yes, she said quickly, that's it. I need a little time. We all need alittle time. Because it's so strange, Hank. Because it's so frightening.I should have told you that the moment you walked in. I think I've hurtyou terribly, we've all hurt you terribly, by trying to hide that we'refrightened. I'm going to stay in the guest room, he said, for as long asnecessary. For good if need be. How could it be for good? How, Hank? That question was perhaps the first firm basis for hope he'd had sincereturning. And there was something else; what Carlisle had told him,even as Carlisle himself had reacted as all men did. There are others coming, Edith. Eight that I know of in the tanks rightnow. My superior, Captain Davidson, who died at the same moment Idid—seven months ago next Wednesday—he's going to be next. He wassmashed up worse than I was, so it took a little longer, but he's almostready. And there'll be many more, Edith. The government is going to saveall they possibly can from now on. Every time a young and healthy manloses his life by accident, by violence, and his body can be recovered,he'll go into the tanks and they'll start the regenerative brain andorgan process—the process that made it all possible. So people have toget used to us. And the old stories, the old terrors, the ugly oldsuperstitions have to die, because in time each place will have some ofus; because in time it'll be an ordinary thing. Edith said, Yes, and I'm so grateful that you're here, Hank. Pleasebelieve that. Please be patient with me and Ralphie and— She paused.There's one question. He knew what the question was. It had been the first asked him byeveryone from the president of the United States on down. I saw nothing, he said. It was as if I slept those six and a halfmonths—slept without dreaming. She came to him and touched his face with her lips, and he wassatisfied. Later, half asleep, he heard a dog howling, and remembered stories ofhow they announced death and the presence of monsters. He shivered andpulled the covers closer to him and luxuriated in being safe in his ownhome. THE END <doc-sep></s>

Edith is the wife of Henry Devers - the first man to have been saved by regenerative technologies. While he was healing, she managed to renovate their house and buy a new bed for her husband. Together with their son Ralphie Edith meets Henry at the porch after he leaves the hospital and goes on a tour around their town. She seems nervous and scared around her husband while trying to talk to him about their son’s academic achievements at school. Later she dines with Devers and his relatives, still feeling very hesitant and unsure about how she has to interact with him. Edith tries to placate her husband after he angrily screams at the guests because of how scared they are and the fact that they avoided his gaze during the entire evening. Soon, she goes to wake him up after his close friends come to see him. Four of them go to bowling alleys and then to Manfred’s Tavern, but his friends - Phil and Rhona - behave as strangely as everybody else. Phil makes awkward remarks, Rhona looks sick. After an inappropriate joke made by one of the friends, Edith has to calm her husband again. She finally talks to him when they get back, admitting that everyone, including her, is terrified and they need more time to adapt. After reassuring her, her husband goes to sleep in the guest room.

<s>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep> UNBORN TOMORROW BY MACK REYNOLDS Unfortunately , there was onlyone thing he could bring backfrom the wonderful future ...and though he didn't want to... nevertheless he did.... Illustrated by Freas Betty looked up fromher magazine. She saidmildly, You're late. Don't yell at me, Ifeel awful, Simon toldher. He sat down at his desk, passedhis tongue over his teeth in distaste,groaned, fumbled in a drawer for theaspirin bottle. He looked over at Betty and said,almost as though reciting, What Ineed is a vacation. What, Betty said, are you goingto use for money? Providence, Simon told herwhilst fiddling with the aspirin bottle,will provide. Hm-m-m. But before providingvacations it'd be nice if Providenceturned up a missing jewel deal, say.Something where you could deducethat actually the ruby ring had gonedown the drain and was caught in theelbow. Something that would netabout fifty dollars. Simon said, mournful of tone,Fifty dollars? Why not make it fivehundred? I'm not selfish, Betty said. AllI want is enough to pay me thisweek's salary. Money, Simon said. When youtook this job you said it was the romancethat appealed to you. Hm-m-m. I didn't know mostsleuthing amounted to snoopingaround department stores to check onthe clerks knocking down. Simon said, enigmatically, Nowit comes. <doc-sep>Bob Parker didn't answer. The big ship had landed, and little bluesparks crackled between the hull and the asteroid as the magneticclamps took hold. A few seconds later, the airlocks swung down, andfive men let themselves down to the asteroid's surface and stoodsurveying the three who faced them. The two men in the lead stood with their hands on their hips; theirdarkish, twin faces were grinning broadly. A pleasure, drawled Wally Saylor, looking at the girl. What do youthink of this situation Billy? It's obvious, drawled Billy Saylor, rocking back and forth on hisheels, that Bob Parker and company have double-crossed us. We'll haveto take steps. The three men behind the Saylor twins broke into rough, chucklinglaughter. Bob Parker's gorge rose. Scram, he said coldly. We've got anethergram direct from Andrew S. Burnside ordering this asteroid. So have we, Wally Saylor smiled—and his smile remained fixed,dangerous. He started moving forward, and the three men in back cameabreast, forming a semi-circle which slowly closed in. Bob Parker gaveback a step, as he saw their intentions. We got here first, he snapped harshly. Try any funny stuff and we'llreport you to the Interplanetary Commission! It was Bob Parker's misfortune that he didn't carry a weapon. Each ofthese men carried one or more, plainly visible. But he was thinking ofthe girl's spasticizer—a paralyzing weapon. He took a hair-brainedchance, jerked the spasticizer from the girl's holster and yelled atQueazy. Queazy got the idea, urged his immense body into motion. Hehurled straight at Billy Saylor, lifted him straight off the asteroidand threw him away, into space. He yelled with triumph. At the same time, the spasticizer Bob held was shot cleanly out of hishand by Wally Saylor. Bob roared, started toward Wally Saylor, knockedthe smoking gun from his hand with a sweeping arm. Then somethingcrushing seemed to hit him in the stomach, grabbing at his solarplexus. He doubled up, gurgling with agony. He fell over on his back,and his boots were wrenched loose from their magnetic grip. Vaguely,before the flickering points of light in his brain subsided to completedarkness, he heard the girl's scream of rage—then a scream of pain. What had happened to Queazy he didn't know. He felt so horribly sick,he didn't care. Then—lights out. <doc-sep></s>

Svan, a leader of members in the Council on Venus, plots to revolt against the Earthman delegations who are going to bring back the news of the habitability of Venus. Initially, he eavesdrops on the conversation between the Office of the Deck and the Executive Officer, which is about the untrustworthiness of Venusians, the descendants of the first generation of Earthman who migrated to Venus. Svan then initiates a revolting plan against the Earthman.By showing this conversation to the group, Svan convinces the members to conduct his plan of not letting the Earthman ship go back to the Earth. In his plan, they will drive near the ship, five people will cause some chaos to attract the guards, and one person will put the delayed-action atomite bomb on the ship. They draw lots to determine when they decide who will put the bomb. However, Svan finds that no one admits to being the one, so he draws a cross on his slip, pretending to be the one who has terrible luck. After assigning the tasks to each person, Svan and his members drive to cross the border, where Svan brings down a native guard. When they separate to let one group cause the commotion and let Svan put the bomb, Svan takes out one bomb and leaves another one in the car. He knows that the bomb on the car will explode and attract the Earthman guards, which is unknown by the other members. He sees the car leave and turns to wait for the explosion. But the car comes back because the native guards found the rifle left by the murdered guard. The members in the car try to pick up Svan to flee from the search of the Earthman when Svan tries his best to run away. The explosion happens. Svan is on the verge of death when the Office of the Deck and the Executive Officer come to see him. They find a slip with a cross drawn on both sides in his hand.

<s>Most of the cousins gasped as the truth began to percolate through. I knew from the very beginning, Conrad finished, that I didn'thave to do anything at all. I just had to wait and you would destroyyourselves. I don't understand, Bartholomew protested, searching the faces of thecousins closest to him. What does he mean, we have never existed?We're here, aren't we? What— Shut up! Raymond snapped. He turned on Martin. You don't seemsurprised. The old man grinned. I'm not. I figured it all out years ago. At first, he had wondered what he should do. Would it be better tothrow them into a futile panic by telling them or to do nothing? Hehad decided on the latter; that was the role they had assigned him—towatch and wait and keep out of things—and that was the role he wouldplay. You knew all the time and you didn't tell us! Raymond spluttered.After we'd been so good to you, making a gentleman out of you insteadof a criminal.... That's right, he snarled, a criminal! An alcoholic,a thief, a derelict! How do you like that? Sounds like a rich, full life, Martin said wistfully. What an exciting existence they must have done him out of! But then, hecouldn't help thinking, he—he and Conrad together, of course—had donethem out of any kind of existence. It wasn't his responsibility,though; he had done nothing but let matters take whatever course wasdestined for them. If only he could be sure that it was the bettercourse, perhaps he wouldn't feel that nagging sense of guilt insidehim. Strange—where, in his hermetic life, could he possibly havedeveloped such a queer thing as a conscience? Then we've wasted all this time, Ninian sobbed, all this energy, allthis money, for nothing! But you were nothing to begin with, Martin told them. And then,after a pause, he added, I only wish I could be sure there had beensome purpose to this. He didn't know whether it was approaching death that dimmed his sight,or whether the frightened crowd that pressed around him was growingshadowy. I wish I could feel that some good had been done in letting you bewiped out of existence, he went on voicing his thoughts. But I knowthat the same thing that happened to your worlds and my world willhappen all over again. To other people, in other times, but again. It'sbound to happen. There isn't any hope for humanity. One man couldn't really change the course of human history, he toldhimself. Two men, that was—one real, one a shadow. Conrad came close to the old man's bed. He was almost transparent. No, he said, there is hope. They didn't know the time transmitterworks two ways. I used it for going into the past only once—just thisonce. But I've gone into the future with it many times. And— hepressed Martin's hand—believe me, what I did—what we did, you andI—serves a purpose. It will change things for the better. Everythingis going to be all right. <doc-sep>Svan hesitated only a fraction of a second after the girl turned thelights out and stopped the car. Then he reached in the compartmentunder the seat. If he took a little longer than seemed necessary to getthe atomite bomb out of the compartment, none of the others noticed.Certainly it did not occur to them that there had been two bombs inthe compartment, though Svan's hand emerged with only one. He got out of the car, holding the sphere. This will do for me, hesaid. They won't be expecting anyone to come from behind the ship—wewere wise to circle around. Now, you know what you must do? Ingra nodded, while the others remained mute. We must circle backagain, she parroted. We are to wait five minutes, then drive the carinto the swamp. We will create a commotion, attract the guards. Svan, listening, thought: It's not much of a plan. The guards wouldnot be drawn away. I am glad I can't trust these five any more. Ifthey must be destroyed, it is good that their destruction will serve apurpose. Aloud, he said, You understand. If I get through, I will return to thecity on foot. No one will suspect anything if I am not caught, becausethe bomb will not explode until the ship is far out in space. Remember,you are in no danger from the guards. From the guards , his mind echoed. He smiled. At least, they wouldfeel no pain, never know what happened. With the amount of atomite inthat bomb in the compartment, they would merely be obliterated in aground-shaking crash. Abruptly he swallowed, reminded of the bomb that was silently countingoff the seconds. Go ahead, he ordered. I will wait here. Svan. The girl, Ingra, leaned over to him. Impulsively she reachedfor him, kissed him. Good luck to you, Svan, she said. Good luck, repeated the others. Then silently the electric motor ofthe car took hold. Skilfully the girl backed it up, turned it around,sent it lumbering back down the road. Only after she had traveled a fewhundred feet by the feel of the road did she turn the lights on again. Svan looked after them. The kiss had surprised him. What did it mean?Was it an error that the girl should die with the others? There was an instant of doubt in his steel-shackled mind, then it wasdriven away. Perhaps she was loyal, yet certainly she was weak. Andsince he could not know which was the one who had received the markedslip, and feared to admit it, it was better they all should die. He advanced along the midnight road to where the ground rose and thejungle plants thinned out. Ahead, on an elevation, were the rain-dimmedlights of the Earth-ship, set down in the center of a clearing made byits own fierce rockets. Svan's mist-trained eyes spotted the circlingfigures of sentries, and knew that these would be the ship's own.They would not be as easily overcome as the natives, not with thoseslim-shafted blasters they carried. Only deceit could get him to theside of the ship. Svan settled himself at the side of the road, waiting for his chance.He had perhaps three minutes to wait; he reckoned. His fingers wentabsently to the pouch in his wide belt, closed on the slip of paper. Heturned it over without looking at it, wondering who had drawn the firstcross, and been a coward. Ingra? One of the men? <doc-sep>The six conspirators in Svan's old ground car moved slowly along themain street of the native town. Two Earth-ship sailors, unarmed exceptfor deceptively flimsy-looking pistols at their hips, stood before theentrance to the town's Hall of Justice. Good, said Svan, observing them. The delegation is still here. Wehave ample time. He half turned in the broad front seat next to the driver, searchingthe faces of the others in the car. Which was the coward? he wondered.Ingra? Her aunt? One of the men? The right answer leaped up at him. They all are , he thought. Not oneof them understands what this means. They're afraid. He clamped his lips. Go faster, Ingra, he ordered the girl who wasdriving. Let's get this done with. She looked at him, and he was surprised to find compassion in hereyes. Silently she nodded, advanced the fuel-handle so that the clumsycar jolted a trace more rapidly over the corduroy road. It was quitedark now. The car's driving light flared yellowishly in front of them,illuminating the narrow road and the pale, distorted vegetation of thejungle that surrounded them. Svan noticed it was raining a little. Thepresent shower would deepen and intensify until midnight, then fall offagain, to halt before morning. But before then they would be done. A proton-bolt lanced across the road in front of them. In the silencethat followed its thunderous crash, a man's voice bellowed: Halt! The girl, Ingra, gasped something indistinguishable, slammed on thebrakes. A Venusian in the trappings of the State Guard advanced on themfrom the side of the road, proton-rifle held ready to fire again. Where are you going? he growled. Svan spoke up. We want to look at the Earth-ship, he said. He openedthe door beside him and stepped out, careless of the drizzle. We heardit was leaving tonight, he continued, and we have not seen it. Isthat not permitted? The guard shook his head sourly. No one is allowed near the ship. Theorder was just issued. It is thought there is danger. Svan stepped closer, his teeth bared in what passed for a smile. Itis urgent, he purred. His right hand flashed across his chest in acomplicated gesture. Do you understand? Confusion furrowed the guard's hairless brows, then was replaced bya sudden flare of understanding—and fear. The Council! he roared.By heaven, yes, I understand! You are the swine that caused this—He strove instinctively to bring the clumsy rifle up, but Svan wasfaster. His gamble had failed; there was only one course remaining.He hurled his gross white bulk at the guard, bowled him over againstthe splintery logs of the road. The proton-rifle went flying, and Svansavagely tore at the throat of the guard. Knees, elbows and claw-likenails—Svan battered at the astonished man with every ounce of strengthin his body. The guard was as big as Svan, but Svan had the initialadvantage ... and it was only a matter of seconds before the guardlay unconscious, his skull a mass of gore at the back where Svan hadruthlessly pounded it against the road. Svan grunted as his fingers constricted brutally. Svan rose, panting, stared around. No one else was in sight, save thepetrified five and the ground car. Svan glared at them contemptuously,then reached down and heaved on the senseless body of the guard. Overthe shoulder of the road the body went, onto the damp swampland of thejungle. Even while Svan watched the body began to sink. There would beno trace. Svan strode back to the car. Hurry up, he gasped to the girl. Nowthere is danger for all of us, if they discover he is missing. And keepa watch for other guards. <doc-sep></s>

Ingra is one of the members in the room where Svan plans his revolt against the Earthman. She initially objects to Svan’s plan, a plan to destroy the Earthman ship with an atomite bomb, but when she sees other people agree with Svan, who is the leader of the revolting group, she takes back her objection. She hands the bowl to Svan, letting him put six slips inside to determine their futures, which is that one of them will put the bomb on the ship. She is also the first one to pick a slip. When the conspirators conduct their plans, she is the one who drives the car. She listens to Svan whenever he orders her to do something, and she kisses him when they separate to conduct different missions. After leaving Svan alone, she drives the car in the opposite direction to Svan, trying to cause a commotion. However, the Earthman guards are searching for them due to the discovery of the left rifle from the murdered Venusian, the native guard Svan killed. With no weapons to fight against the guards, Ingra drives the car back to pick up Svan, wanting to flee with him, but dies in the explosion of the vehicle.

<s> DOUBLECROSS by JAMES Mac CREIGH Revolt was brewing on Venus, led by the descendant of the first Earthmen to land. Svan was the leader making the final plans—plotting them a bit too well. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Winter 1944. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The Officer of the Deck was pleased as he returned to the main lock.There was no reason why everything shouldn't have been functioningperfectly, of course, but he was pleased to have it confirmed, all thesame. The Executive Officer was moodily smoking a cigarette in the openlock, staring out over the dank Venusian terrain at the native town. Heturned. Everything shipshape, I take it! he commented. The OD nodded. I'll have a blank log if this keeps up, he said.Every man accounted for except the delegation, cargo stowed, driversready to lift as soon as they come back. The Exec tossed away his cigarette. If they come back. Is there any question? The Exec shrugged. I don't know, Lowry, he said. This is a funnyplace. I don't trust the natives. Lowry lifted his eyebrows. Oh? But after all, they're human beings,just like us— Not any more. Four or five generations ago they were. Lord, they don'teven look human any more. Those white, flabby skins—I don't like them. Acclimation, Lowry said scientifically. They had to acclimatethemselves to Venus's climate. They're friendly enough. The Exec shrugged again. He stared at the wooden shacks that were theoutskirts of the native city, dimly visible through the ever-presentVenusian mist. The native guard of honor, posted a hundred yards fromthe Earth-ship, stood stolidly at attention with their old-fashionedproton-rifles slung over their backs. A few natives were gazingwonderingly at the great ship, but made no move to pass the line ofguards. Of course, Lowry said suddenly, there's a minority who are afraidof us. I was in town yesterday, and I talked with some of the natives.They think there will be hordes of immigrants from Earth, now that weknow Venus is habitable. And there's some sort of a paltry undergroundgroup that is spreading the word that the immigrants will drive thenative Venusians—the descendants of the first expedition, thatis—right down into the mud. Well— he laughed—maybe they will.After all, the fittest survive. That's a basic law of— The annunciator over the open lock clanged vigorously, and a metallicvoice rasped: Officer of the Deck! Post Number One! Instrumentsreports a spy ray focused on the main lock! Lowry, interrupted in the middle of a word, jerked his head back andstared unbelievingly at the tell-tale next to the annunciator. Sureenough, it was glowing red—might have been glowing for minutes. Hesnatched at the hand-phone dangling from the wall, shouted into it.Set up a screen! Notify the delegation! Alert a landing party! Buteven while he was giving orders, the warning light flickered suddenlyand went out. Stricken, Lowry turned to the Exec. The Executive Officer nodded gloomily. He said, You see! <doc-sep>Venus has no moon, and no star can shine through its vast cloud layer.Ensign Lowry, staring anxiously out through the astro-dome in the bowof the Earth-ship, cursed the blackness. Can't see a thing, he complained to the Exec, steadily writing awayat the computer's table. Look—are those lights over there? The Exec looked up wearily. He shrugged. Probably the guards. Ofcourse, you can't tell. Might be a raiding party. Lowry, stung, looked to see if the Exec was smiling, but found noanswer in his stolid face. Don't joke about it, he said. Supposesomething happens to the delegation? Then we're in the soup, the Exec said philosophically. I told youthe natives were dangerous. Spy-rays! They've been prohibited for thelast three hundred years. It isn't all the natives, Lowry said. Look how they've doubled theguard around us. The administration is co-operating every way theyknow how. You heard the delegation's report on the intercom. It's thissecret group they call the Council. And how do you know the guards themselves don't belong to it? theExec retorted. They're all the same to me.... Look, your light's goneout now. Must have been the guard. They're on the wrong side to becoming from the town, anyhow.... <doc-sep>He became abruptly conscious of a commotion behind him. A ground carwas racing along the road. He spun around and was caught in the glareof its blinding driving-light, as it bumped to a slithering stop. Paralyzed, he heard the girl's voice. Svan! They're coming! They foundthe guard's rifle, and they're looking for us! Thirty Earthmen, Svan,with those frightful guns. They fired at us, but we got away and camefor you. We must flee! He stared unseeingly at the light. Go away! he croaked unbelievingly.Then his muscles jerked into action. The time was almost up—the bombin the car— Go away! he shrieked, and turned to run. His fists clenched andswinging at his side, he made a dozen floundering steps beforesomething immense pounded at him from behind. He felt himself liftedfrom the road, sailing, swooping, dropping with annihilating forceonto the hard, charred earth of the clearing. Only then did he hear thesound of the explosion, and as the immense echoes died away he began tofeel the pain seeping into him from his hideously racked body.... The Flight Surgeon rose from beside him. He's still alive, he saidcallously to Lowry, who had just come up. It won't last long, though.What've you got there? Lowry, a bewildered expression on his beardless face, held out the twohalves of a metallic sphere. Dangling ends of wires showed where aconnection had been broken. He had a bomb, he said. A magnetic-type,delayed-action atomite bomb. There must have been another in the car,and it went off. They—they were planning to bomb us. Amazing, the surgeon said dryly. Well, they won't do any bombingnow. Lowry was staring at the huddled, mutilated form of Svan. He shuddered.The surgeon, seeing the shudder, grasped his shoulder. Better them than us, he said. It's poetic justice if I ever saw it.They had it coming.... He paused thoughtfully, staring at a piece ofpaper between his fingers. This is the only part I don't get, he said. What's that? Lowry craned his neck. A piece of paper with a cross onit? What about it? The surgeon shrugged. He had it clenched in his hand, he said. Hadthe devil of a time getting it loose from him. He turned it overslowly, displayed the other side. Now what in the world would he bedoing carrying a scrap of paper with a cross marked on both sides? <doc-sep></s>

Lowry is the Officer of the Deck on the Earthman ship. He has a conversation with the Executive Officer on the main lock, which is eavesdropped on by Svan, the leader of a revolting group. Lowry believes that the Venusians are trustworthy since they are humans with different appearances. Still, he also believes that there may be some fights between Earthmen and Venusians when Earthmen land more colonists on Venus.When Svan, the leader of a rebellious group, and his members drive the car coming towards the ship to plant the bomb, Lowry sees the car light. He is talking to the Executive Officer by then about this secret group called the Council against the Earthman colonies. Even though the Executive Officer highly doubts the loyalty of the Venusians, Lowry still believes that Venusians can be trusted.After Svan is blown away by the explosion of the car, Lowry and a surgeon come to inspect his body. They find the pieces of the bomb. They also find a piece of paper with both sides marked with a cross in his hand. Lowery is confused about the paper's purpose, but he is sure that Svan intended to explode the Earthman ship.

<s>A slight sound behind me made me spin around in my chair. Framed in thedoorway was the heavy figure of my Third Officer, Spinelli. His blackeyes were fastened hungrily on the lump of yellow metal on the table.He needed no explanation to tell him what it was, and it seemed to methat his very soul reached out for the stuff, so sharp and clear wasthe meaning of the expression on his heavy face. Mister Spinelli! I snapped, In the future knock before entering myquarters! Reluctantly his eyes left the lump of gold and met mine. From thederelict, Captain? There was an imperceptible pause between the lasttwo words. I ignored his question and made a mental note to keep a close hand onthe rein with him. Spinelli was big and dangerous. Speak your piece, Mister, I ordered sharply. Mister Cohn reports the derelict ready to take aboard the prizecrew ... sir, he said slowly. I'd like to volunteer for that detail. I might have let him go under ordinary circumstances, for he was afirst class spaceman and the handling of a jury-rigged hulk wouldneed good men. But the gold-hunger I had seen in his eyes warned meto beware. I shook my head. You will stay on board the Maid with me,Spinelli. Cohn and Zaleski will handle the starship. Stark suspicion leaped into his eyes. I could see the wheels turningslowly in his mind. Somehow, he was thinking, I was planning to cheathim of his rightful share of the derelict treasure ship. We will say nothing to the rest of the crew about the gold, MisterSpinelli, I said deliberately, Or you'll go to Callisto in irons. Isthat clear? Aye, sir, murmured Spinelli. The black expression had left his faceand there was a faintly scornful smile playing about his mouth as heturned away. I began wondering then what he had in mind. It wasn't likehim to let it go at that. Suddenly I became conscious of being very tired. My mind wasn'tfunctioning quite clearly. And my arm and hand ached painfully. Irubbed the fingers to get some life back into them, still wonderingabout Spinelli. Spinelli talked. I saw him murmuring something to big Zaleski, andafter that there was tension in the air. Distrust. For a few moments I pondered the advisability of making good my threatto clap Spinelli into irons, but I decided against it. In the firstplace I couldn't prove he had told Zaleski about the gold and in thesecond place I needed Spinelli to help run the Maid. I felt that the Third Officer and Zaleski were planning something, andI was just as sure that Spinelli was watching Zaleski to see to it thatthere was no double-cross. I figured that I could handle the Third Officer alone so I assigned therest, Marvin and Chelly, to accompany Cohn and Zaleski onto the hulk.That way Zaleski would be outnumbered if he tried to skip with thetreasure ship. But, of course, I couldn't risk telling them that theywere to be handling a vessel practically made of gold. I was in agony. I didn't want to let anyone get out of my sight withthat starship, and at the same time I couldn't leave the Maid. FinallyI had to let Cohn take command of the prize crew, but not before I hadset the radar finder on the Maid's prow squarely on the derelict. <doc-sep> DOUBLECROSS by JAMES Mac CREIGH Revolt was brewing on Venus, led by the descendant of the first Earthmen to land. Svan was the leader making the final plans—plotting them a bit too well. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Winter 1944. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The Officer of the Deck was pleased as he returned to the main lock.There was no reason why everything shouldn't have been functioningperfectly, of course, but he was pleased to have it confirmed, all thesame. The Executive Officer was moodily smoking a cigarette in the openlock, staring out over the dank Venusian terrain at the native town. Heturned. Everything shipshape, I take it! he commented. The OD nodded. I'll have a blank log if this keeps up, he said.Every man accounted for except the delegation, cargo stowed, driversready to lift as soon as they come back. The Exec tossed away his cigarette. If they come back. Is there any question? The Exec shrugged. I don't know, Lowry, he said. This is a funnyplace. I don't trust the natives. Lowry lifted his eyebrows. Oh? But after all, they're human beings,just like us— Not any more. Four or five generations ago they were. Lord, they don'teven look human any more. Those white, flabby skins—I don't like them. Acclimation, Lowry said scientifically. They had to acclimatethemselves to Venus's climate. They're friendly enough. The Exec shrugged again. He stared at the wooden shacks that were theoutskirts of the native city, dimly visible through the ever-presentVenusian mist. The native guard of honor, posted a hundred yards fromthe Earth-ship, stood stolidly at attention with their old-fashionedproton-rifles slung over their backs. A few natives were gazingwonderingly at the great ship, but made no move to pass the line ofguards. Of course, Lowry said suddenly, there's a minority who are afraidof us. I was in town yesterday, and I talked with some of the natives.They think there will be hordes of immigrants from Earth, now that weknow Venus is habitable. And there's some sort of a paltry undergroundgroup that is spreading the word that the immigrants will drive thenative Venusians—the descendants of the first expedition, thatis—right down into the mud. Well— he laughed—maybe they will.After all, the fittest survive. That's a basic law of— The annunciator over the open lock clanged vigorously, and a metallicvoice rasped: Officer of the Deck! Post Number One! Instrumentsreports a spy ray focused on the main lock! Lowry, interrupted in the middle of a word, jerked his head back andstared unbelievingly at the tell-tale next to the annunciator. Sureenough, it was glowing red—might have been glowing for minutes. Hesnatched at the hand-phone dangling from the wall, shouted into it.Set up a screen! Notify the delegation! Alert a landing party! Buteven while he was giving orders, the warning light flickered suddenlyand went out. Stricken, Lowry turned to the Exec. The Executive Officer nodded gloomily. He said, You see! <doc-sep>Bob Parker didn't answer. The big ship had landed, and little bluesparks crackled between the hull and the asteroid as the magneticclamps took hold. A few seconds later, the airlocks swung down, andfive men let themselves down to the asteroid's surface and stoodsurveying the three who faced them. The two men in the lead stood with their hands on their hips; theirdarkish, twin faces were grinning broadly. A pleasure, drawled Wally Saylor, looking at the girl. What do youthink of this situation Billy? It's obvious, drawled Billy Saylor, rocking back and forth on hisheels, that Bob Parker and company have double-crossed us. We'll haveto take steps. The three men behind the Saylor twins broke into rough, chucklinglaughter. Bob Parker's gorge rose. Scram, he said coldly. We've got anethergram direct from Andrew S. Burnside ordering this asteroid. So have we, Wally Saylor smiled—and his smile remained fixed,dangerous. He started moving forward, and the three men in back cameabreast, forming a semi-circle which slowly closed in. Bob Parker gaveback a step, as he saw their intentions. We got here first, he snapped harshly. Try any funny stuff and we'llreport you to the Interplanetary Commission! It was Bob Parker's misfortune that he didn't carry a weapon. Each ofthese men carried one or more, plainly visible. But he was thinking ofthe girl's spasticizer—a paralyzing weapon. He took a hair-brainedchance, jerked the spasticizer from the girl's holster and yelled atQueazy. Queazy got the idea, urged his immense body into motion. Hehurled straight at Billy Saylor, lifted him straight off the asteroidand threw him away, into space. He yelled with triumph. At the same time, the spasticizer Bob held was shot cleanly out of hishand by Wally Saylor. Bob roared, started toward Wally Saylor, knockedthe smoking gun from his hand with a sweeping arm. Then somethingcrushing seemed to hit him in the stomach, grabbing at his solarplexus. He doubled up, gurgling with agony. He fell over on his back,and his boots were wrenched loose from their magnetic grip. Vaguely,before the flickering points of light in his brain subsided to completedarkness, he heard the girl's scream of rage—then a scream of pain. What had happened to Queazy he didn't know. He felt so horribly sick,he didn't care. Then—lights out. <doc-sep></s>

The story happens on Venus. Venus is a habitable planet with a thick layer of clouds. There are two species on Venus, one is Venusians, who are the descendants of the first generation Earthmen coming to Venus, and the other is Earthmen, who come later as a delegation to collaborate with Venusians for the future colonies. The story happens in the background of the disharmony between Earthmen and part of the Venusians. There is a secret Venusian group called the Council, where the members fear that the future Earthmen colonies will harm them and deprive them of their living spaces. Therefore, to not let the Earthmen ship bring back the news of the habitability of Venus, the Council orders Svan as a leader to conduct some rebellious plan, which starts the story.

<s>Svan hesitated only a fraction of a second after the girl turned thelights out and stopped the car. Then he reached in the compartmentunder the seat. If he took a little longer than seemed necessary to getthe atomite bomb out of the compartment, none of the others noticed.Certainly it did not occur to them that there had been two bombs inthe compartment, though Svan's hand emerged with only one. He got out of the car, holding the sphere. This will do for me, hesaid. They won't be expecting anyone to come from behind the ship—wewere wise to circle around. Now, you know what you must do? Ingra nodded, while the others remained mute. We must circle backagain, she parroted. We are to wait five minutes, then drive the carinto the swamp. We will create a commotion, attract the guards. Svan, listening, thought: It's not much of a plan. The guards wouldnot be drawn away. I am glad I can't trust these five any more. Ifthey must be destroyed, it is good that their destruction will serve apurpose. Aloud, he said, You understand. If I get through, I will return to thecity on foot. No one will suspect anything if I am not caught, becausethe bomb will not explode until the ship is far out in space. Remember,you are in no danger from the guards. From the guards , his mind echoed. He smiled. At least, they wouldfeel no pain, never know what happened. With the amount of atomite inthat bomb in the compartment, they would merely be obliterated in aground-shaking crash. Abruptly he swallowed, reminded of the bomb that was silently countingoff the seconds. Go ahead, he ordered. I will wait here. Svan. The girl, Ingra, leaned over to him. Impulsively she reachedfor him, kissed him. Good luck to you, Svan, she said. Good luck, repeated the others. Then silently the electric motor ofthe car took hold. Skilfully the girl backed it up, turned it around,sent it lumbering back down the road. Only after she had traveled a fewhundred feet by the feel of the road did she turn the lights on again. Svan looked after them. The kiss had surprised him. What did it mean?Was it an error that the girl should die with the others? There was an instant of doubt in his steel-shackled mind, then it wasdriven away. Perhaps she was loyal, yet certainly she was weak. Andsince he could not know which was the one who had received the markedslip, and feared to admit it, it was better they all should die. He advanced along the midnight road to where the ground rose and thejungle plants thinned out. Ahead, on an elevation, were the rain-dimmedlights of the Earth-ship, set down in the center of a clearing made byits own fierce rockets. Svan's mist-trained eyes spotted the circlingfigures of sentries, and knew that these would be the ship's own.They would not be as easily overcome as the natives, not with thoseslim-shafted blasters they carried. Only deceit could get him to theside of the ship. Svan settled himself at the side of the road, waiting for his chance.He had perhaps three minutes to wait; he reckoned. His fingers wentabsently to the pouch in his wide belt, closed on the slip of paper. Heturned it over without looking at it, wondering who had drawn the firstcross, and been a coward. Ingra? One of the men? <doc-sep>Bob Parker didn't answer. The big ship had landed, and little bluesparks crackled between the hull and the asteroid as the magneticclamps took hold. A few seconds later, the airlocks swung down, andfive men let themselves down to the asteroid's surface and stoodsurveying the three who faced them. The two men in the lead stood with their hands on their hips; theirdarkish, twin faces were grinning broadly. A pleasure, drawled Wally Saylor, looking at the girl. What do youthink of this situation Billy? It's obvious, drawled Billy Saylor, rocking back and forth on hisheels, that Bob Parker and company have double-crossed us. We'll haveto take steps. The three men behind the Saylor twins broke into rough, chucklinglaughter. Bob Parker's gorge rose. Scram, he said coldly. We've got anethergram direct from Andrew S. Burnside ordering this asteroid. So have we, Wally Saylor smiled—and his smile remained fixed,dangerous. He started moving forward, and the three men in back cameabreast, forming a semi-circle which slowly closed in. Bob Parker gaveback a step, as he saw their intentions. We got here first, he snapped harshly. Try any funny stuff and we'llreport you to the Interplanetary Commission! It was Bob Parker's misfortune that he didn't carry a weapon. Each ofthese men carried one or more, plainly visible. But he was thinking ofthe girl's spasticizer—a paralyzing weapon. He took a hair-brainedchance, jerked the spasticizer from the girl's holster and yelled atQueazy. Queazy got the idea, urged his immense body into motion. Hehurled straight at Billy Saylor, lifted him straight off the asteroidand threw him away, into space. He yelled with triumph. At the same time, the spasticizer Bob held was shot cleanly out of hishand by Wally Saylor. Bob roared, started toward Wally Saylor, knockedthe smoking gun from his hand with a sweeping arm. Then somethingcrushing seemed to hit him in the stomach, grabbing at his solarplexus. He doubled up, gurgling with agony. He fell over on his back,and his boots were wrenched loose from their magnetic grip. Vaguely,before the flickering points of light in his brain subsided to completedarkness, he heard the girl's scream of rage—then a scream of pain. What had happened to Queazy he didn't know. He felt so horribly sick,he didn't care. Then—lights out. <doc-sep>He burned off some rubber finding a slot in the park-lot. He strodeunder a sign reading Public Youth Center No. 947 and walked casuallyto the reception desk, where a thin man with sergeant's stripes and apansy haircut looked out of a pile of paperwork. Where you think you're going, my pretty lad? Wayne grinned down. Higher I hope than a typewriter jockey. Well, the sergeant said. How tough we are this evening. You have apass, killer? Wayne Seton. Draft call. Oh. The sergeant checked his name off a roster and nodded. He wroteon a slip of paper, handed the pass to Wayne. Go to the Armory andcheck out whatever your lusting little heart desires. Then report toCaptain Jack, room 307. Thanks, sarge dear, Wayne said and took the elevator up to the Armory. A tired fat corporal with a naked head blinked up at tall Wayne.Finally he said, So make up your mind, bud. Think you're the only kidbreaking out tonight? Hold your teeth, pop, Wayne said, coolly and slowly lighting acigarette. I've decided. The corporal's little eyes studied Wayne with malicious amusement.Take it from a vet, bud. Sooner you go the better. It's a big city andyou're starting late. You can get a cat, not a mouse, and some babesare clever hellcats in a dark alley. You must be a genius, Wayne said. A corporal with no hair and stilla counterboy. I'm impressed. I'm all ears, Dad. The corporal sighed wearily. You can get that balloon headventilated, bud, and good. Wayne's mouth twitched. He leaned across the counter toward theshelves and racks of weapons. I'll remember that crack when I getmy commission. He blew smoke in the corporal's face. Bring me aSmith and Wesson .38, shoulder holster with spring-clip. And throw ina Skelly switchblade for kicks—the six-inch disguised job with thedouble springs. The corporal waddled back with the revolver and the switchbladedisguised in a leather comb case. He checked them on a receipt ledger,while Wayne examined the weapons, broke open the revolver, twirled thecylinder and pushed cartridges into the waiting chamber. He slippedthe knife from the comb case, flicked open the blade and stared at itsgleam in the buttery light as his mouth went dry and the refractedincandescence of it trickled on his brain like melted ice, exciting andscary. He removed his leather jacket. He slung the holster under his leftarmpit and tested the spring clip release several times, feeling theway the serrated butt dropped into his wet palm. He put his jacketback on and the switchblade case in his pocket. He walked toward theelevator and didn't look back as the corporal said, Good luck, tiger. Captain Jack moved massively. The big stone-walled office, alive withstuffed lion and tiger and gunracks, seemed to grow smaller. CaptainJack crossed black-booted legs and whacked a cane at the floor. It hada head shaped like a grinning bear. Wayne felt the assured smile die on his face. Something seemed toshrink him. If he didn't watch himself he'd begin feeling like a peaamong bowling balls. Contemptuously amused little eyes glittered at Wayne from a shaggyhead. Shoulders hunched like stuffed sea-bags. Wayne Seton, said Captain Jack as if he were discussing somethingin a bug collection. Well, well, you're really fired up aren't you?Really going out to eat 'em. Right, punk? Yes, sir, Wayne said. He ran wet hands down the sides of his chinos.His legs seemed sheathed in lead as he bit inwardly at shrinking fearthe way a dog snaps at a wound. You big overblown son, he thought, I'llshow you but good who is a punk. They made a guy wait and sweat untilhe screamed. They kept a guy on the fire until desire leaped in him,ran and billowed and roared until his brain was filled with it. Butthat wasn't enough. If this muscle-bound creep was such a big boy,what was he doing holding down a desk? Well, this is it, punk. You go the distance or start a butterflycollection. The cane darted up. A blade snicked from the end and stopped an inchfrom Wayne's nose. He jerked up a shaky hand involuntarily and clampeda knuckle-ridged gag to his gasping mouth. Captain Jack chuckled. All right, superboy. He handed Wayne hispasscard. Curfew's off, punk, for 6 hours. You got 6 hours to makeout. Yes, sir. Your beast is primed and waiting at the Four Aces Club on the WestSide. Know where that is, punk? No, sir, but I'll find it fast. Sure you will, punk, smiled Captain Jack. She'll be wearing yellowslacks and a red shirt. Black hair, a cute trick. She's with a heftypsycho who eats punks for breakfast. He's butchered five people.They're both on top of the Undesirable list, Seton. They got to go andthey're your key to the stars. Yes, sir, Wayne said. So run along and make out, punk, grinned Captain Jack. <doc-sep></s>

The slip with a cross is used to determine who will be the one to plant the bomb on the ship when Svan, the leader of a rebellious group, assign tasks to each person. However, during the process of drawing lots, when the person who gets the slip with a cross on it should reveal oneself to accept the task, no one admits because Svan, who receives the slip, didn’t see the cross on the other side of the paper. As a result, he mistakenly thinks that the person who received the slip is a coward that does not want to do the task, so he secretly marks another cross on his paper and accepts the mission.This misunderstanding of no one accepting the task drives Svan to suspect all the other members as disloyal and cowardly, leading him to decide to put one bomb on the car. He is so furious that he wants them to die for their disloyalty and cowardice while serving as an attraction to the guards. However, when the plan does not go well, and the members come back to seek him, he unavoidably suffers from his deed. The paper is later found to have a cross on both sides, which forms an irony of Svan's behaviors. Ironically, Svan’s suspicion of other people causes their death when he is the real traitor.

<s>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep> GOURMET By ALLEN KIM LANG [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine April 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] This was the endless problem of all spaceship cooks: He had to feed the men tomorrow on what they had eaten today! Unable to get out to the ballgame and a long way off from the girls,men on ships think about, talk about, bitch about their food. It'strue that Woman remains a topic of thoughtful study, but discussioncan never replace practice in an art. Food, on the other hand, is achallenge shipmen face three times a day, so central to their thoughtsthat a history of sea-faring can be read from a commissary list. In the days when salt-sea sailors were charting islands and spearingseals, for example, the fo'c's'le hands called themselves Lobscousers,celebrating the liquid hash then prominent in the marine menu. TheLimey sailor got the name of the anti-scorbutic citrus squeezed intohis diet, a fruit known to us mariners of a more sophisticated ageonly as garnish for our groundside gin-and-tonic. And today we Marsmenare called Slimeheads, honoring in our title the Chlorella and Scenedesmus algae that, by filling up the spaces within, open theroad to the larger Space without. Should any groundsman dispute the importance of belly-furniture inhistory—whether it be exterminating whales, or introducing syphilisto the Fiji Islanders, or settling the Australian littoral withcross-coves from Middlesex and Hampshire—he is referred to thehundred-and-first chapter of Moby Dick , a book spooled in theamusement tanks of all but the smallest spacers. I trust, however, thatno Marsman will undertake to review this inventory of refreshment morethan a week from groundfall. A catalogue of sides of beef and heads ofLeyden cheese and ankers of good Geneva would prove heavy reading for aman condemned to snack on the Chlorella-spawn of cis-Martian space. The Pequod's crew ate wormy biscuit and salt beef. Nimitz's men wontheir war on canned pork and beans. The Triton made her underwaterperiplus of Earth with a galley stocked with frozen pizza andconcentrated apple-juice. But then, when sailors left the seas for theskies, a decline set in. The first amenity of groundside existence to be abandoned was decentfood. The earliest men into the vacuum swallowed protein squeezingsfrom aluminum tubes, and were glad enough to drop back to thegroundsman's diet of steak and fried potatoes. <doc-sep> UNBORN TOMORROW BY MACK REYNOLDS Unfortunately , there was onlyone thing he could bring backfrom the wonderful future ...and though he didn't want to... nevertheless he did.... Illustrated by Freas Betty looked up fromher magazine. She saidmildly, You're late. Don't yell at me, Ifeel awful, Simon toldher. He sat down at his desk, passedhis tongue over his teeth in distaste,groaned, fumbled in a drawer for theaspirin bottle. He looked over at Betty and said,almost as though reciting, What Ineed is a vacation. What, Betty said, are you goingto use for money? Providence, Simon told herwhilst fiddling with the aspirin bottle,will provide. Hm-m-m. But before providingvacations it'd be nice if Providenceturned up a missing jewel deal, say.Something where you could deducethat actually the ruby ring had gonedown the drain and was caught in theelbow. Something that would netabout fifty dollars. Simon said, mournful of tone,Fifty dollars? Why not make it fivehundred? I'm not selfish, Betty said. AllI want is enough to pay me thisweek's salary. Money, Simon said. When youtook this job you said it was the romancethat appealed to you. Hm-m-m. I didn't know mostsleuthing amounted to snoopingaround department stores to check onthe clerks knocking down. Simon said, enigmatically, Nowit comes. <doc-sep></s>

The story first begins discussing how food is a central topic for men on ships. The Marsmen are called Slimeheads, honoring in their title the Chlorella and Scenedesmus algae that open the road to the wider space without by filling the spaces within. The Ship’s Cook is described to be the most vital man on a spacer because he is the one who turns offal into eatables. There are also instances described where the cooks have messed up and created disasters for fellow crew members, such as poisoning them. Paul Vilanova, the narrator, goes on to tell what happened on the Charles Partlow Sale. The ship is to take a low-energy route and carries various seeds of plantlife. There are the Registry minimum of six men and three officers aboard, including Paul the surgeon, Willy Winkelmann the captain, and Robert Bailey the cook. The cook is responsible for the livelihood of all the men on the ship, and the algae also helped feed the men in a way where they cannot afford the luxury of squeamishness. Although Paul is the surgeon, he rarely lifts a knife in space because his duties are more in line with serving as a morale officer and wailing-wall. Captain Winkelman is described to have a heart of helium ice and is extremely unpopular. Bailey is often his target, but he tries his best as the Ship Cook to feed everybody in a way that makes the algae somewhat appetizing. Paul admits that he does not like the Captain much, but he tells Bailey that his cooking is what keeps the captain retaining his plump figure. Bailey cooks them a luxurious meal the next day, but the captain only criticizes him. Bailey tries to ask what Captain Winkelman wants from him, and even Paul says that he is going to crack from being driven so hard. The Captain tells him that he is simply trying to widen Bailey’s horizons in terms of cooking. Bailey tries to avoid the Captain during meal time after, and Paul believes that he is the finest cook to go into the Hohmann orbit. Even though everybody is impressed by his dishes, Winkelmann still refuses to compliment him despite gaining weight from eating. When Bailey tries to convince the Captain of his food again, Winkelmann takes out a bottle of ketchup to eat with his meal. Bailey is furious, while Paul tries to cheer him up over some fifty cc’s of rye. After the therapeutic drinking, Bailey begins to cook awful looking and tasting dishes. Winkelman, ironically, tells Bailey that he is improving even though the other crew members complain. When Paul goes to visit Bailey again later, one of the crew members exclaims that the cook has managed to make the algae taste similar to real food. Paul tells him that this is the result of the Captain’s continuous pushing; he answers that he does like the Captain when Bailey asks him again.

<s>Bailey grew more silent as we threaded our way along the ellipticalpath to Mars. Each meal he prepared was a fresh attempt to propitiatethe appetite of our splenetic Captain. Each such offering was condemnedby that heartless man. Bailey began to try avoiding the Captain atmealtimes, but was frustrated by Winkelmann's orders. Convey mycompliments to the Chef, please, the Captain would instruct one ofthe crew, and ask him to step down here a moment. And the Cook wouldcheerlessly appear in the dining-cubby, to have his culinary geniusacidly called in question again. I myself do not doubt that Bailey was the finest Cook ever to gointo Hohmann orbit. His every meal established a higher benchmark inbrilliant galleymanship. We were served, for instance, an ersatz hotturkey supreme. The cheese-sauce was almost believable, the Chlorellaturkey-flesh was white and tender. Bailey served with this delicacya grainy and delicious cornbread, and had extracted from his algaea lipid butter-substitute that soaked into the hot bread with agenuinely dairy smell. Splendid, Bailey, I said. We are not amused, said Captain Winkelmann, accepting a secondhelping of the pseudo-turkey. You are improving, Belly-Robber, butonly arithmetically. Your first efforts were so hideous as to requirea geometric progression of improving excellence to raise them to mereedibility. By the time we are halfway 'round the Sun, I trust you willhave learned to cook with the competence of a freshman Home Economicsstudent. That will be all, Bailey. The crew and my fellow-officers were amused by Winkelmann's riding ofBailey; they were in addition gratified that the battle between theirCaptain and their Cook served to feed them so well. Most spacers embarkon an outward voyage somewhat plump, having eaten enough on their lastfew days aground to smuggle several hundred calories of fat and manymemories of good food aboard with them. This trip, none of the men hadlost weight during the first four months in space. Winkelmann, indeed,seemed to have gained. His uniform was taut over his plump backside,and he puffed a bit up the ladders. I was considering suggesting to ourCaptain that he curtail his diet for reasons of health, a bit of advicethat would have stood unique in the annals of space medicine, whenWinkelmann produced his supreme insult to our Cook. <doc-sep>Bailey and I climbed from the mess compartment together. I steered himto my quarters, where the medical supplies were stored. He sat on mybunk and exploded into weeping, banging his fists against the metalbulkhead. You'll have that drink now, I said. No, dammit! he shouted. Orders, I said. I poured us each some fifty cc's of rye. This istherapy, Bailey, I told him. He poured the fiery stuff down his throatlike water and silently held out his glass for a second. I provided it. After a few minutes Bailey's sobbing ceased. Sorry, Doc, he said. You've taken more pressure than most men would, I said. Nothing tobe ashamed of. He's crazy. What sane man would expect me to dip Wiener schnitzeland sauerkraut and Backhahndl nach suddeutscher Art out of an algaetank? I've got nothing but microscopic weeds to cook for him! Worn-outmolecules reclaimed from the head; packaged amino acid additives. Andhe expects meals that would take the blue ribbon at the annual banquetof the Friends of Escoffier! Yours is an ancient plaint, Bailey, I said. You've worked yourfingers to the bone, slaving over a hot stove, and you're notappreciated. But you're not married to Winkelmann, remember. A yearfrom now you'll be home in Ohio, fifty grand richer, set to start thatrestaurant of yours and forget about our fat Flying Dutchman. I hate him, Bailey said with the simplicity of true emotion. Hereached for the bottle. I let him have it. Sometimes alcohol can bean apt confederate of vis medicatrix naturae , the healing power ofnature. Half an hour later I strapped Bailey into his bunk to sleep itoff. That therapeutic drunk seemed to be just what he'd needed. For morning mess the next day we had a broth remarkable inhorribleness, a pottage or boiled Chlorella vulgaris that lookedand tasted like the vomit of some bottom-feeding sea-beast. Bailey,red-eyed and a-tremble, made no apology, and stared at Winkelmann asthough daring him to comment. The Captain lifted a spoonful of thedisgusting stuff to his lips, smacked and said, Belly-Robber, you'reimproving a little at last. Bailey nodded and smiled. Thank you, Sir, he said. I smiled, too. Bailey had conquered himself. His psychic defenses werenow strong enough to withstand the Captain's fiercest assaults ofirony. Our food would likely be bad the rest of this trip, but that wasa price I was willing to pay for seeing destroyed the Willy Winkelmanntheory of forcing a Cook to make bricks without straw. The Captainhad pushed too hard. He'd need that ketchup for the meals to come, Ithought. Noon mess was nearly as awful as breakfast had been. The coffee tastedof salt, and went largely undrunk. The men in the mess compartment werevehement in their protests, blaming the Captain, in his absence, forthe decline in culinary standards. Bailey seemed not to care. He servedthe algaeburgers with half a mind, and hurried back into his galleyoblivious of the taunts of his crewmates. <doc-sep>There being only three seats in the Sale's mess compartment, we ateour meals in three shifts. That evening, going down the ladder tosupper, my nose was met with a spine-tingling barbecue tang, a smellto make a man think of gray charcoal glowing in a picnic brazier,of cicadas chirping and green grass underfoot, of the pop and hissof canned beer being church-keyed. He's done it, Doc! one of thefirst-shift diners said. It actually tastes of food! Then he's beat the Captain at his game, I said. The Dutchman won't want to mess ketchup on these steaks, the crewmansaid. I sat, unfolded my napkin, and looked with hope to the electricwarming-pan at the center of the table. Bailey served the three ofus with the small steaks. Each contained about a pound of driedChlorella, I judged, teasing mine with my fork. But they were drenchedin a gravy rich as the stuff grandma used to make in her black ironskillet, peppery and seasoned with courageous bits of garlic. I cuta bit from my steak and chewed it. Too tender, of course; there arelimits to art. But the pond-scum taste was gone. Bailey appeared in thegalley door. I gestured for him to join me. You've done it, Bailey,I said. Every Slimehead in orbit will thank you for this. This isactually good . Thanks, Doc, Bailey said. I smiled and took another bite. You may not realize it, Bailey; butthis is a victory for the Captain, too. He drove you to this triumph;you couldn't have done it without him. You mean he was just whipping me on, trying to make me do better?Bailey asked. He was driving you to do the impossible, I said; and you did it. OurCaptain may be a hard man, Bailey; but he did know how to coax maximumperformance out of his Ship's Cook. Bailey stood up. Do you like Captain Winkelmann, Doctor? he asked. I thought about his question a moment. Winkelmann was good at his job.He persuaded his men by foul means, true; but it was all for the goodof the ship and his crew. Do I like Captain Winkelmann? I asked,spearing another piece of my artificial steak. Bailey, I'm afraid I'llhave to admit that I do. Bailey smiled and lifted a second steak from the warming-pan onto myplate. Then have another piece, he said. <doc-sep></s>

One of the first-mentioned dishes that Bailey cooks is hamburger. He tries to create this out of the algae, seasoning the food to hide the flavors. He also serves a fudge for dessert that is compounded from the dextrose-paste of the carbohydrate recycler. After speaking with Paul initially, Bailey serves a dish of hamburger steak again. There is an individual head of lettuce served, along with a steak drenched in gravy. Later, he serves them a hot turkey supreme. The cheese-sauce is very believable, whereas the turkey is white and tender even though it is made from Chlorella. When Captain Winkelmann pushes Bailey too far, he begins to create disgusting foods. One of the first dishes he serves is boiled Chlorella vulgaris that resembles vomit. The coffee at noon also tastes of salt. However, at the very end of the story, Bailey succeeds in making his Chlorella steak actually taste like food.

<s>Though I'm signed aboard as Ship's Surgeon, I seldom lift a knifein space. My employment is more in the nature of TS-card-puncherextraordinary. My duties are to serve as wailing-wall, morale officer,guardian of the medicinal whiskey and frustrator of mutual murder.Generally the man aboard who'd serve as the most popular murder-victimis the Cook. This trip, the-man-you-love-to-hate was our Captain. If the Cook hadn't problems enough with the chemical and psychic dutiesof his office, Winkelmann supplied the want. Captain Willy Winkelmannwas the sort of man who, if he had to go into space at all, had best doso alone. If the Prussians had a Marine Corps, Winkelmann would havedone splendidly as Drill Instructor for their boot camp. His heartwas a chip of helium ice, his voice dripped sarcastic acid. The planetEarth was hardly large enough to accommodate a wart as annoying asWilly Winkelmann. Cheek-by-jowl every day in a nacelle the size of aPullman car, our Captain quickly established himself as a major socialhemorrhoid. The Captain's particular patsy was, of course, young Bailey the Cook.It was Winkelmann who saw humorous possibilities in the entry, Bailey,Robert, on Ship's Articles. He at once renamed our unfortunateshipmate Belly-Robber. It was Winkelmann who discussed hautcuisine and the properties of the nobler wines while we munched ouralgaeburgers and sipped coffee that tasted of utility water. And it wasCaptain Willy Winkelmann who never referred to the ship's head by anyother name than The Kitchen Cabinet. Bailey tried to feed us by groundside standards. He hid the tasteof synthetic methionine—an essential amino acid not synthesized byChlorella—by seasoning our algaeal repasts with pinches of oreganoand thyme. He tinted the pale-green dollops of pressed Chlorella pink,textured the mass to the consistency of hamburger and toasted theslabs to a delicate brown in a forlorn attempt to make mock-meat.For dessert, he served a fudge compounded from the dextrose-paste ofthe carbohydrate recycler. The crew thanked him. The Captain did not.Belly-Robber, he said, his tone icy as winter wind off the North Sea,you had best cycle this mess through the tanks again. There is a punin my home country: Mensch ist was er isst. It means, you are whatyou eat. I think you are impertinent to suggest I should become this Schweinerei you are feeding me. Captain Winkelmann blotted his chinwith his napkin, heaved his bulk up from the table, and climbed up theladder from the dining-cubby. <doc-sep> GOURMET By ALLEN KIM LANG [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine April 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] This was the endless problem of all spaceship cooks: He had to feed the men tomorrow on what they had eaten today! Unable to get out to the ballgame and a long way off from the girls,men on ships think about, talk about, bitch about their food. It'strue that Woman remains a topic of thoughtful study, but discussioncan never replace practice in an art. Food, on the other hand, is achallenge shipmen face three times a day, so central to their thoughtsthat a history of sea-faring can be read from a commissary list. In the days when salt-sea sailors were charting islands and spearingseals, for example, the fo'c's'le hands called themselves Lobscousers,celebrating the liquid hash then prominent in the marine menu. TheLimey sailor got the name of the anti-scorbutic citrus squeezed intohis diet, a fruit known to us mariners of a more sophisticated ageonly as garnish for our groundside gin-and-tonic. And today we Marsmenare called Slimeheads, honoring in our title the Chlorella and Scenedesmus algae that, by filling up the spaces within, open theroad to the larger Space without. Should any groundsman dispute the importance of belly-furniture inhistory—whether it be exterminating whales, or introducing syphilisto the Fiji Islanders, or settling the Australian littoral withcross-coves from Middlesex and Hampshire—he is referred to thehundred-and-first chapter of Moby Dick , a book spooled in theamusement tanks of all but the smallest spacers. I trust, however, thatno Marsman will undertake to review this inventory of refreshment morethan a week from groundfall. A catalogue of sides of beef and heads ofLeyden cheese and ankers of good Geneva would prove heavy reading for aman condemned to snack on the Chlorella-spawn of cis-Martian space. The Pequod's crew ate wormy biscuit and salt beef. Nimitz's men wontheir war on canned pork and beans. The Triton made her underwaterperiplus of Earth with a galley stocked with frozen pizza andconcentrated apple-juice. But then, when sailors left the seas for theskies, a decline set in. The first amenity of groundside existence to be abandoned was decentfood. The earliest men into the vacuum swallowed protein squeezingsfrom aluminum tubes, and were glad enough to drop back to thegroundsman's diet of steak and fried potatoes. <doc-sep>There being only three seats in the Sale's mess compartment, we ateour meals in three shifts. That evening, going down the ladder tosupper, my nose was met with a spine-tingling barbecue tang, a smellto make a man think of gray charcoal glowing in a picnic brazier,of cicadas chirping and green grass underfoot, of the pop and hissof canned beer being church-keyed. He's done it, Doc! one of thefirst-shift diners said. It actually tastes of food! Then he's beat the Captain at his game, I said. The Dutchman won't want to mess ketchup on these steaks, the crewmansaid. I sat, unfolded my napkin, and looked with hope to the electricwarming-pan at the center of the table. Bailey served the three ofus with the small steaks. Each contained about a pound of driedChlorella, I judged, teasing mine with my fork. But they were drenchedin a gravy rich as the stuff grandma used to make in her black ironskillet, peppery and seasoned with courageous bits of garlic. I cuta bit from my steak and chewed it. Too tender, of course; there arelimits to art. But the pond-scum taste was gone. Bailey appeared in thegalley door. I gestured for him to join me. You've done it, Bailey,I said. Every Slimehead in orbit will thank you for this. This isactually good . Thanks, Doc, Bailey said. I smiled and took another bite. You may not realize it, Bailey; butthis is a victory for the Captain, too. He drove you to this triumph;you couldn't have done it without him. You mean he was just whipping me on, trying to make me do better?Bailey asked. He was driving you to do the impossible, I said; and you did it. OurCaptain may be a hard man, Bailey; but he did know how to coax maximumperformance out of his Ship's Cook. Bailey stood up. Do you like Captain Winkelmann, Doctor? he asked. I thought about his question a moment. Winkelmann was good at his job.He persuaded his men by foul means, true; but it was all for the goodof the ship and his crew. Do I like Captain Winkelmann? I asked,spearing another piece of my artificial steak. Bailey, I'm afraid I'llhave to admit that I do. Bailey smiled and lifted a second steak from the warming-pan onto myplate. Then have another piece, he said. <doc-sep></s>

Robert Bailey is the cook of the ship; he is considered to have one of the most important roles on the ship because he is the one who must feed all of the crew members. Bailey works very hard to try and please Captain Winkelmann, even though the captain constantly berates him on his efforts. He takes pride in his cooking, which is why he constantly tries to improve in order to gain the Captain’s approval. Paul considers him to be the best cook in the entire orbit, especially when he is shown to be capable of creating algae food that tastes realistic at the end of the story. Apart from the Captain, Bailey is very respectful towards his fellow crew members, especially Paul. Bailey dedicates himself to his food entirely, trying to cook up the best meal he can out of the Chlorella algae. He also plans to open a restaurant once he returns to Ohio.

<s> GOURMET By ALLEN KIM LANG [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine April 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] This was the endless problem of all spaceship cooks: He had to feed the men tomorrow on what they had eaten today! Unable to get out to the ballgame and a long way off from the girls,men on ships think about, talk about, bitch about their food. It'strue that Woman remains a topic of thoughtful study, but discussioncan never replace practice in an art. Food, on the other hand, is achallenge shipmen face three times a day, so central to their thoughtsthat a history of sea-faring can be read from a commissary list. In the days when salt-sea sailors were charting islands and spearingseals, for example, the fo'c's'le hands called themselves Lobscousers,celebrating the liquid hash then prominent in the marine menu. TheLimey sailor got the name of the anti-scorbutic citrus squeezed intohis diet, a fruit known to us mariners of a more sophisticated ageonly as garnish for our groundside gin-and-tonic. And today we Marsmenare called Slimeheads, honoring in our title the Chlorella and Scenedesmus algae that, by filling up the spaces within, open theroad to the larger Space without. Should any groundsman dispute the importance of belly-furniture inhistory—whether it be exterminating whales, or introducing syphilisto the Fiji Islanders, or settling the Australian littoral withcross-coves from Middlesex and Hampshire—he is referred to thehundred-and-first chapter of Moby Dick , a book spooled in theamusement tanks of all but the smallest spacers. I trust, however, thatno Marsman will undertake to review this inventory of refreshment morethan a week from groundfall. A catalogue of sides of beef and heads ofLeyden cheese and ankers of good Geneva would prove heavy reading for aman condemned to snack on the Chlorella-spawn of cis-Martian space. The Pequod's crew ate wormy biscuit and salt beef. Nimitz's men wontheir war on canned pork and beans. The Triton made her underwaterperiplus of Earth with a galley stocked with frozen pizza andconcentrated apple-juice. But then, when sailors left the seas for theskies, a decline set in. The first amenity of groundside existence to be abandoned was decentfood. The earliest men into the vacuum swallowed protein squeezingsfrom aluminum tubes, and were glad enough to drop back to thegroundsman's diet of steak and fried potatoes. <doc-sep> A grim tale of a future in which everyone is desperate to escapereality, and a hero who wants to have his wine and drink it, too. A BOTTLE OF Old Wine By Richard O. Lewis Illustrated by KELLY FREAS <doc-sep> THE GIANTS RETURN By ROBERT ABERNATHY Earth set itself grimly to meet them with corrosive fire, determined to blast them back to the stars. But they erred in thinking the Old Ones were too big to be clever. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1949. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] In the last hours the star ahead had grown brighter by many magnitudes,and had changed its color from a dazzling blue through white to thenormal yellow, of a GO sun. That was the Doppler effect as the star'sradial velocity changed relative to the Quest III , as for forty hoursthe ship had decelerated. They had seen many such stars come near out of the galaxy's glitteringbackdrop, and had seen them dwindle, turn red and go out as the QuestIII drove on its way once more, lashed by despair toward the speed oflight, leaving behind the mockery of yet another solitary and lifelessluminary unaccompanied by worlds where men might dwell. They had grownsated with the sight of wonders—of multiple systems of giant stars, ofnebulae that sprawled in empty flame across light years. But now unwonted excitement possessed the hundred-odd members of the Quest III's crew. It was a subdued excitement; men and women, theycame and stood quietly gazing into the big vision screens that showedthe oncoming star, and there were wide-eyed children who had been bornin the ship and had never seen a planet. The grownups talked in lowvoices, in tones of mingled eagerness and apprehension, of what mightlie at the long journey's end. For the Quest III was coming home; thesun ahead was the Sun, whose rays had warmed their lives' beginning. <doc-sep></s>

The story is set on the Charles Partlow Sale in outer space. The ship left in the middle of August, and it is due at Piano West in early May. The path to Mars is considered to be as long in time as the human period of gestation. This is because the ship is taking a low-energy route. There are Chlorella tanks on the ship to grow the algae in. There is also a dining compartment with a mess table for the crew members to eat food on. The ship also has a cargo compartment, filled with the seeds of Tien-Shen fir and some tons of arctic grass. However, the ship itself is described to be quite small and cannot carry huge amounts of cargo.

<s> GOURMET By ALLEN KIM LANG [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine April 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] This was the endless problem of all spaceship cooks: He had to feed the men tomorrow on what they had eaten today! Unable to get out to the ballgame and a long way off from the girls,men on ships think about, talk about, bitch about their food. It'strue that Woman remains a topic of thoughtful study, but discussioncan never replace practice in an art. Food, on the other hand, is achallenge shipmen face three times a day, so central to their thoughtsthat a history of sea-faring can be read from a commissary list. In the days when salt-sea sailors were charting islands and spearingseals, for example, the fo'c's'le hands called themselves Lobscousers,celebrating the liquid hash then prominent in the marine menu. TheLimey sailor got the name of the anti-scorbutic citrus squeezed intohis diet, a fruit known to us mariners of a more sophisticated ageonly as garnish for our groundside gin-and-tonic. And today we Marsmenare called Slimeheads, honoring in our title the Chlorella and Scenedesmus algae that, by filling up the spaces within, open theroad to the larger Space without. Should any groundsman dispute the importance of belly-furniture inhistory—whether it be exterminating whales, or introducing syphilisto the Fiji Islanders, or settling the Australian littoral withcross-coves from Middlesex and Hampshire—he is referred to thehundred-and-first chapter of Moby Dick , a book spooled in theamusement tanks of all but the smallest spacers. I trust, however, thatno Marsman will undertake to review this inventory of refreshment morethan a week from groundfall. A catalogue of sides of beef and heads ofLeyden cheese and ankers of good Geneva would prove heavy reading for aman condemned to snack on the Chlorella-spawn of cis-Martian space. The Pequod's crew ate wormy biscuit and salt beef. Nimitz's men wontheir war on canned pork and beans. The Triton made her underwaterperiplus of Earth with a galley stocked with frozen pizza andconcentrated apple-juice. But then, when sailors left the seas for theskies, a decline set in. The first amenity of groundside existence to be abandoned was decentfood. The earliest men into the vacuum swallowed protein squeezingsfrom aluminum tubes, and were glad enough to drop back to thegroundsman's diet of steak and fried potatoes. <doc-sep>Long before I was a boy in Med School, itching to look at black skythrough a view-port, galley science had fulfilled the disgustingexordium of Isaiah 36:12, to feed the Slimeheads for breakfast todaywhat was day-before-yesterday's table-scraps and jakes-water. The Ship's Cook, the man who accomplishes the daily miracle of turningoffal into eatables, is in many ways the most vital man aboard aspacer. He can make morale or foment a mutiny. His power is paramount.Slimeheads remember the H. M. S. Ajax fiasco, for example, in which agalleyman leveled his Chlorella tanks with heavy water from the ship'sshielding. Four officers and twenty-one Other Ranks were rescued fromthe Ajax in deep space, half dead from deuterium poisoning. We thinkof the Benjo Maru incident, too, caused by a Ship's Cook who allowedhis algaeal staff-of-life to become contaminated with a fast-growing Saccharomycodes yeast. The Japanese vessel staggered to her pad atPiano West after a twenty-week drunk: the alien yeast had got intothe stomach of every man aboard, where it fermented each subsequentbite he ate to a superior grade of sake . And for a third footnote tothe ancient observation, God sends food, and the Devil sends cooks,Marsmen will recall what happened aboard my ship the Charles PartlowSale . The Sale blasted off from Brady Station in the middle of August, duein at Piano West in early May. In no special hurry, we were takingthe low-energy route to Mars, a pathway about as long in time as thehuman period of gestation. Our cargo consisted mostly of Tien-Shen firseedlings and some tons of an arctic grass-seed—these to be plantedin the maria to squeeze out the native blue bugberry vines. We hadaboard the Registry minimum of six men and three officers. Ship'sSurgeon was myself, Paul Vilanova. Our Captain was Willy Winkelmann,the hardest man in space and very likely the fattest. Ship's Cook wasRobert Bailey. Cooking aboard a spacer is a job combining the more frustratingtensions of biochemistry, applied mycology, high-speed farming,dietetics and sewage engineering. It's the Cook's responsibility tosee that each man aboard gets each day no less than five pounds ofwater, two pounds of oxygen, and one-and-a-half pounds of dry food.This isn't just a paragraph from the Spacer Union Contract. It's astatement of the least fuel a man can run on. Twelve tons of water, oxygen, and food would have filled the cargocompartments to bursting, and left a small ship like the C. P. Sale no reason to reach for Mars. By allowing a colony of Chlorella algae towork over our used air, water and other effluvia, though, three tonsof metabolites would see us through from Brady Station to Piano Westand back. Recycling was the answer. The molecule of carbohydrate, fat,protein or mineral that didn't feed the crew fed the algae. And thealgae fed us. All waste was used to fertilize our liquid fields. Even the stubblefrom our 2,680 shaves and the clippings from our 666 haircuts en routeand back would be fed into the Chlorella tanks. Human hair is rich inessential amino acids. The algae—dried by the Cook, bleached with methyl alcohol to kill thesmell and make the residue more digestible, disguised and seasoned in ahundred ways—served as a sort of meat-and-potatoes that never quitewore out. Our air and water were equally immortal. Each molecule ofoxygen would be conversant with the alveoli of every man aboard by theend of our trip. Every drop of water would have been intimate with theglomeruli of each kidney on the ship before we grounded in. Groundlingpoliticians are right enough when they say that we spacers are abreed apart. We're the one race of men who can't afford the luxury ofsqueamishness. <doc-sep>Bailey grew more silent as we threaded our way along the ellipticalpath to Mars. Each meal he prepared was a fresh attempt to propitiatethe appetite of our splenetic Captain. Each such offering was condemnedby that heartless man. Bailey began to try avoiding the Captain atmealtimes, but was frustrated by Winkelmann's orders. Convey mycompliments to the Chef, please, the Captain would instruct one ofthe crew, and ask him to step down here a moment. And the Cook wouldcheerlessly appear in the dining-cubby, to have his culinary geniusacidly called in question again. I myself do not doubt that Bailey was the finest Cook ever to gointo Hohmann orbit. His every meal established a higher benchmark inbrilliant galleymanship. We were served, for instance, an ersatz hotturkey supreme. The cheese-sauce was almost believable, the Chlorellaturkey-flesh was white and tender. Bailey served with this delicacya grainy and delicious cornbread, and had extracted from his algaea lipid butter-substitute that soaked into the hot bread with agenuinely dairy smell. Splendid, Bailey, I said. We are not amused, said Captain Winkelmann, accepting a secondhelping of the pseudo-turkey. You are improving, Belly-Robber, butonly arithmetically. Your first efforts were so hideous as to requirea geometric progression of improving excellence to raise them to mereedibility. By the time we are halfway 'round the Sun, I trust you willhave learned to cook with the competence of a freshman Home Economicsstudent. That will be all, Bailey. The crew and my fellow-officers were amused by Winkelmann's riding ofBailey; they were in addition gratified that the battle between theirCaptain and their Cook served to feed them so well. Most spacers embarkon an outward voyage somewhat plump, having eaten enough on their lastfew days aground to smuggle several hundred calories of fat and manymemories of good food aboard with them. This trip, none of the men hadlost weight during the first four months in space. Winkelmann, indeed,seemed to have gained. His uniform was taut over his plump backside,and he puffed a bit up the ladders. I was considering suggesting to ourCaptain that he curtail his diet for reasons of health, a bit of advicethat would have stood unique in the annals of space medicine, whenWinkelmann produced his supreme insult to our Cook. <doc-sep></s>

The Chlorella algae is what keeps all of the crew members alive for the duration of the journey. Since twelve tons of water, oxygen, and food would have filled the compartment to bursting, Chlorella algae is the solution to this. It can work over used food, air, and effluvia, three tons of metabolites that would see them through the entire round trip. Everything the crew recycles is fed to the algae, which feeds the crew members in return. The waste is used to fertilize the liquid fields. Even their stubble from 2,600 shaves and clipping from 666 haircuts is used to feed the algae because human hair is rich in essential amino acids. The algae is their food, as well as the water and air that keeps the crew members going.

<s> UNBORN TOMORROW BY MACK REYNOLDS Unfortunately , there was onlyone thing he could bring backfrom the wonderful future ...and though he didn't want to... nevertheless he did.... Illustrated by Freas Betty looked up fromher magazine. She saidmildly, You're late. Don't yell at me, Ifeel awful, Simon toldher. He sat down at his desk, passedhis tongue over his teeth in distaste,groaned, fumbled in a drawer for theaspirin bottle. He looked over at Betty and said,almost as though reciting, What Ineed is a vacation. What, Betty said, are you goingto use for money? Providence, Simon told herwhilst fiddling with the aspirin bottle,will provide. Hm-m-m. But before providingvacations it'd be nice if Providenceturned up a missing jewel deal, say.Something where you could deducethat actually the ruby ring had gonedown the drain and was caught in theelbow. Something that would netabout fifty dollars. Simon said, mournful of tone,Fifty dollars? Why not make it fivehundred? I'm not selfish, Betty said. AllI want is enough to pay me thisweek's salary. Money, Simon said. When youtook this job you said it was the romancethat appealed to you. Hm-m-m. I didn't know mostsleuthing amounted to snoopingaround department stores to check onthe clerks knocking down. Simon said, enigmatically, Nowit comes. <doc-sep>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep>Untrimmed sumacs threw late-afternoon shadows on the discolored stuccofacade of the Elsby Public Library. Inside, Tremaine followed apaper-dry woman of indeterminate age to a rack of yellowed newsprint. You'll find back to nineteen-forty here, the librarian said. Theolder are there in the shelves. I want nineteen-oh-one, if they go back that far. The woman darted a suspicious look at Tremaine. You have to handlethese old papers carefully. I'll be extremely careful. The woman sniffed, opened a drawer, leafedthrough it, muttering. What date was it you wanted? Nineteen-oh-one; the week of May nineteenth. The librarian pulled out a folded paper, placed it on the table,adjusted her glasses, squinted at the front page. That's it, shesaid. These papers keep pretty well, provided they're stored in thedark. But they're still flimsy, mind you. I'll remember. The woman stood by as Tremaine looked over the frontpage. The lead article concerned the opening of the Pan-AmericanExposition at Buffalo. Vice-President Roosevelt had made a speech.Tremaine leafed over, reading slowly. On page four, under a column headed County Notes he saw the name Bram: Mr. Bram has purchased a quarter section of fine grazing land,north of town, together with a sturdy house, from J. P. Spivey ofElsby. Mr. Bram will occupy the home and will continue to graze afew head of stock. Mr. Bram, who is a newcomer to the county, hasbeen a resident of Mrs. Stoate's Guest Home in Elsby for the pastmonths. May I see some earlier issues; from about the first of the year? The librarian produced the papers. Tremaine turned the pages, read theheads, skimmed an article here and there. The librarian went back toher desk. An hour later, in the issue for July 7, 1900, an item caughthis eye: A Severe Thunderstorm. Citizens of Elsby and the country were muchalarmed by a violent cloudburst, accompanied by lightning andthunder, during the night of the fifth. A fire set in the pinewoods north of Spivey's farm destroyed a considerable amount oftimber and threatened the house before burning itself out alongthe river. The librarian was at Tremaine's side. I have to close the library now.You'll have to come back tomorrow. Outside, the sky was sallow in the west: lights were coming on inwindows along the side streets. Tremaine turned up his collar against acold wind that had risen, started along the street toward the hotel. A block away a black late-model sedan rounded a corner with a faintsqueal of tires and gunned past him, a heavy antenna mounted forwardof the left rear tail fin whipping in the slipstream. Tremaine stoppedshort, stared after the car. Damn! he said aloud. An elderly man veered, eyeing him sharply.Tremaine set off at a run, covered the two blocks to the hotel, yankedopen the door to his car, slid into the seat, made a U-turn, and headednorth after the police car. <doc-sep></s>

Simon goes to his desk as Betty remarks that he is late. He tells her that he needs a vacation, but she asks him where the funds will come from and her weekly salary. Suddenly, the door knocks, and a man named Mr. Oyster comes in. Despite having never met before, he is impressed that Simon knows him and asks the other man if he believes in time travel. Betty says it is impossible, and Mr. Oyster questions her about why. Simon then asks why he came, to which the potential client responds that he wants them to hunt up some time travelers. He asks Betty some more about science fiction and explains that he is willing to gamble his fortune to investigate the presence of time travelers in the current era. Mr. Oyster further says that these time travelers will be at the Oktoberfest in Munich, which is considered the greatest festival globally. Simon says that he is not interested in taking up the case. Betty is surprised, and Mr. Oyster tries to offer him a substantial amount of money. Simon then tells them a story where he accepts Mr. Oyster’s offer. Simon thinks about how much fun he will have and a fake report to generate for Mr. Oyster. He then goes on to be suspicious about how five million people can appear to attend a festival in a remote part of southern Germany, especially considering the population of Munich is less than one million. There is no hotel space in Munch, so Simon must go to Bahnhof to apply for hotel service. It is suspicious how the five million attendees are accommodated for this festival. The circus-like tents represent the seven major brewers of the Munich area, and many people are going around. Simon finds a space at one of the tables; he notes that the crowd is made up of both tourists and Germans. A bald-headed person and he both drink beer. The bald man accidentally reveals that his pencil is Venusian and tells Simon that his dream is to sample each of the seven best beer brands. The man then introduces himself as Arth and tells Simon that he is from a strange location. Arth offers to take him to his hotel later, and Simon goes with him. Arth gives him a box of pills for his hangover, and the scene cuts to them drinking at the festival again. Simon feels that something is off and decides to go back to New York. He returns to the office, where Mr. Oyster tells him that Betty has just finished the receipt. They are both confused and say that he has only been gone for about three minutes. Mr. Oyster is furious and leaves, while Betty asks why he didn’t just take the money. Simon tells her that he experienced the trip three times and says that he will not be dealing with a fourth hangover on top of the three already-present ones.

<s> UNBORN TOMORROW BY MACK REYNOLDS Unfortunately , there was onlyone thing he could bring backfrom the wonderful future ...and though he didn't want to... nevertheless he did.... Illustrated by Freas Betty looked up fromher magazine. She saidmildly, You're late. Don't yell at me, Ifeel awful, Simon toldher. He sat down at his desk, passedhis tongue over his teeth in distaste,groaned, fumbled in a drawer for theaspirin bottle. He looked over at Betty and said,almost as though reciting, What Ineed is a vacation. What, Betty said, are you goingto use for money? Providence, Simon told herwhilst fiddling with the aspirin bottle,will provide. Hm-m-m. But before providingvacations it'd be nice if Providenceturned up a missing jewel deal, say.Something where you could deducethat actually the ruby ring had gonedown the drain and was caught in theelbow. Something that would netabout fifty dollars. Simon said, mournful of tone,Fifty dollars? Why not make it fivehundred? I'm not selfish, Betty said. AllI want is enough to pay me thisweek's salary. Money, Simon said. When youtook this job you said it was the romancethat appealed to you. Hm-m-m. I didn't know mostsleuthing amounted to snoopingaround department stores to check onthe clerks knocking down. Simon said, enigmatically, Nowit comes. <doc-sep> Mr. Oyster went on. I've beenconsidering the matter for some timeand— Simon held up a hand. There'sno use prolonging this. As I understandit, you're an elderly gentlemanwith a considerable fortune and yourealize that thus far nobody has succeededin taking it with him. Mr. Oyster returned his glasses totheir perch, bug-eyed Simon, but thennodded. Simon said, You want to hire meto find a time traveler and in somemanner or other—any manner willdo—exhort from him the secret ofeternal life and youth, which you figurethe future will have discovered.You're willing to pony up a part ofthis fortune of yours, if I can delivera bona fide time traveler. Right! Betty had been looking from oneto the other. Now she said, plaintively,But where are you going to findone of these characters—especially ifthey're interested in keeping hid? The old boy was the center again.I told you I'd been considering itfor some time. The Oktoberfest ,that's where they'd be! He seemedelated. Betty and Simon waited. The Oktoberfest , he repeated.The greatest festival the world hasever seen, the carnival, feria , fiesta to beat them all. Every year it's heldin Munich. Makes the New OrleansMardi gras look like a quiltingparty. He began to swing into thespirit of his description. It originallystarted in celebration of the weddingof some local prince a centuryand a half ago and the Bavarians hadsuch a bang-up time they've beenholding it every year since. TheMunich breweries do up a specialbeer, Marzenbräu they call it, andeach brewery opens a tremendous tenton the fair grounds which will holdfive thousand customers apiece. Millionsof liters of beer are put away,hundreds of thousands of barbecuedchickens, a small herd of oxen areroasted whole over spits, millions ofpair of weisswurst , a very specialsausage, millions upon millions ofpretzels— All right, Simon said. We'll acceptit. The Oktoberfest is one whaleof a wingding. <doc-sep> Well, the old boy pursued, intohis subject now, that's where they'dbe, places like the Oktoberfest . Forone thing, a time traveler wouldn'tbe conspicuous. At a festival like thissomebody with a strange accent, orwho didn't know exactly how to wearhis clothes correctly, or was off theordinary in any of a dozen otherways, wouldn't be noticed. You couldbe a four-armed space traveler fromMars, and you still wouldn't be conspicuousat the Oktoberfest . Peoplewould figure they had D.T.'s. But why would a time travelerwant to go to a— Betty began. Why not! What better opportunityto study a people than when theyare in their cups? If you could goback a few thousand years, the thingsyou would wish to see would be aRoman Triumph, perhaps the Ritesof Dionysus, or one of Alexander'sorgies. You wouldn't want to wanderup and down the streets of, say,Athens while nothing was going on,particularly when you might be revealedas a suspicious character notbeing able to speak the language, notknowing how to wear the clothes andnot familiar with the city's layout.He took a deep breath. No ma'am,you'd have to stick to some greatevent, both for the sake of actualinterest and for protection against beingunmasked. The old boy wound it up. Well,that's the story. What are your rates?The Oktoberfest starts on Friday andcontinues for sixteen days. You cantake the plane to Munich, spend aweek there and— Simon was shaking his head. Notinterested. As soon as Betty had got her jawback into place, she glared unbelievinglyat him. Mr. Oyster was taken aback himself.See here, young man, I realizethis isn't an ordinary assignment,however, as I said, I am willing torisk a considerable portion of myfortune— Sorry, Simon said. Can't bedone. A hundred dollars a day plus expenses,Mr. Oyster said quietly. Ilike the fact that you already seemto have some interest and knowledgeof the matter. I liked the way youknew my name when I walked in thedoor; my picture doesn't appear oftenin the papers. No go, Simon said, a sad qualityin his voice. A fifty thousand dollar bonus ifyou bring me a time traveler. Out of the question, Simonsaid. But why ? Betty wailed. Just for laughs, Simon told thetwo of them sourly, suppose I tellyou a funny story. It goes likethis: I got a thousand dollars from Mr.Oyster (Simon began) in the wayof an advance, and leaving him withBetty who was making out a receipt,I hustled back to the apartment andpacked a bag. Hell, I'd wanted a vacationanyway, this was a natural. Onthe way to Idlewild I stopped off atthe Germany Information Offices forsome tourist literature. It takes roughly three and a halfhours to get to Gander from Idlewild.I spent the time planning thefun I was going to have. It takes roughly seven and a halfhours from Gander to Shannon andI spent that time dreaming up materialI could put into my reports toMr. Oyster. I was going to have togive him some kind of report for hismoney. Time travel yet! What alaugh! Between Shannon and Munich afaint suspicion began to simmer inmy mind. These statistics I read onthe Oktoberfest in the Munich touristpamphlets. Five million peopleattended annually. Where did five million peoplecome from to attend an overgrownfestival in comparatively remoteSouthern Germany? The tourist seasonis over before September 21st,first day of the gigantic beer bust.Nor could the Germans account forany such number. Munich itself hasa population of less than a million,counting children. And those millions of gallons ofbeer, the hundreds of thousands ofchickens, the herds of oxen. Whoponied up all the money for such expenditures?How could the averageGerman, with his twenty-five dollarsa week salary? In Munich there was no hotelspace available. I went to the Bahnhofwhere they have a hotel serviceand applied. They put my namedown, pocketed the husky bribe,showed me where I could check mybag, told me they'd do what theycould, and to report back in a fewhours. I had another suspicious twinge.If five million people attended thisbeer bout, how were they accommodated? The Theresienwiese , the fairground, was only a few blocksaway. I was stiff from the plane rideso I walked. <doc-sep></s>

Oktoberfest, as described by Mr. Oyster, is held in Munich. It is the greatest festival the world has ever seen; each brewery opens a tremendous tent on the fairgrounds, holding five thousand customers apiece. There are millions of liters of beer, hundreds of thousands of barbecued chickens, oxen roasted over spits, millions of pairs of weisswurst sausage, and millions of pretzels. Since there are many people at Oktoberfest, it is perfect for strange people to blend in since nobody will notice. Oktoberfest is also mentioned to start on a Friday and continues for sixteen days. In Simon’s story, the seven major brewers of the Munich area are all represented by circus-like tents. Each tent contains benches and tables that can seat up to five thousand people. There is a tremendous bandstand in the tent's center, where the musicians are lederhosen-clad. The music is described to be Bavarian as well. It is described that there are many desperate waitresses as well, scrambling around and handing people masses of beer. In terms of people, it is extremely loud and crowded; tourists and German natives are all present and try to squeeze into the tents.

<s> Somewhere along in here the fogrolled in. When it rolled out again,I found myself closing one eye thebetter to read the lettering on myearthenware mug. It read Augustinerbräu.Somehow we'd evidentlynavigated from one tent to another. Arth was saying, Where's yourhotel? That seemed like a good question.I thought about it for a while. FinallyI said, Haven't got one. Town'sjam packed. Left my bag at the Bahnhof.I don't think we'll ever makeit, Arth. How many we got togo? Lost track, Arth said. You cancome home with me. We drank to that and the fog rolledin again. When the fog rolled out, it wasdaylight. Bright, glaring, awful daylight.I was sprawled, complete withclothes, on one of twin beds. On theother bed, also completely clothed,was Arth. That sun was too much. I stumbledup from the bed, staggered tothe window and fumbled around fora blind or curtain. There was none. Behind me a voice said in horror,Who ... how ... oh, Wodo ,where'd you come from? I got a quick impression, lookingout the window, that the Germanswere certainly the most modern, futuristicpeople in the world. But Icouldn't stand the light. Where'sthe shade, I moaned. Arth did something and the windowwent opaque. That's quite a gadget, I groaned.If I didn't feel so lousy, I'dappreciate it. Arth was sitting on the edge ofthe bed holding his bald head in hishands. I remember now, he sorrowed.You didn't have a hotel.What a stupidity. I'll be phased.Phased all the way down. You haven't got a handful ofaspirin, have you? I asked him. Just a minute, Arth said, staggeringerect and heading for whatundoubtedly was a bathroom. Staywhere you are. Don't move. Don'ttouch anything. All right, I told him plaintively.I'm clean. I won't mess up theplace. All I've got is a hangover, notlice. Arth was gone. He came back intwo or three minutes, box of pills inhand. Here, take one of these. I took the pill, followed it with aglass of water. <doc-sep> And went out like a light. Arth was shaking my arm. Wantanother mass ? The band was blaring, and fivethousand half-swacked voices wereroaring accompaniment. In Muenchen steht ein Hofbräuhaus! Eins, Zwei, G'sufa! At the G'sufa everybody uppedwith their king-size mugs and drankeach other's health. My head was killing me. This iswhere I came in, or something, Igroaned. Arth said, That was last night.He looked at me over the rim of hisbeer mug. Something, somewhere, waswrong. But I didn't care. I finishedmy mass and then remembered. I'vegot to get my bag. Oh, my head.Where did we spend last night? Arth said, and his voice soundedcautious, At my hotel, don't you remember? Not very well, I admitted. Ifeel lousy. I must have dimmed out.I've got to go to the Bahnhof andget my luggage. Arth didn't put up an argumenton that. We said good-by and I couldfeel him watching after me as I pushedthrough the tables on the wayout. At the Bahnhof they could do meno good. There were no hotel roomsavailable in Munich. The head wasgetting worse by the minute. Thefact that they'd somehow managedto lose my bag didn't help. I workedon that project for at least a coupleof hours. Not only wasn't the bagat the luggage checking station, butthe attendant there evidently couldn'tmake heads nor tails of the checkreceipt. He didn't speak English andmy high school German was inadequate,especially accompanied by ablockbusting hangover. I didn't get anywhere tearing myhair and complaining from one endof the Bahnhof to the other. I drewa blank on the bag. And the head was getting worseby the minute. I was bleeding todeath through the eyes and insteadof butterflies I had bats in my stomach.Believe me, nobody should drinka gallon or more of Marzenbräu. <doc-sep> There are seven major brewers inthe Munich area, each of them representedby one of the circuslike tentsthat Mr. Oyster mentioned. Each tentcontained benches and tables forabout five thousand persons and fromsix to ten thousands pack themselvesin, competing for room. In the centeris a tremendous bandstand, themusicians all lederhosen clad, themusic as Bavarian as any to be foundin a Bavarian beer hall. Hundreds ofpeasant garbed fräuleins darted aboutthe tables with quart sized earthenwaremugs, platters of chicken, sausage,kraut and pretzels. I found a place finally at a tablewhich had space for twenty-odd beerbibbers. Odd is right. As weird anassortment of Germans and foreigntourists as could have been dreamedup, ranging from a seventy- oreighty-year-old couple in Bavariancostume, to the bald-headed drunkacross the table from me. A desperate waitress bearing sixmugs of beer in each hand scurriedpast. They call them masses , by theway, not mugs. The bald-headedcharacter and I both held up a fingerand she slid two of the masses overto us and then hustled on. Down the hatch, the other said,holding up his mass in toast. To the ladies, I told him. Beforesipping, I said, You know, thetourist pamphlets say this stuff iseighteen per cent. That's nonsense.No beer is that strong. I took a longpull. He looked at me, waiting. I came up. Mistaken, I admitted. A mass or two apiece later he lookedcarefully at the name engraved onhis earthenware mug. Löwenbräu,he said. He took a small notebookfrom his pocket and a pencil, noteddown the word and returned thethings. That's a queer looking pencil youhave there, I told him. German? Venusian, he said. Oops, sorry.Shouldn't have said that. I had never heard of the brand soI skipped it. Next is the Hofbräu, he said. Next what? Baldy's conversationdidn't seem to hang together verywell. My pilgrimage, he told me. Allmy life I've been wanting to go backto an Oktoberfest and sample everyone of the seven brands of the bestbeer the world has ever known. I'monly as far as Löwenbräu. I'm afraidI'll never make it. I finished my mass . I'll helpyou, I told him. Very noble endeavor.Name is Simon. Arth, he said. How could youhelp? I'm still fresh—comparatively.I'll navigate you around. There areseven beer tents. How many have yougot through, so far? Two, counting this one, Arthsaid. I looked at him. It's going to bea chore, I said. You've already gota nice edge on. Outside, as we made our way tothe next tent, the fair looked likeevery big State-Fair ever seen, exceptit was bigger. Games, souvenirstands, sausage stands, rides, sideshows, and people, people, people. The Hofbräu tent was as overflowingas the last but we managed tofind two seats. The band was blaring, and fivethousand half-swacked voices wereroaring accompaniment. In Muenchen steht ein Hofbräuhaus! Eins, Zwei, G'sufa! At the G'sufa everybody uppedwith the mugs and drank each other'shealth. This is what I call a real beerbust, I said approvingly. Arth was waving to a waitress. Asin the Löwenbräu tent, a full quartwas the smallest amount obtainable. A beer later I said, I don't knowif you'll make it or not, Arth. Make what? All seven tents. Oh. A waitress was on her way by,mugs foaming over their rims. I gesturedto her for refills. Where are you from, Arth? Iasked him, in the way of makingconversation. 2183. 2183 where? He looked at me, closing one eyeto focus better. Oh, he said. Well,2183 South Street, ah, New Albuquerque. New Albuquerque? Where'sthat? Arth thought about it. Took anotherlong pull at the beer. Rightacross the way from old Albuquerque,he said finally. Maybe weought to be getting on to thePschorrbräu tent. Maybe we ought to eat somethingfirst, I said. I'm beginning to feelthis. We could get some of that barbecuedox. Arth closed his eyes in pain.Vegetarian, he said. Couldn't possiblyeat meat. Barbarous. Ugh. Well, we need some nourishment,I said. There's supposed to be considerablenourishment in beer. That made sense. I yelled, Fräulein!Zwei neu bier! <doc-sep></s>

Arth is a bald man at Oktoberfest. He is first introduced as a bald-headed drunk who sits across from Simon. They share a beer together and toast. After, Arth makes a note to write down the name engraved on his mug in a small notebook with a pencil. When Simon asks if he is German, Arth accidentally responds that his pencil is Venusian. Arth is very determined to fulfill his pilgrimage of trying every single beer at Oktoberfest, but he is disappointed that he will never make it. Simon asks him where he is from when they go to another tent, and Arth responds that he is from 2183 South St in New Albuquerque; it is situated right across Old Albuquerque. Arth also has a kind side to him, as he offers to take Simon to his hotel to rest for the night. He even offers Simon a box of pills to help with his hangover. When they go back to drinking again, he looks at Simon cautiously when the latter does not remember where he spent the night. Arth looks at Simon strangely as he goes back, even though he is initially portrayed as a friendly and kind bald man.

<s> There was a knock. Betty bounced up with Olympicagility and had the door swingingwide before the knocking was quitecompleted. He was old, little and had bugeyes behind pince-nez glasses. Hissuit was cut in the style of yesteryearbut when a suit costs two orthree hundred dollars you still retaincaste whatever the styling. Simon said unenthusiastically,Good morning, Mr. Oyster. He indicatedthe client's chair. Sit down,sir. The client fussed himself withBetty's assistance into the seat, bug-eyedSimon, said finally, You knowmy name, that's pretty good. Neversaw you before in my life. Stop fussingwith me, young lady. Your adin the phone book says you'll investigateanything. Anything, Simon said. Onlyone exception. Excellent. Do you believe in timetravel? Simon said nothing. Across theroom, where she had resumed herseat, Betty cleared her throat. WhenSimon continued to say nothing sheventured, Time travel is impossible. Why? Why? Yes, why? Betty looked to her boss for assistance.None was forthcoming. Thereought to be some very quick, positive,definite answer. She said, Well,for one thing, paradox. Suppose youhad a time machine and traveled backa hundred years or so and killed yourown great-grandfather. Then howcould you ever be born? Confound it if I know, the littlefellow growled. How? Simon said, Let's get to the point,what you wanted to see me about. I want to hire you to hunt me upsome time travelers, the old boysaid. Betty was too far in now to maintainher proper role of silent secretary.Time travelers, she said, notvery intelligently. The potential client sat more erect,obviously with intent to hold thefloor for a time. He removed thepince-nez glasses and pointed themat Betty. He said, Have you readmuch science fiction, Miss? Some, Betty admitted. Then you'll realize that there area dozen explanations of the paradoxesof time travel. Every writer inthe field worth his salt has explainedthem away. But to get on. It's mycontention that within a century orso man will have solved the problemsof immortality and eternal youth, andit's also my suspicion that he willeventually be able to travel in time.So convinced am I of these possibilitiesthat I am willing to gamble aportion of my fortune to investigatethe presence in our era of such timetravelers. Simon seemed incapable of carryingthe ball this morning, so Bettysaid, But ... Mr. Oyster, if thefuture has developed time travel whydon't we ever meet such travelers? Simon put in a word. The usualexplanation, Betty, is that they can'tafford to allow the space-time continuumtrack to be altered. If, say, atime traveler returned to a period oftwenty-five years ago and shot Hitler,then all subsequent history would bechanged. In that case, the time travelerhimself might never be born. Theyhave to tread mighty carefully. Mr. Oyster was pleased. I didn'texpect you to be so well informedon the subject, young man. Simon shrugged and fumbledagain with the aspirin bottle. <doc-sep> UNBORN TOMORROW BY MACK REYNOLDS Unfortunately , there was onlyone thing he could bring backfrom the wonderful future ...and though he didn't want to... nevertheless he did.... Illustrated by Freas Betty looked up fromher magazine. She saidmildly, You're late. Don't yell at me, Ifeel awful, Simon toldher. He sat down at his desk, passedhis tongue over his teeth in distaste,groaned, fumbled in a drawer for theaspirin bottle. He looked over at Betty and said,almost as though reciting, What Ineed is a vacation. What, Betty said, are you goingto use for money? Providence, Simon told herwhilst fiddling with the aspirin bottle,will provide. Hm-m-m. But before providingvacations it'd be nice if Providenceturned up a missing jewel deal, say.Something where you could deducethat actually the ruby ring had gonedown the drain and was caught in theelbow. Something that would netabout fifty dollars. Simon said, mournful of tone,Fifty dollars? Why not make it fivehundred? I'm not selfish, Betty said. AllI want is enough to pay me thisweek's salary. Money, Simon said. When youtook this job you said it was the romancethat appealed to you. Hm-m-m. I didn't know mostsleuthing amounted to snoopingaround department stores to check onthe clerks knocking down. Simon said, enigmatically, Nowit comes. <doc-sep> Mr. Oyster went on. I've beenconsidering the matter for some timeand— Simon held up a hand. There'sno use prolonging this. As I understandit, you're an elderly gentlemanwith a considerable fortune and yourealize that thus far nobody has succeededin taking it with him. Mr. Oyster returned his glasses totheir perch, bug-eyed Simon, but thennodded. Simon said, You want to hire meto find a time traveler and in somemanner or other—any manner willdo—exhort from him the secret ofeternal life and youth, which you figurethe future will have discovered.You're willing to pony up a part ofthis fortune of yours, if I can delivera bona fide time traveler. Right! Betty had been looking from oneto the other. Now she said, plaintively,But where are you going to findone of these characters—especially ifthey're interested in keeping hid? The old boy was the center again.I told you I'd been considering itfor some time. The Oktoberfest ,that's where they'd be! He seemedelated. Betty and Simon waited. The Oktoberfest , he repeated.The greatest festival the world hasever seen, the carnival, feria , fiesta to beat them all. Every year it's heldin Munich. Makes the New OrleansMardi gras look like a quiltingparty. He began to swing into thespirit of his description. It originallystarted in celebration of the weddingof some local prince a centuryand a half ago and the Bavarians hadsuch a bang-up time they've beenholding it every year since. TheMunich breweries do up a specialbeer, Marzenbräu they call it, andeach brewery opens a tremendous tenton the fair grounds which will holdfive thousand customers apiece. Millionsof liters of beer are put away,hundreds of thousands of barbecuedchickens, a small herd of oxen areroasted whole over spits, millions ofpair of weisswurst , a very specialsausage, millions upon millions ofpretzels— All right, Simon said. We'll acceptit. The Oktoberfest is one whaleof a wingding. <doc-sep></s>

Simon works with Betty investigating many cases at their office in New York. He initially has a terrible headache and has to take aspirin for his hangover. He is perceptive as well, knowing who Mr. Oyster is without having seen him before and informative about time travel. However, he does show a stubborn side when he refuses Mr. Oyster’s offer no matter how much money the other man offers him. Even though he could just create a false report for Mr. Oyster, he refuses to take the job. Simon later reveals to Betty that he has already experienced going to Oktoberfest three times and has brought nothing but multiple hangovers back. In the story he tells, Simon is very friendly towards Arth and tries to help him on his pilgrimage. He ends up getting extremely hungover and goes back to New York, which then resets the entire cycle of events again.

<s> Mr. Oyster went on. I've beenconsidering the matter for some timeand— Simon held up a hand. There'sno use prolonging this. As I understandit, you're an elderly gentlemanwith a considerable fortune and yourealize that thus far nobody has succeededin taking it with him. Mr. Oyster returned his glasses totheir perch, bug-eyed Simon, but thennodded. Simon said, You want to hire meto find a time traveler and in somemanner or other—any manner willdo—exhort from him the secret ofeternal life and youth, which you figurethe future will have discovered.You're willing to pony up a part ofthis fortune of yours, if I can delivera bona fide time traveler. Right! Betty had been looking from oneto the other. Now she said, plaintively,But where are you going to findone of these characters—especially ifthey're interested in keeping hid? The old boy was the center again.I told you I'd been considering itfor some time. The Oktoberfest ,that's where they'd be! He seemedelated. Betty and Simon waited. The Oktoberfest , he repeated.The greatest festival the world hasever seen, the carnival, feria , fiesta to beat them all. Every year it's heldin Munich. Makes the New OrleansMardi gras look like a quiltingparty. He began to swing into thespirit of his description. It originallystarted in celebration of the weddingof some local prince a centuryand a half ago and the Bavarians hadsuch a bang-up time they've beenholding it every year since. TheMunich breweries do up a specialbeer, Marzenbräu they call it, andeach brewery opens a tremendous tenton the fair grounds which will holdfive thousand customers apiece. Millionsof liters of beer are put away,hundreds of thousands of barbecuedchickens, a small herd of oxen areroasted whole over spits, millions ofpair of weisswurst , a very specialsausage, millions upon millions ofpretzels— All right, Simon said. We'll acceptit. The Oktoberfest is one whaleof a wingding. <doc-sep> I decided the hell with it. I tooka cab to the airport, presented my returnticket, told them I wanted toleave on the first obtainable plane toNew York. I'd spent two days at the Oktoberfest , and I'd had it. I got more guff there. Somethingwas wrong with the ticket, wrongdate or some such. But they fixedthat up. I never was clear on whatwas fouled up, some clerk's error,evidently. The trip back was as uninterestingas the one over. As the hangover beganto wear off—a little—I was almostsorry I hadn't been able to stay.If I'd only been able to get a room I would have stayed, I told myself. From Idlewild, I came directly tothe office rather than going to myapartment. I figured I might as wellcheck in with Betty. I opened the door and there Ifound Mr. Oyster sitting in the chairhe had been occupying four—or wasit five—days before when I'd left.I'd lost track of the time. I said to him, Glad you're here,sir. I can report. Ah, what was ityou came for? Impatient to hear ifI'd had any results? My mind wasspinning like a whirling dervish ina revolving door. I'd spent a wad ofhis money and had nothing I couldthink of to show for it; nothing butthe last stages of a grand-daddyhangover. Came for? Mr. Oyster snorted.I'm merely waiting for your girl tomake out my receipt. I thought youhad already left. You'll miss your plane, Bettysaid. There was suddenly a double dipof ice cream in my stomach. I walkedover to my desk and looked down atthe calendar. Mr. Oyster was saying somethingto the effect that if I didn't leave today,it would have to be tomorrow,that he hadn't ponied up that thousanddollars advance for anythingless than immediate service. Stuffinghis receipt in his wallet, he fussedhis way out the door. I said to Betty hopefully, I supposeyou haven't changed this calendarsince I left. Betty said, What's the matterwith you? You look funny. How didyour clothes get so mussed? You torethe top sheet off that calendar yourself,not half an hour ago, just beforethis marble-missing client camein. She added, irrelevantly, Timetravelers yet. I tried just once more. Uh, whendid you first see this Mr. Oyster? Never saw him before in mylife, she said. Not until he camein this morning. This morning, I said weakly. While Betty stared at me as thoughit was me that needed candling by ahead shrinker preparatory to beingsent off to a pressure cooker, I fishedin my pocket for my wallet, countedthe contents and winced at thepathetic remains of the thousand.I said pleadingly, Betty, listen,how long ago did I go out that door—onthe way to the airport? You've been acting sick all morning.You went out that door aboutten minutes ago, were gone aboutthree minutes, and then came back. See here, Mr. Oyster said (interruptingSimon's story), did yousay this was supposed to be amusing,young man? I don't find it so. Infact, I believe I am being ridiculed. Simon shrugged, put one hand tohis forehead and said, That's onlythe first chapter. There are twomore. I'm not interested in more, Mr.Oyster said. I suppose your pointwas to show me how ridiculous thewhole idea actually is. Very well,you've done it. Confound it. However,I suppose your time, even whenspent in this manner, has some value.Here is fifty dollars. And good day,sir! He slammed the door after himas he left. Simon winced at the noise, tookthe aspirin bottle from its drawer,took two, washed them down withwater from the desk carafe. Betty looked at him admiringly.Came to her feet, crossed over andtook up the fifty dollars. Week'swages, she said. I suppose that'sone way of taking care of a crackpot.But I'm surprised you didn'ttake his money and enjoy that vacationyou've been yearning about. I did, Simon groaned. Threetimes. Betty stared at him. You mean— Simon nodded, miserably. She said, But Simon . Fifty thousanddollars bonus. If that story wastrue, you should have gone backagain to Munich. If there was onetime traveler, there might havebeen— I keep telling you, Simon saidbitterly, I went back there threetimes. There were hundreds of them.Probably thousands. He took a deepbreath. Listen, we're just going tohave to forget about it. They're notgoing to stand for the space-timecontinuum track being altered. Ifsomething comes up that looks likeit might result in the track beingchanged, they set you right back atthe beginning and let things start—foryou—all over again. They justcan't allow anything to come backfrom the future and change thepast. You mean, Betty was suddenlyfurious at him, you've given up!Why this is the biggest thing— Whythe fifty thousand dollars is nothing.The future! Just think! Simon said wearily, There's justone thing you can bring back withyou from the future, a hangover compoundedof a gallon or so of Marzenbräu.What's more you can pileone on top of the other, and anotheron top of that! He shuddered. If you think I'mgoing to take another crack at thismerry-go-round and pile a fourthhangover on the three I'm alreadynursing, all at once, you can thinkagain. THE END Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Astounding Science Fiction June1959. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling andtypographical errors have been corrected without note.<doc-sep> There was a knock. Betty bounced up with Olympicagility and had the door swingingwide before the knocking was quitecompleted. He was old, little and had bugeyes behind pince-nez glasses. Hissuit was cut in the style of yesteryearbut when a suit costs two orthree hundred dollars you still retaincaste whatever the styling. Simon said unenthusiastically,Good morning, Mr. Oyster. He indicatedthe client's chair. Sit down,sir. The client fussed himself withBetty's assistance into the seat, bug-eyedSimon, said finally, You knowmy name, that's pretty good. Neversaw you before in my life. Stop fussingwith me, young lady. Your adin the phone book says you'll investigateanything. Anything, Simon said. Onlyone exception. Excellent. Do you believe in timetravel? Simon said nothing. Across theroom, where she had resumed herseat, Betty cleared her throat. WhenSimon continued to say nothing sheventured, Time travel is impossible. Why? Why? Yes, why? Betty looked to her boss for assistance.None was forthcoming. Thereought to be some very quick, positive,definite answer. She said, Well,for one thing, paradox. Suppose youhad a time machine and traveled backa hundred years or so and killed yourown great-grandfather. Then howcould you ever be born? Confound it if I know, the littlefellow growled. How? Simon said, Let's get to the point,what you wanted to see me about. I want to hire you to hunt me upsome time travelers, the old boysaid. Betty was too far in now to maintainher proper role of silent secretary.Time travelers, she said, notvery intelligently. The potential client sat more erect,obviously with intent to hold thefloor for a time. He removed thepince-nez glasses and pointed themat Betty. He said, Have you readmuch science fiction, Miss? Some, Betty admitted. Then you'll realize that there area dozen explanations of the paradoxesof time travel. Every writer inthe field worth his salt has explainedthem away. But to get on. It's mycontention that within a century orso man will have solved the problemsof immortality and eternal youth, andit's also my suspicion that he willeventually be able to travel in time.So convinced am I of these possibilitiesthat I am willing to gamble aportion of my fortune to investigatethe presence in our era of such timetravelers. Simon seemed incapable of carryingthe ball this morning, so Bettysaid, But ... Mr. Oyster, if thefuture has developed time travel whydon't we ever meet such travelers? Simon put in a word. The usualexplanation, Betty, is that they can'tafford to allow the space-time continuumtrack to be altered. If, say, atime traveler returned to a period oftwenty-five years ago and shot Hitler,then all subsequent history would bechanged. In that case, the time travelerhimself might never be born. Theyhave to tread mighty carefully. Mr. Oyster was pleased. I didn'texpect you to be so well informedon the subject, young man. Simon shrugged and fumbledagain with the aspirin bottle. <doc-sep></s>

The story that Simon tells relates back to Mr. Oyster’s initial request about time travelers because he is the one who time traveled. Although he calls it a funny story, the sequence of events he describes is all actual events he experiences. The entire purpose of Mr. Oyster’s request and his desire to spend a portion of his fortune is to find a time traveler and come to a conclusion that they exist. However, he fails to realize that the very person he is asking has time traveled. Since the events were repeated three times, Simon’s refusal now changes the flow of events in the near future to avoid a fourth hangover. Even though Mr. Oyster leaves angrily, Simon’s story serves as a true report of time traveling and fulfills Mr. Oyster’s request.

<s>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep> Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Analog March 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. ILLUSTRATED BY KRENKEL HIS MASTER'S VOICE ANALOG SCIENCE FACT · SCIENCE FICTION Spaceship McGuire had lots of knowledge—but no wisdom. He wassmart—but incredibly foolish. And, as a natural consequence, tended toask questions too profound for any philosopher—questions like Who areyou? By RANDALL GARRETT I'd been in Ravenhurst's office on the mountain-sized planetoid calledRaven's Rest only twice before. The third time was no better; ShalimarRavenhurst was one of the smartest operators in the Belt, but when itcame to personal relationships, he was utterly incompetent. He couldmake anyone dislike him without trying. When I entered the office, he was [3] sitting behind his mahogany desk,his eyes focused on the operation he was going through with a wineglassand a decanter. He didn't look up at me as he said: Sit down, Mr. Oak. Will you have some Madeira? I decided I might as well observe the pleasantries. There was no pointin my getting nasty until he did. Thank you, Mr. Ravenhurst, I will. He kept his eyes focused on his work: It isn't easy to pour wine on aplanetoid where the gee-pull is measured in fractions of a centimeterper second squared. It moves slowly, like ropy molasses, but you haveto be careful not to be fooled by that. The viscosity is just as lowas ever, and if you pour it from any great height, it will go scootingright out of the glass [4] again. The momentum it builds up is enough tomake it splash right out again in a slow-motion gush which gets it allover the place. Besides which, even if it didn't splash, it would take it so long tofall a few inches that you'd die of thirst waiting for it. Ravenhurst had evolved a technique from long years of practice.He tilted the glass and the bottle toward each other, their edgestouching, like you do when you're trying to pour beer without putting ahead on it. As soon as the wine wet the glass, the adhesive forces atwork would pull more wine into the wine glass. To get capillary actionon a low-gee asteroid, you don't need a capillary, by any means. Thenegative meniscus on the wine was something to see; the first timeyou see it, you get the eerie feeling that the glass is spinning andthrowing the wine up against the walls by centrifugal force. I took the glass he offered me (Careful! Don't slosh!) and sipped atit. Using squirt tubes would have been a hell of a lot easier andneater, but Ravenhurst liked to do things his way. He put the stopper back in the decanter, picked up his own glass andsipped appreciatively. Not until he put it back down on the desk againdid he raise his eyes and look at me for the first time since I'd comein. Mr. Oak, you have caused me considerable trouble. I thought we'd hashed all that out, Mr. Ravenhurst, I said, keepingmy voice level. [5] So had I. But it appears that there were more ramifications to youraction than we had at first supposed. His voice had the texture ofheavy linseed oil. He waited, as if he expected me to make some reply to that. WhenI didn't, he sighed slightly and went on. I fear that you haveinadvertently sabotaged McGuire. You were commissioned to preventsabotage, Mr. Oak, and I'm afraid that you abrogated your contract. I just continued to keep my voice calm. If you are trying to get backthe fee you gave me, we can always take it to court. I don't thinkyou'd win. Mr. Oak, he said heavily, I am not a fool, regardless of what yourown impression may be. If I were trying to get back that fee, I wouldhardly offer to pay you another one. I didn't think he was a fool. You don't get into the managerialbusiness and climb to the top and stay there unless you have brains.Ravenhurst was smart, all right; it was just that, when it came topersonal relationships, he wasn't very wise. Then stop all this yak about an abrogated contract and get to thepoint, I told him. I shall. I was merely trying to point out to you that it is throughyour own actions that I find myself in a very trying position, and thatyour sense of honor and ethics should induce you to rectify the damage. My honor and ethics are in fine shape, I said, but my interpretationof the concepts might not be quite [6] the same as yours. Get to thepoint. He took another sip of Madeira. The robotocists at Viking tellme that, in order to prevent any further ... ah ... sabotage byunauthorized persons, the MGYR-7 was constructed so that, afteractivation, the first man who addressed orders to it would thenceforthbe considered its ... ah ... master. As I understand it, the problem of defining the term 'human being'unambiguously to a robot is still unsolved. The robotocists felt thatit would be much easier to define a single individual. That wouldprevent the issuing of conflicting orders to a robot, provided thesingle individual were careful in giving orders himself. Now, it appears that you , Mr. Oak, were the first man to speak toMcGuire after he had been activated. Is that correct? Is that question purely rhetorical, I asked him, putting on my bestexpression of innocent interest. Or are you losing your memory? I hadexplained all that to him two weeks before, when I'd brought McGuireand the girl here, so that Ravenhurst would have a chance to cover upwhat had really happened. <doc-sep>Humphrey Fownes took out the dust jacket he'd found in the library. Heheld it up and carefully compared the spinning cloud in his bedroomwith the illustration. The cloud rose and spun, assuming the identicalshape of the illustration. It's a twister, he said softly. A Kansas twister! What, MacBride asked, his bravado slipping away again, what ... is atwister? The twister roared and moved out of the bedroom, out over the rear ofthe house toward the side of the dome. It says here, Fownes shoutedover the roaring, that Dorothy traveled from Kansas to Oz in a twisterand that ... and that Oz is a wonderful and mysterious land beyond theconfines of everyday living . MacBride's eyes and mouth were great zeros. Is there something I can turn? Lanfierre asked. Huge chunks of glass began to fall around them. Fownes! MacBride shouted. This is a direct order! Make it go back! But Fownes had already begun to run on toward the next house, dodgingmountainous puffs of glass as he went. Mrs. Deshazaway! he shouted.Yoo-hoo, Mrs. Deshazaway! The dome weevils were going berserk trying to keep up with theprecipitation. They whirred back and forth at frightful speed, then,emptied of molten glass, rushed to the Trough which they quicklyemptied and then rushed about empty-handed. Yoo-hoo! he yelled,running. The artificial sun vanished behind the mushrooming twister.Optimum temperature collapsed. Mrs. Deshazaway! Agnes , will youmarry me? Yoo-hoo! Lanfierre and Lieutenant MacBride leaned against their car and waited,dazed. There was quite a large fall of glass. <doc-sep></s>

Mr. Humphrey Fownes has been pickpocketed eleven times despite the weather being good. This is because he is an uncommonly preoccupied individual and has constantly been thinking about the weather for the entire day. The first person who pickpockets him is a bogus postman who jostles him while pretending to read a postal card. The next person who pickpockets him is a pretty girl who collides with him. The next people are two men who pretend to be in a heated argument. Humphrey continuously thinks about the weather outside; this allows the police to maintain tight surveillance of him. Lanfierre is one of the people in the orange car and thinks about Humphrey Fownes being unique. He tells Lieutenant MacBride that Fownes’ house sometimes shakes, which makes the other man frown. Lanfierre considers MacBride to be a barbarian because he is cynical and cannot appreciate the peculiar nature of Fownes. He goes on to tell him that the windows all close at the same time in the house. MacBride refuses to believe him and tells him to take a rest, but all of the windows close, and the house suddenly begins to shake. They continue to observe the man; Fownes goes into his house and begins to think about his dinner with Mrs. Deshazaway. The house begins to shake more, and he decides that repairs are a must. During his dinner, Mrs. Deshazaway explains how she will never marry again. The widow is a passionate woman, and she passionately tells him he forgot salt on his potatoes during the explanation of why they cannot marry because of the air. When she continues to refuse him, Fownes brings up the idea of leaving the dome city for freedom. She tells him that if they can leave, then she will let him call her by her first name. After the date, he goes to the library, where the old librarian tries to test him with old library cards. The story then cuts to a movement meeting, where the members discuss how the old society failed and the lack of a sound foreign policy. Fownes impatiently explains that he and his future wife must leave now, to which the leader explains that it is impossible because there is no sound foreign policy. When Fownes returns to the house, he finds MacBride in the doorway with dripping hair. MacBride yells that these are not optimum dome conditions, explaining that Lanfierre is in the upstairs bedroom. The entire dome air supply is going through his bedroom, and a strange black cloud appears. Fownes recognizes this as a Kansas twister and runs towards the next house for Mrs. Deshazaway. The dome glass has begun to fall, destroying the artificial sun and optimum temperature.

<s>Humphrey Fownes took out the dust jacket he'd found in the library. Heheld it up and carefully compared the spinning cloud in his bedroomwith the illustration. The cloud rose and spun, assuming the identicalshape of the illustration. It's a twister, he said softly. A Kansas twister! What, MacBride asked, his bravado slipping away again, what ... is atwister? The twister roared and moved out of the bedroom, out over the rear ofthe house toward the side of the dome. It says here, Fownes shoutedover the roaring, that Dorothy traveled from Kansas to Oz in a twisterand that ... and that Oz is a wonderful and mysterious land beyond theconfines of everyday living . MacBride's eyes and mouth were great zeros. Is there something I can turn? Lanfierre asked. Huge chunks of glass began to fall around them. Fownes! MacBride shouted. This is a direct order! Make it go back! But Fownes had already begun to run on toward the next house, dodgingmountainous puffs of glass as he went. Mrs. Deshazaway! he shouted.Yoo-hoo, Mrs. Deshazaway! The dome weevils were going berserk trying to keep up with theprecipitation. They whirred back and forth at frightful speed, then,emptied of molten glass, rushed to the Trough which they quicklyemptied and then rushed about empty-handed. Yoo-hoo! he yelled,running. The artificial sun vanished behind the mushrooming twister.Optimum temperature collapsed. Mrs. Deshazaway! Agnes , will youmarry me? Yoo-hoo! Lanfierre and Lieutenant MacBride leaned against their car and waited,dazed. There was quite a large fall of glass. <doc-sep>Fownes put his fork down. Dear Mrs. Deshazaway, he started to say. And of course when they do find out and they ask you why, Mr. Fownes,you'll tell them. No, no heroics, please! When they ask a man aquestion he always answers and you will too. You'll tell them I wantedto be courted and when they hear that they'll be around to ask me afew questions. You see, we're both a bit queer. I hadn't thought of that, Fownes said quietly. Oh, it doesn't really matter. I'll join Andrew, Curt, Norman— That won't be necessary, Fownes said with unusual force. With alldue respect to Andrew, Curt, Norman and Alphonse, I might as well statehere and now I have other plans for you, Mrs. Deshazaway. But my dear Mr. Fownes, she said, leaning across the table. We'relost, you and I. Not if we could leave the dome, Fownes said quietly. That's impossible! How? In no hurry, now that he had the widow's complete attention, Fownesleaned across the table and whispered: Fresh air, Mrs. Deshazaway?Space? Miles and miles of space where the real-estate monopoly hasno control whatever? Where the wind blows across prairies ; or isit the other way around? No matter. How would you like that , Mrs.Deshazaway? Breathing somewhat faster than usual, the widow rested her chin on hertwo hands. Pray continue, she said. Endless vistas of moonlight and roses? April showers, Mrs. Deshazaway.And June, which as you may know follows directly upon April and issupposed to be the month of brides, of marrying. June also lies beyondthe dome. I see. And , Mr. Fownes added, his voice a honeyed whisper, they saythat somewhere out in the space and the roses and the moonlight,the sleeping equinox yawns and rises because on a certain day it's vernal and that's when it roams the Open Country where geigers nolonger scintillate. My. Mrs. Deshazaway rose, paced slowly to the window and then cameback to the table, standing directly over Fownes. If you can get usoutside the dome, she said, out where a man stays warm long enoughfor his wife to get to know him ... if you can do that, Mr. Fownes ...you may call me Agnes. <doc-sep> Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Analog March 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. ILLUSTRATED BY KRENKEL HIS MASTER'S VOICE ANALOG SCIENCE FACT · SCIENCE FICTION Spaceship McGuire had lots of knowledge—but no wisdom. He wassmart—but incredibly foolish. And, as a natural consequence, tended toask questions too profound for any philosopher—questions like Who areyou? By RANDALL GARRETT I'd been in Ravenhurst's office on the mountain-sized planetoid calledRaven's Rest only twice before. The third time was no better; ShalimarRavenhurst was one of the smartest operators in the Belt, but when itcame to personal relationships, he was utterly incompetent. He couldmake anyone dislike him without trying. When I entered the office, he was [3] sitting behind his mahogany desk,his eyes focused on the operation he was going through with a wineglassand a decanter. He didn't look up at me as he said: Sit down, Mr. Oak. Will you have some Madeira? I decided I might as well observe the pleasantries. There was no pointin my getting nasty until he did. Thank you, Mr. Ravenhurst, I will. He kept his eyes focused on his work: It isn't easy to pour wine on aplanetoid where the gee-pull is measured in fractions of a centimeterper second squared. It moves slowly, like ropy molasses, but you haveto be careful not to be fooled by that. The viscosity is just as lowas ever, and if you pour it from any great height, it will go scootingright out of the glass [4] again. The momentum it builds up is enough tomake it splash right out again in a slow-motion gush which gets it allover the place. Besides which, even if it didn't splash, it would take it so long tofall a few inches that you'd die of thirst waiting for it. Ravenhurst had evolved a technique from long years of practice.He tilted the glass and the bottle toward each other, their edgestouching, like you do when you're trying to pour beer without putting ahead on it. As soon as the wine wet the glass, the adhesive forces atwork would pull more wine into the wine glass. To get capillary actionon a low-gee asteroid, you don't need a capillary, by any means. Thenegative meniscus on the wine was something to see; the first timeyou see it, you get the eerie feeling that the glass is spinning andthrowing the wine up against the walls by centrifugal force. I took the glass he offered me (Careful! Don't slosh!) and sipped atit. Using squirt tubes would have been a hell of a lot easier andneater, but Ravenhurst liked to do things his way. He put the stopper back in the decanter, picked up his own glass andsipped appreciatively. Not until he put it back down on the desk againdid he raise his eyes and look at me for the first time since I'd comein. Mr. Oak, you have caused me considerable trouble. I thought we'd hashed all that out, Mr. Ravenhurst, I said, keepingmy voice level. [5] So had I. But it appears that there were more ramifications to youraction than we had at first supposed. His voice had the texture ofheavy linseed oil. He waited, as if he expected me to make some reply to that. WhenI didn't, he sighed slightly and went on. I fear that you haveinadvertently sabotaged McGuire. You were commissioned to preventsabotage, Mr. Oak, and I'm afraid that you abrogated your contract. I just continued to keep my voice calm. If you are trying to get backthe fee you gave me, we can always take it to court. I don't thinkyou'd win. Mr. Oak, he said heavily, I am not a fool, regardless of what yourown impression may be. If I were trying to get back that fee, I wouldhardly offer to pay you another one. I didn't think he was a fool. You don't get into the managerialbusiness and climb to the top and stay there unless you have brains.Ravenhurst was smart, all right; it was just that, when it came topersonal relationships, he wasn't very wise. Then stop all this yak about an abrogated contract and get to thepoint, I told him. I shall. I was merely trying to point out to you that it is throughyour own actions that I find myself in a very trying position, and thatyour sense of honor and ethics should induce you to rectify the damage. My honor and ethics are in fine shape, I said, but my interpretationof the concepts might not be quite [6] the same as yours. Get to thepoint. He took another sip of Madeira. The robotocists at Viking tellme that, in order to prevent any further ... ah ... sabotage byunauthorized persons, the MGYR-7 was constructed so that, afteractivation, the first man who addressed orders to it would thenceforthbe considered its ... ah ... master. As I understand it, the problem of defining the term 'human being'unambiguously to a robot is still unsolved. The robotocists felt thatit would be much easier to define a single individual. That wouldprevent the issuing of conflicting orders to a robot, provided thesingle individual were careful in giving orders himself. Now, it appears that you , Mr. Oak, were the first man to speak toMcGuire after he had been activated. Is that correct? Is that question purely rhetorical, I asked him, putting on my bestexpression of innocent interest. Or are you losing your memory? I hadexplained all that to him two weeks before, when I'd brought McGuireand the girl here, so that Ravenhurst would have a chance to cover upwhat had really happened. <doc-sep></s>

Mrs. Agnes Deshazaway is a widow who had previously married four men. All of her four husbands died; she claims that she will never marry again. However, she is also considered to be a passionate woman who does everything passionately. Whether it be talking, cooking, dressing, everything about her is passionate. She also has uncontrollable dynamism, and Fownes remarks that he has never known anyone like her. Despite her passion, she is also self-conscious of what other people think of her, telling Fownes that there is a rumor that she is a cannibal. She blames her husbands’ deaths on the air and gets angry when Fownes says that he does not mind. Despite how reluctant she is to marry Fownes, Mrs. Deshazaway also has a hopeful side to her. She is quite attentive when Fownes tells her the possibility of leaving the dome, telling him that she will allow him to marry her if the both of them can leave.

<s> THE GIANTS RETURN By ROBERT ABERNATHY Earth set itself grimly to meet them with corrosive fire, determined to blast them back to the stars. But they erred in thinking the Old Ones were too big to be clever. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1949. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] In the last hours the star ahead had grown brighter by many magnitudes,and had changed its color from a dazzling blue through white to thenormal yellow, of a GO sun. That was the Doppler effect as the star'sradial velocity changed relative to the Quest III , as for forty hoursthe ship had decelerated. They had seen many such stars come near out of the galaxy's glitteringbackdrop, and had seen them dwindle, turn red and go out as the QuestIII drove on its way once more, lashed by despair toward the speed oflight, leaving behind the mockery of yet another solitary and lifelessluminary unaccompanied by worlds where men might dwell. They had grownsated with the sight of wonders—of multiple systems of giant stars, ofnebulae that sprawled in empty flame across light years. But now unwonted excitement possessed the hundred-odd members of the Quest III's crew. It was a subdued excitement; men and women, theycame and stood quietly gazing into the big vision screens that showedthe oncoming star, and there were wide-eyed children who had been bornin the ship and had never seen a planet. The grownups talked in lowvoices, in tones of mingled eagerness and apprehension, of what mightlie at the long journey's end. For the Quest III was coming home; thesun ahead was the Sun, whose rays had warmed their lives' beginning. <doc-sep>Humphrey Fownes took out the dust jacket he'd found in the library. Heheld it up and carefully compared the spinning cloud in his bedroomwith the illustration. The cloud rose and spun, assuming the identicalshape of the illustration. It's a twister, he said softly. A Kansas twister! What, MacBride asked, his bravado slipping away again, what ... is atwister? The twister roared and moved out of the bedroom, out over the rear ofthe house toward the side of the dome. It says here, Fownes shoutedover the roaring, that Dorothy traveled from Kansas to Oz in a twisterand that ... and that Oz is a wonderful and mysterious land beyond theconfines of everyday living . MacBride's eyes and mouth were great zeros. Is there something I can turn? Lanfierre asked. Huge chunks of glass began to fall around them. Fownes! MacBride shouted. This is a direct order! Make it go back! But Fownes had already begun to run on toward the next house, dodgingmountainous puffs of glass as he went. Mrs. Deshazaway! he shouted.Yoo-hoo, Mrs. Deshazaway! The dome weevils were going berserk trying to keep up with theprecipitation. They whirred back and forth at frightful speed, then,emptied of molten glass, rushed to the Trough which they quicklyemptied and then rushed about empty-handed. Yoo-hoo! he yelled,running. The artificial sun vanished behind the mushrooming twister.Optimum temperature collapsed. Mrs. Deshazaway! Agnes , will youmarry me? Yoo-hoo! Lanfierre and Lieutenant MacBride leaned against their car and waited,dazed. There was quite a large fall of glass. <doc-sep>He was still thinking about temperature and humidity when a pretty girlhappened along with something in her eye. They collided. She got hisright and left jacket pockets. It was much too much for coincidence.The sidewalk was wide enough to allow four people to pass at one time.He should surely have become suspicious when two men engaged in aheated argument came along. In the ensuing contretemps they emptied hisrear pants pockets, got his wristwatch and restored the contents of thehandkerchief pocket. It all went off very smoothly, like a game of putand take—the sole difference being that Humphrey Fownes had no idea hewas playing. There was an occasional tinkle of falling glass. It fell on the streets and houses, making small geysers of shiny mist,hitting with a gentle musical sound, like the ephemeral droppings ofa celesta. It was precipitation peculiar to a dome: feather-lightfragments showering harmlessly on the city from time to time. Domeweevils, their metal arms reaching out with molten glass, roamed thehuge casserole, ceaselessly patching and repairing. Humphrey Fownes strode through the puffs of falling glass stillintrigued by a temperature that was always 59 degrees, by a humiditythat was always 47%, by weather that was always Optimum. It was thisrather than skill that enabled the police to maintain such a tightsurveillance on him, a surveillance that went to the extent of gettinghis fingerprints off the postman's bag, and which photographed, X-rayedand chemically analyzed the contents of his pockets before returningthem. Two blocks away from his home a careless housewife spilled afive-pound bag of flour as he was passing. It was really plaster ofParis. He left his shoe prints, stride measurement, height, weight andhandedness behind. By the time Fownes reached his front door an entire dossier completewith photographs had been prepared and was being read by two men in anorange patrol car parked down the street. <doc-sep></s>

The story is set inside a dome city with an artificial sun and optimal weather conditions. Fownes first strolls down a quiet residential avenue lined with private houses. Although the weather is generally cloudless, there are light showers that make small geysers of shiny mist. His house is also noted to be located right next to Mrs. Deshazaway’s house. Inside of an orange car, Lanfierre and MacBride watch him. Fownes’ house has a porch and a bootleg pipe connected into the dome blower system. His downstairs closet contains the Master Mechanism. The illusion he sees is of a red sun setting brightly, marred by an occasional arcover that leaves the scent of ozone. There is a garden outside as well, and a gigantic moon hidden in a large area of the sky. Neon large roses are found in the garden, and their colors change from red to violet. Inside of his bedroom closet upstairs, there is a rainmaker. The outside world that Fownes describes to Mrs. Deshazaway, outside of the dome, is one with miles and miles of space. The real-estate monopoly has no control, and the windows blow across prairies. When Fownes goes to the library, the place is described as a shattered and depressing place. It is used very infrequently, filled with given over government publications and censored old books with holes in them. The librarian's desk has ancient library cards that are almost impossible to read.

<s>He was still thinking about temperature and humidity when a pretty girlhappened along with something in her eye. They collided. She got hisright and left jacket pockets. It was much too much for coincidence.The sidewalk was wide enough to allow four people to pass at one time.He should surely have become suspicious when two men engaged in aheated argument came along. In the ensuing contretemps they emptied hisrear pants pockets, got his wristwatch and restored the contents of thehandkerchief pocket. It all went off very smoothly, like a game of putand take—the sole difference being that Humphrey Fownes had no idea hewas playing. There was an occasional tinkle of falling glass. It fell on the streets and houses, making small geysers of shiny mist,hitting with a gentle musical sound, like the ephemeral droppings ofa celesta. It was precipitation peculiar to a dome: feather-lightfragments showering harmlessly on the city from time to time. Domeweevils, their metal arms reaching out with molten glass, roamed thehuge casserole, ceaselessly patching and repairing. Humphrey Fownes strode through the puffs of falling glass stillintrigued by a temperature that was always 59 degrees, by a humiditythat was always 47%, by weather that was always Optimum. It was thisrather than skill that enabled the police to maintain such a tightsurveillance on him, a surveillance that went to the extent of gettinghis fingerprints off the postman's bag, and which photographed, X-rayedand chemically analyzed the contents of his pockets before returningthem. Two blocks away from his home a careless housewife spilled afive-pound bag of flour as he was passing. It was really plaster ofParis. He left his shoe prints, stride measurement, height, weight andhandedness behind. By the time Fownes reached his front door an entire dossier completewith photographs had been prepared and was being read by two men in anorange patrol car parked down the street. <doc-sep>Humphrey Fownes took out the dust jacket he'd found in the library. Heheld it up and carefully compared the spinning cloud in his bedroomwith the illustration. The cloud rose and spun, assuming the identicalshape of the illustration. It's a twister, he said softly. A Kansas twister! What, MacBride asked, his bravado slipping away again, what ... is atwister? The twister roared and moved out of the bedroom, out over the rear ofthe house toward the side of the dome. It says here, Fownes shoutedover the roaring, that Dorothy traveled from Kansas to Oz in a twisterand that ... and that Oz is a wonderful and mysterious land beyond theconfines of everyday living . MacBride's eyes and mouth were great zeros. Is there something I can turn? Lanfierre asked. Huge chunks of glass began to fall around them. Fownes! MacBride shouted. This is a direct order! Make it go back! But Fownes had already begun to run on toward the next house, dodgingmountainous puffs of glass as he went. Mrs. Deshazaway! he shouted.Yoo-hoo, Mrs. Deshazaway! The dome weevils were going berserk trying to keep up with theprecipitation. They whirred back and forth at frightful speed, then,emptied of molten glass, rushed to the Trough which they quicklyemptied and then rushed about empty-handed. Yoo-hoo! he yelled,running. The artificial sun vanished behind the mushrooming twister.Optimum temperature collapsed. Mrs. Deshazaway! Agnes , will youmarry me? Yoo-hoo! Lanfierre and Lieutenant MacBride leaned against their car and waited,dazed. There was quite a large fall of glass. <doc-sep> A FALL OF GLASS By STANLEY R. LEE Illustrated by DILLON [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine October 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The weatherman was always right: Temperature, 59; humidity, 47%; occasional light showers—but of what? The pockets of Mr. Humphrey Fownes were being picked outrageously. It was a splendid day. The temperature was a crisp 59 degrees, thehumidity a mildly dessicated 47%. The sun was a flaming orange ball ina cloudless blue sky. His pockets were picked eleven times. It should have been difficult. Under the circumstances it was amasterpiece of pocket picking. What made it possible was HumphreyFownes' abstraction; he was an uncommonly preoccupied individual. Hewas strolling along a quiet residential avenue: small private houses,one after another, a place of little traffic and minimum distractions.But he was thinking about weather, which was an unusual subject tobegin with for a person living in a domed city. He was thinking sodeeply about it that it never occurred to him that entirely too manypeople were bumping into him. He was thinking about Optimum DomeConditions (a crisp 59 degrees, a mildly dessicated 47%) when a boguspostman, who pretended to be reading a postal card, jostled him. In theconfusion of spilled letters and apologies from both sides, the postmanrifled Fownes's handkerchief and inside jacket pockets. <doc-sep></s>

Humphrey Fownes is an interesting man who always seems to be preoccupied with the weather. Despite it being optimal conditions, he does not seem to notice anything around him even when he is being pickpocketed. He owns an assortment of machinery, capable of creating his ideal illusions and even affecting the weather outside. It is revealed that most of this is part of his plan to leave the dome. Fownes is a very persistent person as well, trying his very hardest to convince Mrs. Deshazaway to marry him even after she rejects his offer. He is stubborn, too, especially when the leader of The Movement explains that they cannot just leave the dome without a sound foreign policy. No matter what, he is determined to leave the dome and marry the widow. However, his plans seem to finally come together when MacBride and Lanfierre mess with the wheel in his house. When the dome begins to break, Fownes sees this as an opportunity and becomes excited at the thought of finally leaving this dome and living in the outside world with his future wife.

<s>Fownes stopped on the porch to brush the plaster of paris off hisshoes. He hadn't seen the patrol car and this intense preoccupationof his was also responsible for the dancing house—he simply hadn'tnoticed. There was a certain amount of vibration, of course. Hehad a bootleg pipe connected into the dome blower system, and thehigh-pressure air caused some buffeting against the thin walls of thehouse. At least, he called it buffeting; he'd never thought to watchfrom outside. He went in and threw his jacket on the sofa, there being no roomleft in the closets. Crossing the living room he stopped to twist adraw-pull. Every window slammed shut. Tight as a kite, he thought, satisfied. He continued on toward thecloset at the foot of the stairs and then stopped again. Was thatright? No, snug as a hug in a rug . He went on, thinking: The olddevils. The downstairs closet was like a great watch case, a profusion ofwheels surrounding the Master Mechanism, which was a miniature see-sawthat went back and forth 365-1/4 times an hour. The wheels had acurious stateliness about them. They were all quite old, salvaged fromgrandfather's clocks and music boxes and they went around in gracefulcircles at the rate of 30 and 31 times an hour ... although therewas one slightly eccentric cam that vacillated between 28 and 29. Hewatched as they spun and flashed in the darkness, and then set them forseven o'clock in the evening, April seventh, any year. Outside, the domed city vanished. It was replaced by an illusion. Or, as Fownes hoped it might appear,the illusion of the domed city vanished and was replaced by a moresatisfactory, and, for his specific purpose, more functional, illusion.Looking through the window he saw only a garden. Instead of an orange sun at perpetual high noon, there was a red sunsetting brilliantly, marred only by an occasional arcover which leftthe smell of ozone in the air. There was also a gigantic moon. It hid ahuge area of sky, and it sang. The sun and moon both looked down upon agarden that was itself scintillant, composed largely of neon roses. Moonlight, he thought, and roses. Satisfactory. And cocktails fortwo. Blast, he'd never be able to figure that one out! He watched asthe moon played, Oh, You Beautiful Doll and the neon roses flashedslowly from red to violet, then went back to the closet and turned onthe scent. The house began to smell like an immensely concentrated roseas the moon shifted to People Will Say We're In Love . <doc-sep>Verana snapped her fingers. So that's why the aliens read Marie'smind! They wanted to learn our language so they could talk to us! Kane whirled in a complete circle, glaring at each of the four walls.Where are you? Who are you? I'm located in a part of the ship you can't reach. I'm a machine. Is anyone else aboard besides ourselves? No. I control the ship. Although the voice spoke without stiltedphrases, the tone was cold and mechanical. What are your—your masters going to do with us? Marie askedanxiously. You won't be harmed. My masters merely wish to question and examineyou. Thousands of years ago, they wondered what your race would be likewhen it developed to the space-flight stage. They left this ship onyour Moon only because they were curious. My masters have no animositytoward your race, only compassion and curiosity. I remembered the way antigravity rays had shoved Miller from the shipand asked the machine, Why didn't you let our fifth member board theship? The trip to my makers' planet will take six months. There are food,oxygen and living facilities for four only of your race. I had toprevent the fifth from entering the ship. Come on, Kane ordered. We'll search this ship room by room and we'llfind some way to make it take us back to Earth. It's useless, the ship warned us. For five hours, we minutely examined every room. We had no tools toforce our way through solid metal walls to the engine or control rooms.The only things in the ship that could be lifted and carried about werethe containers of food and alien games. None were sufficiently heavy orhard enough to put even a scratch in the heavy metal. <doc-sep>He rubbed his chin critically. It seemed all right. A dreamy sunset,an enchanted moon, flowers, scent. They were all purely speculative of course. He had no idea how a rosereally smelled—or looked for that matter. Not to mention a moon. Butthen, neither did the widow. He'd have to be confident, assertive. Insist on it. I tell you, my dear, this is a genuine realisticromantic moon. Now, does it do anything to your pulse? Do you feel icyfingers marching up and down your spine? His own spine didn't seem to be affected. But then he hadn't read thatbook on ancient mores and courtship customs. How really odd the ancients were. Seduction seemed to be an incrediblylong and drawn-out process, accompanied by a considerable amountof falsification. Communication seemed virtually impossible. Nomeant any number of things, depending on the tone of voice and thecircumstances. It could mean yes, it could mean ask me again later onthis evening. He went up the stairs to the bedroom closet and tried the rain-maker,thinking roguishly: Thou shalt not inundate. The risks he was taking!A shower fell gently on the garden and a male chorus began to chant Singing in the Rain . Undiminished, the yellow moon and the red suncontinued to be brilliant, although the sun occasionally arced over anddemolished several of the neon roses. The last wheel in the bedroom closet was a rather elegant steeringwheel from an old 1995 Studebaker. This was on the bootleg pipe; hegingerly turned it. Far below in the cellar there was a rumble and then the soft whistle ofwinds came to him. He went downstairs to watch out the living room window. This wasimportant; the window had a really fixed attitude about air currents.The neon roses bent and tinkled against each other as the wind rose andthe moon shook a trifle as it whispered Cuddle Up a Little Closer . He watched with folded arms, considering how he would start. My dearMrs. Deshazaway. Too formal. They'd be looking out at the romanticgarden; time to be a bit forward. My very dear Mrs. Deshazaway. No.Contrived. How about a simple, Dear Mrs. Deshazaway . That might beit. I was wondering, seeing as how it's so late, if you wouldn'trather stay over instead of going home.... Preoccupied, he hadn't noticed the winds building up, didn't hear theshaking and rattling of the pipes. There were attic pipes connectedto wall pipes and wall pipes connected to cellar pipes, and they madeone gigantic skeleton that began to rattle its bones and dance ashigh-pressure air from the dome blower rushed in, slowly opening theStudebaker valve wider and wider.... The neon roses thrashed about, extinguishing each other. The red sunshot off a mass of sparks and then quickly sank out of sight. The moonfell on the garden and rolled ponderously along, crooning When theBlue of the Night Meets the Gold of the Day . The shaking house finally woke him up. He scrambled upstairs to theStudebaker wheel and shut it off. At the window again, he sighed. Repairs were in order. And it wasn'tthe first time the winds got out of line. Why didn't she marry him and save all this bother? He shut it all downand went out the front door, wondering about the rhyme of the months,about stately August and eccentric February and romantic April. April.Its days were thirty and it followed September. And all the rest havethirty-one. What a strange people, the ancients! He still didn't see the orange car parked down the street. <doc-sep></s>

The Master Mechanism in the downstairs closet is similar to a watch being inside of a great watch case. There is a profusion of wheels surrounding it, and the Mechanism itself is a miniature see-saw that goes back and forth 365-1/4 times an hour. The wheels are salvaged from grandfather’s clocks and music boxes, going around in graceful circles at a rate of 30 to 31 times an hour. However, there is one eccentric cam that goes between 28 and 29. Fownes also sets the time to seven o’clock on April 7th of any year. This Master Mechanism is significant because it is capable of showing the ideal illusion to Fownes. He uses this Mechanism to envision his ideal life outside of the dome, and it gives him the home that he hopes to see instead of the one that he is currently living inside of the dome. These illusions also motivate him to try and find a way to leave the dome with the widow. The Master Mechanism serves as a motivator for Fownes, and it allows him to envision his dreams into a form of reality.

<s> SURVIVAL TACTICS By AL SEVCIK ILLUSTRATOR NOVICK The robots were built to serveMan; to do his work, see to hiscomforts, make smooth his way.Then the robots figured out anadditional service—putting Manout of his misery. <doc-sep>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep>I can't take the time to explain it all. I have too much to do. Justthree of us—myself and my two sons. My wife lost her mind. I shouldhave helped her as I'm helping you. I don't understand, Harry said. I remember people, and things, andwhere are they now? Dead? People can die, but farms, cities.... I haven't the time, the doctor repeated, voice rising. I have to runa world. Three of us, to run a world! I built it as best I could, buthow large could I make it? The money. The years and years of work. Thepeople calling me insane when they found out ... but a few giving memore money, and the work going on. And those few caught like everyoneelse, unprepared when the holocaust started, unprepared and unable toreach my world. So they died. As I knew they would. As they should haveknown they would. Harry felt the rumbling beneath him. Engines? You survived, the doctor said. Your wife. A few hundred others inthe rural areas. One other family in your area. I survived becauseI lived for survival, like a mole deep in the earth, expecting thecatastrophe every minute. I survived because I gave up living tosurvive. He laughed, high and thin. His son said, Please, Dad.... No! I want to talk to someone sane ! You and Petey and I—we're allinsane, you know. Three years now, playing God, waiting for some land,any land, to become habitable. And knowing everything, and surroundedby people who are sane only because I made sure they would knownothing. He stepped forward, glaring at Harry. Now do you understand?I went across the country, picking up a few of the few left alive. Mostwere farmers, and even where some weren't I picked the farmers anyway.Because farmers are what we'll need, and all the rest can evolve later.I put you and the others, eighty-six all told, from every section ofthe country, on my world, the only uncontaminated land left. I gaveyou back your old lives. I couldn't give you big crops because wedon't need big crops. We would only exhaust our limited soil with bigcrops. But I gave you vegetable gardens and livestock and, best of all, sanity ! I wiped the insane moments from your minds. I gave you peaceand consigned myself, my sons, my own wife.... He choked and stopped. Stan ran across the room to the switch. Harry watched him, and hisbrain struggled with an impossible concept. He heard the engines andremembered the ocean on two sides; on four sides had he bothered tocheck south and east; on all sides if that fence continued to curveinward. Ocean, and there was no ocean in Iowa. And this wasn't Iowa. The explosions had ripped the world, and he'd tried to get to town tosave Davie, and there'd been no town and there'd been no people andthere'd been only death and poison in the air and even those few peopleleft had begun to die, and then the truck with the huge trailer hadcome, the gleaming trailer with the little man and his trembling wifeand his two sons.... <doc-sep></s>

Alan is walking when he hears a sudden crash that hangs sharply in the air. He loses his footing and trips, realizing that there is a possibility of blaster fighting. He hurries to mark an X on a tree for his position and heads back to the clearing of the temporary camp site. This place is home to the only eleven humans, with Alan, on the planet of Waiamea. Once Alan returns to the site, he observes the killer robots and praises Pete for getting them to work. However, when the robots turn on him, he realizes that the robots must have been programmed to pick up human brain waves. He thinks back to Penny, a girl he married three weeks ago who will be arriving with the rest of the colonists tomorrow. This becomes his reason to live against the killer robots, and he observes the killer robots. He fires into the undergrowth and berates himself for not loading fresh cells in the morning as the robot gets louder. He is injured by one and cries out as he feels himself dying. As the robot comes towards him again, he understands what it means to live and forces himself to keep walking. Alan then hugs the bank as pure electricity arches over him, sliding slowly and away from the machine above. The robot trembles and suddenly falls; this gives Alan an opportunity to tackle it. The two struggle, but Alan takes a hunting knife out and jams it into the robot. He wonders how Pete managed to create these robots so perfectly. Suddenly, he hears an approaching robot and realizes that they communicate with each other even if one of them is jammed. Alan decides to run towards the camp because he realizes that’s where the brain of the robots is located. Shortly after running, he finds himself lost because the camp has not appeared in sight yet. He tries to think back to where the camp could be and narrowly misses getting blasted by one of the killer robots. When he fires the pocket blaster, it cancels out the radio transmission from the computer to the robot; Alan sees this as an opportunity to go towards the headquarters building. His blaster suddenly quits, but he manages to hurl a pile of dirt and insects at the robots. He goes into the room quickly as the robot continues to blast. The robot aims point blank at him as he hurls himself towards the red-clad safety switch. Everything then fades to black. When Alan wakes up again, there is a young man wearing a medical insignia telling him that he had hit the switch three days ago. Suddenly, his wife appears, and they hold each other tight.

<s> There was a sudden crashthat hung sharply in the air,as if a tree had been hit bylightning some distance away.Then another. Alan stopped,puzzled. Two more blasts, quicklytogether, and the sound of ascream faintly. Frowning, worrying about thesounds, Alan momentarily forgotto watch his step until his footsuddenly plunged into an anthill, throwing him to the junglefloor. Damn! He cursed again,for the tenth time, and stooduncertainly in the dimness.From tall, moss-shrouded trees,wrist-thick vines hung quietly,scraping the spongy ground likethe tentacles of some monstroustree-bound octopus. Fitful littleplants grew straggly in theshadows of the mossy trunks,forming a dense underbrush thatmade walking difficult. At middaysome few of the blue sun'srays filtered through to thejungle floor, but now, late afternoonon the planet, the shadowswere long and gloomy. Alan peered around him at thevine-draped shadows, listeningto the soft rustlings and fainttwig-snappings of life in thejungle. Two short, poppingsounds echoed across the stillness,drowned out almost immediatelyand silenced by anexplosive crash. Alan started,Blaster fighting! But it can'tbe! Suddenly anxious, he slasheda hurried X in one of the treesto mark his position then turnedto follow a line of similar marksback through the jungle. Hetried to run, but vines blockedhis way and woody shrubscaught at his legs, tripping himand holding him back. Then,through the trees he saw theclearing of the camp site, thetemporary home for the scoutship and the eleven men who,with Alan, were the only humanson the jungle planet, Waiamea. Stepping through the lowshrubbery at the edge of thesite, he looked across the openarea to the two temporary structures,the camp headquarterswhere the power supplies andthe computer were; and thesleeping quarters. Beyond, nosehigh, stood the silver scout shipthat had brought the advanceexploratory party of scientistsand technicians to Waiameathree days before. Except for afew of the killer robots rollingslowly around the camp site ontheir quiet treads, there was noone about. So, they've finally got thosethings working. Alan smiledslightly. Guess that means Iowe Pete a bourbon-and-sodafor sure. Anybody who canbuild a robot that hunts by homingin on animals' mind impulses ...He stepped forwardjust as a roar of blue flame dissolvedthe branches of a tree,barely above his head. Without pausing to think,Alan leaped back, and fellsprawling over a bush just asone of the robots rolled silentlyup from the right, lowering itsblaster barrel to aim directly athis head. Alan froze. My God,Pete built those things wrong! Suddenly a screeching whirlwindof claws and teeth hurleditself from the smolderingbranches and crashed against therobot, clawing insanely at theantenna and blaster barrel.With an awkward jerk the robotswung around and fired its blaster,completely dissolving thelower half of the cat creaturewhich had clung across the barrel.But the back pressure of thecat's body overloaded the dischargecircuits. The robot startedto shake, then clicked sharplyas an overload relay snappedand shorted the blaster cells.The killer turned and rolled backtowards the camp, leaving Alanalone. Shakily, Alan crawled a fewfeet back into the undergrowthwhere he could lie and watch thecamp, but not himself be seen.Though visibility didn't makeany difference to the robots, hefelt safer, somehow, hidden. Heknew now what the shootingsounds had been and why therehadn't been anyone around thecamp site. A charred blob lyingin the grass of the clearing confirmedhis hypothesis. His stomachfelt sick. I suppose, he muttered tohimself, that Pete assembledthese robots in a batch and thenactivated them all at once, probablynever living to realize thatthey're tuned to pick up humanbrain waves, too. Damn!Damn! His eyes blurred andhe slammed his fist into the softearth. When he raised his eyes againthe jungle was perceptibly darker.Stealthy rustlings in theshadows grew louder with thesetting sun. Branches snappedunaccountably in the trees overheadand every now and thenleaves or a twig fell softly to theground, close to where he lay.Reaching into his jacket, Alanfingered his pocket blaster. Hepulled it out and held it in hisright hand. This pop gunwouldn't even singe a robot, butit just might stop one of thosepumas. They said the blast with your name on it would findyou anywhere. This looked like Alan's blast. Slowly Alan looked around,sizing up his situation. Behindhim the dark jungle rustled forbiddingly.He shuddered. Not avery healthy spot to spend thenight. On the other hand, I certainlycan't get to the camp witha pack of mind-activated mechanicalkillers running around.If I can just hold out until morning,when the big ship arrives ...The big ship! GoodLord, Peggy! He turned white;oily sweat punctuated his forehead.Peggy, arriving tomorrowwith the other colonists, thewives and kids! The metal killers,tuned to blast any livingflesh, would murder them theinstant they stepped from theship! A pretty girl, Peggy, the girlhe'd married just three weeksago. He still couldn't believe it.It was crazy, he supposed, tomarry a girl and then take offfor an unknown planet, with herto follow, to try to create a homein a jungle clearing. Crazy maybe,but Peggy and her green eyesthat changed color with thelight, with her soft brown hair,and her happy smile, had endedthirty years of loneliness andhad, at last, given him a reasonfor living. Not to be killed!Alan unclenched his fists andwiped his palms, bloody wherehis fingernails had dug into theflesh. There was a slight creak abovehim like the protesting of abranch too heavily laden. Blasterready, Alan rolled over onto hisback. In the movement, his elbowstruck the top of a smallearthy mound and he was instantlyengulfed in a swarm oflocust-like insects that beat disgustinglyagainst his eyes andmouth. Fagh! Waving hisarms before his face he jumpedup and backwards, away fromthe bugs. As he did so, a darkshapeless thing plopped fromthe trees onto the spot where hehad been lying stretched out.Then, like an ambient fungus,it slithered off into the jungleundergrowth. For a split second the junglestood frozen in a brilliant blueflash, followed by the sharp reportof a blaster. Then another.Alan whirled, startled. Theplanet's double moon had risenand he could see a robot rollingslowly across the clearing in hisgeneral direction, blasting indiscriminatelyat whatever mindimpulses came within its pickuprange, birds, insects, anything.Six or seven others also left thecamp headquarters area andheaded for the jungle, each to aslightly different spot. Apparently the robot hadn'tsensed him yet, but Alan didn'tknow what the effective rangeof its pickup devices was. Hebegan to slide back into thejungle. Minutes later, lookingback he saw that the machine,though several hundred yardsaway, had altered its course andwas now headed directly forhim. His stomach tightened. Panic.The dank, musty smell of thejungle seemed for an instant tothicken and choke in his throat.Then he thought of the big shiplanding in the morning, settlingdown slowly after a lonely two-weekvoyage. He thought of abrown-haired girl crowding withthe others to the gangway, eagerto embrace the new planet, andthe next instant a charred nothing,unrecognizable, the victimof a design error or a misplacedwire in a machine. I have totry, he said aloud. I have totry. He moved into the blackness. Powerful as a small tank, thekiller robot was equipped tocrush, slash, and burn its waythrough undergrowth. Nevertheless,it was slowed by thelarger trees and the thick, clingingvines, and Alan found thathe could manage to keep aheadof it, barely out of blaster range.Only, the robot didn't get tired.Alan did. The twin moons cast pale, deceptiveshadows that waveredand danced across the junglefloor, hiding debris that trippedhim and often sent him sprawlinginto the dark. Sharp-edgedgrowths tore at his face andclothes, and insects attracted bythe blood matted against hispants and shirt. Behind, the robotcrashed imperturbably afterhim, lighting the night with fitfulblaster flashes as somewinged or legged life came withinits range. There was movement also, inthe darkness beside him, scrapingsand rustlings and an occasionallow, throaty sound like anangry cat. Alan's fingers tensedon his pocket blaster. Swiftshadowy forms moved quickly inthe shrubs and the growling becamesuddenly louder. He firedtwice, blindly, into the undergrowth.Sharp screams punctuatedthe electric blue discharge asa pack of small feline creaturesleaped snarling and clawingback into the night. Mentally, Alan tried to figurethe charge remaining in his blaster.There wouldn't be much.Enough for a few more shots,maybe. Why the devil didn't Iload in fresh cells this morning! The robot crashed on, loudernow, gaining on the tired human.Legs aching and bruised,stinging from insect bites, Alantried to force himself to runholding his hands in front ofhim like a child in the dark. Hisfoot tripped on a barely visibleinsect hill and a winged swarmexploded around him. Startled,Alan jerked sideways, crashinghis head against a tree. Heclutched at the bark for a second,dazed, then his kneesbuckled. His blaster fell into theshadows. The robot crashed loudly behindhim now. Without stoppingto think, Alan fumbled along theground after his gun, straininghis eyes in the darkness. Hefound it just a couple of feet toone side, against the base of asmall bush. Just as his fingersclosed upon the barrel his otherhand slipped into somethingsticky that splashed over hisforearm. He screamed in painand leaped back, trying franticallyto wipe the clinging,burning blackness off his arm.Patches of black scraped off ontobranches and vines, but the restspread slowly over his arm asagonizing as hot acid, or as fleshbeing ripped away layer bylayer. Almost blinded by pain, whimpering,Alan stumbled forward.Sharp muscle spasms shot fromhis shoulder across his back andchest. Tears streamed across hischeeks. A blue arc slashed at the treesa mere hundred yards behind.He screamed at the blast. Damnyou, Pete! Damn your robots!Damn, damn ... Oh, Peggy!He stepped into emptiness. Coolness. Wet. Slowly, washedby the water, the pain began tofall away. He wanted to lie thereforever in the dark, cool, wetness.For ever, and ever, and ...The air thundered. In the dim light he could seethe banks of the stream, higherthan a man, muddy and loose.Growing right to the edge of thebanks, the jungle reached outwith hairy, disjointed arms asif to snag even the dirty littlestream that passed so timidlythrough its domain. Alan, lying in the mud of thestream bed, felt the earth shakeas the heavy little robot rolledslowly and inexorably towardshim. The Lord High Executioner,he thought, in battledress. He tried to stand but hislegs were almost too weak andhis arm felt numb. I'll drownhim, he said aloud. I'll drownthe Lord High Executioner. Helaughed. Then his mind cleared.He remembered where he was. Alan trembled. For the firsttime in his life he understoodwhat it was to live, because forthe first time he realized that hewould sometime die. In othertimes and circumstances hemight put it off for a while, formonths or years, but eventually,as now, he would have to watch,still and helpless, while deathcame creeping. Then, at thirty,Alan became a man. Dammit, no law says I haveto flame-out now ! He forcedhimself to rise, forced his legsto stand, struggling painfully inthe shin-deep ooze. He workedhis way to the bank and began todig frenziedly, chest high, abouttwo feet below the edge. His arm where the black thinghad been was swollen and tender,but he forced his hands to dig,dig, dig, cursing and crying tohide the pain, and biting hislips, ignoring the salty taste ofblood. The soft earth crumbledunder his hands until he had asmall cave about three feet deepin the bank. Beyond that thesoil was held too tightly by theroots from above and he had tostop. The air crackled blue and atree crashed heavily past Alaninto the stream. Above him onthe bank, silhouetting againstthe moons, the killer robot stoppedand its blaster swivelledslowly down. Frantically, Alanhugged the bank as a shaft ofpure electricity arced over him,sliced into the water, and explodedin a cloud of steam. Therobot shook for a second, itsblaster muzzle lifted erraticallyand for an instant it seemed almostout of control, then itquieted and the muzzle againpointed down. Pressing with all his might,Alan slid slowly along the bankinches at a time, away from themachine above. Its muzzle turnedto follow him but the edge ofthe bank blocked its aim. Grindingforward a couple of feet,slightly overhanging the bank,the robot fired again. For a splitsecond Alan seemed engulfed inflame; the heat of hell singed hishead and back, and mud boiledin the bank by his arm. Again the robot trembled. Itjerked forward a foot and itsblaster swung slightly away. Butonly for a moment. Then the gunswung back again. Suddenly, as if sensing somethingwrong, its tracks slammedinto reverse. It stood poised fora second, its treads spinningcrazily as the earth collapsed underneathit, where Alan haddug, then it fell with a heavysplash into the mud, ten feetfrom where Alan stood. Without hesitation Alanthrew himself across the blasterhousing, frantically locking hisarms around the barrel as therobot's treads churned furiouslyin the sticky mud, causing it tobuck and plunge like a Brahmabull. The treads stopped and theblaster jerked upwards wrenchingAlan's arms, then slammeddown. Then the whole housingwhirled around and around, tiltingalternately up and down likea steel-skinned water monstertrying to dislodge a tenaciouscrab, while Alan, arms and legswrapped tightly around the blasterbarrel and housing, pressedfiercely against the robot's metalskin. Slowly, trying to anticipateand shift his weight with thespinning plunges, Alan workedhis hand down to his right hip.He fumbled for the sheath clippedto his belt, found it, and extracteda stubby hunting knife.Sweat and blood in his eyes,hardly able to move on the wildlyswinging turret, he felt downthe sides to the thin crack betweenthe revolving housing andthe stationary portion of the robot.With a quick prayer hejammed in the knife blade—andwas whipped headlong into themud as the turret literally snappedto a stop. The earth, jungle and moonsspun in a pinwheeled blur,slowed, and settled to their properplaces. Standing in the sticky,sweet-smelling ooze, Alan eyedthe robot apprehensively. Halfburied in mud, it stood quiet inthe shadowy light except for anoccasional, almost spasmodicjerk of its blaster barrel. Forthe first time that night Alanallowed himself a slight smile.A blade in the old gear box,eh? How does that feel, boy? He turned. Well, I'd betterget out of here before the knifeslips or the monster cooks upsome more tricks with whateverit's got for a brain. Digginglittle footholds in the soft bank,he climbed up and stood onceagain in the rustling jungledarkness. I wonder, he thought, howPete could cram enough braininto one of those things to makeit hunt and track so perfectly.He tried to visualize the computingcircuits needed for theoperation of its tracking mechanismalone. There just isn'troom for the electronics. You'dneed a computer as big as theone at camp headquarters. In the distance the sky blazedas a blaster roared in the jungle.Then Alan heard the approachingrobot, crunching and snappingits way through the undergrowthlike an onrushing forestfire. He froze. Good Lord!They communicate with eachother! The one I jammed mustbe calling others to help. He began to move along thebank, away from the crashingsounds. Suddenly he stopped, hiseyes widened. Of course! Radio!I'll bet anything they'reautomatically controlled by thecamp computer. That's wheretheir brain is! He paused.Then, if that were put out ofcommission ... He jerked awayfrom the bank and half ran, halfpulled himself through the undergrowthtowards the camp. Trees exploded to his left asanother robot fired in his direction,too far away to be effectivebut churning towards himthrough the blackness. Alan changed direction slightlyto follow a line between thetwo robots coming up fromeither side, behind him. His eyeswere well accustomed to the darknow, and he managed to dodgemost of the shadowy vines andbranches before they could snagor trip him. Even so, he stumbledin the wiry underbrush andhis legs were a mass of stingingslashes from ankle to thigh. The crashing rumble of thekiller robots shook the night behindhim, nearer sometimes,then falling slightly back, butfollowing constantly, moreunshakable than bloodhoundsbecause a man can sometimes covera scent, but no man can stop histhoughts. Intermittently, likephotographers' strobes, blueflashes would light the jungleabout him. Then, for secondsafterwards his eyes would seedancing streaks of yellow andsharp multi-colored pinwheelsthat alternately shrunk and expandedas if in a surrealist'snightmare. Alan would have topause and squeeze his eyelidstight shut before he could seeagain, and the robots wouldmove a little closer. To his right the trees silhouettedbriefly against brilliance asa third robot slowly moved upin the distance. Without thinking,Alan turned slightly to theleft, then froze in momentarypanic. I should be at the campnow. Damn, what direction amI going? He tried to thinkback, to visualize the twists andturns he'd taken in the jungle.All I need is to get lost. He pictured the camp computerwith no one to stop it, automaticallysending its robots inwider and wider forays, slowlywiping every trace of life fromthe planet. Technologically advancedmachines doing the jobfor which they were built, completely,thoroughly, without feeling,and without human mastersto separate sense from futility.Finally parts would wear out,circuits would short, and one byone the killers would crunch toa halt. A few birds would stillfly then, but a unique animallife, rare in the universe, wouldexist no more. And the bones ofchildren, eager girls, and theirmen would also lie, beside arusty hulk, beneath the aliensun. Peggy! As if in answer, a tree besidehim breathed fire, then exploded.In the brief flash of theblaster shot, Alan saw the steelglint of a robot only a hundredyards away, much nearer thanhe had thought. Thank heavenfor trees! He stepped back, felthis foot catch in something,clutched futilely at some leavesand fell heavily. Pain danced up his leg as hegrabbed his ankle. Quickly hefelt the throbbing flesh. Damnthe rotten luck, anyway! Heblinked the pain tears from hiseyes and looked up—into a robot'sblaster, jutting out of thefoliage, thirty yards away. Instinctively, in one motionAlan grabbed his pocket blasterand fired. To his amazement therobot jerked back, its gun wobbledand started to tilt away.Then, getting itself under control,it swung back again to faceAlan. He fired again, and againthe robot reacted. It seemed familiarsomehow. Then he rememberedthe robot on the riverbank, jiggling and swaying forseconds after each shot. Ofcourse! He cursed himself formissing the obvious. The blasterstatic blanks out radiotransmission from the computerfor a few seconds. They even doit to themselves! Firing intermittently, hepulled himself upright and hobbledahead through the bush.The robot shook spasmodicallywith each shot, its gun tilted upwardat an awkward angle. Then, unexpectedly, Alan sawstars, real stars brilliant in thenight sky, and half dragging hisswelling leg he stumbled out ofthe jungle into the camp clearing.Ahead, across fifty yards ofgrass stood the headquartersbuilding, housing the robot-controllingcomputer. Still firing atshort intervals he started acrossthe clearing, gritting his teethat every step. Straining every muscle inspite of the agonizing pain, Alanforced himself to a limping runacross the uneven ground, carefullyavoiding the insect hillsthat jutted up through the grass.From the corner of his eye hesaw another of the robots standingshakily in the dark edge ofthe jungle waiting, it seemed,for his small blaster to run dry. Be damned! You can't winnow! Alan yelled between blastershots, almost irrational fromthe pain that ripped jaggedlythrough his leg. Then it happened.A few feet from thebuilding's door his blaster quit.A click. A faint hiss when hefrantically jerked the triggeragain and again, and the spentcells released themselves fromthe device, falling in the grassat his feet. He dropped the uselessgun. No! He threw himself onthe ground as a new robot suddenlyappeared around the edgeof the building a few feet away,aimed, and fired. Air burnedover Alan's back and ozone tingledin his nostrils. Blinding itself for a few secondswith its own blaster static,the robot paused momentarily,jiggling in place. In thisinstant, Alan jammed his handsinto an insect hill and hurled thepile of dirt and insects directlyat the robot's antenna. In a flash,hundreds of the winged thingserupted angrily from the hole ina swarming cloud, each part ofwhich was a speck of lifetransmitting mental energy to therobot's pickup devices. Confused by the sudden dispersionof mind impulses, therobot fired erratically as Alancrouched and raced painfully forthe door. It fired again, closer,as he fumbled with the lockrelease. Jagged bits of plastic andstone ripped past him, torn looseby the blast. Frantically, Alan slammedopen the door as the robot, sensinghim strongly now, aimedpoint blank. He saw nothing, hismind thought of nothing but thered-clad safety switch mountedbeside the computer. Time stopped.There was nothing else inthe world. He half-jumped, half-felltowards it, slowly, in tenthsof seconds that seemed measuredout in years. The universe went black. Later. Brilliance pressed uponhis eyes. Then pain returned, amulti-hurting thing that crawledthrough his body and draggedragged tentacles across hisbrain. He moaned. A voice spoke hollowly in thedistance. He's waking. Call hiswife. Alan opened his eyes in awhite room; a white light hungover his head. Beside him, lookingdown with a rueful smile,stood a young man wearingspace medical insignia. Yes,he acknowledged the question inAlan's eyes, you hit the switch.That was three days ago. Whenyou're up again we'd all like tothank you. Suddenly a sobbing-laughinggreen-eyed girl was pressedtightly against him. Neither ofthem spoke. They couldn't. Therewas too much to say. THE END Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Amazing Science Fiction Stories October 1958. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling andtypographical errors have been corrected without note.<doc-sep>Huge as a primitive nuclear reactor, the great electronic brain loomedabove the knot of hush-voiced men. It almost filled a two-story room inthe Thinkers' Foundation. Its front was an orderly expanse of controls,indicators, telltales, and terminals, the upper ones reached by a chairon a boom. Although, as far as anyone knew, it could sense only the informationand questions fed into it on a tape, the human visitors could notresist the impulse to talk in whispers and glance uneasily at the greatcryptic cube. After all, it had lately taken to moving some of itsown controls—the permissible ones—and could doubtless improvise ahearing apparatus if it wanted to. For this was the thinking machine beside which the Marks and Eniacs andManiacs and Maddidas and Minervas and Mimirs were less than Morons.This was the machine with a million times as many synapses as the humanbrain, the machine that remembered by cutting delicate notches in therims of molecules (instead of kindergarten paper-punching or the ConeyIsland shimmying of columns of mercury). This was the machine that hadgiven instructions on building the last three-quarters of itself. Thiswas the goal, perhaps, toward which fallible human reasoning and biasedhuman judgment and feeble human ambition had evolved. This was the machine that really thought—a million-plus! This was the machine that the timid cyberneticists and stuffyprofessional scientists had said could not be built. Yet this was themachine that the Thinkers, with characteristic Yankee push, had built. And nicknamed, with characteristic Yankee irreverence andgirl-fondness, Maizie. Gazing up at it, the President of the United States felt a chordplucked within him that hadn't been sounded for decades, the dark andshivery organ chord of his Baptist childhood. Here, in a strange sense,although his reason rejected it, he felt he stood face to face withthe living God: infinitely stern with the sternness of reality, yetinfinitely just. No tiniest error or wilful misstep could ever escapethe scrutiny of this vast mentality. He shivered. <doc-sep> PRIME DIFFERENCE By ALAN E. NOURSE Illustrated by SCHOENHEER [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction June 1957. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Being two men rolled out of one would solve my problems—but which one would I be? I suppose that every guy reaches a point once in his lifetime when hegets one hundred and forty per cent fed up with his wife. Understand now—I've got nothing against marriage or any thinglike that. Marriage is great. It's a good old red-blooded AmericanInstitution. Except that it's got one defect in it big enough to throwa cat through, especially when you happen to be married to a womanlike Marge— It's so permanent . Oh, I'd have divorced Marge in a minute if we'd been living in theBlissful 'Fifties—but with the Family Solidarity Amendment of 1968,and all the divorce taxes we have these days since the women gottheir teeth into politics, to say nothing of the Aggrieved SpouseCompensation Act, I'd have been a pauper for the rest of my life ifI'd tried it. That's aside from the social repercussions involved. You can't really blame me for looking for another way out. But a manhas to be desperate to try to buy himself an Ego Prime. So, all right, I was desperate. I'd spent eight years trying to keepMarge happy, which was exactly seven and a half years too long. Marge was a dream to look at, with her tawny hair and her sulky eyesand a shape that could set your teeth chattering—but that was wherethe dream stopped. She had a tongue like a #10 wood rasp and a list of grievances longenough to paper the bedroom wall. When she wasn't complaining, she wascrying, and when she wasn't crying, she was pointing out in chillingdetail exactly where George Faircloth fell short as a model husband,which happened to be everywhere. Half of the time she had a beastlyheadache (for which I was personally responsible) and the other halfshe was sore about something, so ninety-nine per cent of the time wegot along like a couple of tomcats in a packing case. <doc-sep></s>

Alan is one of the men who have arrived on Waiamea. He ventures around the jungle planet but goes on the run after a programming error with Pete’s robots. Alan is thirty years old, and he married a woman named Peggy three weeks earlier. Initially, he is very afraid of death and tries to protect himself from the robots. However, he does realize his love for Peggy and sees it as a motivation to continue living. He understands what it means to live for the first time in his life, and he becomes a lot more courageous. Instead of giving up, Alan chooses to find a way to defeat the robots. He also shows himself to be intelligent, figuring out that the robots are being controlled by radio transmissions via a computer in the headquarters building. Furthermore, he is capable of using his pocket blaster and knife to defeat one of the robots, even though it could instantly kill him with a single blast. Alan is very resilient as well; he is injured and continues to run around and fight against the robots. Even when the odds are against him, his desire to be with his wife gives him the strength to continue heading towards the headquarters building and flip off the switch.

<s> SURVIVAL TACTICS By AL SEVCIK ILLUSTRATOR NOVICK The robots were built to serveMan; to do his work, see to hiscomforts, make smooth his way.Then the robots figured out anadditional service—putting Manout of his misery. <doc-sep>He stood then in the middle of the room, arms akimbo, his head swimmingwith glory—and remembered suddenly that he was hungry. He felt in thecontainer of his helmet, extracted a couple of food tablets, and poppedthem into his mouth. They would take care of his needs, but they didn't satisfy his hunger.No food tablets for him after this! Steaks, wines, souffles.... Hismouth began to water at the very thought. And then the robot rolled on soundless wheels into the room. Symewhirled and saw it only when it was almost upon him. The thing wasremarkably lifelike, and for a moment he was startled. But it was not alive. It was only a Martian feeding-machine, kept inrepair all these millennia by other robots. It was not intelligent,and so it did not know that its masters would never return. It did notknow, either, that Syme was not a Martian, or that he wanted a steak,and not the distilled liquor of the xopa fungus, which still grew inthe subterranean gardens of Kal-Jmar. It was capable only of receivingthe mental impulse of hunger, and of responding to that impulse. And so when Syme saw it and opened his mouth in startlement, therobot acted as it had done with its degenerate, slothful masters. Itsflexible feeding tube darted out and half down the man's gullet beforehe could move to avoid it. And down Syme Rector's throat poured a floodof xopa -juice, nectar to Martians, but swift, terrible death to humanbeings.... Outside, the last doorway to Kal-Jmar closed forever, across from thecold body of Tate. <doc-sep>It took three tries before I got through to a hurried-looking femalereceptionist My name is Rice! I bellowed. Edmund Rice! I live on thehundred and fifty-third floor! I just rang for the elevator and—— The-elevator-is-disconnected. She said it very rapidly, as though shewere growing very used to saying it. It only stopped me for a second. Disconnected? What do you meandisconnected? Elevators don't get disconnected! I told her. We-will-resume-service-as-soon-as-possible, she rattled. My bellowingwas bouncing off her like radiation off the Project force-screen. I changed tactics. First I inhaled, making a production out of it,giving myself a chance to calm down a bit. And then I asked, asrationally as you could please, Would you mind terribly telling me why the elevator is disconnected? I-am-sorry-sir-but-that—— Stop, I said. I said it quietly, too, but she stopped. I saw herlooking at me. She hadn't done that before, she'd merely gazed blanklyat her screen and parroted her responses. But now she was actually looking at me . I took advantage of the fact. Calmly, rationally, I said to her, Iwould like to tell you something, Miss. I would like to tell you justwhat you people have done to me by disconnecting the elevator. You haveruined my life. She blinked, open-mouthed. Ruined your life? Precisely. I found it necessary to inhale again, even more slowlythan before. I was on my way, I explained, to propose to a girl whomI dearly love. In every way but one, she is the perfect woman. Do youunderstand me? She nodded, wide-eyed. I had stumbled on a romantic, though I was toopreoccupied to notice it at the time. In every way but one, I continued. She has one small imperfection,a fixation about punctuality. And I was supposed to meet her at teno'clock. I'm late! I shook my fist at the screen. Do you realizewhat you've done , disconnecting the elevator? Not only won't shemarry me, she won't even speak to me! Not now! Not after this! Sir, she said tremulously, please don't shout. I'm not shouting! Sir, I'm terribly sorry. I understand your— You understand ? I trembled with speechless fury. She looked all about her, and then leaned closer to the screen,revealing a cleavage that I was too distraught at the moment to payany attention to. We're not supposed to give this information out,sir, she said, her voice low, but I'm going to tell you, so you'llunderstand why we had to do it. I think it's perfectly awful that ithad to ruin things for you this way. But the fact of the matter is—she leaned even closer to the screen—there's a spy in the elevator. II It was my turn to be stunned. I just gaped at her. A—a what? A spy. He was discovered on the hundred forty-seventh floor, andmanaged to get into the elevator before the Army could catch him. Hejammed it between floors. But the Army is doing everything it can thinkof to get him out. Well—but why should there be any problem about getting him out? He plugged in the manual controls. We can't control the elevator fromoutside at all. And when anyone tries to get into the shaft, he aimsthe elevator at them. That sounded impossible. He aims the elevator? He runs it up and down the shaft, she explained, trying to crushanybody who goes after him. Oh, I said. So it might take a while. She leaned so close this time that even I, distracted as I was, couldhardly help but take note of her cleavage. She whispered, They'reafraid they'll have to starve him out. Oh, no! She nodded solemnly. I'm terribly sorry, sir, she said. Then sheglanced to her right, suddenly straightened up again, and said,We-will-resume-service-as-soon-as-possible. Click. Blank screen. For a minute or two, all I could do was sit and absorb what I'd beentold. A spy in the elevator! A spy who had managed to work his way allthe way up to the hundred forty-seventh floor before being unmasked! What in the world was the matter with the Army? If things were gettingthat lax, the Project was doomed, force-screen or no. Who knew how manymore spies there were in the Project, still unsuspected? Until that moment, the state of siege in which we all lived had hadno reality for me. The Project, after all, was self-sufficient andcompletely enclosed. No one ever left, no one ever entered. Under ourroof, we were a nation, two hundred stories high. The ever-presentthreat of other projects had never been more for me—or for most otherpeople either, I suspected—than occasional ore-sleds that didn'treturn, occasional spies shot down as they tried to sneak into thebuilding, occasional spies of our own leaving the Project in tinyradiation-proof cars, hoping to get safely within another project andbring back news of any immediate threats and dangers that project mightbe planning for us. Most spies didn't return; most ore-sleds did. Andwithin the Project life was full, the knowledge of external dangersmerely lurking at the backs of our minds. After all, those externaldangers had been no more than potential for decades, since what Dr.Kilbillie called the Ungentlemanly Gentleman's War. Dr. Kilbillie—Intermediate Project History, when I was fifteen yearsold—had private names for every major war of the twentieth century.There was the Ignoble Nobleman's War, the Racial Non-Racial War, andthe Ungentlemanly Gentleman's War, known to the textbooks of course asWorld Wars One, Two, and Three. The rise of the Projects, according to Dr. Kilbillie, was the result ofmany many factors, but two of the most important were the populationexplosion and the Treaty of Oslo. The population explosion, of course,meant that there was continuously more and more people but never anymore space. So that housing, in the historically short time of onecentury, made a complete transformation from horizontal expansion tovertical. Before 1900, the vast majority of human beings lived intiny huts of from one to five stories. By 2000, everybody lived inProjects. From the very beginning, small attempts were made to makethese Projects more than dwelling places. By mid-century, Projects(also called apartments and co-ops) already included restaurants,shopping centers, baby-sitting services, dry cleaners and a host ofother adjuncts. By the end of the century, the Projects were completelyself-sufficient, with food grown hydroponically in the sub-basements,separate floors set aside for schools and churches and factories, robotore-sleds capable of seeking out raw materials unavailable within theProjects themselves and so on. And all because of, among other things,the population explosion. And the Treaty of Oslo. It seems there was a power-struggle between two sets of then-existingnations (they were something like Projects, only horizontal instead ofvertical) and both sets were equipped with atomic weapons. The Treatyof Oslo began by stating that atomic war was unthinkable, and addedthat just in case anyone happened to think of it only tactical atomicweapons could be used. No strategic atomic weapons. (A tacticalweapon is something you use on the soldiers, and a strategic weapons issomething you use on the folks at home.) Oddly enough, when somebodydid think of the war, both sides adhered to the Treaty of Oslo, whichmeant that no Projects were bombed. Of course, they made up for this as best they could by using tacticalatomic weapons all over the place. After the war almost the wholeworld was quite dangerously radioactive. Except for the Projects. Orat least those of them which had in time installed the force screenswhich had been invented on the very eve of battle, and which deflectedradioactive particles. However, what with all of the other treaties which were broken duringthe Ungentlemanly Gentleman's War, by the time it was finished nobodywas quite sure any more who was on whose side. That project over thereon the horizon might be an ally. And then again it might not. Sincethey weren't sure either, it was risky to expose yourself in order toask. And so life went on, with little to remind us of the dangers lurkingOutside. The basic policy of Eternal Vigilance and Instant Preparednesswas left to the Army. The rest of us simply lived our lives and let itgo at that. <doc-sep></s>

The killer robots work by homing in on the mind of animals’ impulses. However, due to mass production, robots are also capable of picking up human brain waves. The robots are also capable of firing beams from its blaster, as one had dissolved a cat creature’s entire lower half when it clung onto the robot. The blaster aim is almost always perfect unless the robot’s radio wave or discharge circuit is interrupted. One of its features is also a pickup device. The robots can move around quietly, too, as their original purpose was to guard the campsite. When Alan continues to escape from them, it is revealed that the robots can communicate with each other and the camp computer. The communication works by using radio waves, but it is possible to interrupt these waves using a pocket blaster.

<s> SURVIVAL TACTICS By AL SEVCIK ILLUSTRATOR NOVICK The robots were built to serveMan; to do his work, see to hiscomforts, make smooth his way.Then the robots figured out anadditional service—putting Manout of his misery. <doc-sep>I can't take the time to explain it all. I have too much to do. Justthree of us—myself and my two sons. My wife lost her mind. I shouldhave helped her as I'm helping you. I don't understand, Harry said. I remember people, and things, andwhere are they now? Dead? People can die, but farms, cities.... I haven't the time, the doctor repeated, voice rising. I have to runa world. Three of us, to run a world! I built it as best I could, buthow large could I make it? The money. The years and years of work. Thepeople calling me insane when they found out ... but a few giving memore money, and the work going on. And those few caught like everyoneelse, unprepared when the holocaust started, unprepared and unable toreach my world. So they died. As I knew they would. As they should haveknown they would. Harry felt the rumbling beneath him. Engines? You survived, the doctor said. Your wife. A few hundred others inthe rural areas. One other family in your area. I survived becauseI lived for survival, like a mole deep in the earth, expecting thecatastrophe every minute. I survived because I gave up living tosurvive. He laughed, high and thin. His son said, Please, Dad.... No! I want to talk to someone sane ! You and Petey and I—we're allinsane, you know. Three years now, playing God, waiting for some land,any land, to become habitable. And knowing everything, and surroundedby people who are sane only because I made sure they would knownothing. He stepped forward, glaring at Harry. Now do you understand?I went across the country, picking up a few of the few left alive. Mostwere farmers, and even where some weren't I picked the farmers anyway.Because farmers are what we'll need, and all the rest can evolve later.I put you and the others, eighty-six all told, from every section ofthe country, on my world, the only uncontaminated land left. I gaveyou back your old lives. I couldn't give you big crops because wedon't need big crops. We would only exhaust our limited soil with bigcrops. But I gave you vegetable gardens and livestock and, best of all, sanity ! I wiped the insane moments from your minds. I gave you peaceand consigned myself, my sons, my own wife.... He choked and stopped. Stan ran across the room to the switch. Harry watched him, and hisbrain struggled with an impossible concept. He heard the engines andremembered the ocean on two sides; on four sides had he bothered tocheck south and east; on all sides if that fence continued to curveinward. Ocean, and there was no ocean in Iowa. And this wasn't Iowa. The explosions had ripped the world, and he'd tried to get to town tosave Davie, and there'd been no town and there'd been no people andthere'd been only death and poison in the air and even those few peopleleft had begun to die, and then the truck with the huge trailer hadcome, the gleaming trailer with the little man and his trembling wifeand his two sons.... <doc-sep>It took three tries before I got through to a hurried-looking femalereceptionist My name is Rice! I bellowed. Edmund Rice! I live on thehundred and fifty-third floor! I just rang for the elevator and—— The-elevator-is-disconnected. She said it very rapidly, as though shewere growing very used to saying it. It only stopped me for a second. Disconnected? What do you meandisconnected? Elevators don't get disconnected! I told her. We-will-resume-service-as-soon-as-possible, she rattled. My bellowingwas bouncing off her like radiation off the Project force-screen. I changed tactics. First I inhaled, making a production out of it,giving myself a chance to calm down a bit. And then I asked, asrationally as you could please, Would you mind terribly telling me why the elevator is disconnected? I-am-sorry-sir-but-that—— Stop, I said. I said it quietly, too, but she stopped. I saw herlooking at me. She hadn't done that before, she'd merely gazed blanklyat her screen and parroted her responses. But now she was actually looking at me . I took advantage of the fact. Calmly, rationally, I said to her, Iwould like to tell you something, Miss. I would like to tell you justwhat you people have done to me by disconnecting the elevator. You haveruined my life. She blinked, open-mouthed. Ruined your life? Precisely. I found it necessary to inhale again, even more slowlythan before. I was on my way, I explained, to propose to a girl whomI dearly love. In every way but one, she is the perfect woman. Do youunderstand me? She nodded, wide-eyed. I had stumbled on a romantic, though I was toopreoccupied to notice it at the time. In every way but one, I continued. She has one small imperfection,a fixation about punctuality. And I was supposed to meet her at teno'clock. I'm late! I shook my fist at the screen. Do you realizewhat you've done , disconnecting the elevator? Not only won't shemarry me, she won't even speak to me! Not now! Not after this! Sir, she said tremulously, please don't shout. I'm not shouting! Sir, I'm terribly sorry. I understand your— You understand ? I trembled with speechless fury. She looked all about her, and then leaned closer to the screen,revealing a cleavage that I was too distraught at the moment to payany attention to. We're not supposed to give this information out,sir, she said, her voice low, but I'm going to tell you, so you'llunderstand why we had to do it. I think it's perfectly awful that ithad to ruin things for you this way. But the fact of the matter is—she leaned even closer to the screen—there's a spy in the elevator. II It was my turn to be stunned. I just gaped at her. A—a what? A spy. He was discovered on the hundred forty-seventh floor, andmanaged to get into the elevator before the Army could catch him. Hejammed it between floors. But the Army is doing everything it can thinkof to get him out. Well—but why should there be any problem about getting him out? He plugged in the manual controls. We can't control the elevator fromoutside at all. And when anyone tries to get into the shaft, he aimsthe elevator at them. That sounded impossible. He aims the elevator? He runs it up and down the shaft, she explained, trying to crushanybody who goes after him. Oh, I said. So it might take a while. She leaned so close this time that even I, distracted as I was, couldhardly help but take note of her cleavage. She whispered, They'reafraid they'll have to starve him out. Oh, no! She nodded solemnly. I'm terribly sorry, sir, she said. Then sheglanced to her right, suddenly straightened up again, and said,We-will-resume-service-as-soon-as-possible. Click. Blank screen. For a minute or two, all I could do was sit and absorb what I'd beentold. A spy in the elevator! A spy who had managed to work his way allthe way up to the hundred forty-seventh floor before being unmasked! What in the world was the matter with the Army? If things were gettingthat lax, the Project was doomed, force-screen or no. Who knew how manymore spies there were in the Project, still unsuspected? Until that moment, the state of siege in which we all lived had hadno reality for me. The Project, after all, was self-sufficient andcompletely enclosed. No one ever left, no one ever entered. Under ourroof, we were a nation, two hundred stories high. The ever-presentthreat of other projects had never been more for me—or for most otherpeople either, I suspected—than occasional ore-sleds that didn'treturn, occasional spies shot down as they tried to sneak into thebuilding, occasional spies of our own leaving the Project in tinyradiation-proof cars, hoping to get safely within another project andbring back news of any immediate threats and dangers that project mightbe planning for us. Most spies didn't return; most ore-sleds did. Andwithin the Project life was full, the knowledge of external dangersmerely lurking at the backs of our minds. After all, those externaldangers had been no more than potential for decades, since what Dr.Kilbillie called the Ungentlemanly Gentleman's War. Dr. Kilbillie—Intermediate Project History, when I was fifteen yearsold—had private names for every major war of the twentieth century.There was the Ignoble Nobleman's War, the Racial Non-Racial War, andthe Ungentlemanly Gentleman's War, known to the textbooks of course asWorld Wars One, Two, and Three. The rise of the Projects, according to Dr. Kilbillie, was the result ofmany many factors, but two of the most important were the populationexplosion and the Treaty of Oslo. The population explosion, of course,meant that there was continuously more and more people but never anymore space. So that housing, in the historically short time of onecentury, made a complete transformation from horizontal expansion tovertical. Before 1900, the vast majority of human beings lived intiny huts of from one to five stories. By 2000, everybody lived inProjects. From the very beginning, small attempts were made to makethese Projects more than dwelling places. By mid-century, Projects(also called apartments and co-ops) already included restaurants,shopping centers, baby-sitting services, dry cleaners and a host ofother adjuncts. By the end of the century, the Projects were completelyself-sufficient, with food grown hydroponically in the sub-basements,separate floors set aside for schools and churches and factories, robotore-sleds capable of seeking out raw materials unavailable within theProjects themselves and so on. And all because of, among other things,the population explosion. And the Treaty of Oslo. It seems there was a power-struggle between two sets of then-existingnations (they were something like Projects, only horizontal instead ofvertical) and both sets were equipped with atomic weapons. The Treatyof Oslo began by stating that atomic war was unthinkable, and addedthat just in case anyone happened to think of it only tactical atomicweapons could be used. No strategic atomic weapons. (A tacticalweapon is something you use on the soldiers, and a strategic weapons issomething you use on the folks at home.) Oddly enough, when somebodydid think of the war, both sides adhered to the Treaty of Oslo, whichmeant that no Projects were bombed. Of course, they made up for this as best they could by using tacticalatomic weapons all over the place. After the war almost the wholeworld was quite dangerously radioactive. Except for the Projects. Orat least those of them which had in time installed the force screenswhich had been invented on the very eve of battle, and which deflectedradioactive particles. However, what with all of the other treaties which were broken duringthe Ungentlemanly Gentleman's War, by the time it was finished nobodywas quite sure any more who was on whose side. That project over thereon the horizon might be an ally. And then again it might not. Sincethey weren't sure either, it was risky to expose yourself in order toask. And so life went on, with little to remind us of the dangers lurkingOutside. The basic policy of Eternal Vigilance and Instant Preparednesswas left to the Army. The rest of us simply lived our lives and let itgo at that. <doc-sep></s>

The story is set on the jungle planet of Waiamea. There are tall moss-shrouded trees and wrist-thick vines that hang similar to a monstrous tree-bound octopus. Fitful little plants grow straggly in the shadows of the mossy trunks, and the sun is blue. The campsite that Alan goes to houses power supplies, one central computer, and sleeping quarters. There are also a variety of animals that live on the planet. Some of these animals include feline creatures and insects attracted by the scent of blood. The planet also has a double moon when it becomes night time. When Alan escapes from the robot, he ends up in a stream of water and mud. As he runs towards the headquarters building, there is a small insect pile that he takes advantage of against the robot. Inside of the headquarters building, there is a red-clad safety switch mounted beside the computer. During Alan’s recovery, he is in a white room with a white light hanging over him.

<s> There was a sudden crashthat hung sharply in the air,as if a tree had been hit bylightning some distance away.Then another. Alan stopped,puzzled. Two more blasts, quicklytogether, and the sound of ascream faintly. Frowning, worrying about thesounds, Alan momentarily forgotto watch his step until his footsuddenly plunged into an anthill, throwing him to the junglefloor. Damn! He cursed again,for the tenth time, and stooduncertainly in the dimness.From tall, moss-shrouded trees,wrist-thick vines hung quietly,scraping the spongy ground likethe tentacles of some monstroustree-bound octopus. Fitful littleplants grew straggly in theshadows of the mossy trunks,forming a dense underbrush thatmade walking difficult. At middaysome few of the blue sun'srays filtered through to thejungle floor, but now, late afternoonon the planet, the shadowswere long and gloomy. Alan peered around him at thevine-draped shadows, listeningto the soft rustlings and fainttwig-snappings of life in thejungle. Two short, poppingsounds echoed across the stillness,drowned out almost immediatelyand silenced by anexplosive crash. Alan started,Blaster fighting! But it can'tbe! Suddenly anxious, he slasheda hurried X in one of the treesto mark his position then turnedto follow a line of similar marksback through the jungle. Hetried to run, but vines blockedhis way and woody shrubscaught at his legs, tripping himand holding him back. Then,through the trees he saw theclearing of the camp site, thetemporary home for the scoutship and the eleven men who,with Alan, were the only humanson the jungle planet, Waiamea. Stepping through the lowshrubbery at the edge of thesite, he looked across the openarea to the two temporary structures,the camp headquarterswhere the power supplies andthe computer were; and thesleeping quarters. Beyond, nosehigh, stood the silver scout shipthat had brought the advanceexploratory party of scientistsand technicians to Waiameathree days before. Except for afew of the killer robots rollingslowly around the camp site ontheir quiet treads, there was noone about. So, they've finally got thosethings working. Alan smiledslightly. Guess that means Iowe Pete a bourbon-and-sodafor sure. Anybody who canbuild a robot that hunts by homingin on animals' mind impulses ...He stepped forwardjust as a roar of blue flame dissolvedthe branches of a tree,barely above his head. Without pausing to think,Alan leaped back, and fellsprawling over a bush just asone of the robots rolled silentlyup from the right, lowering itsblaster barrel to aim directly athis head. Alan froze. My God,Pete built those things wrong! Suddenly a screeching whirlwindof claws and teeth hurleditself from the smolderingbranches and crashed against therobot, clawing insanely at theantenna and blaster barrel.With an awkward jerk the robotswung around and fired its blaster,completely dissolving thelower half of the cat creaturewhich had clung across the barrel.But the back pressure of thecat's body overloaded the dischargecircuits. The robot startedto shake, then clicked sharplyas an overload relay snappedand shorted the blaster cells.The killer turned and rolled backtowards the camp, leaving Alanalone. Shakily, Alan crawled a fewfeet back into the undergrowthwhere he could lie and watch thecamp, but not himself be seen.Though visibility didn't makeany difference to the robots, hefelt safer, somehow, hidden. Heknew now what the shootingsounds had been and why therehadn't been anyone around thecamp site. A charred blob lyingin the grass of the clearing confirmedhis hypothesis. His stomachfelt sick. I suppose, he muttered tohimself, that Pete assembledthese robots in a batch and thenactivated them all at once, probablynever living to realize thatthey're tuned to pick up humanbrain waves, too. Damn!Damn! His eyes blurred andhe slammed his fist into the softearth. When he raised his eyes againthe jungle was perceptibly darker.Stealthy rustlings in theshadows grew louder with thesetting sun. Branches snappedunaccountably in the trees overheadand every now and thenleaves or a twig fell softly to theground, close to where he lay.Reaching into his jacket, Alanfingered his pocket blaster. Hepulled it out and held it in hisright hand. This pop gunwouldn't even singe a robot, butit just might stop one of thosepumas. They said the blast with your name on it would findyou anywhere. This looked like Alan's blast. Slowly Alan looked around,sizing up his situation. Behindhim the dark jungle rustled forbiddingly.He shuddered. Not avery healthy spot to spend thenight. On the other hand, I certainlycan't get to the camp witha pack of mind-activated mechanicalkillers running around.If I can just hold out until morning,when the big ship arrives ...The big ship! GoodLord, Peggy! He turned white;oily sweat punctuated his forehead.Peggy, arriving tomorrowwith the other colonists, thewives and kids! The metal killers,tuned to blast any livingflesh, would murder them theinstant they stepped from theship! A pretty girl, Peggy, the girlhe'd married just three weeksago. He still couldn't believe it.It was crazy, he supposed, tomarry a girl and then take offfor an unknown planet, with herto follow, to try to create a homein a jungle clearing. Crazy maybe,but Peggy and her green eyesthat changed color with thelight, with her soft brown hair,and her happy smile, had endedthirty years of loneliness andhad, at last, given him a reasonfor living. Not to be killed!Alan unclenched his fists andwiped his palms, bloody wherehis fingernails had dug into theflesh. There was a slight creak abovehim like the protesting of abranch too heavily laden. Blasterready, Alan rolled over onto hisback. In the movement, his elbowstruck the top of a smallearthy mound and he was instantlyengulfed in a swarm oflocust-like insects that beat disgustinglyagainst his eyes andmouth. Fagh! Waving hisarms before his face he jumpedup and backwards, away fromthe bugs. As he did so, a darkshapeless thing plopped fromthe trees onto the spot where hehad been lying stretched out.Then, like an ambient fungus,it slithered off into the jungleundergrowth. For a split second the junglestood frozen in a brilliant blueflash, followed by the sharp reportof a blaster. Then another.Alan whirled, startled. Theplanet's double moon had risenand he could see a robot rollingslowly across the clearing in hisgeneral direction, blasting indiscriminatelyat whatever mindimpulses came within its pickuprange, birds, insects, anything.Six or seven others also left thecamp headquarters area andheaded for the jungle, each to aslightly different spot. Apparently the robot hadn'tsensed him yet, but Alan didn'tknow what the effective rangeof its pickup devices was. Hebegan to slide back into thejungle. Minutes later, lookingback he saw that the machine,though several hundred yardsaway, had altered its course andwas now headed directly forhim. His stomach tightened. Panic.The dank, musty smell of thejungle seemed for an instant tothicken and choke in his throat.Then he thought of the big shiplanding in the morning, settlingdown slowly after a lonely two-weekvoyage. He thought of abrown-haired girl crowding withthe others to the gangway, eagerto embrace the new planet, andthe next instant a charred nothing,unrecognizable, the victimof a design error or a misplacedwire in a machine. I have totry, he said aloud. I have totry. He moved into the blackness. Powerful as a small tank, thekiller robot was equipped tocrush, slash, and burn its waythrough undergrowth. Nevertheless,it was slowed by thelarger trees and the thick, clingingvines, and Alan found thathe could manage to keep aheadof it, barely out of blaster range.Only, the robot didn't get tired.Alan did. The twin moons cast pale, deceptiveshadows that waveredand danced across the junglefloor, hiding debris that trippedhim and often sent him sprawlinginto the dark. Sharp-edgedgrowths tore at his face andclothes, and insects attracted bythe blood matted against hispants and shirt. Behind, the robotcrashed imperturbably afterhim, lighting the night with fitfulblaster flashes as somewinged or legged life came withinits range. There was movement also, inthe darkness beside him, scrapingsand rustlings and an occasionallow, throaty sound like anangry cat. Alan's fingers tensedon his pocket blaster. Swiftshadowy forms moved quickly inthe shrubs and the growling becamesuddenly louder. He firedtwice, blindly, into the undergrowth.Sharp screams punctuatedthe electric blue discharge asa pack of small feline creaturesleaped snarling and clawingback into the night. Mentally, Alan tried to figurethe charge remaining in his blaster.There wouldn't be much.Enough for a few more shots,maybe. Why the devil didn't Iload in fresh cells this morning! The robot crashed on, loudernow, gaining on the tired human.Legs aching and bruised,stinging from insect bites, Alantried to force himself to runholding his hands in front ofhim like a child in the dark. Hisfoot tripped on a barely visibleinsect hill and a winged swarmexploded around him. Startled,Alan jerked sideways, crashinghis head against a tree. Heclutched at the bark for a second,dazed, then his kneesbuckled. His blaster fell into theshadows. The robot crashed loudly behindhim now. Without stoppingto think, Alan fumbled along theground after his gun, straininghis eyes in the darkness. Hefound it just a couple of feet toone side, against the base of asmall bush. Just as his fingersclosed upon the barrel his otherhand slipped into somethingsticky that splashed over hisforearm. He screamed in painand leaped back, trying franticallyto wipe the clinging,burning blackness off his arm.Patches of black scraped off ontobranches and vines, but the restspread slowly over his arm asagonizing as hot acid, or as fleshbeing ripped away layer bylayer. Almost blinded by pain, whimpering,Alan stumbled forward.Sharp muscle spasms shot fromhis shoulder across his back andchest. Tears streamed across hischeeks. A blue arc slashed at the treesa mere hundred yards behind.He screamed at the blast. Damnyou, Pete! Damn your robots!Damn, damn ... Oh, Peggy!He stepped into emptiness. Coolness. Wet. Slowly, washedby the water, the pain began tofall away. He wanted to lie thereforever in the dark, cool, wetness.For ever, and ever, and ...The air thundered. In the dim light he could seethe banks of the stream, higherthan a man, muddy and loose.Growing right to the edge of thebanks, the jungle reached outwith hairy, disjointed arms asif to snag even the dirty littlestream that passed so timidlythrough its domain. Alan, lying in the mud of thestream bed, felt the earth shakeas the heavy little robot rolledslowly and inexorably towardshim. The Lord High Executioner,he thought, in battledress. He tried to stand but hislegs were almost too weak andhis arm felt numb. I'll drownhim, he said aloud. I'll drownthe Lord High Executioner. Helaughed. Then his mind cleared.He remembered where he was. Alan trembled. For the firsttime in his life he understoodwhat it was to live, because forthe first time he realized that hewould sometime die. In othertimes and circumstances hemight put it off for a while, formonths or years, but eventually,as now, he would have to watch,still and helpless, while deathcame creeping. Then, at thirty,Alan became a man. Dammit, no law says I haveto flame-out now ! He forcedhimself to rise, forced his legsto stand, struggling painfully inthe shin-deep ooze. He workedhis way to the bank and began todig frenziedly, chest high, abouttwo feet below the edge. His arm where the black thinghad been was swollen and tender,but he forced his hands to dig,dig, dig, cursing and crying tohide the pain, and biting hislips, ignoring the salty taste ofblood. The soft earth crumbledunder his hands until he had asmall cave about three feet deepin the bank. Beyond that thesoil was held too tightly by theroots from above and he had tostop. The air crackled blue and atree crashed heavily past Alaninto the stream. Above him onthe bank, silhouetting againstthe moons, the killer robot stoppedand its blaster swivelledslowly down. Frantically, Alanhugged the bank as a shaft ofpure electricity arced over him,sliced into the water, and explodedin a cloud of steam. Therobot shook for a second, itsblaster muzzle lifted erraticallyand for an instant it seemed almostout of control, then itquieted and the muzzle againpointed down. Pressing with all his might,Alan slid slowly along the bankinches at a time, away from themachine above. Its muzzle turnedto follow him but the edge ofthe bank blocked its aim. Grindingforward a couple of feet,slightly overhanging the bank,the robot fired again. For a splitsecond Alan seemed engulfed inflame; the heat of hell singed hishead and back, and mud boiledin the bank by his arm. Again the robot trembled. Itjerked forward a foot and itsblaster swung slightly away. Butonly for a moment. Then the gunswung back again. Suddenly, as if sensing somethingwrong, its tracks slammedinto reverse. It stood poised fora second, its treads spinningcrazily as the earth collapsed underneathit, where Alan haddug, then it fell with a heavysplash into the mud, ten feetfrom where Alan stood. Without hesitation Alanthrew himself across the blasterhousing, frantically locking hisarms around the barrel as therobot's treads churned furiouslyin the sticky mud, causing it tobuck and plunge like a Brahmabull. The treads stopped and theblaster jerked upwards wrenchingAlan's arms, then slammeddown. Then the whole housingwhirled around and around, tiltingalternately up and down likea steel-skinned water monstertrying to dislodge a tenaciouscrab, while Alan, arms and legswrapped tightly around the blasterbarrel and housing, pressedfiercely against the robot's metalskin. Slowly, trying to anticipateand shift his weight with thespinning plunges, Alan workedhis hand down to his right hip.He fumbled for the sheath clippedto his belt, found it, and extracteda stubby hunting knife.Sweat and blood in his eyes,hardly able to move on the wildlyswinging turret, he felt downthe sides to the thin crack betweenthe revolving housing andthe stationary portion of the robot.With a quick prayer hejammed in the knife blade—andwas whipped headlong into themud as the turret literally snappedto a stop. The earth, jungle and moonsspun in a pinwheeled blur,slowed, and settled to their properplaces. Standing in the sticky,sweet-smelling ooze, Alan eyedthe robot apprehensively. Halfburied in mud, it stood quiet inthe shadowy light except for anoccasional, almost spasmodicjerk of its blaster barrel. Forthe first time that night Alanallowed himself a slight smile.A blade in the old gear box,eh? How does that feel, boy? He turned. Well, I'd betterget out of here before the knifeslips or the monster cooks upsome more tricks with whateverit's got for a brain. Digginglittle footholds in the soft bank,he climbed up and stood onceagain in the rustling jungledarkness. I wonder, he thought, howPete could cram enough braininto one of those things to makeit hunt and track so perfectly.He tried to visualize the computingcircuits needed for theoperation of its tracking mechanismalone. There just isn'troom for the electronics. You'dneed a computer as big as theone at camp headquarters. In the distance the sky blazedas a blaster roared in the jungle.Then Alan heard the approachingrobot, crunching and snappingits way through the undergrowthlike an onrushing forestfire. He froze. Good Lord!They communicate with eachother! The one I jammed mustbe calling others to help. He began to move along thebank, away from the crashingsounds. Suddenly he stopped, hiseyes widened. Of course! Radio!I'll bet anything they'reautomatically controlled by thecamp computer. That's wheretheir brain is! He paused.Then, if that were put out ofcommission ... He jerked awayfrom the bank and half ran, halfpulled himself through the undergrowthtowards the camp. Trees exploded to his left asanother robot fired in his direction,too far away to be effectivebut churning towards himthrough the blackness. Alan changed direction slightlyto follow a line between thetwo robots coming up fromeither side, behind him. His eyeswere well accustomed to the darknow, and he managed to dodgemost of the shadowy vines andbranches before they could snagor trip him. Even so, he stumbledin the wiry underbrush andhis legs were a mass of stingingslashes from ankle to thigh. The crashing rumble of thekiller robots shook the night behindhim, nearer sometimes,then falling slightly back, butfollowing constantly, moreunshakable than bloodhoundsbecause a man can sometimes covera scent, but no man can stop histhoughts. Intermittently, likephotographers' strobes, blueflashes would light the jungleabout him. Then, for secondsafterwards his eyes would seedancing streaks of yellow andsharp multi-colored pinwheelsthat alternately shrunk and expandedas if in a surrealist'snightmare. Alan would have topause and squeeze his eyelidstight shut before he could seeagain, and the robots wouldmove a little closer. To his right the trees silhouettedbriefly against brilliance asa third robot slowly moved upin the distance. Without thinking,Alan turned slightly to theleft, then froze in momentarypanic. I should be at the campnow. Damn, what direction amI going? He tried to thinkback, to visualize the twists andturns he'd taken in the jungle.All I need is to get lost. He pictured the camp computerwith no one to stop it, automaticallysending its robots inwider and wider forays, slowlywiping every trace of life fromthe planet. Technologically advancedmachines doing the jobfor which they were built, completely,thoroughly, without feeling,and without human mastersto separate sense from futility.Finally parts would wear out,circuits would short, and one byone the killers would crunch toa halt. A few birds would stillfly then, but a unique animallife, rare in the universe, wouldexist no more. And the bones ofchildren, eager girls, and theirmen would also lie, beside arusty hulk, beneath the aliensun. Peggy! As if in answer, a tree besidehim breathed fire, then exploded.In the brief flash of theblaster shot, Alan saw the steelglint of a robot only a hundredyards away, much nearer thanhe had thought. Thank heavenfor trees! He stepped back, felthis foot catch in something,clutched futilely at some leavesand fell heavily. Pain danced up his leg as hegrabbed his ankle. Quickly hefelt the throbbing flesh. Damnthe rotten luck, anyway! Heblinked the pain tears from hiseyes and looked up—into a robot'sblaster, jutting out of thefoliage, thirty yards away. Instinctively, in one motionAlan grabbed his pocket blasterand fired. To his amazement therobot jerked back, its gun wobbledand started to tilt away.Then, getting itself under control,it swung back again to faceAlan. He fired again, and againthe robot reacted. It seemed familiarsomehow. Then he rememberedthe robot on the riverbank, jiggling and swaying forseconds after each shot. Ofcourse! He cursed himself formissing the obvious. The blasterstatic blanks out radiotransmission from the computerfor a few seconds. They even doit to themselves! Firing intermittently, hepulled himself upright and hobbledahead through the bush.The robot shook spasmodicallywith each shot, its gun tilted upwardat an awkward angle. Then, unexpectedly, Alan sawstars, real stars brilliant in thenight sky, and half dragging hisswelling leg he stumbled out ofthe jungle into the camp clearing.Ahead, across fifty yards ofgrass stood the headquartersbuilding, housing the robot-controllingcomputer. Still firing atshort intervals he started acrossthe clearing, gritting his teethat every step. Straining every muscle inspite of the agonizing pain, Alanforced himself to a limping runacross the uneven ground, carefullyavoiding the insect hillsthat jutted up through the grass.From the corner of his eye hesaw another of the robots standingshakily in the dark edge ofthe jungle waiting, it seemed,for his small blaster to run dry. Be damned! You can't winnow! Alan yelled between blastershots, almost irrational fromthe pain that ripped jaggedlythrough his leg. Then it happened.A few feet from thebuilding's door his blaster quit.A click. A faint hiss when hefrantically jerked the triggeragain and again, and the spentcells released themselves fromthe device, falling in the grassat his feet. He dropped the uselessgun. No! He threw himself onthe ground as a new robot suddenlyappeared around the edgeof the building a few feet away,aimed, and fired. Air burnedover Alan's back and ozone tingledin his nostrils. Blinding itself for a few secondswith its own blaster static,the robot paused momentarily,jiggling in place. In thisinstant, Alan jammed his handsinto an insect hill and hurled thepile of dirt and insects directlyat the robot's antenna. In a flash,hundreds of the winged thingserupted angrily from the hole ina swarming cloud, each part ofwhich was a speck of lifetransmitting mental energy to therobot's pickup devices. Confused by the sudden dispersionof mind impulses, therobot fired erratically as Alancrouched and raced painfully forthe door. It fired again, closer,as he fumbled with the lockrelease. Jagged bits of plastic andstone ripped past him, torn looseby the blast. Frantically, Alan slammedopen the door as the robot, sensinghim strongly now, aimedpoint blank. He saw nothing, hismind thought of nothing but thered-clad safety switch mountedbeside the computer. Time stopped.There was nothing else inthe world. He half-jumped, half-felltowards it, slowly, in tenthsof seconds that seemed measuredout in years. The universe went black. Later. Brilliance pressed uponhis eyes. Then pain returned, amulti-hurting thing that crawledthrough his body and draggedragged tentacles across hisbrain. He moaned. A voice spoke hollowly in thedistance. He's waking. Call hiswife. Alan opened his eyes in awhite room; a white light hungover his head. Beside him, lookingdown with a rueful smile,stood a young man wearingspace medical insignia. Yes,he acknowledged the question inAlan's eyes, you hit the switch.That was three days ago. Whenyou're up again we'd all like tothank you. Suddenly a sobbing-laughinggreen-eyed girl was pressedtightly against him. Neither ofthem spoke. They couldn't. Therewas too much to say. THE END Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Amazing Science Fiction Stories October 1958. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling andtypographical errors have been corrected without note.<doc-sep> PRIME DIFFERENCE By ALAN E. NOURSE Illustrated by SCHOENHEER [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction June 1957. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Being two men rolled out of one would solve my problems—but which one would I be? I suppose that every guy reaches a point once in his lifetime when hegets one hundred and forty per cent fed up with his wife. Understand now—I've got nothing against marriage or any thinglike that. Marriage is great. It's a good old red-blooded AmericanInstitution. Except that it's got one defect in it big enough to throwa cat through, especially when you happen to be married to a womanlike Marge— It's so permanent . Oh, I'd have divorced Marge in a minute if we'd been living in theBlissful 'Fifties—but with the Family Solidarity Amendment of 1968,and all the divorce taxes we have these days since the women gottheir teeth into politics, to say nothing of the Aggrieved SpouseCompensation Act, I'd have been a pauper for the rest of my life ifI'd tried it. That's aside from the social repercussions involved. You can't really blame me for looking for another way out. But a manhas to be desperate to try to buy himself an Ego Prime. So, all right, I was desperate. I'd spent eight years trying to keepMarge happy, which was exactly seven and a half years too long. Marge was a dream to look at, with her tawny hair and her sulky eyesand a shape that could set your teeth chattering—but that was wherethe dream stopped. She had a tongue like a #10 wood rasp and a list of grievances longenough to paper the bedroom wall. When she wasn't complaining, she wascrying, and when she wasn't crying, she was pointing out in chillingdetail exactly where George Faircloth fell short as a model husband,which happened to be everywhere. Half of the time she had a beastlyheadache (for which I was personally responsible) and the other halfshe was sore about something, so ninety-nine per cent of the time wegot along like a couple of tomcats in a packing case. <doc-sep> Brightside Crossing by Alan E. Nourse JAMES BARON was not pleased to hear that he had hada visitor when he reached the Red Lion that evening. Hehad no stomach for mysteries, vast or trifling, and therewere pressing things to think about at this time. Yet the doormanhad flagged him as he came in from the street: “A thousandpardons, Mr. Baron. The gentleman—he would leave noname. He said you’d want to see him. He will be back byeight.” Now Baron drummed his fingers on the table top, staringabout the quiet lounge. Street trade was discouraged at theRed Lion, gently but persuasively; the patrons were few innumber. Across to the right was a group that Baron knewvaguely—Andean climbers, or at least two of them were. Overnear the door he recognized old Balmer, who had mappedthe first passage to the core of Vulcan Crater on Venus. Baronreturned his smile with a nod. Then he settled back andwaited impatiently for the intruder who demanded his timewithout justifying it. Presently a small, grizzled man crossed the room and satdown at Baron’s table. He was short and wiry. His face heldno key to his age—he might have been thirty or a thousand—buthe looked weary and immensely ugly. His cheeks andforehead were twisted and brown, with scars that were stillhealing. The stranger said, “I’m glad you waited. I’ve heard you’replanning to attempt the Brightside.” Baron stared at the man for a moment. “I see you can readtelecasts,” he said coldly. “The news was correct. We are goingto make a Brightside Crossing.” “At perihelion?” “Of course. When else?” The grizzled man searched Baron’s face for a momentwithout expression. Then he said slowly, “No, I’m afraid you’renot going to make the Crossing.” “Say, who are you, if you don’t mind?” Baron demanded. “The name is Claney,” said the stranger. There was a silence. Then: “Claney? Peter Claney?” “That’s right.” Baron’s eyes were wide with excitement, all trace of angergone. “Great balls of fire, man— where have you been hiding? We’ve been trying to contact you for months!” “I know. I was hoping you’d quit looking and chuck thewhole idea.” “Quit looking!” Baron bent forward over the table. “Myfriend, we’d given up hope, but we’ve never quit looking.Here, have a drink. There’s so much you can tell us.” Hisfingers were trembling. Peter Claney shook his head. “I can’t tell you anything youwant to hear.” “But you’ve got to. You’re the only man on Earth who’sattempted a Brightside Crossing and lived through it! And thestory you cleared for the news—it was nothing. We need details . Where did your equipment fall down? Where did youmiscalculate? What were the trouble spots?” Baron jabbed afinger at Claney’s face. “That, for instance—epithelioma?Why? What was wrong with your glass? Your filters? We’vegot to know those things. If you can tell us, we can makeit across where your attempt failed—” “You want to know why we failed?” asked Claney. “Of course we want to know. We have to know.” “It’s simple. We failed because it can’t be done. We couldn’tdo it and neither can you. No human beings will ever crossthe Brightside alive, not if they try for centuries.” “Nonsense,” Baron declared. “We will.” Claney shrugged. “I was there. I know what I’m saying. Youcan blame the equipment or the men—there were flaws inboth quarters—but we just didn’t know what we were fighting.It was the planet that whipped us, that and the Sun . They’llwhip you, too, if you try it.” “Never,” said Baron. “Let me tell you,” Peter Claney said. <doc-sep></s>

Alan’s realization that he must continue to live makes him become a man at thirty. Not only does it fill him with determination, but it is also what fuels him to stop the robots and end up saving everybody. He declares that no law says he has to flame-out at this age, so he continues to work his way through the jungle and against the robots. Without this realization, he would not have been motivated to use his pocket blaster against the robots and knife. Alan would also not have lived long enough to figure out the control of the robots as the computer in the headquarters building. This, itself, also lets him actually choose to go back to the area at the risk of death to find the safety button. Finally, his will to live lets him put aside his fear and goes to push the button, which ends up saving everybody.

<s>The baggage claim attendant was staring at me. For only a moment Istared back. Then I quickly reached for my baggage check and presentedit to him. His hand hovered over the handle of the little red bag and Iwas ready to yell at him. But then, matching numbers on the tags withhis eyes, his hand grasped the handle of my own suitcase and pushed ittoward me. Thanks, I said, taking it. I glanced ever so casually toward theremaining bag. One left over, eh? Yeah. He was so bored I was tempted to tell him what was in it. Buthe was eying me with a well-why-don't-you-get-along? look. I said, What happens if nobody claims it? Take it inside. Why? He was getting too curious. Oh, I just wondered, that's all. I stepped on my cigarette and walked toward the air terminal entranceand put my suitcase on the stone steps there. A redcap came hurryingover. Cab? I shook my head. Just waiting. Just waiting for somebody to pick up a bomb. I lit another cigarette and glanced now and then toward the baggageclaim area. The red bag was still there. All sorts of theories ranthrough my head as to why it should still be there, and none satisfiedme. I should not have been there, that much I knew; I should be with aman named Amos Magaffey on Sixth Street at ten o'clock, discussingsomething very mundane, the matter of a printing order. But what couldI do? If I left the airport, the attendant would eventually take thebag inside and there would be an explosion, and I wouldn't be able tolive with myself. No. I had to stay to keep the balance wheel stationary until—untilwhat? A man in tan gabardine, wearing a police cap and badge, walked out ofthe entrance to stand on the stone steps beside me while he put on apair of dark glasses. A member of the airport police detail. I couldtell him. I could take him down to the little red bag and explain thewhole thing. Then it would be his baby and I would be off on my ownbusiness. But he moved on down the steps, nodded at the redcap, and startedacross the street to the parking area. I could have called to him,Hey, officer, let me tell you about a bomb in a little red bag. ButI didn't. I didn't because I caught a movement at the baggage claimcounter out of the side of my eye. The attendant had picked up the bag and was walking with it up the rampto the rear of the air terminal. Picking up my own suitcase, I wentinside in time to see him enter through a side door and deposit the bagon the scales at the airline desk and say something to the clerk. Theclerk nodded and moved the bag to the rear room. I could visualize the balance wheel once again rocking like crazy. Howmany minutes—or seconds—were left? I was sweating when I moved to thecounter, and it wasn't because of the sunshine I'd been soaking in. Ihad to get as close to the bag as I could if I was going to stop theclock again. Can I help you? the clerk asked. No. I'm waiting for someone. I turned my back to him, put down my suitcase, leaned against thecounter and reached out for the wheel. I found I could reach thedevice, but it was far away. When I tried to dampen it, the wheelescaped my grasp. Do you have my suitcase? I blinked my eyes open and looked around. The blonde in the plane stoodthere looking very fresh and bright and unconcerned. In her right handshe had a green baggage claim check. The clerk took it, nodded, and in a moment brought out the overnightcase and set it on the scales. The girl thanked him, picked it up,glanced at me indifferently, and then started for the entrance with it. Just a moment, I found myself saying, grabbing my bag and hurryingafter her. <doc-sep>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep>As if to provide an example, a figure suddenly materialized ontheir side of the bubble. The wolflike dogs bared their fangs. Foran instant, there was only an eerie, distorted, rapidly growingsilhouette, changing from blood-red to black as the boundary of thebubble cross-sectioned the intruding figure. Then they recognized theback of another long-haired warrior and realized that the audience onthe other side of the bubble had probably seen him approaching for sometime. He bowed to the hooded figure and handed him a small bag. More atavistic cubs, big and little! Hold still, Cynthia, a new voicecut in. Hal turned and saw that two cold-eyed girls had been ushered into thecubicle. One was wiping her close-cropped hair with one hand whilemopping a green stain from her friend's back with the other. Hal nudged Joggy and whispered: Butch! But Joggy was still hypnotized by the Time Bubble. Then how is it, Hal, he asked, that light comes out of the bubble,if the people don't? What I mean is, if one of the people walks towardus, he shrinks to a red blot and disappears. Why doesn't the lightcoming our way disappear, too? Well—you see, Joggy, it isn't real light. It's— Once more the interpreter helped him out. The light that comes from the bubble is an isotope. Like atoms ofone element, photons of a single frequency also have isotopes. It'smore than a matter of polarization. One of these isotopes of lighttends to leak futureward through holes in space-time. Most of thelight goes down the vistas visible to the other side of the audience.But one isotope is diverted through the walls of the bubble into theTime Theater. Perhaps, because of the intense darkness of the theater,you haven't realized how dimly lit the scene is. That's because we'regetting only a single isotope of the original light. Incidentally, noisotopes have been discovered that leak pastward, though attempts arebeing made to synthesize them. Oh, explanations! murmured one of the newly arrived girls. The cubsare always angling for them. Apple-polishers! I like this show, a familiar voice announced serenely. They cutanybody yet with those choppers? Hal looked down beside him. Butch! How did you manage to get in? I don't see any blood. Where's the bodies? But how did you get in—Butcher? <doc-sep></s>

On a seemingly normal flight from San Francisco to Los Angeles sits our protagonist, on his way to complete a printing order. In his initial musings, we find out that his curiosity and intuition about his fellow passengers come out of his extrasensory ability to see inside objects and human beings. The protagonist is also revealed to be able to manipulate time by stopping clocks, which he uses to his benefit with early wake-up calls. Despite his unique abilities, he laments that it renders largely useless and mundane as it often ruins surprises like Christmas gifts, requires a bit of guessing, and fails to work as gimmicks in manipulating games like Vegas slot machines. And so with his seemingly useless but curious gaze, the protagonist ponders about his seat-mate’s purse, Amos Magaffey the purchasing agent, and rifling through luggages and identifying his own. All of sudden, his musings are halted by the discovery of a bomb in one of the luggages, with a countdown timer ticking with 10 minutes or less. The flight is still 40 minutes away from its destination and so with great effort and increasing suspicion from his seat-mate, the protagonist uses his ability to stop the ticking bomb. The flight lands safely with the bomb remaining inactivated, but the protgaonist now worries between alerting authorities - which may cast suspicion upon himself - or follow the luggage and identify who picks it up. With no one initially picking up the luggage with the bomb - the little red bag - it is delivered by the flight attendant to the rear room. Soon, a young lady arrives to pick it up. It is then that the protagonist hurries over to her in hopes of warning her of the ticking time bomb. It turns out that the likely culprit of planting the bomb is the young lady’s - Julia Claremont - husband, whose motives are unknown but nevertheless unhinged. Armed with this information and a false story about the bag’s suspicion, the pair decides to approach an airport policeman and inform them of the bomb. However, as they return to where they left their bags, they find that both his and Julia’s luggages have been stolen by a strange man entering his grey vehicle. Turning to the airport policeman in reporting this stolen luggage, they are interrupted by an explosion in a grey vehicle. Shocked and somber, Julia and the protagonist inform the policeman that they no longer wish to report the stolen luggage, and the two begin to walk away from the airport.

<s>I finished my coffee in one gulp and went to pay the bill with her.I asked her why she didn't claim the bag at the same time the otherpeople had. She said she had called her sister and the phone was busyfor a long while. She was supposed to meet me, and when she wasn't here, I got worried.She said she isn't feeling well and asked me to take a cab. She smileda little. It was a bright, cheery thing. I had the feeling it was allfor me. That's where I was going when you caught up with me. It had become a very nice day. But the bottom dropped out of it againwhen we reached the lobby. The two bags weren't there. I ran to the entrance and nearly collided with the redcap. See anybody go out of here with a little red bag and an old batteredsuitcase? Bag? Suitcase? he mumbled. Then he became excited. Why, a man juststepped out of here— He turned to look down the street. That's him. The dumpy man I'd seen was walking off; Julia's bag in his right hand,mine in his left. He seemed in no hurry. Hey! I shouted, starting toward him. The man turned, took one look at me, and started to run. He cameabreast an old gray, mud-spattered coupe, ran around, opened the doorand threw both bags into the rear seat as he got in. The car was a hundred feet away and gathering speed by the time Ireached where it had been parked. I watched it for a moment, thenwalked back to the entranceway where Julia was standing with theredcap, who said, That man steal them suitcases? That he did, I said. Just then the airport policeman started across the street from theparking lot. Redcap said, Better tell him about it. The policeman was sympathetic and concerned. He said, We'd better getover to the office. But we never left the spot because an explosion some blocks distantshattered the air. Julia's hand grasped my arm. Hard. Jets, the redcap said, eying the sky. I don't know, the policeman said. Didn't sound much like a jet tome. We stood there. I could visualize the wreckage of an old gray coupein the middle of a street, but I couldn't visualize the driver. Thatwas all right. I didn't want to see him. I didn't know what Julia wasthinking. She said, About those bags, and looked at me. The officer said, Yes, miss? I—I don't care about mine. I didn't have much of anything in it. I feel the same way, I said. Would it be all right if we didn'tbother to report it? Well, the policeman said, I can't make you report it. I'd rather not then, Julia said. She turned to me. I'd like someair. Can't we walk a little? Sure, I said. We started down the street, her arm in mine, as the air began to fillwith the distant sounds of sirens. <doc-sep>At her side and a little ahead of her, I said, Listen to me. She looked annoyed and increased her stride toward the door. It's a matter of life or death, I said. I wanted to wrest the bagfrom her and hurl it out through the doorway into the street, but Irestrained myself. She stopped and stared. I noticed a short, fat man in a rumpledsuitcoat and unpressed pants staring, too. Ignoring him, I said,Please put the bag down. Over there. I indicated a spot beside atelephone booth where it would be out of the way. She didn't move. She just said, Why? For God's sake! I took the case. She offered no resistance. I put herbag and mine next to the booth. When I turned around she was standingthere looking at me as if I had gone out of my mind. Her eyes were blueand brown-flecked, very pretty eyes, and my thought at the moment was,I'm glad the bomb didn't go off; these eyes wouldn't be looking at meor anything else right now if it had. I've got to talk to you. It's very important. The girl said, Why? I was beginning to think it was the only word sheknew. At the same time I was wondering why anyone would want to killsomeone so lovely. I'll explain in a moment. Please stand right here while I make atelephone call. I moved toward the phone booth, paused and said, Anddon't ask me why. She gave me a speculative look. I must not have seemed a complete idiot because she said, All right,but— I didn't listen for the rest. I went into the booth, closed the door,pretended to drop a coin and dial a number. But all the time I was inthere, I was reaching out through the glass for the clock. At thisrange it wasn't difficult to stop the balance wheel. Just the same, when I came out I was wringing wet. Now will you please tell me what this is all about? she said stiffly. Gladly. Let me buy you a cup of coffee and I'll explain. She glanced at the bags. I told her they'd be all right. We followedthe short, fat man into the coffee shop. Over coffee I explained it all to her, how I had this extrasensoryability, how she was the first person I had ever revealed it to, andhow I had discovered what was in her overnight bag. During the telling, her untouched coffee grew a skin, her face grewpale, her eyes grew less curious and more troubled. There were tearsthere when I finished. I asked her who put the bomb in her bag. Joe did, she said in a toneless voice, not looking at me any more butstaring vacantly across the room. Joe put it there. Behind her eyesshe was reliving some recent scene. Who is Joe? My husband. I thought she was going to really bawl, but she gotcontrol again. This trip was his idea, my coming down here to visit mysister. Her smile was bleak. I see now why he wanted to put in thosebooks. I'd finished packing and was in the bathroom. He said he'd putin some books we'd both finished reading—for my sister. That's when hemust have put the—put it in there. I said gently, Why would he want to do a thing like that? I don't know. She shook her head. I just don't know. And she wasclose to bawling again. Then she recovered and said, I'm not sure Iwant to know. I admired her for saying it. Joe must have been crazy. It's all right now? she asked. I nodded. As long as we don't move it. I told her I didn't know how much more time there was, that I'd beenthinking it over and that the only way out seemed to be to tell theairport policeman. After I explained it to her, the girl—she said hername was Julia Claremont—agreed to tell him she thought there was abomb in her bag, that she had noticed a ticking and had become worriedbecause she knew she hadn't packed a clock. It wasn't good, but itwould have to do. We've got to get it deactivated, I said, watching the fat man pay forhis coffee and leave. The sooner the better. <doc-sep>The baggage claim attendant was staring at me. For only a moment Istared back. Then I quickly reached for my baggage check and presentedit to him. His hand hovered over the handle of the little red bag and Iwas ready to yell at him. But then, matching numbers on the tags withhis eyes, his hand grasped the handle of my own suitcase and pushed ittoward me. Thanks, I said, taking it. I glanced ever so casually toward theremaining bag. One left over, eh? Yeah. He was so bored I was tempted to tell him what was in it. Buthe was eying me with a well-why-don't-you-get-along? look. I said, What happens if nobody claims it? Take it inside. Why? He was getting too curious. Oh, I just wondered, that's all. I stepped on my cigarette and walked toward the air terminal entranceand put my suitcase on the stone steps there. A redcap came hurryingover. Cab? I shook my head. Just waiting. Just waiting for somebody to pick up a bomb. I lit another cigarette and glanced now and then toward the baggageclaim area. The red bag was still there. All sorts of theories ranthrough my head as to why it should still be there, and none satisfiedme. I should not have been there, that much I knew; I should be with aman named Amos Magaffey on Sixth Street at ten o'clock, discussingsomething very mundane, the matter of a printing order. But what couldI do? If I left the airport, the attendant would eventually take thebag inside and there would be an explosion, and I wouldn't be able tolive with myself. No. I had to stay to keep the balance wheel stationary until—untilwhat? A man in tan gabardine, wearing a police cap and badge, walked out ofthe entrance to stand on the stone steps beside me while he put on apair of dark glasses. A member of the airport police detail. I couldtell him. I could take him down to the little red bag and explain thewhole thing. Then it would be his baby and I would be off on my ownbusiness. But he moved on down the steps, nodded at the redcap, and startedacross the street to the parking area. I could have called to him,Hey, officer, let me tell you about a bomb in a little red bag. ButI didn't. I didn't because I caught a movement at the baggage claimcounter out of the side of my eye. The attendant had picked up the bag and was walking with it up the rampto the rear of the air terminal. Picking up my own suitcase, I wentinside in time to see him enter through a side door and deposit the bagon the scales at the airline desk and say something to the clerk. Theclerk nodded and moved the bag to the rear room. I could visualize the balance wheel once again rocking like crazy. Howmany minutes—or seconds—were left? I was sweating when I moved to thecounter, and it wasn't because of the sunshine I'd been soaking in. Ihad to get as close to the bag as I could if I was going to stop theclock again. Can I help you? the clerk asked. No. I'm waiting for someone. I turned my back to him, put down my suitcase, leaned against thecounter and reached out for the wheel. I found I could reach thedevice, but it was far away. When I tried to dampen it, the wheelescaped my grasp. Do you have my suitcase? I blinked my eyes open and looked around. The blonde in the plane stoodthere looking very fresh and bright and unconcerned. In her right handshe had a green baggage claim check. The clerk took it, nodded, and in a moment brought out the overnightcase and set it on the scales. The girl thanked him, picked it up,glanced at me indifferently, and then started for the entrance with it. Just a moment, I found myself saying, grabbing my bag and hurryingafter her. <doc-sep></s>

Julia Claremont is a young blonde in the plane that initially peaks the protagonist's interest with her attractive profile, who later is identified as the owner of the little red bag that houses the ticking bomb. Flying from San Francisco to Los Angeles to visit her sister on her husband’s suggestion, she is the first person that the protagonist reveals his extrasensory abilities to. Despite the extraordinary tale, Claremont believes him and reveals herself that the likely culprit of the bomb to be her husband. Under the guise of putting in books for her sister to read, she surmises that her husband likely used that opportunity to plant the bomb. However, she is unable to identify the motives of her husband or more likely, she would rather not to. Despite this shock, Claremont and the protagonist devise a somewhat likely story to alert the airport policeman of her suspicious of a bomb in her luggage in order to quickly deactivate it as well as divert attention from how the protgaonist was able to sense it. On their way over to where they left their bags, they noticed them to be stolen and identified a dumpy man as the thief, heading over to his grey vehicle to take off with them. As they approach an airport policeman to report this theft instead, they are interrupted by an explosion - the bomb having gone off. Seemingly on the same page, Claremont turns to the policeman as she retracts her desire to report the theft - with the protagonist doing the same - and turns to walk away, leaving the mayhem of the explosion at the airport behind them.

<s> Nuts to wild talents! Mine was no satisfaction, never earned me a penny—and now it had me fighting for my life in ... THE LITTLE RED BAG By JERRY SOHL [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, January 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] About an hour out of San Francisco on the flight to Los Angeles, I madethe discovery. I had finished reading the Chronicle , folded and putit beside me, turned and looked out the window, expecting to see theSan Joaquin Valley but finding only a sea of clouds instead. So Ireturned my attention to the inside of the plane, to the overstuffedgray-haired woman asleep beside me, to the backs of heads in seatsbefore me, across the aisle to other heads, and down to the blonde. I had seen her in the concourse and at the gate, a shapely thing. Nowshe had crossed her legs and I was privileged to view a trim ankle andcalf, and her profile as she stared moodily across the aisle and out awindow where there was nothing to see. I slid my eyes past her to others. A crossword-puzzle worker, atogetherness-type-magazine reader. Inventory completed, I went back to looking at the clouds, knowing Ishould be thinking about the printing order I was going to Los Angelesfor, and not wanting to. So I started going through the purse of the woman next to me. Perhapsthat sounds bad. It wasn't. I'd been doing it for years and nobody evercomplained. It started when I was a kid, this business of being able to explorethe insides of things like purses and sealed boxes and locked drawersand—well, human beings. But human beings aren't worth the trouble.It's like swimming through spaghetti. And I've got to stay away fromelectric wires. They hurt. Now don't ask me how they hurt. Maybe you think it's fun. For the most part, it really isn't. I alwaysknew what was in Christmas presents before I unwrapped them, andtherefore Christmas was always spoiled for me as a kid. I can't feelthe color of anything, just its consistency. An apple senses about thesame as a potato, except for the core and the stem. I can't even tellif there's writing on a piece of paper. So you see it isn't much. Justthe feel of shapes, the hardnesses and softnesses. But I've learned tobecome pretty good at guessing. Like this woman next to me. She had a short, cylindrical metal objectin her purse with waxlike stuff inside it—a lipstick. A round, hardobject with dust inside—a compact. Handkerchief, chewing gum, a smallbook, probably an address book, money in a change purse—a few billsand coins. Not much else. I was a little disappointed. I've run across a gun or two in my time.But I never say anything. <doc-sep>The baggage claim attendant was staring at me. For only a moment Istared back. Then I quickly reached for my baggage check and presentedit to him. His hand hovered over the handle of the little red bag and Iwas ready to yell at him. But then, matching numbers on the tags withhis eyes, his hand grasped the handle of my own suitcase and pushed ittoward me. Thanks, I said, taking it. I glanced ever so casually toward theremaining bag. One left over, eh? Yeah. He was so bored I was tempted to tell him what was in it. Buthe was eying me with a well-why-don't-you-get-along? look. I said, What happens if nobody claims it? Take it inside. Why? He was getting too curious. Oh, I just wondered, that's all. I stepped on my cigarette and walked toward the air terminal entranceand put my suitcase on the stone steps there. A redcap came hurryingover. Cab? I shook my head. Just waiting. Just waiting for somebody to pick up a bomb. I lit another cigarette and glanced now and then toward the baggageclaim area. The red bag was still there. All sorts of theories ranthrough my head as to why it should still be there, and none satisfiedme. I should not have been there, that much I knew; I should be with aman named Amos Magaffey on Sixth Street at ten o'clock, discussingsomething very mundane, the matter of a printing order. But what couldI do? If I left the airport, the attendant would eventually take thebag inside and there would be an explosion, and I wouldn't be able tolive with myself. No. I had to stay to keep the balance wheel stationary until—untilwhat? A man in tan gabardine, wearing a police cap and badge, walked out ofthe entrance to stand on the stone steps beside me while he put on apair of dark glasses. A member of the airport police detail. I couldtell him. I could take him down to the little red bag and explain thewhole thing. Then it would be his baby and I would be off on my ownbusiness. But he moved on down the steps, nodded at the redcap, and startedacross the street to the parking area. I could have called to him,Hey, officer, let me tell you about a bomb in a little red bag. ButI didn't. I didn't because I caught a movement at the baggage claimcounter out of the side of my eye. The attendant had picked up the bag and was walking with it up the rampto the rear of the air terminal. Picking up my own suitcase, I wentinside in time to see him enter through a side door and deposit the bagon the scales at the airline desk and say something to the clerk. Theclerk nodded and moved the bag to the rear room. I could visualize the balance wheel once again rocking like crazy. Howmany minutes—or seconds—were left? I was sweating when I moved to thecounter, and it wasn't because of the sunshine I'd been soaking in. Ihad to get as close to the bag as I could if I was going to stop theclock again. Can I help you? the clerk asked. No. I'm waiting for someone. I turned my back to him, put down my suitcase, leaned against thecounter and reached out for the wheel. I found I could reach thedevice, but it was far away. When I tried to dampen it, the wheelescaped my grasp. Do you have my suitcase? I blinked my eyes open and looked around. The blonde in the plane stoodthere looking very fresh and bright and unconcerned. In her right handshe had a green baggage claim check. The clerk took it, nodded, and in a moment brought out the overnightcase and set it on the scales. The girl thanked him, picked it up,glanced at me indifferently, and then started for the entrance with it. Just a moment, I found myself saying, grabbing my bag and hurryingafter her. <doc-sep>I finished my coffee in one gulp and went to pay the bill with her.I asked her why she didn't claim the bag at the same time the otherpeople had. She said she had called her sister and the phone was busyfor a long while. She was supposed to meet me, and when she wasn't here, I got worried.She said she isn't feeling well and asked me to take a cab. She smileda little. It was a bright, cheery thing. I had the feeling it was allfor me. That's where I was going when you caught up with me. It had become a very nice day. But the bottom dropped out of it againwhen we reached the lobby. The two bags weren't there. I ran to the entrance and nearly collided with the redcap. See anybody go out of here with a little red bag and an old batteredsuitcase? Bag? Suitcase? he mumbled. Then he became excited. Why, a man juststepped out of here— He turned to look down the street. That's him. The dumpy man I'd seen was walking off; Julia's bag in his right hand,mine in his left. He seemed in no hurry. Hey! I shouted, starting toward him. The man turned, took one look at me, and started to run. He cameabreast an old gray, mud-spattered coupe, ran around, opened the doorand threw both bags into the rear seat as he got in. The car was a hundred feet away and gathering speed by the time Ireached where it had been parked. I watched it for a moment, thenwalked back to the entranceway where Julia was standing with theredcap, who said, That man steal them suitcases? That he did, I said. Just then the airport policeman started across the street from theparking lot. Redcap said, Better tell him about it. The policeman was sympathetic and concerned. He said, We'd better getover to the office. But we never left the spot because an explosion some blocks distantshattered the air. Julia's hand grasped my arm. Hard. Jets, the redcap said, eying the sky. I don't know, the policeman said. Didn't sound much like a jet tome. We stood there. I could visualize the wreckage of an old gray coupein the middle of a street, but I couldn't visualize the driver. Thatwas all right. I didn't want to see him. I didn't know what Julia wasthinking. She said, About those bags, and looked at me. The officer said, Yes, miss? I—I don't care about mine. I didn't have much of anything in it. I feel the same way, I said. Would it be all right if we didn'tbother to report it? Well, the policeman said, I can't make you report it. I'd rather not then, Julia said. She turned to me. I'd like someair. Can't we walk a little? Sure, I said. We started down the street, her arm in mine, as the air began to fillwith the distant sounds of sirens. <doc-sep></s>

The protagonist finds out about his extraordinary ability at an early age and quickly finds out that it is better to keep this information to himself. One incident that drove this message home occured in the fourth grade with his teacher, Miss Winters. At the time, the protagonist was sentenced to eat lunch with her as a minor punishment. After the lunch period was over, Miss Winters found herself looking for her favorite mechanical pencil, asking the class if anyone had seen it while casting a suspicious eye at the protagonist. Aiming to maintain his innocence and help out his teacher, the protagonist used his ability to find the pencil - in Miss Winters’ purse all along - and let her know. Instead, he was rewarded with a note sent home. Ever since then, he found it to be safer to keep his ability a secret. Despite his curiosities about other potential extraordinary individuals, he recognizes that revealing any information gained from his ability would only cast suspicion upon himself from the authorities. For example, had the protagonist immediately alerted a flight attendant or the authorities about a bomb in one of the luggages the moment he discovered it on the plane, intrusive questions about how he knew or suspicions about him being the one to plant it were highly likely to arise.

<s>The baggage claim attendant was staring at me. For only a moment Istared back. Then I quickly reached for my baggage check and presentedit to him. His hand hovered over the handle of the little red bag and Iwas ready to yell at him. But then, matching numbers on the tags withhis eyes, his hand grasped the handle of my own suitcase and pushed ittoward me. Thanks, I said, taking it. I glanced ever so casually toward theremaining bag. One left over, eh? Yeah. He was so bored I was tempted to tell him what was in it. Buthe was eying me with a well-why-don't-you-get-along? look. I said, What happens if nobody claims it? Take it inside. Why? He was getting too curious. Oh, I just wondered, that's all. I stepped on my cigarette and walked toward the air terminal entranceand put my suitcase on the stone steps there. A redcap came hurryingover. Cab? I shook my head. Just waiting. Just waiting for somebody to pick up a bomb. I lit another cigarette and glanced now and then toward the baggageclaim area. The red bag was still there. All sorts of theories ranthrough my head as to why it should still be there, and none satisfiedme. I should not have been there, that much I knew; I should be with aman named Amos Magaffey on Sixth Street at ten o'clock, discussingsomething very mundane, the matter of a printing order. But what couldI do? If I left the airport, the attendant would eventually take thebag inside and there would be an explosion, and I wouldn't be able tolive with myself. No. I had to stay to keep the balance wheel stationary until—untilwhat? A man in tan gabardine, wearing a police cap and badge, walked out ofthe entrance to stand on the stone steps beside me while he put on apair of dark glasses. A member of the airport police detail. I couldtell him. I could take him down to the little red bag and explain thewhole thing. Then it would be his baby and I would be off on my ownbusiness. But he moved on down the steps, nodded at the redcap, and startedacross the street to the parking area. I could have called to him,Hey, officer, let me tell you about a bomb in a little red bag. ButI didn't. I didn't because I caught a movement at the baggage claimcounter out of the side of my eye. The attendant had picked up the bag and was walking with it up the rampto the rear of the air terminal. Picking up my own suitcase, I wentinside in time to see him enter through a side door and deposit the bagon the scales at the airline desk and say something to the clerk. Theclerk nodded and moved the bag to the rear room. I could visualize the balance wheel once again rocking like crazy. Howmany minutes—or seconds—were left? I was sweating when I moved to thecounter, and it wasn't because of the sunshine I'd been soaking in. Ihad to get as close to the bag as I could if I was going to stop theclock again. Can I help you? the clerk asked. No. I'm waiting for someone. I turned my back to him, put down my suitcase, leaned against thecounter and reached out for the wheel. I found I could reach thedevice, but it was far away. When I tried to dampen it, the wheelescaped my grasp. Do you have my suitcase? I blinked my eyes open and looked around. The blonde in the plane stoodthere looking very fresh and bright and unconcerned. In her right handshe had a green baggage claim check. The clerk took it, nodded, and in a moment brought out the overnightcase and set it on the scales. The girl thanked him, picked it up,glanced at me indifferently, and then started for the entrance with it. Just a moment, I found myself saying, grabbing my bag and hurryingafter her. <doc-sep>He was still thinking about temperature and humidity when a pretty girlhappened along with something in her eye. They collided. She got hisright and left jacket pockets. It was much too much for coincidence.The sidewalk was wide enough to allow four people to pass at one time.He should surely have become suspicious when two men engaged in aheated argument came along. In the ensuing contretemps they emptied hisrear pants pockets, got his wristwatch and restored the contents of thehandkerchief pocket. It all went off very smoothly, like a game of putand take—the sole difference being that Humphrey Fownes had no idea hewas playing. There was an occasional tinkle of falling glass. It fell on the streets and houses, making small geysers of shiny mist,hitting with a gentle musical sound, like the ephemeral droppings ofa celesta. It was precipitation peculiar to a dome: feather-lightfragments showering harmlessly on the city from time to time. Domeweevils, their metal arms reaching out with molten glass, roamed thehuge casserole, ceaselessly patching and repairing. Humphrey Fownes strode through the puffs of falling glass stillintrigued by a temperature that was always 59 degrees, by a humiditythat was always 47%, by weather that was always Optimum. It was thisrather than skill that enabled the police to maintain such a tightsurveillance on him, a surveillance that went to the extent of gettinghis fingerprints off the postman's bag, and which photographed, X-rayedand chemically analyzed the contents of his pockets before returningthem. Two blocks away from his home a careless housewife spilled afive-pound bag of flour as he was passing. It was really plaster ofParis. He left his shoe prints, stride measurement, height, weight andhandedness behind. By the time Fownes reached his front door an entire dossier completewith photographs had been prepared and was being read by two men in anorange patrol car parked down the street. <doc-sep>I finished my coffee in one gulp and went to pay the bill with her.I asked her why she didn't claim the bag at the same time the otherpeople had. She said she had called her sister and the phone was busyfor a long while. She was supposed to meet me, and when she wasn't here, I got worried.She said she isn't feeling well and asked me to take a cab. She smileda little. It was a bright, cheery thing. I had the feeling it was allfor me. That's where I was going when you caught up with me. It had become a very nice day. But the bottom dropped out of it againwhen we reached the lobby. The two bags weren't there. I ran to the entrance and nearly collided with the redcap. See anybody go out of here with a little red bag and an old batteredsuitcase? Bag? Suitcase? he mumbled. Then he became excited. Why, a man juststepped out of here— He turned to look down the street. That's him. The dumpy man I'd seen was walking off; Julia's bag in his right hand,mine in his left. He seemed in no hurry. Hey! I shouted, starting toward him. The man turned, took one look at me, and started to run. He cameabreast an old gray, mud-spattered coupe, ran around, opened the doorand threw both bags into the rear seat as he got in. The car was a hundred feet away and gathering speed by the time Ireached where it had been parked. I watched it for a moment, thenwalked back to the entranceway where Julia was standing with theredcap, who said, That man steal them suitcases? That he did, I said. Just then the airport policeman started across the street from theparking lot. Redcap said, Better tell him about it. The policeman was sympathetic and concerned. He said, We'd better getover to the office. But we never left the spot because an explosion some blocks distantshattered the air. Julia's hand grasped my arm. Hard. Jets, the redcap said, eying the sky. I don't know, the policeman said. Didn't sound much like a jet tome. We stood there. I could visualize the wreckage of an old gray coupein the middle of a street, but I couldn't visualize the driver. Thatwas all right. I didn't want to see him. I didn't know what Julia wasthinking. She said, About those bags, and looked at me. The officer said, Yes, miss? I—I don't care about mine. I didn't have much of anything in it. I feel the same way, I said. Would it be all right if we didn'tbother to report it? Well, the policeman said, I can't make you report it. I'd rather not then, Julia said. She turned to me. I'd like someair. Can't we walk a little? Sure, I said. We started down the street, her arm in mine, as the air began to fillwith the distant sounds of sirens. <doc-sep></s>

This story has two settings: first, on an airplane from San Francisco to Los Angeles and second, at the Los Angeles airport in the baggage claim and arrivals terminal. The first setting - on the airplane mid flight - is highly important to the story because it is here that the protagonist discovered the bomb in the luggage. Not only that, he discovers that bomb is on a countdown with 10 minutes remaining before detonation while the flight still has 40 minutes before arrival. It is due to this fact that the protagonist utilizes his time manipulation ability to stop the clock successfully. In the second setting, the tensions in this story continue to rise. Despite the protagonist successfully stopping the clock in the air, it appears to continue on the ground. With both the anticipation of watching to see who picks up the little red bag and dodging suspicions from the airport policeman and workers, we can imagine the hectic and panicked energy that sometimes appears in baggage claims. Additionally, an airport is filled with many people arriving and departing, which adds to the pressure the protagonist is facing in dealing with deactivating the bomb before anyone gets hurt.

<s>I finished my coffee in one gulp and went to pay the bill with her.I asked her why she didn't claim the bag at the same time the otherpeople had. She said she had called her sister and the phone was busyfor a long while. She was supposed to meet me, and when she wasn't here, I got worried.She said she isn't feeling well and asked me to take a cab. She smileda little. It was a bright, cheery thing. I had the feeling it was allfor me. That's where I was going when you caught up with me. It had become a very nice day. But the bottom dropped out of it againwhen we reached the lobby. The two bags weren't there. I ran to the entrance and nearly collided with the redcap. See anybody go out of here with a little red bag and an old batteredsuitcase? Bag? Suitcase? he mumbled. Then he became excited. Why, a man juststepped out of here— He turned to look down the street. That's him. The dumpy man I'd seen was walking off; Julia's bag in his right hand,mine in his left. He seemed in no hurry. Hey! I shouted, starting toward him. The man turned, took one look at me, and started to run. He cameabreast an old gray, mud-spattered coupe, ran around, opened the doorand threw both bags into the rear seat as he got in. The car was a hundred feet away and gathering speed by the time Ireached where it had been parked. I watched it for a moment, thenwalked back to the entranceway where Julia was standing with theredcap, who said, That man steal them suitcases? That he did, I said. Just then the airport policeman started across the street from theparking lot. Redcap said, Better tell him about it. The policeman was sympathetic and concerned. He said, We'd better getover to the office. But we never left the spot because an explosion some blocks distantshattered the air. Julia's hand grasped my arm. Hard. Jets, the redcap said, eying the sky. I don't know, the policeman said. Didn't sound much like a jet tome. We stood there. I could visualize the wreckage of an old gray coupein the middle of a street, but I couldn't visualize the driver. Thatwas all right. I didn't want to see him. I didn't know what Julia wasthinking. She said, About those bags, and looked at me. The officer said, Yes, miss? I—I don't care about mine. I didn't have much of anything in it. I feel the same way, I said. Would it be all right if we didn'tbother to report it? Well, the policeman said, I can't make you report it. I'd rather not then, Julia said. She turned to me. I'd like someair. Can't we walk a little? Sure, I said. We started down the street, her arm in mine, as the air began to fillwith the distant sounds of sirens. <doc-sep>The baggage claim attendant was staring at me. For only a moment Istared back. Then I quickly reached for my baggage check and presentedit to him. His hand hovered over the handle of the little red bag and Iwas ready to yell at him. But then, matching numbers on the tags withhis eyes, his hand grasped the handle of my own suitcase and pushed ittoward me. Thanks, I said, taking it. I glanced ever so casually toward theremaining bag. One left over, eh? Yeah. He was so bored I was tempted to tell him what was in it. Buthe was eying me with a well-why-don't-you-get-along? look. I said, What happens if nobody claims it? Take it inside. Why? He was getting too curious. Oh, I just wondered, that's all. I stepped on my cigarette and walked toward the air terminal entranceand put my suitcase on the stone steps there. A redcap came hurryingover. Cab? I shook my head. Just waiting. Just waiting for somebody to pick up a bomb. I lit another cigarette and glanced now and then toward the baggageclaim area. The red bag was still there. All sorts of theories ranthrough my head as to why it should still be there, and none satisfiedme. I should not have been there, that much I knew; I should be with aman named Amos Magaffey on Sixth Street at ten o'clock, discussingsomething very mundane, the matter of a printing order. But what couldI do? If I left the airport, the attendant would eventually take thebag inside and there would be an explosion, and I wouldn't be able tolive with myself. No. I had to stay to keep the balance wheel stationary until—untilwhat? A man in tan gabardine, wearing a police cap and badge, walked out ofthe entrance to stand on the stone steps beside me while he put on apair of dark glasses. A member of the airport police detail. I couldtell him. I could take him down to the little red bag and explain thewhole thing. Then it would be his baby and I would be off on my ownbusiness. But he moved on down the steps, nodded at the redcap, and startedacross the street to the parking area. I could have called to him,Hey, officer, let me tell you about a bomb in a little red bag. ButI didn't. I didn't because I caught a movement at the baggage claimcounter out of the side of my eye. The attendant had picked up the bag and was walking with it up the rampto the rear of the air terminal. Picking up my own suitcase, I wentinside in time to see him enter through a side door and deposit the bagon the scales at the airline desk and say something to the clerk. Theclerk nodded and moved the bag to the rear room. I could visualize the balance wheel once again rocking like crazy. Howmany minutes—or seconds—were left? I was sweating when I moved to thecounter, and it wasn't because of the sunshine I'd been soaking in. Ihad to get as close to the bag as I could if I was going to stop theclock again. Can I help you? the clerk asked. No. I'm waiting for someone. I turned my back to him, put down my suitcase, leaned against thecounter and reached out for the wheel. I found I could reach thedevice, but it was far away. When I tried to dampen it, the wheelescaped my grasp. Do you have my suitcase? I blinked my eyes open and looked around. The blonde in the plane stoodthere looking very fresh and bright and unconcerned. In her right handshe had a green baggage claim check. The clerk took it, nodded, and in a moment brought out the overnightcase and set it on the scales. The girl thanked him, picked it up,glanced at me indifferently, and then started for the entrance with it. Just a moment, I found myself saying, grabbing my bag and hurryingafter her. <doc-sep>At her side and a little ahead of her, I said, Listen to me. She looked annoyed and increased her stride toward the door. It's a matter of life or death, I said. I wanted to wrest the bagfrom her and hurl it out through the doorway into the street, but Irestrained myself. She stopped and stared. I noticed a short, fat man in a rumpledsuitcoat and unpressed pants staring, too. Ignoring him, I said,Please put the bag down. Over there. I indicated a spot beside atelephone booth where it would be out of the way. She didn't move. She just said, Why? For God's sake! I took the case. She offered no resistance. I put herbag and mine next to the booth. When I turned around she was standingthere looking at me as if I had gone out of my mind. Her eyes were blueand brown-flecked, very pretty eyes, and my thought at the moment was,I'm glad the bomb didn't go off; these eyes wouldn't be looking at meor anything else right now if it had. I've got to talk to you. It's very important. The girl said, Why? I was beginning to think it was the only word sheknew. At the same time I was wondering why anyone would want to killsomeone so lovely. I'll explain in a moment. Please stand right here while I make atelephone call. I moved toward the phone booth, paused and said, Anddon't ask me why. She gave me a speculative look. I must not have seemed a complete idiot because she said, All right,but— I didn't listen for the rest. I went into the booth, closed the door,pretended to drop a coin and dial a number. But all the time I was inthere, I was reaching out through the glass for the clock. At thisrange it wasn't difficult to stop the balance wheel. Just the same, when I came out I was wringing wet. Now will you please tell me what this is all about? she said stiffly. Gladly. Let me buy you a cup of coffee and I'll explain. She glanced at the bags. I told her they'd be all right. We followedthe short, fat man into the coffee shop. Over coffee I explained it all to her, how I had this extrasensoryability, how she was the first person I had ever revealed it to, andhow I had discovered what was in her overnight bag. During the telling, her untouched coffee grew a skin, her face grewpale, her eyes grew less curious and more troubled. There were tearsthere when I finished. I asked her who put the bomb in her bag. Joe did, she said in a toneless voice, not looking at me any more butstaring vacantly across the room. Joe put it there. Behind her eyesshe was reliving some recent scene. Who is Joe? My husband. I thought she was going to really bawl, but she gotcontrol again. This trip was his idea, my coming down here to visit mysister. Her smile was bleak. I see now why he wanted to put in thosebooks. I'd finished packing and was in the bathroom. He said he'd putin some books we'd both finished reading—for my sister. That's when hemust have put the—put it in there. I said gently, Why would he want to do a thing like that? I don't know. She shook her head. I just don't know. And she wasclose to bawling again. Then she recovered and said, I'm not sure Iwant to know. I admired her for saying it. Joe must have been crazy. It's all right now? she asked. I nodded. As long as we don't move it. I told her I didn't know how much more time there was, that I'd beenthinking it over and that the only way out seemed to be to tell theairport policeman. After I explained it to her, the girl—she said hername was Julia Claremont—agreed to tell him she thought there was abomb in her bag, that she had noticed a ticking and had become worriedbecause she knew she hadn't packed a clock. It wasn't good, but itwould have to do. We've got to get it deactivated, I said, watching the fat man pay forhis coffee and leave. The sooner the better. <doc-sep></s>

The protagonist’s relationship with authority figures - like the airport policeman in this story - is a double edged sword. On one hand, it is figures like the policeman who are the right figure to report his suspicions towards. They are the ones equipped with the knowledge and resources on how to deal with the bomb in the little red bag. More importantly, informing them is the right thing to do and would save the lives of everyone else at the airport. On the other hand, however, we can see that the protagonist has revealed that authority figures in the past often choose to cast suspicion upon him rather than appreciate the usefulness of the knowledge that comes about his ability. If the protagonist were to approach the policeman in a suspicious manner or reveal too much information about his know-how of the bomb, it is likely that they will suspect him to be the culprit and probe him on something he is unable to explain, and hence arrest him. The protagonist has to carefully consider the implications of either decision and try to optimize both the safety of others around him and his own. The protagonist chooses to inform the policeman of a suspicious baggage situation through the luggage’s owner, Julia Clarmeont, which would deflect any suspicion on himself. However, the bomb detonates before they are able to follow through with it.

<s>Was Conrad telling him the truth, Martin wondered, or was he justgiving the conventional reassurance to the dying? More than that, washe trying to convince himself that what he had done was the rightthing? Every cousin had assured Martin that things were going to be allright. Was Conrad actually different from the rest? His plan had worked and the others' hadn't, but then all his plan hadconsisted of was doing nothing. That was all he and Martin had done ...nothing. Were they absolved of all responsibility merely because theyhad stood aside and taken advantage of the others' weaknesses? Why, Martin said to himself, in a sense, it could be said that Ihave fulfilled my original destiny—that I am a criminal. Well, it didn't matter; whatever happened, no one could hold him toblame. He held no stake in the future that was to come. It was othermen's future—other men's problem. He died very peacefully then, and,since he was the only one left on the ship, there was nobody to buryhim. The unmanned yacht drifted about the seas for years and gave rise tomany legends, none of them as unbelievable as the truth. <doc-sep>Back on Earth it was a warm, misty spring day—the kind of day unknownto the planet Mars. Bella and Scribney, superb in new spring outfits,waited restlessly while the rocket cooled and the passengers recoveredfrom deceleration. Look, Scrib! Bella clutched Scribney's substantial arm. It's finallyopening. They watched the airlock open and the platform wheel into place. Theywatched the passengers descend, looking a trifle dazed. There he is! cried Bella. Why, doesn't he look wonderful! Scrib,it's amazing! Look at him! And indeed, Harper was stepping briskly downward, looking spry and fitand years younger. He came across to them actually beaming. It was thefirst pleasant expression they had seen on his face in years. Well, you old dog! exclaimed Scribney affectionately. So you did itagain! Harper smirked. Yep, I turned a neat little deal. I bought outHagerty's Enzymes and staffed the plant with the hotel's robots. Gotboth of 'em dirt cheap. Both concerns going bankrupt because theydidn't have sense enough to swap their workers. Feel I owe you a bitfor that tip about enzymes, Scrib, so I made out a block of stock toyou. All right? All right? Scribney gulped. Why, the dried-up little turnip was humanafter all. All right! Yes, sir! But aren't you going to use some ofthose robots for office help? Aren't they efficient and all that? Harper's smile vanished. Don't even mention such a thing! he yelped.You don't know what you're saying! I lived with those things forweeks. I wouldn't have one around! Keep 'em in the factory where theybelong! He glimpsed the composed, wonderfully human face of his secretary,waiting patiently in the background. Oh there you are, Smythe. Heturned to his relatives. Busy day ahead. See you later, folks— Same old Harp, observed Scribney. Then he thought of the block ofstock. What say we celebrate our rise to a position in the syndicate,honey? Wonderful! She squeezed his arm, and smiling at each other, they leftthe port. <doc-sep>class=chap/> 2. If you have explored the weird life of many a planet, as I have, youcan appreciate the deep sense of excitement that comes over me when,looking out at a new world for the first time, I see a man-like animal. Walking upright! Wearing adornments in the nature of clothing! I gazed, and my lungs filled with the breath of wonderment. A man!Across millions of miles of space—a man, like the men of the Earth. Six times before in my life of exploration I had gazed at new realmswithin the approachable parts of our universe, but never before had theliving creatures borne such wonderful resemblance to the human life ofour Earth. A man! He might have been creeping on all fours. He might have been skulking like a lesser animal. He might have been entirely naked. He was none of these—and at the very first moment of viewing him Ifelt a kinship toward him. Oh, he was primitive in appearance—but hadmy ancestors not been the same? Was this not a mirror of my own racea million years or so ago? I sensed that my own stream of life hadsomehow crossed with his in ages gone by. How? Who can ever know? Bywhat faded charts of the movements through the sky will man ever beable to retrace relationships of forms of life among planets? Get ready to go out and meet him, Campbell, I said. He's a friend. Split Campbell gave me a look as if to say, Sir, you don't even knowwhat sort of animal he is, actually, much less whether he's friendly ormurderous. There are some things I can sense on first sight, Campbell. Take myword for it, he's a friend. I didn't say anything, sir. Good. Don't. Just get ready. We're going to go out —? Yes, I said. Orders. And meet both of them? Split was at the telescope. Both? I took the instrument from him. Both! Well! They seem to be coming out of the ground, Split said. I see no signsof habitation, but apparently we've landed on top of an undergroundcity—though I hasten to add that this is only an hypothesis. One's a male and the other's a female, I said. Another hypothesis, said Split. The late evening sunshine gave us a clear view of our two friends.They were fully a mile away. Split was certain they had not seen ourship, and to this conclusion I was in agreement. They had apparentlycome up out of the barren rock hillside to view the sunset. I studiedthem through the telescope while Split checked over equipment for ahike. The man's walk was unhurried. He moved thoughtfully, one mightguess. His bare chest and legs showed him to be statuesque in mold,cleanly muscled, fine of bone. His skin was almost the color of thecream-colored robe which flowed from his back, whipping lightly inthe breeze. He wore a brilliant red sash about his middle, and thiswas matched by a red headdress that came down over his shoulders as acircular mantle. The girl stood several yards distant, watching him. This was somesort of ritual, no doubt. He was not concerned with her, but with thesetting sun. Its rays were almost horizontal, knifing through a breakin the distant mountain skyline. He went through some routine motions,his moving arms highlighted by the lemon-colored light of evening. The girl approached him. Two other persons appeared from somewhere backof her.... Three.... Four.... Five.... Where do they come from? Split had paused in the act of checkingequipment to take his turn at the telescope. If he had not done so, Imight not have made a discovery. The landscape was moving . The long shadows that I had not noticed through the telescope were aprominent part of the picture I saw through the ship's window when Ilooked out across the scene with the naked eye. The shadows were moving. They were tree shadows. They were moving toward the clearing where thecrowd gathered. And the reason for their movement was that the treesthemselves were moving. Notice anything? I asked Split. The crowd is growing. We've certainly landed on top of a city. Hegazed. They're coming from underground. Looking through the telescope, obviously he didn't catch the view ofthe moving trees. Notice anything else unusual? I persisted. Yes. The females—I'm speaking hypothetically—but they must befemales—are all wearing puffy white fur ornaments around their elbows.I wonder why? You haven't noticed the trees? The females are quite attractive, said Split. I forgot about the moving trees, then, and took over the telescope.Mobile trees were not new to me. I had seen similar vegetation on otherplanets—sponge-trees—which possessed a sort of muscular quality. Ifthese were similar, they were no doubt feeding along the surface of theslope below the rocky plateau. The people in the clearing beyond paidno attention to them. I studied the crowd of people. Only the leader wore the brilliant garb.The others were more scantily clothed. All were handsome of build. Thelemon-tinted sunlight glanced off the muscular shoulders of the malesand the soft curves of the females. Those furry elbow ornaments on the females, I said to Split,they're for protection. The caves they live in must be narrow, sothey pad their elbows. Why don't they pad their shoulders? They don't have anything on theirshoulders. Are you complaining? We became fascinated in watching, from the seclusion of our ship. If wewere to walk out, or make any sounds, we might have interrupted theirmeeting. Here they were in their native ritual of sunset, not knowingthat people from another world watched. The tall leader must be makinga speech. They sat around him in little huddles. He moved his arms incalm, graceful gestures. They'd better break it up! Split said suddenly. The jungles aremoving in on them. They're spellbound, I said. They're used to sponge-trees. Didn't youever see moving trees? Split said sharply, Those trees are marching! They're an army undercover. Look! I saw, then. The whole line of advancing vegetation was camouflage fora sneak attack. And all those natives sitting around in meeting were asinnocent as a flock of sitting ducks. Split Campbell's voice was edgedwith alarm. Captain! Those worshippers—how can we warn them? Oh-oh!Too late. Look! All at once the advancing sponge-trees were tossed back over the headsof the savage band concealed within. They were warriors—fifty or moreof them—with painted naked bodies. They dashed forward in a widesemicircle, swinging crude weapons, bent on slaughter. <doc-sep></s>

The story starts off with the main character, Rikud, watching space from a viewport that is located on what seems to be a spaceship. Rikud is part of a group of men that live on the spaceship under a strict set of unspoken rules. Rikud then connects with other characters named Chuls and Crifer while getting a bath of health-rays, an example of the high technology in the ship. After the stars in the viewport start changing, Rikud doubts the way of living that the men have taken. He starts to doubt the fact that they have a set span of years, and that they have to live separately from the women (even though he doesn't know what women are). When the view of the viewport changes to “gardens”, Rikud begins to question more and more, and ends up finding the machine room for the ship, as well as a control center that has another viewport. Unsuccessfully convincing the others to go outside with him, Rikud becomes enraged and breaks the machine room of the ship. After realizing that Rikud has messed up the buzzers that control the actions of the people, they begin to hurt Rikud and chase him through the ship. Rikud ends up opening the door that leads outside from the control room, and they discover a new world where they can live freely with the women.

<s>At the end of the corridor, Kane stopped before a blank wall. The sweaton his face glistened dully; his chest rose and fell rapidly. Kane wasa pilot and one of the prerequisites for the job of guiding tons ofmetal between Earth and the Moon was a good set of nerves. Kane excitedeasily, his temper was fiery, but his nerves were like steel. The end of the line, he grunted. As though to disprove the statement, a door on his right side openedsoundlessly. He went through the doorway as if shoved violently by an invisible hand. The door closed behind him. Marie threw herself at the door and beat at the metal. Harry! Verana rushed to her side. Another door on the opposite side of thecorridor opened silently. The door was behind them; they didn't notice. Before I could warn them, Marie floated across the corridor, throughthe doorway. Verana and I stared at the darkness beyond the opening, our musclesfrozen by shock. The door closed behind Marie's screaming, struggling form. Verana's face was white with fear. Apprehensively, she glanced at theother doors that lined the hall. I put my arms around her, held her close. Antigravity machines, force rays, I suggested worriedly. For several minutes, we remained motionless and silent. I recalled thepreceding events of the day, searched for a sense of normality in them.The Kanes, Miller, Verana and I lived in Lunar City with hundreds ofother people. Mankind had inhabited the Moon for over a year. Meansof recreation were scarce. Many people explored the place to amusethemselves. After supper, we had decided to take a walk. As simple asthat: a walk on the Moon. We had expected only the familiar craters, chasms and weird rockformations. A twist of fate and here we were: imprisoned in an alienship. My legs quivered with fatigue, my heart throbbed heavily, Verana'sperfume dizzied me. No, it wasn't a dream. Despite our incrediblesituation, there was no sensation of unreality. <doc-sep>The officer picked up the dollar bill and fingered it with evidentinterest. He turned it over and studied the printing. United States ofAmerica, he read aloud. What are those? It's the name of the country I come from, Jeff said carefully.I—uh—got on the wrong train, apparently, and must have come furtherthan I thought. What's the name of this place? This is Costa, West Goodland, in the Continental Federation. Say, youmust come from an umpty remote part of the world if you don't knowabout this country. His eyes narrowed. Where'd you learn to speakFederal, if you come from so far? Jeff said helplessly, I can't explain, if you don't know about theUnited States. Listen, can you take me to a bank, or some place wherethey know about foreign exchange? The policeman scowled. How'd you get into this country, anyway? Yougot immigrate clearance? An angry muttering started among the bystanders. The policeman made up his mind. You come with me. At the police station, Jeff put his elbows dejectedly on the highcounter while the policeman talked to an officer in charge. Some menwhom Jeff took for reporters got up from a table and eased over tolisten. I don't know whether to charge them with fakemake, bumsy, peekage orlunate, the policeman said as he finished. His superior gave Jeff a long puzzled stare. Jeff sighed. I know it sounds impossible, but a man brought me insomething he claimed was a time traveler. You speak the same language Ido—more or less—but everything else is kind of unfamiliar. I belongin the United States, a country in North America. I can't believe I'mso far in the future that the United States has been forgotten. There ensued a long, confused, inconclusive interrogation. The man behind the desk asked questions which seemed stupid to Jeff andgot answers which probably seemed stupid to him. The reporters quizzed Jeff gleefully. Come out, what are youadvertising? they kept asking. Who got you up to this? The police puzzled over his driver's license and the other cards in hiswallet. They asked repeatedly about the lack of a Work License, whichJeff took to be some sort of union card. Evidently there was gravedoubt that he had any legal right to be in the country. In the end, Jeff and Ann were locked in separate cells for the night.Jeff groaned and pounded the bars as he thought of his wife, imprisonedand alone in a smelly jail. After hours of pacing the cell, he lay downin the cot and reached automatically for his silver pillbox. Then hehesitated. In past weeks, his insomnia had grown worse and worse, so that latelyhe had begun taking stronger pills. After a longing glance at thebig red and yellow capsules, he put the box away. Whatever tomorrowbrought, it wouldn't find him slow and drowsy. IV He passed a wakeful night. In the early morning, he looked up to see alittle man with a briefcase at his cell door. Wish joy, Mr. Elliott, the man said coolly. I am one of Mr. Bullen'sbarmen. You know, represent at law? He sent me to arrange your release,if you are ready to be reasonable. Jeff lay there and put his hands behind his head. I doubt if I'mready. I'm comfortable here. By the way, how did you know where I was? No problem. When we read in this morning's newspapers about a manclaiming to be a time traveler, we knew. All right. Now start explaining. Until I understand where I am, Bullenisn't getting me out of here. The lawyer smiled and sat down. Mr. Kersey told you yesterday—you'vegone back six years. But you'll need some mental gymnastics tounderstand. Time is a dimension, not a stream of events like a moviefilm. A film never changes. Space does—and time does. For example, ifa movie showed a burning house at Sixth and Main, would you expect tofind a house burning whenever you returned to that corner? You mean to say that if I went back to 1865, I wouldn't find the CivilWar was over and Lincoln had been assassinated? If you go back to the time you call 1865—which is most easilydone—you will find that the people there know nothing of a Lincoln orthat war. Jeff looked blank. What are they doing then? The little man spread his hands. What are the people doing now atSixth and Main? Certainly not the same things they were doing the dayof the fire. We're talking about a dimension, not an event. Don't yougrasp the difference between the two? Nope. To me, 1865 means the end of the Civil War. How else can youspeak of a point in time except by the events that happened then? Well, if you go to a place in three-dimensional space—say, a lakein the mountains—how do you identify that place? By looking forlandmarks. It doesn't matter that an eagle is soaring over a mountainpeak. That's only an event. The peak is the landmark. You follow me? So far. Keep talking. <doc-sep>She was not only trying to get me to commit nonconformity, but makingheretical remarks besides. I awoke that time and half-expected a Deaconto pop out of the tube and turn his electric club upon me. And I heard the voice nearly every night. It hammered away. What if you do fail? Almost anything would be better than themiserable existence you're leading now! One morning I even caught myself wondering just how I'd go about thisidea of hers. Wondering what the first step might be. She seemed to read my thoughts. That night she said, Consult the cybsin the Govpub office. If you look hard enough and long enough, you'llfind a way. Now, on this morning of the seventeenth day in the ninth month,I ate my boiled egg slowly and actually toyed with the idea. Ithought of being on productive status again. I had almost lost myfanatical craving to be useful to the State, but I did want to bebusy—desperately. I didn't want to be despised any more. I didn'twant to be lonely. I wanted to reproduce myself. I made my decision suddenly. Waves of emotion carried me along. I gotup, crossed the room to the directory, and pushbuttoned to find thelocation of the nearest Govpub office. I didn't know what would happen and almost didn't care. II Like most important places, the Govpub Office in Center Four wasunderground. I could have taken a tunnelcar more quickly, but it seemedpleasanter to travel topside. Or maybe I just wanted to put this off abit. Think about it. Compose myself. At the entrance to the Govpub warren there was a big director cyb, aplate with a speaker and switch. The sign on it said to switch it onand get close to the speaker and I did. The cyb's mechanical voice—they never seem to get the th soundsright—said, This is Branch Four of the Office of GovernmentPublications. Say, 'Publications,' and/or, 'Information desired,' asthoroughly and concisely as possible. Use approved voice and standardphraseology. Well, simple enough so far. I had always rather prided myself on myknack for approved voice, those flat, emotionless tones that indicateefficiency. And I would never forget how to speak Statese. I said,Applicant desires all pertinent information relative assignment,change or amendment of State Serial designations, otherwise generallyreferred to as nomenclature. There was a second's delay while the audio patterns tripped relays andbrought the memory tubes in. Then the cyb said, Proceed to Numbering and Identity section. Consultalphabetical list and diagram on your left for location of same. Thanks, I said absent-mindedly. I started to turn away and the cyb said, Information on tanks ismilitary information and classified. State authorization for— I switched it off. <doc-sep></s>

The story is located in space, inside of a large spaceship. The ship has a viewport that looks outside of the ship, and is where Rikad spends most of his time. The ship also seems to have high tech, showcased in the med room. Here is where the men go to stay healthy by being showered under health rays. The ship also has a library, which is where Crifer and Rikud read about astronomy and stars, and where Rikud started to doubt more and more about their lifestyle. The ship then arrives at a planet, full of lush greenery, making Rikud more and more suspicious of the changing view. After exploring the back of the room Rikud finds a series of rooms. These rooms include both a machinery room that is full of gears and tubes as well as a control room that has a smaller viewport. The story ends in the new planet, after Rikud opened the door that led outside, knowing that they would be able to survive after he compared the new planet to the gardens that the ship had.

<s>Most of the cousins gasped as the truth began to percolate through. I knew from the very beginning, Conrad finished, that I didn'thave to do anything at all. I just had to wait and you would destroyyourselves. I don't understand, Bartholomew protested, searching the faces of thecousins closest to him. What does he mean, we have never existed?We're here, aren't we? What— Shut up! Raymond snapped. He turned on Martin. You don't seemsurprised. The old man grinned. I'm not. I figured it all out years ago. At first, he had wondered what he should do. Would it be better tothrow them into a futile panic by telling them or to do nothing? Hehad decided on the latter; that was the role they had assigned him—towatch and wait and keep out of things—and that was the role he wouldplay. You knew all the time and you didn't tell us! Raymond spluttered.After we'd been so good to you, making a gentleman out of you insteadof a criminal.... That's right, he snarled, a criminal! An alcoholic,a thief, a derelict! How do you like that? Sounds like a rich, full life, Martin said wistfully. What an exciting existence they must have done him out of! But then, hecouldn't help thinking, he—he and Conrad together, of course—had donethem out of any kind of existence. It wasn't his responsibility,though; he had done nothing but let matters take whatever course wasdestined for them. If only he could be sure that it was the bettercourse, perhaps he wouldn't feel that nagging sense of guilt insidehim. Strange—where, in his hermetic life, could he possibly havedeveloped such a queer thing as a conscience? Then we've wasted all this time, Ninian sobbed, all this energy, allthis money, for nothing! But you were nothing to begin with, Martin told them. And then,after a pause, he added, I only wish I could be sure there had beensome purpose to this. He didn't know whether it was approaching death that dimmed his sight,or whether the frightened crowd that pressed around him was growingshadowy. I wish I could feel that some good had been done in letting you bewiped out of existence, he went on voicing his thoughts. But I knowthat the same thing that happened to your worlds and my world willhappen all over again. To other people, in other times, but again. It'sbound to happen. There isn't any hope for humanity. One man couldn't really change the course of human history, he toldhimself. Two men, that was—one real, one a shadow. Conrad came close to the old man's bed. He was almost transparent. No, he said, there is hope. They didn't know the time transmitterworks two ways. I used it for going into the past only once—just thisonce. But I've gone into the future with it many times. And— hepressed Martin's hand—believe me, what I did—what we did, you andI—serves a purpose. It will change things for the better. Everythingis going to be all right. <doc-sep>Now Crifer said, I've been reading again, Rikud. Yes? Almost no one read any more, and the library was heavy with thesmell of dust. Reading represented initiative on the part of Crifer; itmeant that, in the two unoccupied hours before sleep, he went to thelibrary and listened to the reading machine. Everyone else simply satabout and talked. That was the custom. Everyone did it. But if he wasn't reading himself, Rikud usually went to sleep. All thepeople ever talked about was what they had done during the day, and itwas always the same. Yes, said Crifer. I found a book about the stars. They're alsocalled astronomy, I think. This was a new thought to Rikud, and he propped his head up on oneelbow. What did you find out? That's about all. They're just called astronomy, I think. Well, where's the book? Rikud would read it tomorrow. I left it in the library. You can find several of them under'astronomy,' with a cross-reference under 'stars.' They're synonymousterms. You know, Rikud said, sitting up now, the stars in the viewport arechanging. Changing? Crifer questioned the fuzzy concept as much as hequestioned what it might mean in this particular case. Yes, there are less of them, and one is bigger and brighter than theothers. Astronomy says some stars are variable, Crifer offered, but Rikudknew his lame-footed companion understood the word no better than hedid. Over on Rikud's right, Chuls began to dress. Variability, he toldthem, is a contradictory term. Nothing is variable. It can't be. I'm only saying what I read in the book, Crifer protested mildly. Well, it's wrong. Variability and change are two words withoutmeaning. People grow old, Rikud suggested. A buzzer signified that his fifteen minutes under the rays were up, andChuls said, It's almost time for me to eat. Rikud frowned. Chuls hadn't even seen the connection between the twoconcepts, yet it was so clear. Or was it? He had had it a moment ago,but now it faded, and change and old were just two words. His own buzzer sounded a moment later, and it was with a strangefeeling of elation that he dressed and made his way back to theviewport. When he passed the door which led to the women's half of theworld, however, he paused. He wanted to open that door and see a woman.He had been told about them and he had seen pictures, and he dimlyremembered his childhood among women. But his feelings had changed;this was different. Again there were inexplicable feelings—strangechannelings of Rikud's energy in new and confusing directions. He shrugged and reserved the thought for later. He wanted to see thestars again. <doc-sep>Crifer was tugging at him, trying to pull him away from the door, andsomeone was grabbing at his legs, trying to make him fall. He kickedout and the hands let go, and then he turned the handle and shoved theweight of his body with all his strength against the door. It opened and he stepped outside into the warmth. The air was fresh, fresher than any air Rikud had ever breathed. Hewalked around aimlessly, touching the plants and bending down to feelthe floor, and sometimes he looked at the blue-white globe on thehorizon. It was all very beautiful. Near the ship, water that did not come from a machine gurgled acrossthe land, and Rikud lay down and drank. It was cool and good, and whenhe got up, Crifer and Wilm were outside the world, and some of theothers followed. They stood around for a long time before going to thewater to drink. Rikud sat down and tore off a piece of a plant, munching on it. It wasgood. Crifer picked his head up, from the water, his chin wet. Even feelingsare variable. I don't hate you now, Rikud. Rikud smiled, staring at the ship. People are variable, too, Crifer.That is, if those creatures coming from the ship are people. They're women, said Crifer. They were strangely shaped in some ways, and yet in others completelyhuman, and their voices were high, like singing. Rikud found them oddlyexciting. He liked them. He liked the garden, for all its hugeness.With so many people, and especially now with women, he was not afraid. It was much better than the small world of machinery, buzzer,frightening doors and women by appointment only. Rikud felt at home. <doc-sep></s>

Variability is a big part of the story. The inhabitants of the ship have always lived the same routine, the same life, and when things start to change they don’t know how to react. First, when the view of the ship starts to change, Rikud doesn’t understand what it means, and begins to think about the meaning of change. These thoughts are enhanced when Crifer told him that he had been reading Astronomy, and that stars are variable. When the ship lands on the new planet, and Rikud begins to explore, he starts to think about the variability of doors, and the meaning of going through doors and how it relates to the viewport. In the end, the change from having the buzzers to not knowing how to act is what sparks the violence of the men towards Rikud. This is due to the fact that he changed their routine, and having never experienced it, they don’t know how to react to change.

<s>A hardly perceptible purple glow pervaded the air in the room of thehealth-rays. Perhaps two score men lay about, naked, under the raytubes. Chuls stripped himself and selected the space under a vacanttube. Rikud, for his part, wanted to get back to the viewport and watchthe one new bright star. He had the distinct notion it was growinglarger every moment. He turned to go, but the door clicked shut and ametallic voice said. Fifteen minutes under the tubes, please. Rikud muttered to himself and undressed. The world had begun to annoyhim. Now why shouldn't a man be permitted to do what he wanted, whenhe wanted to do it? There was a strange thought, and Rikud's brainwhirled once more down the tortuous course of half-formed questions andunsatisfactory answers. He had even wondered what it was like to get hurt. No one ever gothurt. Once, here in this same ray room, he had had the impulse to hurlhimself head-first against the wall, just to see what would happen.But something soft had cushioned the impact—something which had comeinto being just for the moment and then abruptly passed into non-beingagain, something which was as impalpable as air. Rikud had been stopped in this action, although there was no realauthority to stop him. This puzzled him, because somehow he felt thatthere should have been authority. A long time ago the reading machinein the library had told him of the elders—a meaningless term—who hadgoverned the world. They told you to do something and you did it, butthat was silly, because now no one told you to do anything. You onlylistened to the buzzer. And Rikud could remember the rest of what the reading machine had said.There had been a revolt—again a term without any real meaning, a termthat could have no reality outside of the reading machine—and theelders were overthrown. Here Rikud had been lost utterly. The peoplehad decided that they did not know where they were going, or why, andthat it was unfair that the elders alone had this authority. They wereborn and they lived and they died as the elders directed, like littlecogs in a great machine. Much of this Rikud could not understand, buthe knew enough to realize that the reading machine had sided with thepeople against the elders, and it said the people had won. Now in the health room, Rikud felt a warmth in the rays. Grudgingly, hehad to admit to himself that it was not unpleasant. He could see thelook of easy contentment on Chuls' face as the rays fanned down uponhim, bathing his old body in a forgotten magic which, many generationsbefore Rikud's time, had negated the necessity for a knowledge ofmedicine. But when, in another ten years, Chuls would perish of oldage, the rays would no longer suffice. Nothing would, for Chuls. Rikudoften thought of his own death, still seventy-five years in the future,not without a sense of alarm. Yet old Chuls seemed heedless, with onlya decade to go. Under the tube at Rikud's left lay Crifer. The man was short and heavythrough the shoulders and chest, and he had a lame foot. Every timeRikud looked at that foot, it was with a sense of satisfaction. True,this was the only case of its kind, the exception to the rule, but itproved the world was not perfect. Rikud was guiltily glad when he sawCrifer limp. But, if anyone else saw it, he never said a word. Not even Crifer. <doc-sep> The Sense of Wonder By MILTON LESSER Illustrated by HARRY ROSENBAUM [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction September 1951. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] When nobody aboard ship remembers where it's going, how can they tell when it has arrived? Every day for a week now, Rikud had come to the viewport to watchthe great changeless sweep of space. He could not quite explain thefeelings within him; they were so alien, so unnatural. But ever sincethe engines somewhere in the rear of the world had changed their tone,from the steady whining Rikud had heard all twenty-five years of hislife, to the sullen roar that came to his ears now, the feelings hadgrown. If anyone else had noticed the change, he failed to mention it. Thisdisturbed Rikud, although he could not tell why. And, because he hadrealized this odd difference in himself, he kept it locked up insidehim. Today, space looked somehow different. The stars—it was a meaninglessconcept to Rikud, but that was what everyone called the brightpinpoints of light on the black backdrop in the viewport—were notapparent in the speckled profusion Rikud had always known. Instead,there was more of the blackness, and one very bright star set apartby itself in the middle of the viewport. If he had understood the term, Rikud would have told himself this wasodd. His head ached with the half-born thought. It was—it was—whatwas it? Someone was clomping up the companionway behind Rikud. He turned andgreeted gray-haired old Chuls. In five more years, the older man chided, you'll be ready to sirechildren. And all you can do in the meantime is gaze out at the stars. Rikud knew he should be exercising now, or bathing in the rays of thehealth-lamps. It had never occurred to him that he didn't feel like it;he just didn't, without comprehending. Chuls' reminder fostered uneasiness. Often Rikud had dreamed of thetime he would be thirty and a father. Whom would the Calculator selectas his mate? The first time this idea had occurred to him, Rikudignored it. But it came again, and each time it left him with a feelinghe could not explain. Why should he think thoughts that no other manhad? Why should he think he was thinking such thoughts, when it alwaysembroiled him in a hopeless, infinite confusion that left him with aheadache? Chuls said, It is time for my bath in the health-rays. I saw you hereand knew it was your time, too.... His voice trailed off. Rikud knew that something which he could notexplain had entered the elder man's head for a moment, but it haddeparted almost before Chuls knew of its existence. I'll go with you, Rikud told him. <doc-sep>Now Crifer said, I've been reading again, Rikud. Yes? Almost no one read any more, and the library was heavy with thesmell of dust. Reading represented initiative on the part of Crifer; itmeant that, in the two unoccupied hours before sleep, he went to thelibrary and listened to the reading machine. Everyone else simply satabout and talked. That was the custom. Everyone did it. But if he wasn't reading himself, Rikud usually went to sleep. All thepeople ever talked about was what they had done during the day, and itwas always the same. Yes, said Crifer. I found a book about the stars. They're alsocalled astronomy, I think. This was a new thought to Rikud, and he propped his head up on oneelbow. What did you find out? That's about all. They're just called astronomy, I think. Well, where's the book? Rikud would read it tomorrow. I left it in the library. You can find several of them under'astronomy,' with a cross-reference under 'stars.' They're synonymousterms. You know, Rikud said, sitting up now, the stars in the viewport arechanging. Changing? Crifer questioned the fuzzy concept as much as hequestioned what it might mean in this particular case. Yes, there are less of them, and one is bigger and brighter than theothers. Astronomy says some stars are variable, Crifer offered, but Rikudknew his lame-footed companion understood the word no better than hedid. Over on Rikud's right, Chuls began to dress. Variability, he toldthem, is a contradictory term. Nothing is variable. It can't be. I'm only saying what I read in the book, Crifer protested mildly. Well, it's wrong. Variability and change are two words withoutmeaning. People grow old, Rikud suggested. A buzzer signified that his fifteen minutes under the rays were up, andChuls said, It's almost time for me to eat. Rikud frowned. Chuls hadn't even seen the connection between the twoconcepts, yet it was so clear. Or was it? He had had it a moment ago,but now it faded, and change and old were just two words. His own buzzer sounded a moment later, and it was with a strangefeeling of elation that he dressed and made his way back to theviewport. When he passed the door which led to the women's half of theworld, however, he paused. He wanted to open that door and see a woman.He had been told about them and he had seen pictures, and he dimlyremembered his childhood among women. But his feelings had changed;this was different. Again there were inexplicable feelings—strangechannelings of Rikud's energy in new and confusing directions. He shrugged and reserved the thought for later. He wanted to see thestars again. <doc-sep></s>

At the beginning of the story, the relationship between Rikud and Chuls seemed like a mentor-mentee or like a father-son relationship. Rikud was a young forward-thinker, and Chuls was an older man who had already lived a lot and tried to guide Rikud on how he should live. As the story progresses more, Rikud seems to stray from Chuls’ guidance and tries to figure out what to think on his own. When Rikud tries to explain his reasoning, Chuls doesn’t understand because he has lived so much time inside of the ship and its routine that he can’t seem to doubt it. This led to Rikud getting mildly violent at Chuls because he couldn’t understand why Chuls didn’t believe him.

<s> The Sense of Wonder By MILTON LESSER Illustrated by HARRY ROSENBAUM [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction September 1951. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] When nobody aboard ship remembers where it's going, how can they tell when it has arrived? Every day for a week now, Rikud had come to the viewport to watchthe great changeless sweep of space. He could not quite explain thefeelings within him; they were so alien, so unnatural. But ever sincethe engines somewhere in the rear of the world had changed their tone,from the steady whining Rikud had heard all twenty-five years of hislife, to the sullen roar that came to his ears now, the feelings hadgrown. If anyone else had noticed the change, he failed to mention it. Thisdisturbed Rikud, although he could not tell why. And, because he hadrealized this odd difference in himself, he kept it locked up insidehim. Today, space looked somehow different. The stars—it was a meaninglessconcept to Rikud, but that was what everyone called the brightpinpoints of light on the black backdrop in the viewport—were notapparent in the speckled profusion Rikud had always known. Instead,there was more of the blackness, and one very bright star set apartby itself in the middle of the viewport. If he had understood the term, Rikud would have told himself this wasodd. His head ached with the half-born thought. It was—it was—whatwas it? Someone was clomping up the companionway behind Rikud. He turned andgreeted gray-haired old Chuls. In five more years, the older man chided, you'll be ready to sirechildren. And all you can do in the meantime is gaze out at the stars. Rikud knew he should be exercising now, or bathing in the rays of thehealth-lamps. It had never occurred to him that he didn't feel like it;he just didn't, without comprehending. Chuls' reminder fostered uneasiness. Often Rikud had dreamed of thetime he would be thirty and a father. Whom would the Calculator selectas his mate? The first time this idea had occurred to him, Rikudignored it. But it came again, and each time it left him with a feelinghe could not explain. Why should he think thoughts that no other manhad? Why should he think he was thinking such thoughts, when it alwaysembroiled him in a hopeless, infinite confusion that left him with aheadache? Chuls said, It is time for my bath in the health-rays. I saw you hereand knew it was your time, too.... His voice trailed off. Rikud knew that something which he could notexplain had entered the elder man's head for a moment, but it haddeparted almost before Chuls knew of its existence. I'll go with you, Rikud told him. <doc-sep>He had long wondered about the door in the back of the library, andnow, as Crifer sat cross-legged on one of the dusty tables, readingmachine and book on astronomy or stars in his lap, Rikud approached thedoor. What's in here? he demanded. It's a door, I think, said Crifer. I know, but what's beyond it? Beyond it? Oh, you mean through the door. Yes. Well, Crifer scratched his head, I don't think anyone ever openedit. It's only a door. I will, said Rikud. You will what? Open it. Open the door and look inside. A long pause. Then, Can you do it? I think so. You can't, probably. How can anyone go where no one has been before?There's nothing. It just isn't. It's only a door, Rikud. No— Rikud began, but the words faded off into a sharp intake ofbreath. Rikud had turned the knob and pushed. The door opened silently,and Crifer said, Doors are variable, too, I think. Rikud saw a small room, perhaps half a dozen paces across, at the otherend of which was another door, just like the first. Halfway across,Rikud heard a voice not unlike that of the reading machine. He missed the beginning, but then: —therefore, permit no unauthorized persons to go through thisdoor. The machinery in the next room is your protection against therigors of space. A thousand years from now, journey's end, you mayhave discarded it for something better—who knows? But if you havenot, then here is your protection. As nearly as possible, this shipis a perfect, self-sustaining world. It is more than that: it ishuman-sustaining as well. Try to hurt yourself and the ship will notpermit it—within limits, of course. But you can damage the ship, andto avoid any possibility of that, no unauthorized persons are to bepermitted through this door— Rikud gave the voice up as hopeless. There were too many confusingwords. What in the world was an unauthorized person? More interestingthan that, however, was the second door. Would it lead to anothervoice? Rikud hoped that it wouldn't. When he opened the door a strange new noise filled his ears, a gentlehumming, punctuated by a throb-throb-throb which sounded not unlikethe booming of the engines last week, except that this new sound didn'tblast nearly so loudly against his eardrums. And what met Rikud'seyes—he blinked and looked again, but it was still there—cogs andgears and wheels and nameless things all strange and beautiful becausethey shone with a luster unfamiliar to him. Odd, Rikud said aloud. Then he thought, Now there's a good word, butno one quite seems to know its meaning. Odder still was the third door. Rikud suddenly thought there mightexist an endless succession of them, especially when the third oneopened on a bare tunnel which led to yet another door. Only this one was different. In it Rikud saw the viewport. But how? Theviewport stood on the other end of the world. It did seem smaller, and,although it looked out on the garden, Rikud sensed that the topographywas different. Then the garden extended even farther than he hadthought. It was endless, extending all the way to a ridge of mounds wayoff in the distance. And this door one could walk through, into the garden. Rikud put hishand on the door, all the while watching the garden through the newviewport. He began to turn the handle. Then he trembled. What would he do out in the garden? He couldn't go alone. He'd die of the strangeness. It was a sillythought; no one ever died of anything until he was a hundred. Rikudcouldn't fathom the rapid thumping of his heart. And Rikud's mouth feltdry; he wanted to swallow, but couldn't. Slowly, he took his hand off the door lever. He made his way backthrough the tunnel and then through the room of machinery and finallythrough the little room with the confusing voice to Crifer. By the time he reached the lame-footed man, Rikud was running. He didnot dare once to look back. He stood shaking at Crifer's side, andsweat covered him in a clammy film. He never wanted to look at thegarden again. Not when he knew there was a door through which he couldwalk and then might find himself in the garden. It was so big. <doc-sep>Now the vapor had departed, except for a few tenuous whisps. For amoment Rikud thought he could see the gardens rearward in the world.But that was silly. What were the gardens doing in the viewport? Andbesides, Rikud had the distinct feeling that here was something farvaster than the gardens, although all of it existed in the viewportwhich was no wider than the length of his body. The gardens, moreover,did not jump and dance before his eyes the way the viewport gardensdid. Nor did they spin. Nor did the trees grow larger with every jolt. Rikud sat down hard. He blinked. The world had come to rest on the garden of the viewport. <doc-sep></s>

The viewport is one of the most important parts of the story. Rikud goes to the viewport in order to get a break from his routine life inside the ship. The changing stars that he could see through the viewport is what inspired Rikud to think more about the changes going on around him and to explore hhhhhhhe ship. Ultimately it is the viewport that showed him the possibility of a new life on the planet. The viewport essentially lead Rikud to breaking the engine room and to opening the door of the ship.

<s>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep> Raiders of the Second Moon By GENE ELLERMAN A strange destiny had erased Noork's memory, and had brought him to this tiny world—to write an end to his first existence. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Summer 1945. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Beyond earth swings that airless pocked mass of fused rock and grayvolcanic dust that we know as Luna. Of this our naked eyes assure us.But of the smaller satellite, hidden forever from the mundane view byLuna's bulk, we know little. Small is Sekk, that second moon, less than five hundred miles indiameter, but the period of its revolution is thirty two hours, and itsmeaner mass retains a breathable atmosphere. There is life on Sekk,life that centers around the sunken star-shaped cavity where an ovallake gleams softly in the depths. And the eleven radiating tips of thestarry abyss are valleys green with jungle growth. In one of those green valleys the white savage that the Vasads calledNoork squatted in the ample crotch of a jungle giant and watched thetrail forty feet below. For down there moved alertly a golden skinnedgirl, her only weapons a puny polished bow of yellow wood and asheathed dagger. Sight of the girl's flowing brown hair and the graceful femininecontours of her smooth-limbed body beneath its skin-halter and theinsignificant breech-clout, made his brow wrinkle with concentration.Not forever had he lived in this jungle world of valleys and raggedcliffs. Since he had learned the tongue of the hairy Vasads of forest,and the tongue of their gold-skinned leader, Gurn, the renegade, he hadconfirmed that belief. For a huge gleaming bird had carried him in its talons to the top ofthe cliff above their valley and from the rock fire had risen to devourthe great bird. Somehow he had been flung clear and escaped the deathof the mysterious bird-thing. And in his delirium he had babbled thewords that caused the apish Vasads to name him Noork. Now he repeatedthem aloud. New York, he said, good ol' New York. The girl heard. She looked upward fearfully, her rounded bare arm goingback to the bow slung across her shoulder. Swiftly she fitted an arrowand stepped back against the friendly bole of a shaggy barked junglegiant. Noork grinned. Tako, woman, he greeted her. Tako, she replied fearfully. Who speaks to Tholon Sarna? Be youhunter or escaped slave? A friend, said Noork simply. It was I who killed the spotted narl last night when it attacked you. Doubtfully the girl put away her bow. Her fingers, however, were neverfar from the hilt of her hunting dagger. Noork swung outward from his perch, and then downward along the ladderof limbs to her side. The girl exclaimed at his brown skin. Your hair is the color of the sun! she said. Your garb is Vasad, yetyou speak the language of the true men. Her violet oddly slanting eyesopened yet wider. Who are you? I am Noork, the man told her. For many days have I dwelt among thewild Vasads of the jungle with their golden-skinned chief, Gurn, formy friend. The girl impulsively took a step nearer. Gurn! she cried. Is he talland strong? Has he a bracelet of golden discs linked together withhuman hair? Does he talk with his own shadow when he thinks? That is Gurn, admitted Noork shortly. He is also an exile from thewalled city of Grath. The city rulers call him a traitor. He has toldme the reason. Perhaps you know it as well? Indeed I do, cried Sarna. My brother said that we should no longermake slaves of the captured Zurans from the other valleys. Noork smiled. I am glad he is your brother, he said simply. <doc-sep> HOW TO MAKE FRIENDS By JIM HARMON Illustrated by WEST [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine October 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Every lonely man tries to make friends. Manet just didn't know when to stop! William Manet was alone. In the beginning, he had seen many advantages to being alone. It wouldgive him an unprecedented opportunity to once and for all correlateloneliness to the point of madness, to see how long it would take himto start slavering and clawing the pin-ups from the magazines, to beginteaching himself classes in philosophy consisting of interminablelectures to a bored and captive audience of one. He would be able to measure the qualities of peace and decide whetherit was really better than war, he would be able to get as fat and asdirty as he liked, he would be able to live more like an animal andthink more like a god than any man for generations. But after a shorter time than he expected, it all got to be a tearingbore. Even the waiting to go crazy part of it. Not that he was going to have any great long wait of it. He was alreadytalking to himself, making verbal notes for his lectures, and he hadcut out a picture of Annie Oakley from an old book. He tacked it up andwinked at it whenever he passed that way. Lately she was winking back at him. Loneliness was a physical weight on his skull. It peeled the flesh fromhis arms and legs and sandpapered his self-pity to a fine sensitivity. No one on Earth was as lonely as William Manet, and even William Manetcould only be this lonely on Mars. Manet was Atmosphere Seeder Station 131-47's own human. All Manet had to do was sit in the beating aluminum heart in the middleof the chalk desert and stare out, chin cupped in hands, at the flat,flat pavement of dirty talcum, at the stars gleaming as hard in theblack sky as a starlet's capped teeth ... stars two of which were moonsand one of which was Earth. He had to do nothing else. The wholegimcrack was cybernetically controlled, entirely automatic. No one wasneeded here—no human being, at least. The Workers' Union was a pretty small pressure group, but it didn'ttake much to pressure the Assembly. Featherbedding had been carefullyspecified, including an Overseer for each of the Seeders to honeycombMars, to prepare its atmosphere for colonization. They didn't give tests to find well-balanced, well-integrated peoplefor the job. Well-balanced, well-integrated men weren't going toisolate themselves in a useless job. They got, instead, William Manetand his fellows. The Overseers were to stay as long as the job required. Passenger fareto Mars was about one billion dollars. They weren't providing commuterservice for night shifts. They weren't providing accommodationsfor couples when the law specified only one occupant. They weren'tproviding fuel (at fifty million dollars a gallon) for visits betweenthe various Overseers. They weren't very providential. But it was two hundred thousand a year in salary, and it offeredwonderful opportunities. It gave William Manet an opportunity to think he saw a spaceship makinga tailfirst landing on the table of the desert, its tail burning asbright as envy. <doc-sep></s>

Noork is in a tree on a moon named Sekk, watching a woman walk through the jungle. When they speak, they learn that Noork has been living with her brother, Gurn. With this introduction, they begin to travel together.The woman explains that she had been captured by slavers in the past but had escaped. The escapees were then followed by the Misty Ones, and the woman was the only one who made a complete escape. Noork states that he will visit the island where the Misty Ones live one day, but the woman does not answer. When Noork turns back to her, she has disappeared, and Noork is attacked. He hides in the trees and spies the Misty Ones below. He throws fruit down on them until he can easily see them by the stains the fruit makes on their clothing, then attacks with arrows. The Misty Ones flee except for one who has been killed with an arrow. Noork takes the robe of this one and sets off toward the Temple of the Skull, the home of the Misty Ones, to free the woman.Noork encounters Ud, his friend, near the lake, and tells him to tell Gurn that the MIsty Ones can be trapped and skinned. He asks Ud to tell Gurn that Noork is going to save Gurn's father's woman woman called Sarna.Noork paddles across the lake and sneaks close to the Temple of the Skull. He falls asleep in a tree and is awakened by the conversation of two slaves talking about Sarna. After one slave leaves, he speaks with the other slave, Rold, and tells him that he is there to rescue Sarna. Rold, realizing that the Misty Ones are only mortal men, tells Noork that Sarna is held in a pit beneath the temple with the other young women slaves.Noork finds the entrance to the pit but is blocked by two guards, whom he kills.He then proceeds to the cage where the young women are held, where he is confronted by a priest. He fights the priest, kills him, and frees Sarna. They go back to the field, get Rold, and the three of them flee into the jungle. They plan to go for a boat and leave, but are caught by Misty Ones waiting to trap them. At this time, Dr. Von Mark, a Nazi from Earth, confronts Noork, who is also Stephen Dietrich, an American pilot who has been hunting him and had tracked him through space to Sekk. Due to Dietrich/Noork's amnesia, he remembers none of this. Just as Von Mark is about to kill him, Gurn and other men from Wari kill the Misty Ones with arrows and Noork and the others are freed. Noork states that he can now live in peace with Gurn and Sarna in the jungle.

<s> Raiders of the Second Moon By GENE ELLERMAN A strange destiny had erased Noork's memory, and had brought him to this tiny world—to write an end to his first existence. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Summer 1945. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Beyond earth swings that airless pocked mass of fused rock and grayvolcanic dust that we know as Luna. Of this our naked eyes assure us.But of the smaller satellite, hidden forever from the mundane view byLuna's bulk, we know little. Small is Sekk, that second moon, less than five hundred miles indiameter, but the period of its revolution is thirty two hours, and itsmeaner mass retains a breathable atmosphere. There is life on Sekk,life that centers around the sunken star-shaped cavity where an ovallake gleams softly in the depths. And the eleven radiating tips of thestarry abyss are valleys green with jungle growth. In one of those green valleys the white savage that the Vasads calledNoork squatted in the ample crotch of a jungle giant and watched thetrail forty feet below. For down there moved alertly a golden skinnedgirl, her only weapons a puny polished bow of yellow wood and asheathed dagger. Sight of the girl's flowing brown hair and the graceful femininecontours of her smooth-limbed body beneath its skin-halter and theinsignificant breech-clout, made his brow wrinkle with concentration.Not forever had he lived in this jungle world of valleys and raggedcliffs. Since he had learned the tongue of the hairy Vasads of forest,and the tongue of their gold-skinned leader, Gurn, the renegade, he hadconfirmed that belief. For a huge gleaming bird had carried him in its talons to the top ofthe cliff above their valley and from the rock fire had risen to devourthe great bird. Somehow he had been flung clear and escaped the deathof the mysterious bird-thing. And in his delirium he had babbled thewords that caused the apish Vasads to name him Noork. Now he repeatedthem aloud. New York, he said, good ol' New York. The girl heard. She looked upward fearfully, her rounded bare arm goingback to the bow slung across her shoulder. Swiftly she fitted an arrowand stepped back against the friendly bole of a shaggy barked junglegiant. Noork grinned. Tako, woman, he greeted her. Tako, she replied fearfully. Who speaks to Tholon Sarna? Be youhunter or escaped slave? A friend, said Noork simply. It was I who killed the spotted narl last night when it attacked you. Doubtfully the girl put away her bow. Her fingers, however, were neverfar from the hilt of her hunting dagger. Noork swung outward from his perch, and then downward along the ladderof limbs to her side. The girl exclaimed at his brown skin. Your hair is the color of the sun! she said. Your garb is Vasad, yetyou speak the language of the true men. Her violet oddly slanting eyesopened yet wider. Who are you? I am Noork, the man told her. For many days have I dwelt among thewild Vasads of the jungle with their golden-skinned chief, Gurn, formy friend. The girl impulsively took a step nearer. Gurn! she cried. Is he talland strong? Has he a bracelet of golden discs linked together withhuman hair? Does he talk with his own shadow when he thinks? That is Gurn, admitted Noork shortly. He is also an exile from thewalled city of Grath. The city rulers call him a traitor. He has toldme the reason. Perhaps you know it as well? Indeed I do, cried Sarna. My brother said that we should no longermake slaves of the captured Zurans from the other valleys. Noork smiled. I am glad he is your brother, he said simply. <doc-sep>You don't get to be Precinct Captain on nothing but politicalconnections. Those help, of course, but you need more than that. AsCaptain Hanks was fond of pointing out, you needed as well to be bothmore imaginative than most—You gotta be able to second-guess thesmart boys—and to be a complete realist—You gotta have both feeton the ground. If these were somewhat contradictory qualities, it wasbest not to mention the fact to Captain Hanks. The realist side of the captain's nature was currently at the fore.Just what are you trying to say, Stevenson? he demanded. I'm not sure, admitted Stevenson. But we've got these two things.First, there's the getaway car from that bank job. The wheels melt forno reason at all, and somebody burns 'The Scorpion' onto the trunk.Then, yesterday, this guy Higgins out in Canarsie. He says the rifleall of a sudden got too hot to hold, and he's got the burn marks toprove it. And there on the rifle stock it is again. 'The Scorpion'. He says he put that on there himself, said the captain. Stevenson shook his head. His lawyer says he put it on there.Higgins says he doesn't remember doing it. That's half the lawyer'scase. He's trying to build up an insanity defense. He put it on there himself, Stevenson, said the captain with wearypatience. What are you trying to prove? I don't know. All I know is it's the nuttiest thing I ever saw. Andwhat about the getaway car? What about those tires melting? They were defective, said Hanks promptly. All four of them at once? And what about the thing written on thetrunk? How do I know? demanded the captain. Kids put it on before the carwas stolen, maybe. Or maybe the hoods did it themselves, who knows?What do they say? They say they didn't do it, said Stevenson. And they say they neversaw it before the robbery and they would have noticed it if it'd beenthere. The captain shook his head. I don't get it, he admitted. What areyou trying to prove? I guess, said Stevenson slowly, thinking it out as he went along, Iguess I'm trying to prove that somebody melted those tires, and madethat rifle too hot, and left his signature behind. What? You mean like in the comic books? Come on, Stevenson! What areyou trying to hand me? All I know, insisted Stevenson, is what I see. And all I know, the captain told him, is Higgins put that name onhis rifle himself. He says so. And what made it so hot? Hell, man, he'd been firing that thing at people for an hour! What doyou think made it hot? All of a sudden? He noticed it all of a sudden, when it started to burn him. How come the same name showed up each time, then? Stevenson askeddesperately. How should I know? And why not, anyway? You know as well as I do thesethings happen. A bunch of teen-agers burgle a liquor store and theywrite 'The Golden Avengers' on the plate glass in lipstick. It happensall the time. Why not 'The Scorpion'? It couldn't occur to two people? But there's no explanation— started Stevenson. What do you mean, there's no explanation? I just gave you theexplanation. Look, Stevenson, I'm a busy man. You got a nuttyidea—like Wilcox a few years ago, remember him? Got the idea therewas a fiend around loose, stuffing all those kids into abandonedrefrigerators to starve. He went around trying to prove it, and gettingall upset, and pretty soon they had to put him away in the nut hatch.Remember? I remember, said Stevenson. Forget this silly stuff, Stevenson, the captain advised him. Yes, sir, said Stevenson.... The day after Jerome Higgins went berserk, the afternoon mail brought acrank letter to the Daily News : Dear Mr. Editor, You did not warn your readers. The man who shot all those people couldnot escape the Scorpion. The Scorpion fights crime. No criminal issafe from the Scorpion. WARN YOUR READERS. Sincerely yours, THE SCORPION Unfortunately, this letter was not read by the same individual who hadseen the first one, two months before. At any rate, it was filed in thesame place, and forgotten. III Hallowe'en is a good time for a rumble. There's too many kids aroundfor the cops to keep track of all of them, and if you're picked upcarrying a knife or a length of tire chain or something, why, you're onyour way to a Hallowe'en party and you're in costume. You're going as aJD. The problem was this schoolyard. It was a block wide, with entranceson two streets. The street on the north was Challenger territory, andthe street on the south was Scarlet Raider territory, and both sidesclaimed the schoolyard. There had been a few skirmishes, a few guysfrom both gangs had been jumped and knocked around a little, but thathad been all. Finally, the War Lords from the two gangs had met, anddetermined that the matter could only be settled in a war. The time was chosen: Hallowe'en. The place was chosen: the schoolyard.The weapons were chosen: pocket knives and tire chains okay, but nopistols or zip-guns. The time was fixed: eleven P.M. And the winnerwould have undisputed territorial rights to the schoolyard, bothentrances. The night of the rumble, the gangs assembled in their separateclubrooms for last-minute instructions. Debs were sent out to playchicken at the intersections nearest the schoolyard, both to warn ofthe approach of cops and to keep out any non-combatant kids who mightcome wandering through. Judy Canzanetti was a Deb with the Scarlet Raiders. She was fifteenyears old, short and black-haired and pretty in a movie-magazine,gum-chewing sort of way. She was proud of being in the Auxiliary of theScarlet Raiders, and proud also of the job that had been assigned toher. She was to stand chicken on the southwest corner of the street. Judy took up her position at five minutes to eleven. The streets weredark and quiet. Few people cared to walk this neighborhood after dark,particularly on Hallowe'en. Judy leaned her back against the telephonepole on the corner, stuck her hands in the pockets of her ScarletRaider jacket and waited. At eleven o'clock, she heard indistinct noises begin behind her. Therumble had started. At five after eleven, a bunch of little kids came wandering down thestreet. They were all about ten or eleven years old, and most of themcarried trick-or-treat shopping bags. Some of them had Hallowe'en maskson. They started to make the turn toward the schoolyard. Judy said, Hey,you kids. Take off. One of them, wearing a red mask, turned to look at her. Who, us? Yes, you! Stay out of that street. Go on down that way. The subway's this way, objected the kid in the red mask. Who cares? You go around the other way. <doc-sep>In the evening a girl brought Maitland his meal. As the door slidaside, he automatically stood up, and they stared at each other forseveral seconds. She had the high cheekbones and almond eyes of an Oriental, skin thatglowed like gold in the evening light, yet thick coiled braids ofblonde hair that glittered like polished brass. Shorts and a sleevelessblouse of some thick, reddish, metallic-looking fabric clung to herbody, and over that she was wearing a light, ankle-length cloak of whatseemed to be white wool. She was looking at him with palpable curiosity and something likeexpectancy. Maitland sighed and said, Hello, then glanced downself-consciously at his wrinkled green pajamas. She smiled, put the tray of food on the table, and swept out, her cloakbillowing behind her. Maitland remained standing, staring at the closeddoor for a minute after she was gone. Later, when he had finished the steak and corn on the cob and shreddedcarrots, and a feeling of warm well-being was diffusing from hisstomach to his extremities, he sat down on the bed to watch the sunsetand to think. There were three questions for which he required answers before hecould formulate any plan or policy. Where was he? Who was Swarts? What was the purpose of the tests he was being given? It was possible, of course, that this was all an elaborate schemefor getting military secrets, despite Swarts' protestations to thecontrary. Maitland frowned. This place certainly didn't have theappearance of a military establishment, and so far there had beennothing to suggest the kind of interrogation to be expected fromforeign intelligence officers. It might be better to tackle the first question first. He looked atthe Sun, a red spheroid already half below the horizon, and tried tothink of a region that had this kind of terrain. That prairie out therewas unique. Almost anywhere in the world, land like that would becultivated, not allowed to go to grass. This might be somewhere in Africa.... He shook his head, puzzled. The Sun disappeared and its blood-huedglow began to fade from the sky. Maitland sat there, trying to gethold of the problem from an angle where it wouldn't just slip away.After a while the western sky became a screen of clear luminous blue,a backdrop for a pure white brilliant star. As always at that sight,Maitland felt his worry drain away, leaving an almost mystical sense ofpeace and an undefinable longing. Venus, the most beautiful of the planets. Maitland kept track of them all in their majestic paths through theconstellations, but Venus was his favorite. Time and time again hehad watched its steady climb higher and higher in the western sky,its transient rule there as evening star, its progression toward thehorizon, and loved it equally in its alter ego of morning star. Venuswas an old friend. An old friend.... Something icy settled on the back of his neck, ran down his spine, anddiffused into his body. He stared at the planet unbelievingly, fistsclenched, forgetting to breathe. Last night Venus hadn't been there. Venus was a morning star just now.... Just now! He realized the truth in that moment. <doc-sep></s>

The story begins in thick jungle on Sekk, which we are told is a second moon which retains a breathable atmosphere around a lake surrounded by eleven jungled valleys. In this way, it is implied that Sekk is a second moon of Earth.In the jungle, we meet Noork and a young woman named Sarna. They begin traveling together through the jungle, but soon Sarna disappears and Noork is attacked. This is our first encounter with the Misty Ones, who blend in with the jungle foliage. Noork defeats the Misty Ones and continues toward the lake and island where they make their home.Noork briefly encounters his friend Ud near the marshy lowlands that lie between the jungled valleys on Sekk and the central Lake of Uzdon, but this area is not described. When Noork reaches the central island in the lake, we encounter a non-jungle landscape for the first time. Noork finds himself in a cultivated field, and sees the shape of a huge white skull about half a mile away. After speaking with an enslaved man and learning where Sarna is being held, Noork continues toward the skull.The skull is a dome of white stone, with black stone for eye-sockets and nose-holes. The interior contains a raised altar made of precious metals--gold, silver, and brass--and precious stones, as well as stone images of the two gods the Misty Ones worship. Below the altar is the caged area where the young women are held; Noork detects the entrance to this area by its foul odor. The room where the young women are kept is dimly lit by only two torches, very damp with pools of dirty water all around, and holds at least twenty young women. They have nothing to sit on but rotten grass mats. In contrast to the enslaved men who are out in the cultivated fields and open air, the young women are in a desperate situation indeed. They can only sit in their foul, rotting prison and wait to be sacrificed.

<s> Raiders of the Second Moon By GENE ELLERMAN A strange destiny had erased Noork's memory, and had brought him to this tiny world—to write an end to his first existence. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Summer 1945. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Beyond earth swings that airless pocked mass of fused rock and grayvolcanic dust that we know as Luna. Of this our naked eyes assure us.But of the smaller satellite, hidden forever from the mundane view byLuna's bulk, we know little. Small is Sekk, that second moon, less than five hundred miles indiameter, but the period of its revolution is thirty two hours, and itsmeaner mass retains a breathable atmosphere. There is life on Sekk,life that centers around the sunken star-shaped cavity where an ovallake gleams softly in the depths. And the eleven radiating tips of thestarry abyss are valleys green with jungle growth. In one of those green valleys the white savage that the Vasads calledNoork squatted in the ample crotch of a jungle giant and watched thetrail forty feet below. For down there moved alertly a golden skinnedgirl, her only weapons a puny polished bow of yellow wood and asheathed dagger. Sight of the girl's flowing brown hair and the graceful femininecontours of her smooth-limbed body beneath its skin-halter and theinsignificant breech-clout, made his brow wrinkle with concentration.Not forever had he lived in this jungle world of valleys and raggedcliffs. Since he had learned the tongue of the hairy Vasads of forest,and the tongue of their gold-skinned leader, Gurn, the renegade, he hadconfirmed that belief. For a huge gleaming bird had carried him in its talons to the top ofthe cliff above their valley and from the rock fire had risen to devourthe great bird. Somehow he had been flung clear and escaped the deathof the mysterious bird-thing. And in his delirium he had babbled thewords that caused the apish Vasads to name him Noork. Now he repeatedthem aloud. New York, he said, good ol' New York. The girl heard. She looked upward fearfully, her rounded bare arm goingback to the bow slung across her shoulder. Swiftly she fitted an arrowand stepped back against the friendly bole of a shaggy barked junglegiant. Noork grinned. Tako, woman, he greeted her. Tako, she replied fearfully. Who speaks to Tholon Sarna? Be youhunter or escaped slave? A friend, said Noork simply. It was I who killed the spotted narl last night when it attacked you. Doubtfully the girl put away her bow. Her fingers, however, were neverfar from the hilt of her hunting dagger. Noork swung outward from his perch, and then downward along the ladderof limbs to her side. The girl exclaimed at his brown skin. Your hair is the color of the sun! she said. Your garb is Vasad, yetyou speak the language of the true men. Her violet oddly slanting eyesopened yet wider. Who are you? I am Noork, the man told her. For many days have I dwelt among thewild Vasads of the jungle with their golden-skinned chief, Gurn, formy friend. The girl impulsively took a step nearer. Gurn! she cried. Is he talland strong? Has he a bracelet of golden discs linked together withhuman hair? Does he talk with his own shadow when he thinks? That is Gurn, admitted Noork shortly. He is also an exile from thewalled city of Grath. The city rulers call him a traitor. He has toldme the reason. Perhaps you know it as well? Indeed I do, cried Sarna. My brother said that we should no longermake slaves of the captured Zurans from the other valleys. Noork smiled. I am glad he is your brother, he said simply. <doc-sep>Ud tasted the scent of a man and sluggishly rolled his bullet head fromshoulder to shoulder as he tried to catch sight of his ages-old enemy.For between the hairy quarter-ton beast men of the jungles of Sekk andthe golden men of the valley cities who enslaved them there was eternalwar. A growl rumbled deep in the hairy half-man's chest. He could see noenemy and yet the scent grew stronger with every breath. You hunt too near the lake, called a voice. The demons of the waterwill trap you. Ud's great nostrils quivered. He tasted the odor of a friend mingledwith that of a strange Zuran. He squatted. It's Noork, he grunted. Why do I not see you? I have stolen the skin of a demon, answered the invisible man. Go toGurn. Tell him to fear the demons no longer. Tell him the Misty Onescan be trapped and skinned. Why you want their skins? Ud scratched his hairy gray skull. Go to save Gurn's ... and here Noork was stumped for words. To savehis father's woman woman, he managed at last. Father's woman womancalled Sarna. And the misty blob of nothingness was gone again, its goal now themarshy lowlands that extended upward perhaps a thousand feet from thejungle's ragged fringe to end at last in the muddy shallows of the Lakeof Uzdon. To Noork it seemed that all the world must be like these savage junglefastnesses of the twelve valleys and their central lake. He knew thatthe giant bird had carried him from some other place that his batteredbrain could not remember, but to him it seemed incredible that mencould live elsewhere than in a jungle valley. But Noork was wrong. The giant bird that he had ridden into the depthsof Sekk's fertile valleys had come from a far different world. And theother bird, for which Noork had been searching when he came upon thegolden-skinned girl, was from another world also. The other bird had come from space several days before that of Noork,the Vasads had told him, and it had landed somewhere within the landof sunken valleys. Perhaps, thought Noork, the bird had come from thesame valley that had once been his home. He would find the bird andperhaps then he could remember better who he had been. So it was, ironically enough, that Stephen Dietrich—whose memory wasgone completely—again took up the trail of Doctor Karl Von Mark, lastof the Axis criminals at large. The trail that had led the red-hairedyoung American flier from rebuilding Greece into Africa and the hiddenvalley where Doctor Von Mark worked feverishly to restore the crumbledstructure of Nazidom, and then had sent him hurtling spaceward in thesecond of the Doctor's crude space-ships was now drawing to an end.The Doctor and the young American pilot were both trapped here on thislittle blob of cosmic matter that hides beyond the Moon's cratered bulk. The Doctor's ship had landed safely on Sekk, the wily scientistpreferring the lesser gravity of this fertile world to that of thelifeless Moon in the event that he returned again to Earth, butDietrich's spacer had crashed. Two words linked Noork with the past, the two words that the Vasadshad slurred into his name: New York. And the battered wrist watch, itscrystal and hands gone, were all that remained of his Earthly garb. <doc-sep>A fat, square-jawed face, harsh lines paralleling the ugly blob of anose, showed through the opened robe of the leader. The face was thatof Doctor Von Mark the treacherous Nazi scientist that Stephen Dietrichhad trailed across space to Sekk! But Noork knew nothing of that chase.The man's face seemed familiar, and hateful, but that was all heremembered. I see you have come from the island, said the Doctor. Perhaps youcan tell me the secret of this invisible material I wear. With thesecret of invisibility I, Karl Von Mark, can again conquer Earth andmake the Fatherland invincible. I do not understand too well, said Noork hesitantly. Are we enemies?There is so much I have forgotten. He regarded the brutal facethoughtfully. Perhaps you know from what valley the great bird brought me, he said.Or perhaps the other bird brought you here. Von Mark's blue eyes widened and then he roared with a great noisethat was intended to be mirth. His foot slammed harder into Noork'sdefenseless ribs. Perhaps you have forgotten, swine of an American, he roared suddenly,and in his hand was an ugly looking automatic. He flung back his robeand Noork saw the dress uniform of a general. Perhaps, the scientistrepeated, but I will take no chances. The amnesia is often but apretense. His lip curled. This is something for you to remember, CaptainDietrich, he said as the ugly black muzzle of the gun centered onNoork's bronzed chest. And then Doctor Von Mark cursed as the gun dropped from his nervelessfingers and his hands clawed weakly at the arrow buried in his widebelly. He stumbled backward. Arrows rained from the mistiness that had closed in about Von Mark andhis men. The men from Wari, their faces unshielded, fell like flies.In a moment those yet alive had taken to their heels, and Noork feltinvisible fingers tearing at the nets that bound him. As he rose to his feet the robed figure let its misty covering dropaside. A handsome golden-skinned warrior stood revealed. Gurn! cried Noork. A glad cry came from the throat of Tholon Sarna as she saw her brother.And then she crept closer to Noork's side as the invisible mantlesof Gurn's loyal Vasads opened to reveal the hairy beast men theyconcealed. Rold whimpered fearfully. The message that Ud carried to me was good, laughed Gurn. The MistyOnes skin easily. We were trapping the Misty Ones as they came acrossthe lake, he looked at the dying Von Mark, as were these others. Soonwe would have come to your rescue, Noork, my friend. Lucky I escaped first, Noork told him. The priests of Uzdon wouldhave trapped you. To them the Misty Ones are visible. He picked up the fallen vision shield that lay beside their feet. Hischest expanded proudly. No longer, he told Gurn, am I a man without a name. I am CaptainDietrich from a distant valley called America. I was hunting this evilman when my bird died. He smiled and his brown arm tightened around Sarna's golden body. Theevil man is dead. My native valley is safe. Now I can live in peacewith you, Gurn, and with your sister, here in the jungle. It is good, Noork, smiled Tholon Sarna. <doc-sep></s>

We first hear Gurn's name mentioned by Noork in his initial meeting with Sarna. He tells her that he has been living with the wild Vasads of the jungle with Gurn, his friend and their chief. Noork goes on to say that Gurn is an exile from the walled city of Grath and asks Sarna if she knows why this is. Sarna says that her brother says they should no longer enslave Zurans they capture from other valleys. In this way, their relationships with Gurn build a bridge between them, allowing them to consider a relationship with one another.Gurn is next mentioned when Noork encounters his friend Ud near the central lake of Sekk, the moon they are on. Noork asks Ud to go to their mutual friend Gurn and pass on a message. Noork asks Ud to tell Gurn that the Misty Ones can be trapped and skinned. When Ud wonders why anyone would want to do such a thing, Noork tells him that Noork is trying to save Gurn's father's woman woman, as he describes Gurn's sister Sarna.Gurn then arrives as something between a hero and a deus ex machina at the very end of the story. Noork, Sarna, and Rold, an enslaved man who helped Noork free Sarna, are about to be murdered by Doctor Von Mark and the Misty Ones, when Gurn and his allies arrive and shoot the enemy full of arrows, saving all their lives. Gurn reveals that he received Ud's messages and they were trapping the Misty Ones as they came across the lake and stealing their robes so they could come to Noork's rescue. Without Gurn, Noork and Sarna would never have traveled together in the first place, nor would they have been rescued at the end.

<s>Ud tasted the scent of a man and sluggishly rolled his bullet head fromshoulder to shoulder as he tried to catch sight of his ages-old enemy.For between the hairy quarter-ton beast men of the jungles of Sekk andthe golden men of the valley cities who enslaved them there was eternalwar. A growl rumbled deep in the hairy half-man's chest. He could see noenemy and yet the scent grew stronger with every breath. You hunt too near the lake, called a voice. The demons of the waterwill trap you. Ud's great nostrils quivered. He tasted the odor of a friend mingledwith that of a strange Zuran. He squatted. It's Noork, he grunted. Why do I not see you? I have stolen the skin of a demon, answered the invisible man. Go toGurn. Tell him to fear the demons no longer. Tell him the Misty Onescan be trapped and skinned. Why you want their skins? Ud scratched his hairy gray skull. Go to save Gurn's ... and here Noork was stumped for words. To savehis father's woman woman, he managed at last. Father's woman womancalled Sarna. And the misty blob of nothingness was gone again, its goal now themarshy lowlands that extended upward perhaps a thousand feet from thejungle's ragged fringe to end at last in the muddy shallows of the Lakeof Uzdon. To Noork it seemed that all the world must be like these savage junglefastnesses of the twelve valleys and their central lake. He knew thatthe giant bird had carried him from some other place that his batteredbrain could not remember, but to him it seemed incredible that mencould live elsewhere than in a jungle valley. But Noork was wrong. The giant bird that he had ridden into the depthsof Sekk's fertile valleys had come from a far different world. And theother bird, for which Noork had been searching when he came upon thegolden-skinned girl, was from another world also. The other bird had come from space several days before that of Noork,the Vasads had told him, and it had landed somewhere within the landof sunken valleys. Perhaps, thought Noork, the bird had come from thesame valley that had once been his home. He would find the bird andperhaps then he could remember better who he had been. So it was, ironically enough, that Stephen Dietrich—whose memory wasgone completely—again took up the trail of Doctor Karl Von Mark, lastof the Axis criminals at large. The trail that had led the red-hairedyoung American flier from rebuilding Greece into Africa and the hiddenvalley where Doctor Von Mark worked feverishly to restore the crumbledstructure of Nazidom, and then had sent him hurtling spaceward in thesecond of the Doctor's crude space-ships was now drawing to an end.The Doctor and the young American pilot were both trapped here on thislittle blob of cosmic matter that hides beyond the Moon's cratered bulk. The Doctor's ship had landed safely on Sekk, the wily scientistpreferring the lesser gravity of this fertile world to that of thelifeless Moon in the event that he returned again to Earth, butDietrich's spacer had crashed. Two words linked Noork with the past, the two words that the Vasadshad slurred into his name: New York. And the battered wrist watch, itscrystal and hands gone, were all that remained of his Earthly garb. <doc-sep> Raiders of the Second Moon By GENE ELLERMAN A strange destiny had erased Noork's memory, and had brought him to this tiny world—to write an end to his first existence. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Summer 1945. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Beyond earth swings that airless pocked mass of fused rock and grayvolcanic dust that we know as Luna. Of this our naked eyes assure us.But of the smaller satellite, hidden forever from the mundane view byLuna's bulk, we know little. Small is Sekk, that second moon, less than five hundred miles indiameter, but the period of its revolution is thirty two hours, and itsmeaner mass retains a breathable atmosphere. There is life on Sekk,life that centers around the sunken star-shaped cavity where an ovallake gleams softly in the depths. And the eleven radiating tips of thestarry abyss are valleys green with jungle growth. In one of those green valleys the white savage that the Vasads calledNoork squatted in the ample crotch of a jungle giant and watched thetrail forty feet below. For down there moved alertly a golden skinnedgirl, her only weapons a puny polished bow of yellow wood and asheathed dagger. Sight of the girl's flowing brown hair and the graceful femininecontours of her smooth-limbed body beneath its skin-halter and theinsignificant breech-clout, made his brow wrinkle with concentration.Not forever had he lived in this jungle world of valleys and raggedcliffs. Since he had learned the tongue of the hairy Vasads of forest,and the tongue of their gold-skinned leader, Gurn, the renegade, he hadconfirmed that belief. For a huge gleaming bird had carried him in its talons to the top ofthe cliff above their valley and from the rock fire had risen to devourthe great bird. Somehow he had been flung clear and escaped the deathof the mysterious bird-thing. And in his delirium he had babbled thewords that caused the apish Vasads to name him Noork. Now he repeatedthem aloud. New York, he said, good ol' New York. The girl heard. She looked upward fearfully, her rounded bare arm goingback to the bow slung across her shoulder. Swiftly she fitted an arrowand stepped back against the friendly bole of a shaggy barked junglegiant. Noork grinned. Tako, woman, he greeted her. Tako, she replied fearfully. Who speaks to Tholon Sarna? Be youhunter or escaped slave? A friend, said Noork simply. It was I who killed the spotted narl last night when it attacked you. Doubtfully the girl put away her bow. Her fingers, however, were neverfar from the hilt of her hunting dagger. Noork swung outward from his perch, and then downward along the ladderof limbs to her side. The girl exclaimed at his brown skin. Your hair is the color of the sun! she said. Your garb is Vasad, yetyou speak the language of the true men. Her violet oddly slanting eyesopened yet wider. Who are you? I am Noork, the man told her. For many days have I dwelt among thewild Vasads of the jungle with their golden-skinned chief, Gurn, formy friend. The girl impulsively took a step nearer. Gurn! she cried. Is he talland strong? Has he a bracelet of golden discs linked together withhuman hair? Does he talk with his own shadow when he thinks? That is Gurn, admitted Noork shortly. He is also an exile from thewalled city of Grath. The city rulers call him a traitor. He has toldme the reason. Perhaps you know it as well? Indeed I do, cried Sarna. My brother said that we should no longermake slaves of the captured Zurans from the other valleys. Noork smiled. I am glad he is your brother, he said simply. <doc-sep>Most of the cousins gasped as the truth began to percolate through. I knew from the very beginning, Conrad finished, that I didn'thave to do anything at all. I just had to wait and you would destroyyourselves. I don't understand, Bartholomew protested, searching the faces of thecousins closest to him. What does he mean, we have never existed?We're here, aren't we? What— Shut up! Raymond snapped. He turned on Martin. You don't seemsurprised. The old man grinned. I'm not. I figured it all out years ago. At first, he had wondered what he should do. Would it be better tothrow them into a futile panic by telling them or to do nothing? Hehad decided on the latter; that was the role they had assigned him—towatch and wait and keep out of things—and that was the role he wouldplay. You knew all the time and you didn't tell us! Raymond spluttered.After we'd been so good to you, making a gentleman out of you insteadof a criminal.... That's right, he snarled, a criminal! An alcoholic,a thief, a derelict! How do you like that? Sounds like a rich, full life, Martin said wistfully. What an exciting existence they must have done him out of! But then, hecouldn't help thinking, he—he and Conrad together, of course—had donethem out of any kind of existence. It wasn't his responsibility,though; he had done nothing but let matters take whatever course wasdestined for them. If only he could be sure that it was the bettercourse, perhaps he wouldn't feel that nagging sense of guilt insidehim. Strange—where, in his hermetic life, could he possibly havedeveloped such a queer thing as a conscience? Then we've wasted all this time, Ninian sobbed, all this energy, allthis money, for nothing! But you were nothing to begin with, Martin told them. And then,after a pause, he added, I only wish I could be sure there had beensome purpose to this. He didn't know whether it was approaching death that dimmed his sight,or whether the frightened crowd that pressed around him was growingshadowy. I wish I could feel that some good had been done in letting you bewiped out of existence, he went on voicing his thoughts. But I knowthat the same thing that happened to your worlds and my world willhappen all over again. To other people, in other times, but again. It'sbound to happen. There isn't any hope for humanity. One man couldn't really change the course of human history, he toldhimself. Two men, that was—one real, one a shadow. Conrad came close to the old man's bed. He was almost transparent. No, he said, there is hope. They didn't know the time transmitterworks two ways. I used it for going into the past only once—just thisonce. But I've gone into the future with it many times. And— hepressed Martin's hand—believe me, what I did—what we did, you andI—serves a purpose. It will change things for the better. Everythingis going to be all right. <doc-sep></s>

Enslavement and freedom as themes run throughout the story. When Noork and Sarna first meet each other in the opening scene, one of the ways they decide to trust one another is because of their mutual relationships with Gurn, a third character. Gurn has been exiled from the city of Grath because he says that his people should no longer enslave the captured Zurans from other valleys of Sekk. In the next scene, we learn that Sarna, Gurn's sister, was kidnapped by one group of slavers, escaped them with four others, and only narrowly escaped capture by a second group of slavers, the Misty Ones from the Temple of the Skull, who captured the other four of her group. Noork tells her that one day he will visit the island of Misty Ones who took her friends. At this time, he realizes that Sarna has disappeared, and he is attacked by the Misty Ones, though he is able to fight them off.During Noork's travels to the island of the Misty Ones, we learn his backstory: he is American pilot Stephen Dietrich, and he arrived on the moon of Sekk by following Doctor Karl Von Mark, last of the Nazi criminals at large. Dietrich's ship had crashed on Sekk, robbing him of his memory. In the conflict between the Allies and Nazis, we again see the conflict between enslavement and freedom: the Nazis forced those they considered racially impure into prison camps where they were either murdered outright or forced to engage in labor under inhumane conditions until they died; the Allied forces were a hope of freedom for these imprisoned, enslaved people.Noork spies on enslaved men in the fields outside the temple of the Misty Ones and hears them gossiping about Sarna. The older man suggests that their life is not so bad, but the younger man protests and states that one day he plans to escape. Noork approaches the younger man to find out where Sarna is being held and promises to take him along when he and Sarna escape. Noork then fights off multiple guards and a priest in order to free Sarna from the pit where she is held, which is dank and full of rotting grass mats and little light.While the story touches on themes of enslavement and freedom, it does not engage with them fully. The dungeon where the enslaved young women is held is described in foul terms, but Noork does not seem to free all the young women from their prison. That may happen as a result of Gurn's final attack on Doctor Von Mark and the Misty Ones, but Noork escapes only with Sarna and Rold. Rold is unhappy with being enslaved, not because he is being harmed or others are, but because he is not free to mate with attractive young women like Sarna. While the story should not need to spell out every reason why enslavement is wrong, it takes a very superficial approach to a deeply painful issue.

<s>Ud tasted the scent of a man and sluggishly rolled his bullet head fromshoulder to shoulder as he tried to catch sight of his ages-old enemy.For between the hairy quarter-ton beast men of the jungles of Sekk andthe golden men of the valley cities who enslaved them there was eternalwar. A growl rumbled deep in the hairy half-man's chest. He could see noenemy and yet the scent grew stronger with every breath. You hunt too near the lake, called a voice. The demons of the waterwill trap you. Ud's great nostrils quivered. He tasted the odor of a friend mingledwith that of a strange Zuran. He squatted. It's Noork, he grunted. Why do I not see you? I have stolen the skin of a demon, answered the invisible man. Go toGurn. Tell him to fear the demons no longer. Tell him the Misty Onescan be trapped and skinned. Why you want their skins? Ud scratched his hairy gray skull. Go to save Gurn's ... and here Noork was stumped for words. To savehis father's woman woman, he managed at last. Father's woman womancalled Sarna. And the misty blob of nothingness was gone again, its goal now themarshy lowlands that extended upward perhaps a thousand feet from thejungle's ragged fringe to end at last in the muddy shallows of the Lakeof Uzdon. To Noork it seemed that all the world must be like these savage junglefastnesses of the twelve valleys and their central lake. He knew thatthe giant bird had carried him from some other place that his batteredbrain could not remember, but to him it seemed incredible that mencould live elsewhere than in a jungle valley. But Noork was wrong. The giant bird that he had ridden into the depthsof Sekk's fertile valleys had come from a far different world. And theother bird, for which Noork had been searching when he came upon thegolden-skinned girl, was from another world also. The other bird had come from space several days before that of Noork,the Vasads had told him, and it had landed somewhere within the landof sunken valleys. Perhaps, thought Noork, the bird had come from thesame valley that had once been his home. He would find the bird andperhaps then he could remember better who he had been. So it was, ironically enough, that Stephen Dietrich—whose memory wasgone completely—again took up the trail of Doctor Karl Von Mark, lastof the Axis criminals at large. The trail that had led the red-hairedyoung American flier from rebuilding Greece into Africa and the hiddenvalley where Doctor Von Mark worked feverishly to restore the crumbledstructure of Nazidom, and then had sent him hurtling spaceward in thesecond of the Doctor's crude space-ships was now drawing to an end.The Doctor and the young American pilot were both trapped here on thislittle blob of cosmic matter that hides beyond the Moon's cratered bulk. The Doctor's ship had landed safely on Sekk, the wily scientistpreferring the lesser gravity of this fertile world to that of thelifeless Moon in the event that he returned again to Earth, butDietrich's spacer had crashed. Two words linked Noork with the past, the two words that the Vasadshad slurred into his name: New York. And the battered wrist watch, itscrystal and hands gone, were all that remained of his Earthly garb. <doc-sep>Most of the cousins gasped as the truth began to percolate through. I knew from the very beginning, Conrad finished, that I didn'thave to do anything at all. I just had to wait and you would destroyyourselves. I don't understand, Bartholomew protested, searching the faces of thecousins closest to him. What does he mean, we have never existed?We're here, aren't we? What— Shut up! Raymond snapped. He turned on Martin. You don't seemsurprised. The old man grinned. I'm not. I figured it all out years ago. At first, he had wondered what he should do. Would it be better tothrow them into a futile panic by telling them or to do nothing? Hehad decided on the latter; that was the role they had assigned him—towatch and wait and keep out of things—and that was the role he wouldplay. You knew all the time and you didn't tell us! Raymond spluttered.After we'd been so good to you, making a gentleman out of you insteadof a criminal.... That's right, he snarled, a criminal! An alcoholic,a thief, a derelict! How do you like that? Sounds like a rich, full life, Martin said wistfully. What an exciting existence they must have done him out of! But then, hecouldn't help thinking, he—he and Conrad together, of course—had donethem out of any kind of existence. It wasn't his responsibility,though; he had done nothing but let matters take whatever course wasdestined for them. If only he could be sure that it was the bettercourse, perhaps he wouldn't feel that nagging sense of guilt insidehim. Strange—where, in his hermetic life, could he possibly havedeveloped such a queer thing as a conscience? Then we've wasted all this time, Ninian sobbed, all this energy, allthis money, for nothing! But you were nothing to begin with, Martin told them. And then,after a pause, he added, I only wish I could be sure there had beensome purpose to this. He didn't know whether it was approaching death that dimmed his sight,or whether the frightened crowd that pressed around him was growingshadowy. I wish I could feel that some good had been done in letting you bewiped out of existence, he went on voicing his thoughts. But I knowthat the same thing that happened to your worlds and my world willhappen all over again. To other people, in other times, but again. It'sbound to happen. There isn't any hope for humanity. One man couldn't really change the course of human history, he toldhimself. Two men, that was—one real, one a shadow. Conrad came close to the old man's bed. He was almost transparent. No, he said, there is hope. They didn't know the time transmitterworks two ways. I used it for going into the past only once—just thisonce. But I've gone into the future with it many times. And— hepressed Martin's hand—believe me, what I did—what we did, you andI—serves a purpose. It will change things for the better. Everythingis going to be all right. <doc-sep> Raiders of the Second Moon By GENE ELLERMAN A strange destiny had erased Noork's memory, and had brought him to this tiny world—to write an end to his first existence. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Summer 1945. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Beyond earth swings that airless pocked mass of fused rock and grayvolcanic dust that we know as Luna. Of this our naked eyes assure us.But of the smaller satellite, hidden forever from the mundane view byLuna's bulk, we know little. Small is Sekk, that second moon, less than five hundred miles indiameter, but the period of its revolution is thirty two hours, and itsmeaner mass retains a breathable atmosphere. There is life on Sekk,life that centers around the sunken star-shaped cavity where an ovallake gleams softly in the depths. And the eleven radiating tips of thestarry abyss are valleys green with jungle growth. In one of those green valleys the white savage that the Vasads calledNoork squatted in the ample crotch of a jungle giant and watched thetrail forty feet below. For down there moved alertly a golden skinnedgirl, her only weapons a puny polished bow of yellow wood and asheathed dagger. Sight of the girl's flowing brown hair and the graceful femininecontours of her smooth-limbed body beneath its skin-halter and theinsignificant breech-clout, made his brow wrinkle with concentration.Not forever had he lived in this jungle world of valleys and raggedcliffs. Since he had learned the tongue of the hairy Vasads of forest,and the tongue of their gold-skinned leader, Gurn, the renegade, he hadconfirmed that belief. For a huge gleaming bird had carried him in its talons to the top ofthe cliff above their valley and from the rock fire had risen to devourthe great bird. Somehow he had been flung clear and escaped the deathof the mysterious bird-thing. And in his delirium he had babbled thewords that caused the apish Vasads to name him Noork. Now he repeatedthem aloud. New York, he said, good ol' New York. The girl heard. She looked upward fearfully, her rounded bare arm goingback to the bow slung across her shoulder. Swiftly she fitted an arrowand stepped back against the friendly bole of a shaggy barked junglegiant. Noork grinned. Tako, woman, he greeted her. Tako, she replied fearfully. Who speaks to Tholon Sarna? Be youhunter or escaped slave? A friend, said Noork simply. It was I who killed the spotted narl last night when it attacked you. Doubtfully the girl put away her bow. Her fingers, however, were neverfar from the hilt of her hunting dagger. Noork swung outward from his perch, and then downward along the ladderof limbs to her side. The girl exclaimed at his brown skin. Your hair is the color of the sun! she said. Your garb is Vasad, yetyou speak the language of the true men. Her violet oddly slanting eyesopened yet wider. Who are you? I am Noork, the man told her. For many days have I dwelt among thewild Vasads of the jungle with their golden-skinned chief, Gurn, formy friend. The girl impulsively took a step nearer. Gurn! she cried. Is he talland strong? Has he a bracelet of golden discs linked together withhuman hair? Does he talk with his own shadow when he thinks? That is Gurn, admitted Noork shortly. He is also an exile from thewalled city of Grath. The city rulers call him a traitor. He has toldme the reason. Perhaps you know it as well? Indeed I do, cried Sarna. My brother said that we should no longermake slaves of the captured Zurans from the other valleys. Noork smiled. I am glad he is your brother, he said simply. <doc-sep></s>

The Misty Ones are a group of highly feared beings, thought to be supernatural in some way at the beginning of the story because of their ability to remain unseen. Noork, however, is able to catch a glimpse of the bottom of one of their feet from his vantage point high in a tree and begins to pelt the area where he believes they are with fruit. After this, he can see their outlines and that they are wearing robes with hoods, and he ceases to be afraid and attacks with arrows, killing one of the Misty Ones. He disrobes this man, who is described as heavily scarred on his face, having a low forehead, with more hair on his body and less golden skin than other men of Zuran. Once Noork is sure that the Misty Ones are not supernatural, he decides to pursue them in an attempt to rescue Sarna, sister of his friend Gurn, who has been kidnapped by them.Noork spreads the word to his friend Ud that the Misty Ones are not demons and can be trapped and skinned and lets Ud know of his rescue mission for Sarna. He also tells Rold, an enslaved man on the island of the Misty Ones and the priests of Uzdon (the god who demands sacrifice of young women). Rold decides he will help Noork with his rescue mission in exchange for Noork's promise to rescue him as well--realizing that he is imprisoned by men and not demons has allowed him to dream that he can kill his captors and be free.When Noork fights a priest of Uzdon in order to free Sarna, he learns that the priests not only have the robes of concealment the Misty Ones have, they also have transparent masks that allow them to see through that concealment. It allows him to anticipate their ambush at the end of the story, though not quite soon enough to stop it. Gurn, though, has received his message and acted on it. He has been capturing and skinning Misty Ones who have crossed the lake and he and his warriors ambush the Misty Ones and priests in return, freeing Noork and his friends. With the realization that the Misty Ones are men with special cloaks rather than demons with supernatural powers, their mystique evaporates and everyone they have terrorized is willing to attack them. Characters unwilling to battle demons are unafraid to attack men.